Heels of Steel

by Barbara Kavovit

  She was out of control when it came to this man.

  She leaned back in his office chair, bumping his computer mouse with her knee. The screen on his computer lit up. She squinted at the document.

  Harrington Skyscraper—Budget.

  Damn.

  It was all there in black and white. All the work done. He’d probably have it to Harrington within days. Meanwhile, despite Bridget’s pleas, Mrs. Hashemi said they were at least two weeks away.

  She thought of the way Harrington was already expecting her numbers...

  She stared at the screen, sick to her stomach. It was like someone had handed her the key to a test. Everything she needed was right there in front of her.

  Steal a copy of his budget. We can undercut his fee. Ethan’s words echoed in her head.

  She remembered what she had told Jason. I’ll play dirty if I have to. She had warned him. He had agreed to her terms.

  She reached over, her hand shaking, and clicked onto his email. She pulled up a new message, attached the budget and then sent it to herself. Then she clicked into “Sent Mail” and erased the copy of the email she’d just sent. Then she emptied out his trash, clicked back to the document and leaned back in the chair.

  Her heart was pounding.

  “All right,” he said, walking back in. “That’s all done. Let’s go have an amazing dinner somewhere.”

  She blinked up at him, her breath caught in her throat. She could still feel his hands on her body, his lips on her lips; she was still weak from all the delicious things he had done to her.

  God, she thought, I think I’m actually falling for this guy. What the hell did I just do?

  She took a deep breath. She hadn’t done anything she couldn’t take back yet. She could simply go home and throw the budget out. Erase that email without even opening it. No harm, no foul.

  She stood up, smiled at him and took his arm. “Great, I’m starving.”

  He smiled back, oblivious.

  But if you did use it—he’d never know...

  She hushed her inner monologue. She’d figure it out later.

  Chapter 42

  Jay knew he only had himself to blame when Alli showed up at the apartment with six girls and one androgynous-looking boy, all ready to weekend in the Hamptons with him. She had asked if some friends could come, and he had been dumb enough not to specify just how many people she could bring. This was exactly what he deserved.

  “Um, honey?” he said, eyeing the giggling group of teenagers milling around his living room. “I’m not sure how we’re going to get all these people out to the house. My car isn’t big enough.”

  Alli rolled her eyes. “Duh, Dad. Max’s mom sent her Escalade and a driver to take everyone up. We’ll just meet you there.”

  He blinked. “Oh. Which one is Max?”

  “Daaad.” Her voice was a drawn-out whine. “I already introduced everyone.” She pointed to the crowd. “The one with purple streaks in her hair is River F. River M is wearing the red Margielas—”

  “Margi what now?”

  “Sneakers, Dad. Don’t be dense. Cho Li is in the leather shorts, Minerva has the glasses, Hetty is wearing the Free Meek Mill T-shirt, Brooklyn is the short one, and the one in the kilt is Max.”

  He squinted. “Max is the one with the car?”

  “Yes, Dad. God.”

  “And I’m driving up alone.”

  “They’re my guests, Dad. I can’t just abandon them.”

  “And how will everyone get back?”

  “We have the car and driver for the weekend.”

  “And the driver will stay...?”

  “Oh, my God, why are you asking all these questions? This is all worked out. Max’s mom has a place in Sag Harbor. The driver will stay there and be on call when we need him.”

  He scratched his head. “Okay, then. I guess you do have it all worked out.”

  “I told you, Dad. Stop stressing.”

  As the teens grabbed their bags and left, Jay saw a sudden bright side. He picked up his phone and dialed.

  Bridget answered right away.

  “Hey,” she said. “An actual phone call? Not a text? This must be big.”

  He smiled. “I just didn’t want to miss you. How are you getting up to the Hamptons this weekend?”

  “Jitney. I don’t have a car.”

  “You want to ride with me instead? Alli and her friends have left me behind like the old man I guess I am now.”

