by Amelia Wilde
“They’re not too wet,” he said. “I don’t think the fire will damage them at all, just help them dry. I’ll put some oil on them, though, if you’re all right with that.”
He opened up the box, which contained a rudimentary shoe shining kit.
“Where did you get that?” I asked. “It looks like an antique.”
“It was my father’s,” Sterling replied absently as he rummaged around and finally located a container of clear balm. He proceeded to dip a stained brush into the jar and rub it onto his shoes, one at a time.
“Oh, are you close?”
The question came out before I could help it. Sterling glanced up sharply for a half second before returning to his work, now brushing the polish into my shoes with vigor.
“He’s not around anymore,” he said quietly.
“Oh,” I said. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I shouldn’t intrude. Again.”
He looked up again, this time kindly.
“Skylar,” he said, and it was then I realized how much more I liked hearing my given name roll off his tongue. Much like before, the ‘r’ at the end wasn’t fully pronounced, rolling open with a subtle New England cadence that betrayed a working-class background he hadn’t quite erased.
“Yes?”
“You apologize too much.”
“I’m so—” I started before catching myself. Sterling gave me a cheeky half smile, and I couldn’t help but grin back. “Right,” I amended. “Okay.”
“Exactly,” he said with a wink before turning back to our shoes.
Ana entered the room with a tray bearing a teapot and a cup. When she noticed my presence on the couch, her expression briefly morphed into surprise before sliding back into easy affability.
“I believe you know Ms. Crosby, Ana,” Sterling said from his seat by the fire.
“Ah, yes, sir, a bit. I, um…”
“It’s all right, Ana,” Sterling said, echoing his words from before. I wondered if he tired of constantly having to reassure all the women he met. Clearly, he was disruptive to many of us. “You’re done for the night.”
“Yes, sir,” Ana said before leaving. “Good night.” With a quick, unreadable glance at me, she was gone, no doubt to gossip with Eric, if he was even still here, about what I was doing upstairs.
“Please,” Sterling said, indicating the tea. “You look frozen, so help yourself. I’ll call for a car and get another cup.”
He lifted himself easily from the hearth, and I couldn’t help but watch his finely shaped form as he strode out of the room. No wonder he kept himself such a secret at the office. With an ass like that, he’d have associates camped outside his door.
He returned shortly with his cell phone held to his ear and another teacup, which he set down on the tray. A woman’s voice said clearly that she would call him back shortly about the car.
“Cab companies call you back now?” I asked after he hung up.
“No, but personal assistants do,” he said with another impish half smile. My gut clenched. “How’s the tea?”
I took a sip. It was delicious, a sweet jasmine that I’d never had before. “Wonderful.”
He nodded. “It’s a blend I picked up the last time I was in Beijing. I’m no aficionado, thought it was pretty good.” His phone buzzed in his hand. “Sterling.”
The woman’s voice was more muffled this time, so I couldn’t understand what she was saying. “Really?” Sterling asked at one point. “All right. No, no, that’s fine, Margie, I’ll take care of it. You have a good night.”
He ended the call and slid back down to his seat on the hearth, elbows perched easily across his knees.
“Well, here’s the deal, Ms. Crosby,” he said.
“Skylar,” I corrected him. I didn’t want him to stop saying it now that he’d started.
Sterling rewarded me with another slow, soft smile that made my stomach flip. “Skylar. Well. It’s past one. The subways and buses are most likely done. Margie tells me she called four different car companies, but it appears that everyone in Boston is trying to get someone to drive them home in this weather. I’d drive you myself, but my car is being detailed. So, you’ve got a choice. You can wait here until about four a.m. for the next available car, which will make me grumpy since I’ll have to stay up with you, and I’m dog-tired. You can take your chance with the T, in which case I’ll walk you to the station. Through a blizzard, by the way. But I doubt you’ll do anything but spend the night there. Or you can take advantage of my hospitality and stay the night in one of my guest rooms.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” I started to say, but received the same brusque flick of the hand that Ana had gotten.
“Stop,” Sterling ordered. “This place is practically a hotel anyway. It’s no trouble, I promise.”
He lifted his eyebrow again in that way that dared me to argue otherwise, and I bit my lip as a snarky comment rose up my throat. His eyes zoomed straight to my mouth, and I quickly released my lip from my teeth.
“Ah,” he said, somewhat huskily this time. “So. Sleep on thousand-thread-count sheets in a warm bedroom? Or on a concrete bench with a bunch of homeless guys who probably haven’t showered since August? Tough decision, I know.”
I looked at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was really as altruistic as he seemed. Or as confident. He was nice, but how many men invited strange women to stay the night without having ulterior motives? In my (admittedly limited) experience, approximately none.
“Do you, um, live here by yourself?” The place was silent other than the fire and our voices.
Sterling smirked.
“Yes,” he said. “Is that a problem?”
“Well, you’re not going to try anything, are you?” The question flew out before I could stop it.
“I’m pretty sure welcoming yourself into my house and wandering my halls removes any liability on my part of sexual harassment, Skylar,” he said with a grin. “But I applaud your contempt nonetheless. First I’ve seen that you could be as cutthroat as my associates tell me.”
