Heels of Steel

by Barbara Kavovit

  “So tell me about college,” he said, leaning in a little. “I bet you were the kind of girl who was always in trouble.” His hand almost touched hers as he refilled her glass of champagne for the third time without asking.

  She subtly pushed it away. If she were a man, he wouldn’t be chatting her up about her sorority days. She decided she had to change the dynamic before it was too late.

  “I think we’ll have our preliminary budget on your original design ready for you soon,” she said, ignoring his question. “We’re making great progress.”

  Harrington raised his eyebrows, “Oh? How soon?”

  “Soon. Maybe even next week.” This was not true. Mrs. Hashemi told her that they were still at least two weeks away, but she was feeling a little desperate.

  He nodded. “Really?”

  “I’ve got my top people working on it. We’re giving it all we’ve got.”

  Harrington smiled. “No beating around the bush, huh?”

  “I know Steele Construction is a long shot. But no one will work harder on this project than I will.”

  He looked at her for a moment. “You know, I might actually believe that.” He looked at her empty plate. “Digestif?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t. My work day’s only half done.”

  He nodded and sighed. “Mine, too. Too bad, really. This has been very pleasant. Thank you for coming out last minute like this. I really did want to thank you.”

  “Oh,” she said, remembering Ava, “I wanted to ask. Are you considering another architect for your design change?”

  He shook his head. “I want to give my original guy a chance to do a redesign.”

  Bridget nodded, but inwardly she was rolling her eyes. She knew his architectural firm—they didn’t much believe in redesigning.

  The waiter brought the check, along with a small dish of chocolate truffles and carefully arranged cookies. Harrington walked with Bridget out into the surprisingly bright sunshine, and Bridget hid a yawn, wishing she hadn’t had such a heavy lunch and that second glass of champagne. She was going to fall asleep at her desk.

  She smiled to herself; maybe she’d call in sick again, then call up Jason, get him to play hooky with her.

  “Can I take you somewhere? My car is on its way,” said Harrington.

  She shook her head, leaning in for the double kiss goodbye that had become de rigueur in Manhattan society in the past few years. “Thanks, but I need to walk off the champagne.”

  “So I’ll hear from you next week, then?”

  She paused. “Next week?”

  “The budget? You’d said you’d have it done?”

  She blinked. Damn. “Right, of course. Yes. Next week. Thank you again for lunch.”

  He smiled at her. “Thank you. It was an excellent distraction.”

  She turned away, and inwardly, she sighed. Those did not sound like the words of someone who was taking her particularly seriously. Forget calling Jay, she had to get back on the phone and find out if Mrs. Hashemi could speed things up.

  She took out her phone as she rounded the corner, checking for messages.

  She wrinkled her nose in puzzlement. Why the hell was Jay asking her about towels?

  Chapter 39

  Jay stretched his arms out over his head and then pulled Bridget closer. She lay her cheek on his chest, and the press of her naked skin felt like silk against him.

  “Why don’t you come with me to the Hamptons this weekend?” Jay said. He was imagining her in a bikini and the words just popped out of his mouth before he thought about it.

  She lifted her head and looked at him. “With your daughter?”

  Damn, right, Alli. “Well, she’s bringing some friends, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t, too, right? There’s plenty of room. We can be sneaky about things.”

  She laughed and pushed herself up onto her elbow. “Yeah, I’m sure she wouldn’t notice anything.”

  He grinned down into her face, reaching out to push a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. “Alli’s going to think you’re so cool.”

  She knit her brow. “Um. A little early for introductions, I think.”

  He laughed. He knew he should slow down, he knew that he was making her skittish, but he couldn’t help himself when he was around her. He tugged at her arm, and she rolled over and straddled him. “I know, right?” he said. “Way too early. It’s all your fault. You make me want to do all these crazy things. Break the rules.” He reached up and caught her nipple in his mouth, flicking it with his tongue and relishing the sweet little groan that he coaxed from her lips.

  She arched her back, straining against him.

  “I was actually heading out there, anyway,” she said breathily. “Scarlett is having this charity gala for Habitat for Humanity, and I promised to go.” She gasped as he continued to work his tongue at her breast. Her words came between little pants, “You can be my date, if you like.”

  He released her nipple. “Is it the bachelor auction?” he said, grinning up at her. “She actually asked me to be part of that a few weeks ago.”

  She laughed. “You’re getting auctioned off?” She slid her body down, flattening herself against him. “So how much do you think I’ll have to pay to have you to myself?”

  He exhaled, loving the way her skin felt against his. “I’m pretty sure I can arrange something pro bono.”

  She groaned at his bad joke and shook her head, laughing, but then grew quiet as he kissed her neck, nibbling down to her collarbone, and moved his hands down the curve of her waist, grasping her firm rear.

  “Hey...” She lifted her head and looked at him. “How close are you to getting the budget done?”

  His hands froze. “What?”

