by JB Heller
Heaving a dramatic sigh, he drops his phone to the tabletop with a thud then sits back in his seat, locking his hands behind his head. “No. Sadie and I have not officially met. I just enjoy watching her do her thing.” He smirks.
I roll my eyes. “Right, well, you can use your phone to watch porn if you really want to. You’re not to use my computer for personal time,” I tell him then add, “And how did you subscribe to that website, anyway? You need to enter license details for age verification.”
My son shrugs and diverts his eyes from me. “I used your details.”
“Of course you did.” I sigh. “Look, I know you’ve got hormones and shit controlling most of your actions right now, but that’s not okay.”
He nods. “Noted. Now, we done with this? Despite my laid-back nature, I’m not actually all that comfortable discussing what I like to jack off to with my dad.”
I snort. My son is not shy about his sexual appetites. “Right, that’s why you showed me your favorite lube when we hit the pharmacy last week.”
“What? It was on special,” he shoots back, a grin splitting his face that looks so much like mine.
Shaking my head, I chuckle then go check what the housekeeper has in the oven for us tonight.
Arlo picks his phone back up and says over his shoulder, “But Sadie is hot as shit, right? Wouldn’t mind if she was our housekeeper. I don’t even care if she can’t cook as good as Petra.”
Later that night, I flick through sports channels from my bed with thoughts of Sadie-not-Sadie running through my mind. I’ve noticed, previously, that she doesn’t come across as overtly sexual. She’s generally quiet unless she’s with those two girlfriends of hers. And she never dresses provocatively.
The image she portrays is such a contradiction to the vixen who prances around in lacey lingerie, throwing come-fuck-me eyes at the men on the other side of a camera.
Color me intrigued. Very intrigued.
I was slightly interested in her before but too busy to bother carving out time for a woman. But Arlo is older, and the firm has a well-established reputation now. Maybe I could spare a beat to focus on her. I’m determined to discover all her secrets and find out exactly who she really is—the introverted woman in the elevator or the temptress on the screen.
It’s been more than a week since my awkward encounter with Arlo, and I haven’t seen Sadie-not-Sadie again. It’s making me twitchy. She’s constantly there in the back of my mind. Every time the elevator stops on the seventh floor, I hold my breath, hoping it’s her, and I’m disappointed each time.
I haven’t even seen her at the building’s gym. She’s normally down there two or three times a week. And I only know that because I hit it up at six p.m., Monday to Saturday, which just so happens to be the same time of day I’ve seen her there. Could she be avoiding me?
I’m jolted by something knocking into my side. I jerk my head and glare at the football on the floor by my feet then flick my eyes to Arlo.
He chuckles and shakes his head. “You were staring off into space again, old man. Something on your mind?”
Rubbing the back of my neck with the hand not clutching my whiskey, I shift my gaze back out the floor-to-ceiling window of our lounge room. “I’m fine.”
“Never said you weren’t,” Arlo returns. “Just asked if something’s on your mind.”
I peer over my shoulder at him. He slouches back on the couch, watching the Sunday night game. I shrug. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
His eyes narrow on me, then he gets to his feet, stalks toward me, and bends down to retrieve his football. “You never get like this,” he says, then he arches a questioning brow. “Is this about a woman?”
I can’t help my reaction. I blanch then blurt, “What? No!”
Arlo’s eyes light with amusement, then he buckles over and laughs his ass off.
“It’s not that funny,” I mutter and make my way over to the dry bar to refill my drink. In my peripheral vision, I notice Arlo swiping tears from the corners of his eyes, and I roll mine in response.
His grin is blinding when he steps up to my side and wraps his arm around my upper back, clasping my shoulder. The little bastard is my height—six-two—already, and he’s only sixteen. I glare at him, and his eyes sparkle with mirth.
“This is the best day of my life,” he says. “Come, sit, tell me your lady problems, and let’s see if we can’t figure this out together, Daddio.”
