by Piper Rayne
“Of course, I’ll work on it this morning. I can’t wait to meet this boy of yours.”
He’s far from a boy.
“Okay, Dad, gotta go.”
“I’m coming to the city later in the week. I have to talk to Cliff, get an update on our hedge fund. Let’s do lunch.”
I release a breath. “Sure, give me a call.”
“Bye, Han. Don’t let this new guy walk all over you.”
“I won’t, Dad. Bye.” My fingers press on the button to end the call and my head falls down onto my desk.
“Didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you have to plan a birthday party?” Victoria arrives in the doorway. “That took the glow from your cheeks.” She sits down in the chair in front of me looking all cute in a Tiffany-blue dress.
“Yeah, but I’m calling in a favor from my event organizer. No way I’m planning her party just to be ridiculed about choosing the wrong linens and flowers.” I grab my phone searching for the number of the woman who does all the events at the club. She’ll make sure everything is up to my mom’s standards.
“You really don’t like your mom, huh?”
I click on the number and my thumb hovers while I continue talking to Victoria. “Neither of us care much for the other. I’m a constant disappointment and she’s always advising me on how I could’ve been a perfect wife if I’d only cut out my tongue.”
“She said that?” Victoria’s mouth goes slack jaw.
“No, but heavily implied my sharp tongue needs controlling if I’m ever going to keep a man.”
“She’s so different than my mother.” She shakes her head.
“Your mom is nothing like mine, believe me.”
“I thought something was up since she’s never set foot in the office or called the office line.” She stands, seeing my phone lit up, waiting to call the person. Forever the perfect assistant and I’m going to miss her help when I promote her.
“Yeah, there’s no scheduled lunch dates and I’d never trust her with my daughter if I ever had one.”
Victoria’s mouth dips down. I’m sure it’s a buzzkill since her, Jade, and her mom are like a three-generation trio of love. “I’ll let you make that call then. Can I handle anything for you? Balloons? Entertainment? Just let me know.”
“You’re the best ever, thanks.”
Her lips turn up into her usual optimistic smile and she shuts the door on her way out.
I make the phone call and luckily Tracy is more than happy to organize a Crowley event. She gushes on how much she loves my mom and I’m pretty sure she’ll make the event jaw-dropping amazing. I snap my usual enthusiasm into place because we wouldn’t want anyone getting the idea that I don’t want to plan her party. Let them believe I’m just swamped with this non-profit foundation I’m running. My mother can spin anything the way she wants. Good ol’ mother, reputation is key.
Chelsea walks in as I end the call.
“Am I bothering you?” She sits down in the chair in front of me. No papers in her hand, no phone clutched in her grip. Fear that she’s turning in her notice wraps around me.
“Not at all. What’s up?” I ask.
“We have a situation. The venue usually uses this one caterer, but that caterer has to work another event for some family member or something. So we need to find a great caterer on short notice for the gala.” She cringes, and her outward expression matches my inward one.
“Okay,” I say, using my computer to pull up a list of caterers.
“I’ve literally called all the big ones. I’m on a waitlist, but everyone else has bad Yelp ratings and I didn’t think this would be the time to try out a newbie.” She crosses her legs, her arms clasped in her lap, her face holding a green tint.
“Are you okay?” I side eye her.
“Let’s just say all those sweets I’ve been eating? I’m not going to have to worry about gaining a pound.”
“Morning sickness?”
“Yeah, but as long as my body isn’t my own, I’m happy. Means the little bean is still there.” She tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I can’t even imagine what she and Dean are going through. Every day waiting for the ball to drop.
“What have the doctors said?” I press print and the hum of my printer fills my office.
She crosses her fingers in the air. “All good things…so far.”
“Special delivery!” Victoria comes in holding a box.
Normally I might have assumed it was for me, but since Chelsea is always getting deliveries from Dean, I’m not surprised when Victoria hands the present over to her.
“We’re going to have no money to raise this kid.” This time her smile does reach her eyes, her cheeks round, and her eyes glisten.
Do I look like that when I’m with Roarke?
“Um…I’m pretty sure that’s an exaggeration,” Victoria says.
We both wait, eager for Chelsea to open the gift. Dean is definitely an outside the box kind of gift giver.
She pulls another wrapped gift from the cardboard box. It’s in Cubs wrapping paper. She reads the note and places it on my desk then giggles to herself and tears off the packaging.
Victoria eyes the note on the edge of my desk. “May I?”
“Sure,” she answers, her concentration intent on opening the box.
“Thought tearing the paper would be a good stress reliever. Love, Dean,” Victoria reads it and then sets it back on the desk.
“He’s right, that felt good to rip the blue and red,” she says with a smile.
She opens the clothing box and I’m expecting to see some sexy lingerie, but she pulls out a little onesie. A note that was folded within the fabric slips back into the box and she places the onesie down to read the letter. This time she reads it aloud. “We can be the first people to raise a crosstown lover. No picking sides. Love, Dean.”
Victoria awes as Chelsea holds the onesie back up. It has the Cubs logo on one side, Sox on the other. The back has a number one and the name Bennett. One tear falls down Chelsea’s cheek, and then another, and then another until there’s a cascade of them.