  She looked slightly abashed, but plowed on. “I just wondered, you know. I mean, my guys are getting pretty close and—”

  “Bridget,” he said, staring up at her, “this is not the kind of rule I was talking about breaking.”

  She sighed—a different kind of sigh—one of frustration—and rolled off him, facing the ceiling. “It’s really hard not to talk about work,” she said.

  He snorted. “Actually, considering what we were just doing, I think it was very easy not to talk about work,” he said. He turned on his side and faced her. “We should probably drop the subject, right?”

  She bit her lip and nodded, but kept staring at the ceiling. He trailed a finger across her shoulder, working his way toward the hollow at the base of her throat.

  “I had lunch with Mark Harrington last week,” she blurted out.

  He laughed in disbelief. Removed his hand. “Okay,” he said. “Like, a business lunch?”

  She finally looked at him. Her cheeks were red now—no longer pink with desire, but spotted and blotchy with embarrassment. “I don’t know why I didn’t want to tell you,” she said.

  “Because we said we weren’t talking about work stuff, remember?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “I’m not so sure he thought it was just work.”

  He was quiet for a moment. Wondering over the fact that he felt a gut punch of absolute jealousy at her words. On one hand, he’d been numb for so long that it was almost pleasurable to feel this violently about anything again. But on the other hand, the sick, angry feeling that engulfed him was all too familiar, jealousy and grief being the mainstay of the last six months or so of his marriage. “And what did you think?” he said softly.

  “I thought it was a chance to keep my name in the mix,” she said swiftly. “That’s all.”

  He closed his eyes, almost laughing over the instant relief he felt. Frigging hell, this woman was going to make him insane. “Then why are you even telling me this?”

  “I don’t know!” she wailed. “I just wanted to know how close you were to done on your budget!”

&
nbsp; “Jesus, Bridget. If I tell you, will you drop the work talk?”

  She nodded.

  “We’re nearly done. I’m just doing a review on it now.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched. She didn’t look happy.

  “We’ve built three other skyscrapers in the past few years. This isn’t new to us. We’ve got drop boxes filled with previous budgets and estimates right there in the office that we can compare them to, along with a department of estimators.”

  She nodded.

  “Okay?” he said. “Anything else you need to know?”

  She shook her head. He could practically see the gears grinding in her brain. He sighed and sat up. He wanted to pull her back on top of him, but he could see that the moment had passed.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked. “You want to go get dinner somewhere?”

  She looked at him. He could read relief in her eyes. “Yeah, sure,” she said.

  “Actually,” he said, “would you mind if we stopped off at my office? I’ve got some people working overtime and I feel like I should at least make an appearance out of solidarity.”

  “Sure,” she said, getting out of bed. “Not a problem.”

  Chapter 40

  “Oh, good, you’re home! I was just trying to decide what we wanted to do for dinner.”

  Liam had been dreading the inevitable confrontation with Hana. He’d ghosted her for days on end, ignoring her calls, answering her messages with perfunctory texts about how busy he was, sliding in after everyone was asleep and leaving before anyone woke up. He figured she’d be angry once they finally crossed paths, but soon he’d have the Harrington job and they’d have something to celebrate. At least, that was what he hoped, but he had mistimed his arrival home that night, thinking she’d be working in her studio.

  She looked up at him from her perch on the couch with a big smile on her face. The smile somehow made him feel even worse.

  “Hi.” He shuffled his shoes off and stood, uncomfortable.

  “It’s Lucy’s night off. You’ll either have to suffer through my cooking or we can get some takeout.”

  “I can cook,” Liam offered. As he said it, he realized how ridiculous that sounded. He was an even worse cook than Hana was.

  Her eyebrows shot up but she kept the smile plastered onto her face. “That would be great!”

  This was when he realized she was actually pissed at him. The old Hana would never have missed a moment like this to tease him mercilessly. She would have told him he couldn’t boil water and then bossily insist he go out to get the good Thai—at the place that didn’t deliver. But relentlessly cheerful Hana? That was a danger sign flashing full-stop.

  “Hana—” he began but she plowed over him. She was beginning to sound a little manic.

  “Oh, and this weekend is that bachelor auction for Habitat for Humanity in the Hamptons. I promised Scarlett Hawkins you’d be available.”

  He blinked in disbelief. “Wait, as one of the guys who gets auctioned off?”

  “Yes, won’t that be fun?”

  “Jesus, Hana. You could have asked me first.”

  “It’s for charity. I told her you’d be happy to help.”

  “What if I end up being bought by some Botox-faced debutante?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Nice, Liam.”

  “But I’m not even a bachelor!”

  “Well, technically, you are. I mean, it’s not like we’re married or anything.”

  It was a low blow. A kick in the balls. He turned toward the kitchen. “I’m going to see what I can make for dinner,” he said stiffly.

  “Great!” she called after him. The slight edge that her voice had taken on disappeared. She was all fake sweetness and light again.