  There was a pause. “I dunno. What kind of car do you have?”

  He laughed. “Well, now that the teens have provided their own transportation, we have a choice. Land Rover or Mercedes.”

  “What model is the Mercedes?”

  “Hard to please, huh? It’s an S-Class. Convertible.”

  “What color?”

  “Is there any other color but red?”

  “And the seats?”

  “Black quilted leather.” He was getting a little turned on by her line of questions.

  “Mmmm. Do the seats recline all the way back?”

  Okay, now he was definitely turned on. “You know they do.”

  Long pause. He listened to her breathe.

  “Okay. I guess I can skip the jitney.”

  “I’m relieved. Can you be ready in an hour? I’m afraid if I wait much longer, the teens will have burned down the place by the time I get there.”

  “Sure. Oh, and Jay?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks. I freaking hate the jitney.”

  Chapter 43

  After being dropped off at Scarlett’s place, Bridget stood facing the mammoth mansion and almost regretted not taking Jay up on his earlier offer to stay with him. In return for helping her with the fund-raiser, Scarlett had given Bridget the guesthouse for the weekend, a two-bedroom cottage tucked behind the main residence, with views of the pool and the beach. Like all of Scarlett’s homes, Bridget knew it would be as luxurious as any five-star hotel, but the last time she’d been there had been pre-everything—pre-divorce, pre-bankruptcy, pre-ruin—and she suddenly felt exhausted.

  East Hampton had once been Bridget’s favorite place. Even at the height of her success, when she and Kevin could afford to vacation anywhere—Capri, St. Bart’s, Ibiza—there was nowhere that Bridget would rather be than their house on Georgica Road.

  My house, she thought bitterly. She had bought the land before she met Kevin, after Steele Construction was not just in the black, but making money hand over fist. She remembered the day she’d found it. Her Realtor had woken her up with an excited call. Two acres had come up for sale on the famed road, and Bridget could be the first to see them if she came out right now.

  “I’ll take it,” she’d said as soon as she got there. “Full price. Cash. If there are other bidders, up my bid until I get it. This is mine.”

  She’d been stone-cold and determined. Two acres with pond views was more than she thought she’d ever get her hands on in this part of the village. She wasn’t going to let it slip through her fingers.

  “Don’t you have any questions?” the Realtor had asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Do you want to discuss it with your husband?” he added tentatively.

  She shot him a deadly glare. “No husband. And I don’t have to ask my daddy, either. I want contracts by Monday morning. Get it done.”

  At first it had been all about the location. South of the highway was key. That was where the true jet set lived. How many times had she heard, “Is the party north or south of the highway?” which was code for, “Are they just rich or crazy rich?” Bridget was determined to be on the right side of everything, including the god damned road.

  But then, once she started planning the actual house, the real magic happened. She hired Ava as her architect, counting o
n her friend’s immaculate taste to help realize her vision. She didn’t want the usual twenty-thousand-square-foot monstrosity that would practically fill her lot. She didn’t need gold-plated faucets or a four-car garage or an indoor pool. She wanted a classic, shingle-clad “cottage.” On Georgica Road you would be expected to hue to the original architecture of the closed-off community. She wanted it to be open and airy on the inside, and streaming with the gorgeous Hampton light. She wanted walls of windows and a view of the water from every room. A sprawling, comfortable house big enough to fill with children and family and friends. She wanted to have cozy parties and long, lazy weekends, and celebrate all the holidays in this house. She wanted it to be a home.

  After Ava gave her the first set of blueprints, Bridget went back to the Bronx for the weekend and spread the plans out on the kitchen table and pored over them with her dad. It was just like building the bunk beds all over again. Her mom coming in and out, bringing them sandwiches and coffee and cake, and wondering out loud why Bridget would ever need such a huge house. “You’re a single girl,” she’d said. “What are you going to do with all that space?”