“They talk about me?”
“They talk about everyone,” he said. “But yes, I’ve heard of you.” He looked up at the ceiling as though reciting the conversation from a file. “Quick with words, extremely competent, doesn’t take shit from the male interns. Smart. A lot of promise.” He raised an eyebrow. “Colletti said she wanted to recruit you for a junior associate position, but you weren’t interested. Is that true?”
I felt another flush rising up my neck. “I suppose so. I mean, I’d be happy to make some coin, but that’s not why I’m in law school. I already went down that road once before, and it wasn’t really for me.”
“What road was that?”
“The ‘making money for money’s sake’ road. Before law school, I spent some time working for Goldman Sachs. It was just before they took the big bailout. Seeing all those executives take that money after stealing so much more from their investors and clients…it just made me sick. I’d rather be someone who could help people like that get some of it back. Or at least make sure they get what’s theirs in the end.”
Sterling raised a dusky eyebrow. “Almost sounds like you’re interested in advocacy. But I’ve seen your transcripts; your grades are too good for that. You should be clerking for the Supreme Court, not mucking around at a litigation firm.”
I sighed. “I’m...having a hard time choosing what I want to do.” It was hard to admit to someone who would be a potential reference, but it was the truth. “Family law is interesting, but I don’t want to do divorce work. I might also like to help some of the families who normally fall through the cracks get representation. Orphans, or kids whose parents are incarcerated, for instance.”
He tensed visibly. “Foster kids?”
I nodded. “Or abused women. People like that.”
“And why is that?”
I paused. I didn’t want to tell him that I came close to being one of those orphaned kids myself—h
e wouldn’t be interested in that sob story, not that I told it much anyway. “I’ve seen enough of those types who need help,” was all I said. “I’d like to be one of the people who can help them.”
Sterling didn’t answer, just gazed thoughtfully and chewed for a moment on his lower lip. I dug my toes into the rug and took another long drink of tea. When he stood up, Sterling looked pointedly at my cup, now empty.
“So?” he asked. “It’s late. What’s it going to be, Skylar? Have a nice long sleep in one of my guest rooms? Or do you need some more tea to help you decide?”
His tone dared me to say no, but his eyes twinkled in a way that told me he was enjoying the give and take. I set my cup down on the tray.
“All right,” I said. “You win.”
“I always do,” he replied with a grin. “Up one flight, second door down the hall on your right.”
“Aren’t you going to sleep too?” I asked, already standing up. I tried to stifle a yawn, but the thought of a warm bed was turning out to be more of a siren’s call than expected.
“I’ve got some more work to do tonight,” he said as he walked to the tea tray to fix himself a cup. “You have a good night, Skylar. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thank you, um, Mr. Sterling,” I said, already on my way up the stairs. It felt strange to address him by his last name after he had removed my shoes, but he hadn’t instructed me otherwise. “Good night.”
4
Sterling was gone by the time I came downstairs the next morning. The bed had lived up to his promise and then some; the featherbed mattress really was cloudlike. The only place I felt more comfortable was in Brooklyn.
He (or Ana) had left out a small breakfast for me in the kitchen: coffee, orange juice, and buttery croissants that were still warm. Next to the breakfast was a business card with the name “Brandon Sterling, Founding Partner” printed in bold letters. On the back was a note in a broad, curt scrawl:
In case you need a ride.
I stared at the words, wondering exactly what they meant. Then I shoved the card into my purse and sat down to eat.
“Good morning, Skylar!”
Ana walked into the room carrying a large laundry basket full of my bed linens. She was dressed down again in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I was happy to find that Sterling didn’t make his domestic staff dress like BBC characters.
I swallowed a bite of croissant and held up my coffee mug. “Morning. This was you?”
Ana set the basket on the floor just outside the steps leading to the basement and came to stand across the kitchen island from me.
“Actually, no. This was there when I came up in the morning. You must have had a good night, huh?”
Ana winked. I blushed furiously.
“Ah, not exactly,” I stuttered, suddenly unable to meet her eyes.
“Skylar, relax, I’m joking. I know you were in the guest room. These are your sheets, yes?” She tossed her head at the laundry, and I relaxed.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “Only mine.” I washed the last of my croissant down with the orange juice, which was clearly fresh-squeezed. “Wow, that’s good. Does he usually get up this early?”
Ana nodded. “He is usually gone by five thirty or so most days to meet with his trainer. Sometimes he comes back to change.” She checked her watch. “If you want to stay another half an hour, you might catch him.”
“Oh, no, I should get going,” I replied. “I can’t believe he doesn’t have a live-in trainer along with his personal chef? How gauche!”
Ana laughed, flapping a delicate hand at me. “You’re bad. He’s nice, actually. As long as I keep things clean, he doesn’t give me problems. Only a few quirks.”
I leaned in curiously. “Quirks? Like what?”
She tapped a fingernail on the counter. “Nothing crazy, really. Like, the fireplace always has to be lit if he’s here at night, even in the middle of summer. Or, he always has me keep a spare toothbrush in his bathroom next to his, even though it’s never used. And there is a fridge that I have to keep stocked with five different types of cheap beer that he never drinks.” She shrugged. “Quirks.”