I shrug him off then stomp over to the couch, drop onto the plush cushions, and glare at the little smartass. “I’m the one who gives out the advice around here, thank you very much.”
Arlo retrieves a Coke from the fridge and a packet of crisps out of the pantry then returns to the couch. He pops a crisp in his mouth, swigs his drink, then turns his attention to me. With a dramatically slow shake of his head and a pathetically remorseful look on his face, he says, “Face it, old man. You’ve lost your touch.”
I snort. “I have not.”
“I’m sorry to say this, but yeah, you really have,” he says.
“You look sorry, too,” I deadpan.
He grins and shrugs. “I’ve been waiting for this day, and it’s finally come. I honestly thought it would take longer, but here we are. I can’t help it if my happiness is peeking through.”
“You’re a shit. You know that?” I drawl.
“Yep.” He pops the P then carries on. “So, let me have it. What’d you do to scare her off? Was it the single-dad thing? The workaholic thing? The small dic—”
I shove my son so hard he topples off the couch.
“Hey, don’t hate the messenger!” he yells, reaching for the can of Coke currently spilling on the carpet. Once the drink is upright again, and he’s back on the couch, he glares at me.
I smirk. “There was a bee. And you better clean that up before Petra sees it tomorrow. She’ll lose her shit.”
He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Sure there was. It’s not my fault you have a micro-pen—”
I shove him again, but this time, he’s ready for it. He places his drink on the floor then launches. I have just enough time to put down my glass before he collides with me, and we end up wrestling until we fall to the floor where I pin him, my legs hooked around his waist, and my arm locked around his neck.
Arlo wriggles and bucks, trying like hell to escape my hold, then he taps my arm three times, and I release him. We laugh as we stand up and flop back onto the beige cushions of the couch. I reach out and scruff up his hair, and he slaps my hand away.
He rolls his eyes at me then huffs. “Okay, fine. You made your point, old man. The size of your penis is not the reason for your womanly problems. So, what is?”
I lick my lips and avert my gaze. “I may have implied she’s a con-woman, and now she’s avoiding me.”
Arlo side-eyes me. “Smooth, Dad. Real smooth.”
Shrugging, I clear my throat. “I was working with some misinformation. Anyway, I just want to fix it, or at least apologize, but I can’t seem to catch her anywhere.”
“So, go to her place,” he says.
“Would if I could, but I can’t. I know what floor she lives on, but not the apartment, and I don’t know her real name. I can’t exactly go door-knocking, looking for her. That’s just creepy, and she already accused me of being a stalker.”
My son bursts out laughing so hard he’s clutching his stomach. “Oh, God—this is—too good!”
I flip him off and take a generous swig of my drink, focusing on the slight burn as the liquor makes its way down my throat, to keep from shoving Arlo off the couch again.
Sundays are designated lazy days in our apartment, therefore Lenny, Em, and I are all lying around in our most comfortable sweats, fuzzy socks, and hoodies while eating takeout. Sundays are my favorite.
“So, you going to tell us why you’ve ditched hitting the gym with us this week?” Lennon asks around a mouthful of pizza.
I’ve been giving them lame excu
ses all week, and even though they’ve given me skeptical looks, neither called me on it. Until now.
I drop the slice I was about to take a bite out of and wipe my hands on a napkin. Both Emory and Lennon are staring at me, waiting for me to spill the proverbial beans. I heave a sigh then tell them about my encounter with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding.
When I’m done, I take my first glance at my girls’ faces to be met with Em’s hanging jaw and Lenny’s twitching left eye.
I pick at the toppings on my pizza, nibbling on bits of pepperoni and olive as I wait for them to process. After a couple of minutes of silence, I clear my throat and add, “Yeah, so I’ve maybe been avoiding going to the gym since I know he’s usually there when we go. Oh, and his name is Atticus. We should probably stop referring to him as Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding.”
“Atticus,” Em sighs. “That’s such a hot name.”
I nod. “I know, right?”
“Definitely,” she agrees.
But Lennon is still silent. I slowly turn my attention to her. “Len?”
