by Kayla, Mia
I glanced back behind me at my desk and then threw up both hands. “What note?”
Standing, he strode past me and went straight to my desk. He lifted the keyboard where a small piece of paper was placed, no bigger than two inches by one inch. He shoved it my way, the tiny piece of paper between his index and middle finger.
I huffed and then grabbed it from him, reading it aloud. “Shopping tonight. Seven p.m.” I looked up at him. “I can’t tonight.” For the sole reason that he was being super annoying. You’d think he would’ve mentioned it earlier than today, yesterday perhaps, or maybe he could’ve written it on a bigger piece of paper that was in plain sight.
“She’s paid by the hour.” Then, he stalked back toward his office, conversation over, as usual.
My hands fisted at my sides, posture stiff, corded neck. I wondered how I’d be able to get through two whole dates with him without wanting to stuff him in a body bag.
I forced myself to loosen.
This is for me, I reminded myself. For me.
“How do you know I don’t have plans?” I argued.
He spun around and smiled. “Do you?”
A-hole. “No.” For once, I wished I had the superpower to lie without my face giving it away—or, really, I wished I had plans. Real plans. Why couldn’t I have plans?
I followed him back into his office, preparing for another argument.
“Well then.” He sat behind his desk, leaving me an annoyed and a confused mess.
“Don’t you have a suit? Any suit will do.”
And why did I have to go with him? I wasn’t his mom. I didn’t need to approve his choice of clothing. We weren’t a real couple, and I was not choosing his tie.
His fingers steepled by his lips. “This is a special occasion. I won’t be wearing one of my work suits to a wedding.”
“Okay …” I didn’t see what the big deal was. Buying another suit seemed like a waste of money. “I don’t care. You can wear that suit.” I gestured to his attire. “The one you’re wearing. It’s perfectly tailored, and I’m sure it’s a very expensive suit.” I’d seen the tag before I took it in to be dry-cleaned. And it wasn’t cheap.
“What are you going to wear?” he continued as though I hadn’t said a thing.
“A dress I’ve probably worn before.” I knew I’d have to dress up to look decent next to Brad, but I wasn’t worried about my clothing as much as I had been stressing about finding a date. And, now, I had one. Who needed a fancy dress when I would have the hottest guy on my arm?
He snorted loudly and then dropped his head back into his computer screen. “Seven o’clock. Downstairs. Can you order us some dinner beforehand?”
I simply stared at him. “I haven’t even picked up your lunch yet.” Is this guy serious?
Not caring, I slammed the door behind me.
Then, I grumbled around the office the rest of the day.
At six fifty-five p.m., I picked up Brad, and we rode the elevator down together. He’d been so busy that he’d eaten dinner at his desk.
“Great,” I muttered, noting the thunderstorm pouring down tsunami-style outside the doors.
The rain pelted against the windows, and thunderous clouds roared above us. Of all the days not to have an umbrella. The forecast hadn’t called for rain. Damn weatherman.
The scent of rain reminded me of the summers when I was younger, how the rain would wet my hair, making it frizzy when it dried. How the other kids would make fun of me and call me Medusa when my hair stuck out at all ends. Yeah, I hated rain.
When we walked outside, Brad opened his oversize umbrella. At least he had his. The rain trailed down the bottom of my long skirt, and beads of water soaked the gym shoes that I had changed into.
Brad tilted inward and lifted the umbrella over my head, shielding me from the downpour. “You should keep an umbrella with you.”
“Thanks for the enlightening advice.” This man. I wanted to stick his sarcasm and his umbrella where the sun didn’t shine.
I could have, at a minimum, brought a pair of jeans and a comfortable sweatshirt if I’d known we were going to go shopping, and I was going spend the rest of the night sitting and watching him walk the catwalk in an array of suits that’d probably all look the same.
The rain, wet feet, and cold air caused my teeth to chatter. “Why can’t we drive somewhere? Where’s your car?”
“That’s not how this works. Not how my personal shopper does things. It’s a full-service experience.”