“Let’s not ruin this.” Victoria grabs the box and I snatch a tissue to hand over to her.
Chelsea accepts, dotting under her eyes. “I’m seriously losing all control. He’s so sweet. I can’t believe he’s mine,” she sobs, her sentences barely making any sense between the hiccups of her labored breathing. I think she said something about their past and how sometimes you just know and why did she try to fight it.
Victoria and I let her get everything out of her system. “Chelsea, go call Dean and thank him. Maybe ask him to lunch,” I suggest because at this rate she’ll never find a caterer for me.
“No.” She swipes the tears but more fall. “I’ll get control of myself. I’m a professional.” She says the words like I am Superwoman. She is, but not today. Today she’s a pregnant woman whose hormones are tormenting her.
“Go. It’s fine. I’m sure Dean will love the surprise.”
She stands, and Victoria hands her the box with the onesie and notes, sharing a look to me like this isn’t the last of her outbursts. I wonder what stage will come next?
“I’ll just go have lunch,” Chelsea says.
“Please, we know you’re going to have an afternoon delight.” Victoria laughs, spurring Chelsea to change her tears into a chuckle.
“Now that you mention it.” She wiggles her ass on the way out of my office.
Two minutes later she’s waving goodbye and heading out the main door.
“You know she’s gone for the day, right?” Victoria asks, walking over to the doorway.
“She deserves it.”
“I should convince Reed it’s time to have a baby,” she jokes.
“Something tells me that boy will do it the traditional way.” My phone vibrates on my desk.
“You know it. I keep half expecting him to propose to speed things along. He’s hardly the type who waits around for the time to be right.�
� She pats the entryway of my door and heads back to her desk.
My phone dances across my desk, reminding me it’s ringing.
“Hello?” I answer, not looking at the caller ID. Hopefully it’s not Tracy telling me the club is booked. No way do I want to find a restaurant.
“I miss you.” Roarke’s deep voice sets my body on high alert.
“You saw me this morning.” I pick up my pen, teetering it back and forth.
“Exactly. It’s been too long. Torrio’s at six?”
“You don’t plan on feeding me?”
He chuckles. “Do you want the gentleman to answer that question?”
“No.”
“I’ll feed you something substantial, but you’ll still be hungry after.”
I press my thighs together. “You call me at noon to torment me?”
His deep chuckle rings through the line. “Am I tormenting you?”
“What do you think?”
“Oh Firecracker, I hope that I am.” A phone beeps in the background and I catch his name said by a sweet woman’s voice, one that sounds much younger than my own.
“You have to go?” I ask.
“I do. For the first time in my life, I want to play hooky.”
“Well, I just sent home my marketing manager.”
“Tempting baby, but I’ve got back to back meetings with clients. Can’t people be civilized?”
The beep comes through again but before she can say anything, he must hit a button to reply. “Please tell Mr. Quinton that I’ll call him back.”
“No, Roarke. It’s fine. I have to go find a caterer for the gala anyway.”
“What does Sonya say about the one they usually use?”
“I guess they’re not available. Hopefully I’m not having taco trucks, not that I personally would oppose.”
“Do you like tacos?” he asks and I’m reminded that he never gives up an opportunity to find out something about me.
“I do.”
“Then I’ll be feeding you tonight after Torrio’s. See you tonight, Han.”
“Bye.”
The line clicks dead and the fact he called me by Han, something more intimate than my full name, makes me giddy inside.
Until the client’s name he spoke to his receptionist finally makes its way through the lust induced haze Roarke initiates.
Mr. Quinton?
It couldn’t be him, right? No way.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I scan through my contacts and press the green button when I see her name immediately. It rings and rings, but I get her voicemail, “You’ve reached Scarlet. I’m probably at Saks with hubby’s credit card. Leave a message and I’ll ring you right after I grab Starbucks.” A long beep sounds.
“Scar, it’s Han. Just checking in. It’s been so long. Give me a call and we’ll do lunch.”
I click the red button to end the call and swivel my chair to stare out the window. I rotate my phone in my hand, hitting my thigh with each turn, I flip it. It has to be a coincidence, but with that asshole being friends with Todd, I can see the referral happening over scotch at the club. Todd’s annoying voice in my head, ‘Roarke Baldwin got me everything I didn’t deserve. Hannah can spare it, she’s still sitting on millions.’
Since Scarlett doesn’t call back, I decide to conduct a social media stalking. Surely, if they’re divorcing, Facebook or Instagram will reflect that. Going on my own Instagram account, I’m reminded that I suck at social media. The last picture I posted was the day I got Lucy and some lame comments from my friends are there saying they miss me. If they miss me so much why don’t they pick up a phone and call me?
I click on Scarlett’s profile and a million pictures of her, David, and the kids are the first thing I see. They’re on a beach somewhere and she’s all smiles. There’s another with David’s arm swung over her shoulders with a caption explaining that it was date night. They’ve all been taken within the last month.
I’m drawing the wrong conclusions. I mean we’re in a city of millions, surely there’s another Quinton around who could afford Roarke’s services.
