Kane

by Foster, Delaney

  I stayed awake until after midnight last night fighting the urge not to send her a sappy, purple prose email. As soon as my alarm went off this morning, it hit me. I finally came up with an idea. She wanted her mind blown? I had the C-4.

  “Mr. Kane?”

  The voice belonged to a petite brunette that couldn’t have been much older than my little sister. She said my name like she wasn’t sure it belonged to me.

  It’s about time. It was after nine o’clock and this meeting was supposed to have started fifteen minutes ago. The leather of the chair I’d been leaning against in the lobby wasn’t even cold anymore. I’d grown bored with looking out of the third story floor-to-ceiling windows, so I’d started checking emails. There were only so many times a person could see downtown Houston and still be awestruck.

  I stuffed my cell phone into my pocket. “Last time I checked, that was me.”

  I shot the woman a practiced grin that brought a soft pink flush all the way up her neck to her squishy little cheeks. Her eyes fell to the ground, and she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Yeah, I get that reaction a lot.

  She held an iPad to her chest like it was a lifejacket and she was lost at sea. “They’re ready for you in Conference Room Two.”

  I followed her through the lobby that looked like it had been pulled from the cover of Modern Architecture magazine, every black, white, and chrome inch of it. She opened the third door on our left, and I felt her eyes follow me all the way inside before she closed it behind me.

  “Gentleman.” I nodded toward the group of men surrounding the long, wooden table. “Ma’am.” I flashed a smile to the only female in the room. She blushed and readjusted her posture. She sat two chairs down from where I stood. Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight bun, and she wasn’t bad on the eyes. Any other day, I might have even flirted with her a little—just enough to keep things interesting but not enough to invite trouble. But today my mind was on red lips and a bathtub full of books.

  Pitching was my favorite part of my job. I’d always been more of a “face-time” kind of guy. Sitting at a desk crunching numbers and turning spreadsheets into weapons was great, but this… this got my adrenaline pumping. I loved standing in front of a group of powerful people and showing them how to become even more powerful.

  The whole meeting was basically a one-hour update with me analyzing transactions and projecting growth. In other words, a bit of math mixed with a lot of common sense. Miss Pencil Skirt rolled her pen across her teeth so many times, I thought she might be ready to eat it. But her eyes said her appetite was not of the ink variety.

  I rushed through the last ten slides and ended the meeting early. Remember what I said about not eating where you shit? I didn’t fuck female clients. Flirt, sometimes. Fuck, never. Experience had taught me that was bad for business.

  The CEO stood to shake my hand. I knew casual Fridays were a thing at a lot of offices, but this guy took it to a new level. He wore blue jeans, a white T-shirt and a pair of Adidas sneakers. I guess when you signed the paychecks, you wore whatever the fuck you wanted.

  “We’re heading over to Charlie D’s for a bite and a drink if you want to join us,” he offered.

  I remembered the Pencil Skirt Predator and decided against it. “Thanks, but I have another project to wrap up.” By project, I meant sealing the deal with a certain female blog queen, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “Another time, then.”

  I didn’t even glance at the woman’s expression. I didn’t care to see the disappointment when she realized she wasn’t going anywhere near my cock.

  “Absolutely,” I agreed.

  My cell phone vibrated against my thigh as I gathered up my things. As soon as I was in the elevator, I pulled it out to see if it was her. Since when did I get pumped up to check messages?

  INSTAGRAM

  Korie_Lawson liked your photo

  I caught myself smiling in the elevator mirror. Because of a notification on my phone. That was it. Drop my balls into the bucket. I’d officially lost my man card.

  bennett.kane.

  Open up and let me see inside. I’m dying to know what secrets you hold in there. Let me run my hand along your spine and trace my fingertips across your words. I want to soak up every inch of you with my eyes and hold you until I fall asleep with you on my chest. Or better yet, stay awake with you all night long. Challenge me. Stimulate me. Consume me. I dare you.