She holds out a hand. “Shh, I’m thinking.”
Okay, this can’t be good.
Lennon shreds the pizza on her plate into tiny pieces then abruptly shoves the plate onto the coffee table and stands. “We need more wine,” she declares as she trots off to the kitchen then returns with a new bottle. She refills our glasses to the brim then places the empty bottle on the coffee table.
Once she’s seated again, she levels me with narrowed eyes. “Why are you only telling us about this now? Also—side note—is this why you’ve been taking the stairs instead of the lift?”
“Ohhh,” Em mumbles. “That totally makes sense now.”
I shrug. “Yeah, well, it’s like killing two birds with one stone. I was making up for the missed workouts and avoiding another mortifying showdown.”
“Clever,” Len says, patting my leg. “Anyway, you didn’t tell us this earlier because …?”
Oh, right. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I think a part of me wanted to just dwell in my mortification alone, you know? I mean, it’s so humiliating. He’s so freaking hot, and we’ve lusted after this guy since we moved in, and now he knows I’m Miss Sadie.” I shrink farther into the plush beanbag I’m inhabiting and cover my face with my hand.
“Oh, babe,” Em says, crawling over to me until she tugs me into a hug. “You know we understand. We get why you need Sadie. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
I scoff. “Yeah, except that he thinks I’m trying to seduce his son and get in his pants. Oh, and let’s not forget he figured out I’m Sadie! And I accused him of being a stalker!” I shudder as another wave of humiliation washes over me.
I’m the first to admit I have some serious issues. I mean, obviously, right? I’m an heiress who sidelines as an erotic cleaner.
Becoming Miss Sadie increased my confidence, and it still does to a degree. I don’t do live feeds as much as I did in the beginning. Nowadays, I only go live once a week, except for the week I brunch with Mom and Sophia—then I usually do a couple of extras. What can I say? They’re soul crushers, and my delicate ego needs the power boost I get from doing my thing afterward.
Lennon clicks her fingers in front of my face, snapping me out of my inward musings. “Hey, Earth to Kinsley!”
I shake my head and focus on her. “Sorry, what?”
“We know you’re all messed up when it comes to how you see yourself, babe, but I just want to point out that if Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding recognized you from your lavender tattoo, he’s obviously been paying you some attention, girly.” Lennon grins and shimmies forward on the upholstered armchair she’s occupying then rests her elbows on her knees, cradling her glass of wine between her palms. “He’s noticed you.”
A ball of nerves tightens in my stomach. “You think?” I ask softly.
Em nods emphatically, her big blue eyes widening with excitement. “For sure! He told you he saw the tattoo and your hair color—that’s how he worked out who you were. Guys don’t notice stuff like that unless they’re interested,” she says with a suggestive waggle of her brows.
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, mulling it over. He’s never paid me any mind before when we’ve shared the elevator—not that I’ve noticed, anyway. “It’s not like he pays me special attention or anything like that. He’s never said a word to me before last week.”
Lenny rolls her eyes. “You wouldn’t have realized if he was paying attention to you. You’re so blasé it’s not funny. I’ve seen guys outright hit on you, and you’ve been none the wiser.”
That’s not true. My brows furrow as I frown at her. “Whatever. Guys don’t hit on me; I’m the go-between girl. The one they approach in order to talk to you two.”
“Unbelievable,” she mutters and shakes her head. “I swear, one of these days, Kins, I’m going to make you see just how beautiful you are. Inside and out.”
My lips lift in a small affectionate smile, because I know she means it. My girls love and care about me as much as I do them, and it fills my heart with warm fuzzies when hard-as-nails Lennon gets all mushy on me.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Lenny snaps. “I’m serious. You are so freaking clueless sometimes, Kins; it’s infuriating. I don’t know how you can do all that smart techy shit for Fiora, but you can’t recognize when a man is into you.”
And just like that, I’m frowning again. I sip my wine and process her words. “Do you really think Atticus is interested?” I eventually ask.