My phone buzzes with a text and I hope it’s from Scarlett, but it’s Roarke.
Roarke: Here’s a caterer, I’ve used him and he’s good. Maybe try him out.
Listed is a name and phone number, nothing else. No company name or address to visit.
Since I’m already on my computer, I type in Google and find nothing. What am I missing here?
Roarke: Counting the hours until six. By the way, you and Lucy are spending the weekend at my place.
Me: You don’t dictate what I do.
Roarke: My bad…will you and your overzealous dog spend the weekend with me and Nickel?
Me: You forgot the magic word.
Roarke: Orgasm?
I giggle and Victoria smiles into my office as she passes by.
Me: Wrong word.
Roarke: Cunnilingus?
Me: Wrong again. I’m inspecting my nails now.
Roarke: Please will my Firecracker agree to spend the weekend at my house, so I can fuck you until your throat is hoarse from screaming and your body is limp. Better?
Me: Well, thank you for the please. I could have done without the other stuff.
Roarke: I don’t believe you. Want me to continue? Shut your office door.
Me: I have to call this mysterious caterer who has no reviews.
Roarke: If I was there I’d have you bent over your desk and my hand would be slapping your ass while I drove into you.
Me: Well you’re not.
Roarke: I have two minutes before my meeting. I can get you off if you just hike up that skirt.
Me: How do you know I’m wearing a skirt?
I had left his place early this morning and changed at my house.
Roarke: I always visualize you with a dress or skirt on. Easy access in my fantasies. ;)
Me: You are something, all right.
Roarke: I’m all yours. So no quickie orgasm? My client is starting to give me the stink eye.
Me: You have a client with you right now!?
Roarke: I told you, we’re waiting for the meeting to start.
Me: And you were going to talk dirty to me?
Roarke: I think I’ve proven that I’m a multi-tasker.
Me: Bye, Roarke. See you tonight.
Roarke: I’ll be thinking about how wet you are. See you at six. Give the guy a call, he’s good. Promise.
I have a feeling that man will forever keep me surprised.
Trusting Roarke has been easy in the few short weeks we’ve been together and I know he’d never give me a reference he wasn’t more than one hundred percent sure would deliver, so I pick up my cell phone and dial the number he sent me.
At six on the dot, I walk into Torrio’s and I’m not surprised to find Roarke there already waiting. His gaze stays on me the entire journey to my usual table and I’m not embarrassed to admit that yes, I do add a little extra flare to my hips, just for viewing pleasure.
“Just so you know, this table is mine,” I say.
There aren’t assigned tables at Torrio’s, but me and the girls always sit at this same one.
“You’re not going to share with your boyfriend?” he asks, putting on a lost puppy dog expression.
I slide into the opposite side of the circular booth, but he slides closer to the middle, patting the space right next to him.
“Do I have to beg for a hello kiss?” he asks as though I’d have a choice. Not that I’m about to deny a lip-tingling kiss from him.
“Boyfriend?” I ask once we part and a Vesper is placed in front of me by the waiter. “Thanks, Lincoln.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about Linc knowing your drink order and not me.” His raised eyebrows pull a giggle from me.
“Jealous much?” I tease.
“When it comes to you, green is my color.” He tips his drink to his lips.
Maybe alarms should be setting off in my mind, bu
t I love the fact that he’d be jealous of another man. God knows, Todd never was. Still, the strong independent woman inside of me says I don’t want some caveman who pounds his fist to anyone who gets within a mile radius. But the lovesick teenage girl who’s still there says a little jealousy is a compliment.
“Nothing to be jealous about, I would never do that to someone.” I push back the crippling lack of self-esteem that suffocated me when I found out about Todd’s cheating.
“It’s not you I’m worried about. I know what happens in a guy’s mind. The fact is that I envisioned you naked when you sat across from me for the first time in that discovery meeting.” He leans closer not finishing his sentence. “It didn’t do the reality justice.”
His fingers skim along my thigh and I press into his touch, always craving more.
“I thought you were going to feed me?” I ask, wanting to speed this night along so we can get back to either one of our apartments.
“After we finish our drinks. Tell me about your day. Did you call Jett?” He continues to sip his scotch neat and I bring the Vesper to my lips, the citrus flavor bursting on my taste buds.
I nod but move us to another topic that’s peaked my interest. “We could’ve gone anywhere, why here?” I have a feeling he’s a little more caveman than I originally thought.
I’ve noticed a few men’s gazes cast over to our table, spurring hushed whispers between them.
He chuckles, sipping his drink again. “Can I get anything by you?”
“Is this what I think this is?” I ask again wanting a straight answer. I’m not even sure how I feel about the fact he brought me here as a trophy to parade around.
“You spend a lot of time here, no?” he asks, finishing the last vestiges of scotch in his glass.
“Yes.”
“Come here with your girlfriends?”
I nod, sipping my drink.
“Think of it as saving you the uncomfortableness of having to tell an eager male that you’re now taken.” He slides his now empty glass away from him.
Again that hear-me-roar woman and the teenage girl fight a few rounds in my head.