  The photo was a close-up of a shelf lined with hardback copies of classic literature. It was beautiful, but that’s not what got me. Those words. His words. That’s what made me drop my phone on top of the counter in my coffee shop without even caring if it shattered. If I hadn’t been at work, my panties would’ve dropped right along with it.

  Bennett Kane never captioned his photos. Ever. One-hundred and twenty-nine posts, and not one of them captioned. Until this one.

  As far as the world was concerned, he was talking to the book. But they tore through my heart and penetrated my very soul. There was no way those words were vaguely directed at me. Was there? Of course, they weren’t. The guy didn’t even know me. It wasn’t for me.

  Right. Just like the bathtub pic wasn’t for him.

  I bent down and grabbed my phone from the stainless-steel countertop and read his words at least ten more times. Then I gave in and tapped the picture twice. If he wanted me to see it, I wanted him to know I had.

  “Everything okay?” Alyssa asked as she slipped beside me and nudged my hip with a bump from hers.

  I shoved my phone into my apron pocket. “Peachy,” I answered with a smile.

  She pulled her eyebrows together and studied me. The chime above the door went off, thank the heavens, and Alyssa turned her attention to Mr. and Mrs. Browning as they walked to their normal table. She waved in their direction then glared back at me.

  “We’re not done here.”

  I wiped the surface with a damp, white towel. “Mr. and Mrs. Browning suggest otherwise.”

  Alyssa filled two ceramic mugs with black coffee. “We serve coffee, Rie. Sooner or later, all these people are going to need a toilet and some privacy. Then, you’re mine.” She winked over her shoulder then walked away from the bar.

  I shook my head and watched her greet the couple with a smile. Leave it to Alyssa to turn my entire business into a laxative with a simple comment.

  I managed to go the rest of the day yesterday without having to fully disclose why I stared at my phone for a solid five minutes at the end of our morning rush. Alyssa bought the excuse that I was reading on the Kindle app and had just gotten to a good part of the story.

  Stella wanted to go out tonight, and my poker face never worked with her. If I wanted to make it through the evening without having to explain that I was infatuated with faceless words on my phone screen, then I was going to have to bring my A-game.

  “Hey, hot stuff. Are you ready to go?” Stella asked when she called me at exactly eight o’clock.

  I came straight home from work and completely lost track of time. Alyssa had informed me earlier that if I hadn’t binge watched Black Mirror, I was seriously missing out. I was nowhere near ready. In fact, I was sitting on my bed, leaning against my headboard with the TV remote in my hand and hoping Stella had miraculously forgotten we had plans.

  I looked down at my “It’s wine o’clock” socks and plaid pajama bottoms. “What time are we leaving?”

  She groaned in my ear. “I’ll be in your driveway in fifteen minutes. And you better be wearing that black dress.”

  She hung up before I could argue that pajamas were perfectly acceptable clubbing attire. Great. I had fifteen minutes—fourteen minutes and twenty seconds now—to shave my legs, throw on some makeup and slither into that dress.

  “If that dress doesn’t get you laid, I give up on all mankind,” Stella gawked as soon as I opened my front door. “You look hot as fuck.”

  She grabbed my arm and pulled me in front of an empty spot on my wa
ll. “There’s no way I’m not documenting this,” she waved her hand along the length of my body.

  “Let’s not.”

  She pinned me in place with her best “Are you seriously going to tell me no” look. “Oh, this is happening, babycakes. Now pose.”

  “You know what’s not happening?” I tilted one hip out and placed a hand on it and smiled. “Me dancing. Or pretty much anything that involves movement of any kind.” The dress was tight… and short.

  Stella took the picture then inspected it. If the grin didn’t tell me she was happy with the way it looked, the squee would have. “Come on, Rie. You look gorgeous.”

  She was one to talk. Stella could wear a paper bag and look like she belonged on the cover of Maxim magazine. She wasn’t wearing a paper bag, though. Far from it. Well, except for the size, maybe. Her long, tan legs poured out from beneath a navy-blue dress that made me pray she was wearing panties. And if she wasn’t, I hoped she didn’t have to bend over any time soon.