  But her dad understood. “So what if she’s single? So what if she doesn’t have the husband or the kids or even that many friends out there yet? She’s going to build this house so she’s ready for them when they do come. She’s going to build this house first, and then she’s going to build her family.”

  She could have hugged him, he understood her so perfectly.

  He was there the day she broke ground, squeezing her hand in excitement as backhoes and bulldozers scooped up the dirt as if it was as light as cake batter. And he was there for every step after, too, helping her pick the finishes and inspect the progress, and swinging a hammer whenever he got a chance. She remembered nervously watching him up on her roof, hammering nails into shingles. He didn’t need to help, of course. She could afford the best carpenters money could buy, but he simply loved building. And he especially loved building things with his little girl.

  When it was nearly finished, she showed him the suite of rooms that she had specially designed for him and her mom on the first floor. The big bedroom with the amazing view of the pond, the en suite bathroom with separate tub and shower kitted out with metal grab bars and skid-proof surfaces so it would be safe for them as they grew older. The snug little corner with twin bookshelves where he could sit and read. The walk-in closet and built-in dressing table in front of the window so her mother could sit and do her makeup in natural light as she preferred. “It’s yours anytime you guys want it, Daddy,” Bridget had told him. She imagined how they would spend summers here with their future grandchildren. How he would teach her kids to build, just like he taught her.

  She and her parents had only two summers in that house before her father was gone.

  He never met his grandson.

  “Bridget? What in the world are you doing standing out here on my roundabout looking like you’re a little lost lamb?” Suddenly, Scarlett was standing at her front door and waving Bridget in.

  Bridget blinked. She’d been so lost in memories that she had forgotten where she was.

  “Pick up your bag and get in here, girl. I’m running around like a chicken with her head cut off trying to get my ballroom ready for this gala tomorrow. I could use any hands I can get.”

  Shaking off the haze, Bridget grabbed her bag and went in to help Scarlett.

  Chapter 44

  Every time they came to the Hamptons, Liam wondered if he should have bought something bigger. The house was huge—twelve thousand square feet—but plenty of people out here had much bigger places. Jay’s place was bigger. Liam had been sharply disappointed when Hana hadn’t even tried to get it in the divorce settlement.

  “Do you want me to ask Jack to open up the pool?” he asked Hana. She was lingering at the window, watching the surf crash against the shore.

  “No.” She shook her head. “It’s too cold to swim. I think I’m going to go for a walk on the beach, though.”

  She didn’t invite him to come along, so he bit back the urge to offer his company. Instead, he watched her out the window as she slowly grew smaller and smaller in the distance. It made him feel sick to see her disappear.

  Shake it off, he commanded himself. He was determined to use this weekend to do whatever it would take to fix things between them. She’d hardly said a word to him on the drive up, and had obviously been more than eager to get away from him once they were here.

  What does she want?

  This question used to give him pure pleasure to figure out. In bed, in life...what did Hana want and how quickly could he give it to her? A string of emeralds? A trip to France? For him to go down on her until she couldn’t stop coming? Figuring out her needs and desires had been the happy focus of his life over the past year. But now it was all spoiled. Now she wanted something intangible, something he couldn’t help thinking he didn’t have the capacity to buy.

  She was nothing but a pinprick on the beach now, still purposefully striding away. He turned from the window and wandered into the kitchen. I should eat, he thought. But he wasn’t hungry.

  I could work. But hiding in his work wasn’t the answer, either.

  Maybe I’ll inventory the house.

  He did this sometimes. Walked from room to room and made himself take note of every stick of furniture, every piece of art on the walls, every crystal vase and gilded candy dish.

  Poltrona Frau Kennedee sofa. Nakashima Milk House coffee table. Chuck Close portrait. Yayoi Kusama pumpkin sculpture. Beni Ourain Berber rug...