“Getting wet and cold is part of this full service? Will they towel-dry us off?” I hugged my middle to get some warmth back into my body.
He angled closer and wrapped his arm around my waist, bringing me against him and the umbrella directly above me to shield the rain. “There. Better?”
Heat spread down my arm, where we touched, and I reeled away. “Boundaries, hello? Are you purposely trying to make me uncomfortable?”
Brad being Brad did the opposite and leaned in even closer until we were flushed hip to hip. “Boundaries? Next weekend, I’m supposed to pretend like I’ve been balls deep in you, and you want to talk about boundaries?”
I jerked my head and stuck my finger in my mouth, pretending to vomit.
Brad shook his head, amused.
He did have a point though. I had to get over this closeness, but how could I when he was my boss?
“You need to get used to my hands on you.”
His hands circled my waist, and I shoved a finger into his shoulder.
“Do you even realize you’re flirting, or is it just natural for you?”
A long stretch limo stopped in front of us, and before he had a chance to respond, I opened the door and brushed inside to get in and out of the rain.
“Mr. Brisken. Miss Vanducci.” The driver stepped out in the rain to hold the door open.
“Hello, hello,” Brad responded as the driver took his oversize umbrella from him.
I scooted farther into the vehicle, down the wraparound leather seat. The leather stuck to my wet skirt, and I rubbed my hands over my arms. The chill cut through my bones.
LED track lighting created a light-yellow glow at the ceiling, and an ice bucket with drinks chilled on the side.
“Champagne?” Brad reached for two glasses in the drink holder.
Maybe some champagne would warm me, so I grabbed my glass, and he poured. The fizz bubbled to the top and almost spilled over, so I brought the glass to my lips.
“Mimosa in the morning with clients, drinks for lunch, and now, champagne in the evening. Is this something I should warn your brothers about? That you’re a borderline alcoholic?”
He lifted his glass and then leaned back against the cushion, resting his ankle on the opposite knee. “I enjoy a little drink once in a while. Maybe you should try it. It’ll loosen you up.”
I kicked off my wet gym shoes and then my socks. My toes were pruned. Definitely less suave than him. “I am loose.”
He barked out a laugh, his eyes telling me what he was thinking—me some ho.
I rolled my eyes. “All I meant was that I don’t need alcohol to have a good time.”
“I doubt that. When was the last time you …” He coughed. “… got loose?”
“Hello? Inappropriate.” I pointed the tip of my glass in his direction. “How about I ask you that question? Oh, never mind. I know since I’m the one making all your plans.” I barked out a louder, obnoxious laugh. “Lucille … Jasmine … Stella …”
The smile erased from his face, and his tone was stone-cold serious. “I don’t sleep with every girl I go out on a date with. You can’t have that kind of impression of me.”
His mouth slackened when I didn’t respond.
“You do, don’t you?” His foot dropped to the floor, and he leaned in, his wineglass between us.
I shrugged like his closeness didn’t affect me, which it didn’t. Mostly. But our thighs kissed this time, and warmth spread where we touched.
<
br /> “It doesn’t even matter. It’s not like I’m your mom.”
His stare seared a hole on the side of my face, and my cheeks flushed pink.
“What?” I snapped.
“I know I give that kind of vibe, and everyone else thinks of me that way.” He inched in, and his brows furrowed. “But you?” With a slow, disbelieving shake of his head, he said, “I thought you knew me.” There was hurt behind his soft tone.
Knew him? Is he offended?
He hunched over, dropped his gaze, and stared at the wineglass in his hands.
I was about to apologize but bit my tongue instead because I knew his stories. He of all people had shared them with me.
Maybe by making his countless dinner reservations, I had assumed he took them all home, too, but I wanted to assume and not know the truth because I didn’t care. This was a job. He was my boss. Really, should an employee know this much about her boss?
I shifted in my seat, uneasy, realizing boundaries were being crossed, making me uncomfortable.