  She messed with her phone a few more seconds then pulled me to the door. “It’s almost eight thirty. We’ll be lucky to get there before ladies’ hour is over.”

  My phone pinged when we got into her car and my stomach fluttered. I hadn’t heard from Bennett since Thursday, but for some reason every time my phone went off, I hoped it was him.

  It wasn’t.

  Stella had sent me the picture. And she was right. I didn’t even recognize myself. Who was this goddess? My dark hair fell in loose curls over one shoulder. My lips looked full and bright red against my fair skin with the black dress. The dress. I felt like meat stuffed into a sausage casing, but I looked like Betty Boop. I was impressed with my curves. And I didn’t impress easily.

  Was it bad that the first thing I wanted to do was post that baby on Instagram? I wanted him to see. I’d lost my damn mind. I might have actually even waved goodbye as I watched my brain fly right out of the window when I hit “share” then leaned my head against the back of the seat.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Stella grabbed my phone and shoved it into her glove box. She tossed hers in next. “No emails. No work. No reading. Tonight is about me, you, and a club full of preppy guys with too much cologne who want to buy us drinks and make out on the dance floor.”

  “Can they buy me cheese fries instead?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Not all guys are born of Satan, Korie. If you’d give it a chance, you might even find one you like.”

  “It’s not that I don’t like guys. I just don’t need one right now. I have bigger things to worry about than why I fell in the toilet at two a.m. because someone forgot to put the seat down.”

  I had nothing against love or relationships or men. I’d had boyfriends. And sex. I’d spent four years in college for crying out loud. I wasn’t a prude. My parents had the perfect marriage. I wasn’t jaded or bitter. I’d never even had a bad break-up. If I had to pinpoint the reason I didn’t date, I guess it would be that all my fiction reading had left me with unrealistic expectations. To put it simply: no one had ever made me feel the way Fitzwilliam Darcy made me feel.

  An hour later, we pulled up at Stella’s favorite spot in Buckhead—just in time to still get in for free.

  Korie_Lawson

  “I’m not like most girls.” -signed, Most Girls

  She wrote the caption underneath a picture of herself standing in someone’s house (hers maybe?) and wearing this little black dress that made me want to find the designer and thank them personally. I’d never been jealous of fabric before, but I was jealous of that fabric. Don’t even get me started on how I felt about whoever got to take that picture.

  No, Korie Lawson, you are definitely not like most girls.

  She hadn’t posted anything after my book post, and I had started to think I needed to try harder. But that’s not who I was, so I did nothing. I didn’t message her or send an email. I didn’t make another post. She knew what I wanted. I made it very clear. So I waited. Even though I couldn’t take my mind off her long enough to enjoy my date with the Saltgrass waitress. I think her name was Layla. Maybe Shayla.

  Every time Sha-layla laughed, I wondered what Korie’s laugh sounded like. When Sha-layla sent her steak back for being undercooked, I wondered if Korie would’ve ordered chicken. Or fish. And when I dropped her off and walked her to the door, I wondered if I’d ever do the same with Korie. If she would ever look up at me the way Sha-layla did and beg me to kiss her with that look in her eyes. Because my God, kissing those fucking red lips is all I ever thought about.

  I didn’t kiss my date. I didn’t follow her inside and bend her over the sofa. I didn’t do any of the shit I’d normally do. I couldn’t. I know she wanted me to. She damn near begged me to come inside. Instead I dropped my balls into the bucket (again) and gave her a hug. A fucking hug.

  Then I got in my car and sent Korie a message.

  bennett.kane.

  Black is my new favorite color.

  At seven o’clock the next morning, she messaged back.

  Korie_Lawson

  Black isn’t a color. And if you’re referring to the dress, thanks. I borrowed it from a Hooters girl.