I frowned. “Other than the fireplace thing, those just sound like preparations for company. Does he have people over a lot?”
“Not the kind who drink bad beer. And not the kind who share his bathroom.” Ana shrugged again, tipping her head to the side in thought. “I think he gets kind of lonely in this big house. Maybe wants to feel like he has someone here with him.”
I pondered that thought for a moment while she turned to put away some dishtowels and I finished the remainder of my juice.
“Not a coffee drinker?” Ana asked, gesturing toward the other cup still mostly full.
I slid off my stool. “No, not really. I’m a tea drinker.”
“How do you take it?” she asked. “You know, just in case I have to bring it out again.”
I felt suddenly embarrassed at the idea of Ana serving me anything I could easily get myself. I hoped Sterling paid her well. But she just stared at me expectantly and didn’t seem the slightest bit ashamed by her question.
“Uh, strong and sweet, with milk and a lot of honey,” I answered. “My favorite is Irish Breakfast. But I doubt you’ll ever have to use that information.”
“You never know,” she teased in a singsong voice. “Okay, I have to get to this laundry. You can let yourself out?”
I nodded as I slipped my arms into my coat. “No problem.”
“Okay. Tchau, Skylar!” She picked up the basket and sashayed downstairs. It was no wonder Eric liked her—the girl managed to make carrying laundry look sexy.
That was my cue. After rinsing my dishes quickly, I left a short note of thanks on the island, right next to the three other croissants I hadn’t touched. For a moment, I considered leaving my phone number, but then thought better of it. Why would a man like Brandon Sterling want the number of someone like me?
Just after nine, I walked into my apartment to find my roommate, Jane, sitting cross-legged on our sofa. She thumbed through a textbook and marked occasional pages with sticky notes. She was surrounded by a well-worn copy of Rules of Criminal Procedure, textbooks, yellow legal pads filled with her scrawl, and at least three empty coffee cups.
Jane and I had been roommates since starting law school. Even though a lot of law students moved off campus or into the coveted single housing as they gained seniority, we had continued rooming together.
Jane was one of the only real girlfriends I’d ever had. With the utter ruthlessness that predetermined a successful career as a criminal prosecutor, she was my opposite in a lot of ways: outgoing where I was more withdrawn, raised in the Chicago suburbs whereas I was a city girl through and through, extremely messy while I tended more toward order. But we had a lot in common in the ways that counted, including a direct streak that often veered more toward abrasive. She was loyal to a fault, and always had my back.
“Well, well, well,” she taunted, slipping her cat-eyed glasses down her nose so she could give me the once-over. “Look at what the cat dragged in.”
Jane had thick black hair cut into a bob that was gloriously untamable. It tended to riot around her face in the mornings until she conquered it with a lot of product. She wrinkled her button-shaped nose, which boasted a shining stud in one nostril. Her dark-brown eyes twinkled.
“And where did we spend the night last night, hmm, Miss Lady? Did you finally give in to Steve the Goon’s advances?”
With a snort, I set my messenger bag on the small table that served double duty as a dining and study area and began pulling off my winter layers. Jane waited patiently as I hung my parka, scarf, and hat on the small coat rack next to the door and tossed my mittens into the basket below it. I slipped off my shoes and examined them briefly. Despite walking to and from the subway in the salty, slushy streets, the conditioning balm that Sterling had applied the night before had done its job and kept them free of any salt stains,
although they’d still benefit from a proper cleaning.
“God, no,” I finally answered. I walked into the kitchenette on the other side of the table. “Not with that Muppet. Never in a million, billion years. But you’d be proud of me—I did dance with someone I met at a bar. And then spent the night with someone else.”
Jane dropped her book with a thump and scurried into the kitchenette while I rummaged around for a cup of tea. She parked herself at the bar that split the space from the rest of the apartment and stared at me resolutely.
“Dish,” she ordered, pointing a black-polished fingernail on the countertop. “Now.”
“The bar guy was lame. Kissed like a lizard. Investment douche, you know the type.” I quickly imitated the jerky motions of Trevor the banker’s tongue, which made Jane break into a loud peal of laughter.
“Oh, you poor girl!” she exclaimed. “You got tongue-fucked at Manny’s, didn’t you?”
“So, I left early,” I continued as I finished pulling out the other requirements for my tea. “But I couldn’t find a car in the snow, so I went to wait with Eric and his…well, I guess you could say she’s his lady friend. We all had a few drinks until the T wasn’t running, and when I still couldn’t find a car or anything, I ended up having to stay there.”
“Ew, as a third wheel with Eric, the walking boner?” Jane scrunched her face up like a pug, a trademark expression that always made me laugh. “Doesn’t he have, like, four strains of venereal disease?”
Jane and Eric had a notably love-hate relationship that stemmed from the “one-month stand” (as she put it) they’d had after our first-year orientation. Sexually, they were basically each other’s doppelgängers. As a result, it was a constant argument between the two of them just what had happened that month and who had left whom. I had heard at least seven different versions.
“Uh, not exactly,” I said as I put the kettle on.