He got a little quiet, swirling the wine in his glass. “I’m going to change how you think of me.”
“Please don’t.” I sighed. Boundaries. I needed to set up the border, the wall that separated personal from professional. “What I think doesn’t even matter.”
Again, he got quiet, swirling that wine, and then he finished off the glass. “It probably shouldn’t matter.” Then, almost under his breath, he added, “But it does.”
We arrived at Saks Fifth Avenue on Michigan Avenue, which was only a short ride from the office. We could’ve walked, but there was no way high-maintenance Brad would walk in the rain. I doubted he did that.
When we entered the posh shopping area, my eyes took in five female attendants dressed in all black skirt suits and a woman in a pantsuit that hugged her figure. They were impeccable with their non-smudge red lipsticks and tall model-like figures. Compared to them, I looked like Smurfette. They didn’t look like they worked here. They looked like mannequins on display. Figured that he had an all-women team to help him pick out a suit.
The tall woman in the pantsuit with an even olive skin complexion had her black hair pulled back into a long ponytail that lay in the middle of her back. Not a strand of hair was out of place.
“Brad, it’s wonderful to see you. I haven’t seen you in a while. You’re always calling in your orders nowadays.” She pressed her cheek against his, and then she reached for me and placed her hands around one of mine. “You must be Sonia. It’s so lovely to meet you. I’m Nadine.” The inflection in her tone reminded me of a serious teacher—firm, articulate, and to the point.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I replied.
She smiled, no teeth, like how the Britain royals did with an air of sophistication. “Let’s get started.”
An hour later, I found myself sitting in a fitting room large enough to rival my apartment with a wineglass in hand. Brad stood on a circular pedestal in the middle of the room as though he were the bride on the show Say Yes to the Dress. I rested against the chair—feet dead, body bone-tired, and mind drained from the long day. He’d been trying on suits for the whole hour, and they all looked the same. I almost jumped out of my seat and fist-pumped the air when he finally decided on one.
An older woman bent down to pin the hem of Brad’s Kiton suit, a designer I’d never heard of before. To me, the suit looked great, but Brad needed one hundred percent perfection, no matter the cost—and boy, did it cost.
“The hem should hit just above the heel,” he said as though the woman who worked here didn’t know that even though that was her job and she most likely had years of experience under her belt.
I noted how the navy-blue suit stretched along his broad shoulders, casing in his well-defined arms. The way his pants accented his height made my mouth water a little. I’d still never date him—my feelings and morals hadn’t changed—but I couldn’t help but admire the package. I was a woman after all.
But then I caught his stare and noticed the smug smile on his face as though he knew I was checking him out, which only reminded me that he was, in fact, the BILK. And for all intents and purposes of this exercise, I had made the right decision and snagged the looker as arm candy at the wedding.
“Take that, Jeff,” I whispered under my breath.
When Brad changed and stepped out of the fitting room in his regular suit, I released a breath, ready to be done with this night. I stood, prepared to leave and excited for a hot shower and my warm bed.
Nadine came in, and when I raised a hand to say good-bye, the slew of women suddenly shoved in racks of gowns in every array of colors and fabric and style imaginable—from silk to satin to lace.
Nadine snapped her fingers, and like a Santa’s workshop, her model-like elves got to work. One took my jacket, another took my purse, and two more caged me in, on either side of me as though they were my bodyguards. My head flipped around, and I stared at the tall, flawless woman beside me.
“I’m not looking for an outfit. Just Brad. I’m about ready to go.” I turned to face him, but liar was written on his face.
His hands were behind his back like a good Boy Scout, which made me want to wring his neck.
“You lied. We didn’t just come here for your suit.”
He simply shrugged.
“No way.” My eyes went wide. “I am not doing this. I can’t even pronounce half the designers you wear, let alone afford them.” If I could afford one of these designer dresses, I could’ve afforded a good-looking stripper date. What was he smoking, crack?