  I stretched against the soft cotton sheets and laughed at her response. The cool fabric slid down my bare chest and exposed my skin to the chilly morning air. I wondered if she was in bed too.

  bennett.kane.

  Black is a color. Just ask the people at Crayola. And I thought Hooters girls favored orange.

  Korie_Lawson

  Black is the absence of color. It disappeared somewhere with my dignity the minute I put on that dress. And of course, you would know what they favor.

  I went to Hooters strictly for the Daytona wings, but there’s no way Korie would ever believe that. I didn’t think I believed it myself. No more talk about orange shorts and white tank tops. I’d never go to Hooters again if it meant seeing Korie in that black dress in person.

  bennett.kane.

  I see all kinds of dignity in that dress…

  Korie_Lawson

  We should talk about your manners.

  Finally. Now we were getting somewhere.

  bennett.kane.

  Talk. Yes. You should give me your number so we can do that.

  Radio silence. No response. The three tiny dots floated in the white bubble, then they disappeared. Then they were back. And gone again. This went on for what seemed like an eternity. I pulled the covers up over my body and settled into my pillow. It looked like I was going to be here a while.

  I almost gave up and climbed out of bed when my phone vibrated against my chest.

  Korie_Lawson

  770-123-4567

  I stared at the screen and a grin spread across my face. Oh, sweet little Red Reading Hood. You just opened the door for the Big Bad Wolf.

  I should have known better than to message Bennett before I got out of bed. My brain didn’t function before coffee. Now I’d given him my phone number and had no doubt what-so-ever that his number was the one flashing across my screen five seconds later.

  “Hello?”

  Good grief, Korie. Have you ever talked to a guy before? Why did I answer the phone like a babysitter in a horror movie?

  “Please tell me you didn’t give me a wrong number,” he said, and I almost melted in my sheets.

  His voice was like one of those rich, dark chocolate commercials. Smooth and velvety. And it satisfied every craving I’d ever had. I wanted to listen to him talk forever. I wanted to program my GPS to sound just like him, to change my phone from Siri to Bennett, to set my alarm to wake me up with that deep, confident timbre every single morning.

  I swallowed hard and licked my lips. Yes, he’d spoken ten simple words and my mouth was already dry. But my panties… not so much.

  “I guess that depends on who you’re looking for,” I replied.

  Was I flirting? I was totally flirting.

  “If I said my soul mate, would that be too cheesy?”

  I could
hear his smile in his voice. I pictured it flawless and hypnotizing.

  “Extra cheddar,” I replied, even though part of me thought it was cute.

  “What? You don’t believe in soul mates?”

  I needed coffee for this conversation. I was surprised I’d gone this long without it. It was mid-April in Northern Georgia. The air was somewhere between a cool winter’s chill and a warm spring’s kiss. The hardwood floor was cold under my bare feet as I walked down the hall and into the kitchen.

  “No, I believe in them. Mine is probably out there right now wearing socks with sandals and pushing on a door that says pull.”

  He laughed. The sound sent goosebumps skating across my skin. I filled an empty carafe with water then poured it into the back of my coffee pot.

  “Are you peeing?” he asked.

  “Remember how we said we’d talk about manners?”

  “You’re the one using the bathroom in the middle of our conversation.”

  How was it possible for him to make me so crazy and still be insanely adorable at the same time? I scooped coffee grounds into an empty filter then closed the lid.

  “I’m making coffee,” I explained as I pressed brew.

  Something rustled on the other end of the line. Sheets maybe? Was he in bed? He groaned in my ear like he was stretching. He was definitely in bed. The goosebumps turned into a wildfire and it spread like crazy.

  “That’s right. Coffee is your thing. Well… when you aren’t reading books and raking authors over the coals.”

  “I do not—”

  “I’m kidding, Korie. I’ve read your reviews. I’m honored to be among them. Even if you didn’t like my book.”

  “I never said I didn’t like it. I just wanted to strangle Emily.” I grabbed a cup from the cabinet and set it on the counter. “And her husband. And how do you know coffee is my thing?”