  In the kitchen he sat down at the island, leaning his elbows against the cold marble and putting his head in his hands.

  Growing up, he never knew if his mother was going to be drunk or sober. Up to a certain point, she was good at hiding it. She could drink about a bottle and a half of cheap wine, or four shots of rotgut gin, or a six-pack of beer, and you’d never know the difference. But one more drink after that, and she would reach, as he always thought of it, her Good Mommy stage. Suddenly, her focus, which had previously been somewhere between distracted and oblivious when it came to her son, would be on him like a beam of light. “Oh, Liam! You need a haircut! I just realized I never saw your grades this semester! Are you cold, honey? Hungry? Let me make you a sandwich!”

  He hated Good Mommy. Because it felt so good in that brief moment when she was present, but it was always over as soon as she took her next drink. Halfway through making the sandwich or getting him a sweater or reading his report card, she’d bring that glass to her lips and the light would just switch off, and he’d be invisible again.

  Good Mommy had also taught him not to trust the sincerity of women. He wasn’t oblivious to this fault. He took Psych 101 in college and could connect A to B. He was smart enough to know where his damage came from and that it wasn’t fair to apply it willy-nilly to anyone and everyone. But he also understood that was not how these childhood traumas worked, no matter how self-aware you were. His mother’s indifference had been a cut that had been slashed open over and over and never really allowed to heal, and even all these years later, it was easy enough to pick the scab. Almost every woman he dated had eventually dealt with that particular wound.

  But he’d never felt that way about Hana. Until now.

  He got up and left the kitchen.

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll be auctioned off. But I’m not cooking. I’m going to go get Thai.” He whirled around and faced her before going out the door. “And you sure as hell better bid on me.”

  Chapter 41

  The skies opened up in an early-summer thunderstorm on their way over to the building site. The usual New York crowd of men with cheap umbrellas to sell were nowhere to be found, so Jason grabbed Bridget’s hand and they ducked from awning to awning, getting a few seconds out of the pouring rain before they ran back into it again. Soon they were soaked through, so they just put their heads down and ran, laughing, through the city streets.

  They arrived at his office dripping and out of breath, and as they rode up in the elevator, Bridget tried hard not to think too much about how she must look. Like a drowned rat, she imagined.

  Jay, on the other hand, looked incredible. His hair was wet and dark and slicked back, the rain had molded his shirt to every gorgeous muscle in his arms and chest and there was a little trickle of water slowly running down his neck that Bridget had to muster every amount of willpower she had not to lean over and lick right off him.

  Before they went in, Bridget did what repairs she could in the hall bathroom, making liberal use of the hand dryer and a stack of paper towels until her hair and makeup were somewhat under control again. But there was nothing much she could do about the way her blouse had turned translucent and showed the outline of her black bra underneath, except fold her arms in front of herself and pretend that she didn’t care.

  He met her in the hallway, his eyes going straight to her shirt. “Jesus, Bridget,” he said hoarsely. “Do you have any idea what you look like?”

  She blushed, wrapping her arms tighter. “I’m sorry. I tried to dry out in the bathroom but—”

  He took a step closer. “No, I mean, do you have any idea how sexy you look, all soaking wet from the rain? You’re driving me crazy.”

  She darted a look around. They were alone, so she turned toward him and let her hands creep up the back of his neck and tangle in his hair. She felt him throb against her as he pulled her hips to his.

  She took a long, shuddering breath. “We could go back to the apartment.”

  He ran a finger down her arm. “My office is closer.”

  “Oh, yeah?” She trailed her hand down his neck and flattene
d it against his chest. “But what about the guys working overtime?”

  He smiled. “I checked. They’ve all gone home for the day. Guess they’re not as dedicated as I thought.” He bent to kiss her. A long, lingering kiss. Jesus Christ, but the man had a talented mouth. When he went down on her, she saw stars. “The cleaning guys are still here, but they’ll be gone soon. We can sneak in,” he said.

  “What if they hear us?”

  He moved his hands down her back. “I have a lock on my office door.”

  “Let’s go,” she whispered.

  They broke apart and Bridget followed him in, dropping back a little to create a decorous amount of space between them.

  Ten seconds after he had shut and locked his office door he had her blouse open and she was sitting on his desk, her skirt around her waist, her legs twined around his hips, her hands in his hair.

  * * *

  He kissed her temple, his breath hot on her skin as she buttoned her blouse back up. “I’m just going to go out for a second and make some phone calls,” he said. “Catch up on a few things. Won’t take more than fifteen minutes and then we can go get dinner, okay?”

  She nodded, still breathless and shuddering from the way he had moved inside her. She’d had plenty of boyfriends, mostly powerful, older men who knew their way around a woman’s body, and once upon a time, things had been special with Kevin...but it had never been like this.

  Whatever this was between them—and she hardly knew how to name it—it was outside her experience in almost every way. She couldn’t even think about it for too long—it scared her a little, the intensity of the way he made her feel.