“And I didn’t lie,” he said smoothly. “I’ve ordered my suit. I just left one little detail out—that we’d be shopping for a dress for you. It’s not like I can risk us not matching, and anyway, who said you were paying?” Amusement was heavy in his features.
“Excuse me for a second.” I sidestepped my female attendants and pulled Brad to the side by his elbow, like a naughty little boy in trouble. I would have grabbed his ear, if only I were tall enough.
This guy and his absurd ideas, I swear!
“If you are planning to reenact a Pretty Woman moment, let me tell you, I’m not falling for it. This was not part of the deal.” I crossed my arms over my small chest and pushed out my bottom lip.
“Taking you to the wedding was part of the deal.” He flicked my nose with his pointer finger like I’d seen him do to Mary. “This is just a little extra.”
My teeth clenched. “I don’t need extra.”
“They closed this store down for me.” Pride was heavy in his tone. “You can’t possibly tell me they’ve all come here and I’m paying for Nadine to work extra hours for nothing.”
“No. No. No.” I shook my head back and forth, now sounding like a five-year-old Mary, as his face stayed utterly even. Of freaking course. Brad didn’t know the meaning of the word no.
He leaned in and leveled me with a stare I was sure he frequently used to negotiate with clients. “Sonia, I know this is too much to ask of you, given the amount of pride you have, but I want to do this, okay?” He placed a soft hand on my shoulder. “I want to. Because you’ve helped me on more than one occasion and with my nieces and even more so every day. I’ve asked you to do things way above your job description, and when you asked me to do this one favor for you, I thought I could spoil you a bit.” He took a step back and reached for my hand and squeezed. “So, please, just accept this. This one-time gift from me.”
I peered up at his deep brown eyes, eyes that poured out sincerity. Still, my pride refused to accept this gift. He’d already agreed to too much, but I also knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was in his locked jaw and the steadiness in his stare.
“Fine,” I conceded, practically pouting.
“Is everything okay here?” Nadine asked with a flash of a smile, approaching us.
“Yes. Everything is fine.” There was my tone again, the tone that indicated that everything was not fine, but I didn’t want to ma
ke a big deal out of it.
“Come on. This is Operation Get Your Boyfriend Back, so you’ll need ammunition.” He moved to the first rack of gowns, ignoring my lethal glare.
I felt way too much like Julia Roberts. Two women greeted me with their smiles, and one handed me another glass of wine as we passed rows and rows of ballgowns fitted and flared.
My feet did the walking, but my brain could not wrap around how much money this guy had to shut down a whole department store for his bidding.
Nadine stepped in front of me and led us down the long hall of designer dresses. “How about we start at McQueen and then head over to Oscar? Does that sound good? With your beautiful skin tone and figure, I’m sure we’ll find something wonderful.”
I smiled through clenched teeth. If I were in a better mood or more comfortable, the compliments would’ve flattered me. But I was too irritated. “Oh, how fun.” My tone turned sarcastic, ready for the “fun” to be over with.
* * *
Brad
I had found my new obsession, annoying the crap out of Sonia. Even better, making her cheeks turn crimson. It was the cutest thing, like watching a little pup growl. Her death glares were comical, as though she wanted to tear my eyes out with her fingernails. Every time Nadine turned away, Sonia would glare, nostrils flared, mouth pouty.
Fuck, she was adorable.
She’d tried on four dresses already, and as she stomped into the changing room, making it known she was not a happy camper, I laughed under my breath.
“Come out. I want to see.”
“I hate you,” she replied. “And no.”
I winked at one of the attendants holding up the next dress for Sonia to try on. She loves me, I mouthed.
“Come out, or I’m coming inside that dressing room,” I threatened.
It did not do the trick. She fired back, “Two words: sexual harassment.”
This woman. Always a snarky comment.
I shook my head as I sipped my wine. Domaine Leroy Chambertin Grand Cru. This was the good stuff from France. I swished the red wine and watched the liquid coat the bottom of my glass. “It’s only sexual harassment if you don’t want me in that dressing room.”