  There was something soothing about the way his possessions made a nice, neat list in his brain. He used to do the same thing when he was a kid sitting in his room. He’d list all his comic books. Uncanny X-Men, #136, The Amazing Spider-Man, #300... Then he’d list the items on his desk. Swingline Optima Stapler. X-ACTO KS manual pencil sharpener. Three Pee-Chee folders... The clothes in his closet, the books on his shelf, the posters on his wall... But when he was a kid, there was always a separate, but concurrent list of the things he needed or wanted, as well. Winter jacket. Converse without a hole in the toe. New backpack...

  Now he could buy whatever he wanted, most things a hundred times over if he cared to. He opened the huge pantry off their kitchen. Brawny paper towels, twenty-four rolls. Jasmine rice, five bags. San Marzano canned tomatoes, an even dozen... It was even better when there were multiple numbers involved.

  He loved the feeling of excess. The presence of all these perfect things that made him feel protected and prepared for whatever would come.

  But today even the list felt interrupted and jagged in his mind. The neat, ordered calm that he usually achieved eluded him.

  Maybe he’d just open a bottle of wine instead, drink until Hana decided to come back home.

  Chapter 45

  If you counted the servants’ quarters, there were nine bedrooms and fifteen bathrooms in Jay’s house, but apparently the teens all wanted to sleep piled up together like a bunch of puppies on the floor of the media room in the basement. They were streaming Bob’s Burgers on the wall-sized flat screen, eating platters of take-out sushi from Zok-Kon, extravagantly large bowls of popcorn, whole trays of brownies and cookies from Levain Bakery, downing dozens of cans of LaCroix, and laughing like sugar-drunk hyenas. Alli had raided every bedroom but Jay’s for the bedding, and made a teenage version of a blanket fort—comforters and pillows all twisted together in a tangle on the floor. Jay sniffed the air. No smoke, tobacco or marijuana or otherwise, seemed to be lingering. This was actually all pretty damned adorable, he thought. He felt relieved that it was still just junk food and cartoons and sleepovers.

  He did, however, wonder about the presence of Max, the single boy in the puppy pile of teen girls. He suspected that he was gay. How many straight fifteen-year-old boys had the balls to wear a kilt, after all? But he supposed
he should make sure of this fact before granting permission for these sleeping arrangements to continue.

  “Psst, Alli,” he whispered, trying to be inconspicuous, “can I talk to you in the kitchen for a moment?”

  His daughter scowled but stuffed a brownie into her mouth and followed him out the door.

  “What?” Her mouth was still full of chocolate, but Jay decided not to reprimand her.

  “Um, that Max guy, am I right in assuming that he’s gay?”

  Alli’s eyes went wide. “Dad! Why would you even ask that? Oh, my God.”

  “Well, because if he’s not, I don’t know that I feel comfortable letting him sleep in the same room as all you girls.”

  Alli swallowed. “I can’t believe you would even say that! What do you think is going to happen? Nothing is going to happen! This is so stupid!”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry. Look, I just want to know if I need to set up a guest bedroom for him?”

  She shook her head. “Definitely not. I’m not banishing him to a room by himself just because he’s not a girl. Don’t you just trust me?”

  That softened him up a little. “Of course I trust you.”

  “Good. Then I’m going back in.” She wandered to the refrigerator instead and peered in forlornly. “I’m starving. Can we order pizza?”

  He laughed. “Knock yourself out. I’m going to bed soon. Big day tomorrow. Your dad’s gonna be auctioned off at Scarlett Hawkins’s house!”

  She wrinkled her nose as she scrolled her phone. “Gross. TMI, Dad.”

  After she wandered back out, her phone to her ear, instructing Fierro’s to bring her four large pies, Jay got a pilsner out of the fridge and headed up to his bedroom, swigging from the bottle.

  Now that he had done his fatherly duty, he could forget the eight teens in his house and think about something much more pleasurable. Namely, the way that he had pulled off the road behind an abandoned auto garage on the way up, and he and Bridget had pushed the seats all the way back and taken advantage of each other.