“No,” she says, her face blank of all expression, then she arches a perfectly sculpted brow. “We just like fucking with you.”
I roll my eyes then shove her knee, laughing when she spills her wine down the front of her sweater. “Serves you right.” I chuckle.
Em gasps. “That’s alcohol abuse!”
Lennon snatches a spare napkin off the coffee table and dabs the wet patch on her chest. “You owe me a refill,” she huffs.
Wriggling my way out of my beanbag, I head for the kitchen in search of more wine. Thank God these two awesome women are in my life.
It took me forever to fall asleep last night. I couldn’t switch off. All I could think about was the possibility that Atticus could be interested in me. Me. The quiet, reserved, plain Jane. It makes no sense. That man could have any woman he wanted. One look, and half the city would drop their panties for him, I’m sure of it. Hell, if I wasn’t so self-conscious, I’d probably join them.
I conclude that he, too, finds elevator travel as boring as watching paint dry, and he only noticed my tattoo because there was literally nothing else to look at. I once attempted to count the seeds on a strawberry while riding the lift but lost count because it’s really hard to keep track of the ones already counted.
Due to my lack of shut-eye, I’m now the not-so-proud owner of a pair of nasty-ass black bags under my eyes. I’ve already had two coffees while slathering generous amounts of concealer and foundation on my face in an attempt to hide the extra baggage. And now I’m filling my to-go cup before I head out the door with numero tres for the day.
Generally, I don’t wear this much makeup or consume this much caffeine, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I can’t take the risk of accidentally running into Atticus and having him see me looking like the unkempt mess I usually am.
Okay, that’s a slight exaggeration. I’m not that bad. But I’m certainly not what you’d call ‘put together.’ My go-to wardrobe consists of jeans, oversized sweaters, leggings—lots of leggings—and extra-long tees. And makeup? Anything other than a quick swipe of mascara and lipstick is only pulled out on special occasions.
The fact that I’m wearing a full face today speaks volumes as to the ridiculous levels of my nerves right now. The mere thought of possibly seeing Atticus just about has me breaking out in hives.
“You’re heading out early,” Em says as she shuffles over to the coffee pot, her hair in a messy top knot and creases from her
pillowcase still etched onto her cheek.
Tying the laces on my Doc Martens, I bring my gaze to hers. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I may as well put some hours in at the office since my brain is clearly too alert.”
Em nods while clutching a steaming mug between her palms and leans against the kitchen cupboards. “Fair enough,” she mutters.
Hold up. It’s freakishly early for Em to be up and about. It’s not so unusual for me, but for Emory? This is definitely not normal. When I finish tying my laces, I sit up and eye her. “Why are you up, anyway?”
Her shoulders droop, then her mouth widens in a massive yawn. “I’ve got an interview with a new upcoming author this morning. Apparently, she has a crazy-strict schedule and won’t break it for anything, so this is the only time she could meet me.”
“You couldn’t do a lunch thing with her?” I ask, knowing just how much Em loathes mornings.
She shakes her head. “Nope. I’ve tried everything, but her agent was adamant it was breakfast or nothing. And I really want this interview. I received an advance copy from her publisher, and the book is brilliant. I’m actually really excited to talk to her about it.”
I smile, sure her blog readers will love it. “Okay, well, you have fun with that, and you can tell me all about it tonight,” I tell her as I snatch my keys from the bowl by the front door and head out into the hall.
I mentally debate the merits of continuing to take the stairs or simply taking the elevator. It’s only six-thirty. The chances of Atticus being in the elevator this early are super slim. But I’m not willing to risk it just yet, so I push through the stairwell door and make my way down the seven floors to the lobby.
It’s not even seven when I swipe my ID card and enter the building Fiora is located in and arrive at my office. After dumping my bag on the desk, I drop into my plush chair and open my e-mails. There are almost a hundred unread messages in my inbox, so I get comfortable then click onto the most recent one, pushing everything else out of my head, and give it my full attention.