Broken and Beautiful

by Ryan, Kendall

  “It’s been three years, Dom,” Fran says, as if I needed reminding.

  Her tone is maternal, low and soft, but her words still sting. My hand clenches around the drawer handle for a moment before I open it and pluck a spoon from inside.

  Goddamn, Francine. Cut me some slack.

  “I’m not looking for anything serious,” I say, keeping my tone casual and light. I learned that lesson when I very seriously gave my heart to a woman who saw no issue with crushing it under the heel of her boot.

  “That’s absurd.” Fran sighs and reaches for a mug in the cabinet before fixing her tea. “I just think you should think about your daughters.”

  “I am thinking about my daughters,” I respond coolly. “I’m only thinking about them.” They get all of my free time and attention without having to share me with someone else.

  I place my yogurt and spoon into the side pocket of my laptop bag and head for the door. “I’ll be home late tonight,” I call out, and hear Fran make a disgruntled noise.

  Fantastic. As if I don’t have enough to worry about.

  The week has flown by, and tonight I have plans to meet with Roger to discuss the stipulations of our agreement. He’s expecting Presley to be on my arm. Unfortunately, she hasn’t committed to our little agreement yet. Instead, she’s been avoiding me, spending all her time in front of her computer or surrounded by the other three interns.

  When I arrive at the office, I intend to confront Presley, but I’m stopped in the hall by my finance director and spend nearly an hour in an impromptu meeting about next quarter’s earnings. After that, I have two meetings back to back, one with a city council member, and then my staff meeting. Oliver sticks around after the meeting, briefing me on the beefed-up cyber security plans we were forced to create after a system breach last year.

  “Everything looks good,” I tell him, but I’m distracted, and I’m pretty sure Oliver knows why.

  By the time I’m through, I spot Presley chatting casually with Jordan at the coffee bar. He’s telling her some story about his evening, showing off, trying to be funny. Presley doesn’t seem to mind at all. She laughs softly into her coffee, her body language relaxed and open. She seems to like him.

  What a prick.

  I take a deep breath. Now isn’t the time to get aggravated with my employees—especially not some immature frat boy. This has to be resolved . . . now.

  Presley had the whole week to come to a decision. I’ve given her the space she wanted and never even mentioned our unfinished business during our brief, almost nonexistent exchanges. It doesn’t matter that if I concentrate, I can still feel the warmth of her face against my palms and taste the sweetness of her lips on my tongue.

  I clear my throat. “Can I have everyone’s attention?”

  The white noise of the office softens to a low hum as hands still at keyboards and conversations halt in mid-sentence. Everyone’s attention turns my way.

  “Thank you all for a great week. Interns, especially, we’re very impressed and grateful for your dedication. Take the rest of the day off. Enjoy the weekend.”

  My employees look a little stunned, unaccustomed to half days. Jordan fist-bumps Presley, who maneuvers through the motion with a little difficulty, nearly spilling her coffee.

  “Except for you, Presley. I need to speak with you in my office.”

  The office becomes dead silent then, quieter than I’ve ever heard it during work hours.

  Presley’s complexion turns pale right before her cheeks grow bright pink. But she isn’t embarrassed or nervous, I realize. She looks fucking furious.

  Jordan looks at her, then at me, and then back at her. “See you Monday, Pres,” he says, feigning a casual tone, but she won’t tear her gaze away from me long enough to even give him a convincing good-bye.

  “Come with me.”

  Presley is hot on my trail. I can practically feel her bursting with frustration, and I can relate to that sensation. Although, my frustration is of an entirely different brand. She’s got me in her crosshairs before the door even closes.

  “You can’t do that. Not in front of everyone. What will people think?”

  “First, I don’t care what they think. They report to me, not the other way around. And second, they’ll probably assume we have business to settle, which we do.”

  She’s quiet for a moment, before looking down at her shoes. “I just don’t want people thinking that we’re involved somehow.”

  “Involved?” I ask.

  “Sleeping together,” she says.

  I study her for a moment. She’s so determined. So breathtakingly put together. “But we’re not sleeping together.”

  “I know! But—” Presley cuts herself off, pressing her fingers to her temples. She takes a breath, her eyes closed, calming herself. “I just don’t want people talking.”

  When she opens her eyes, I’m struck by her expression. It’s as if she’s trying to decide whether to believe me.

  I want her to know that I’m genuinely sorry for putting her in an uncomfortable situation. I want her to feel safe with me. I would have never asked her to stay behind in front of the staff if this had occurred to me.

  But she’s right. She’s a woman, a beautiful young woman, and I’m a man, and people talk. Unfortunately. That’s just a sad fact of business.

  “I’m sorry. That didn’t occur to me. It won’t happen again.”

  Her expression softens, and I want to touch her. My fingers are tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before I have time to decide whether I should cross that line. She seems surprised, but she doesn’t move away or break eye contact with me.

  Interesting.

  “Are you coming with me tonight? I’ve been more than patient.”

  “I know. And yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “I’ll come. I’ll be there for the dinner.”

  “Thank you,” I say emphatically, offering her my hand so we can shake on our deal.

  A smile broadens across her pretty face, and I can’t help but smile back in return. I let my thumb caress her wrist before letting go.

  “You can sign at my desk,” I say, gesturing to the contract set neatly upon its surface.

  Her heels click as she walks over and picks up the pen. Even from a few feet away, I can see that her signature is beautiful—not too loopy, sharp and simple.

  “I’ll pick you up at five thirty. We’re expected at six.”

  “Do you have a preference for what I wear?”

  “I trust your instinct.”

  “Wow, a compliment.” Presley smirks.

  The corner of my own mouth quirks as I walk her toward the door. “You’ll be getting plenty of those tonight, so get used to it.”

  “I’ll do my best,” she says with a cheeky grin.

  “See you at five thirty.”

  “See you then.”

  The door clicks closed behind her, and just like that, everything is in motion.

  * * *

  I knew I’d be worthless at work for the next few hours with my mind racing like it is. Shortly after Presley left, I also took off for the day. I have to be mentally prepared for anything Roger throws at me tonight. But first, a little recharge.

  I ease open the door to my daughters’ room. It’s naptime, so they’re usually tucked in around this time, but their beds are empty.

  Where are they?

  “They’re in your bed,” comes a voice from less than a foot away, and I nearly jump out of my goddamn skin.

  “Jesus, Fran!” How does a woman who wears fucking New Balance shoes sneak up on me so easily?

  “You’ll be gone till late again?”

  “Yes,” I say, averting my gaze. I really can’t handle any more judgment from you.

  “All right,” she says, squeezing my arm. “Go spend some time with your little ones before you leave.”

  I nod, turning down the hall toward my own room. The girls are curled up together on top of t
he duvet, two little cherubs holding hands.

  Smiling, I kick off my shoes and climb in between them, lifting Emilia gently to give myself some space to lie down. She sleeps like the dead, so I have no worries of waking her. I lower myself onto the bed, tangling my fingers in Lacey’s curls and tucking Emilia against my chest. I listen to the whispers of their breathing—so soft, so steady.

  I consider for a moment just staying like this for the rest of the afternoon. I could wake them up, take them out for ice cream, and put on one of our favorite movies. We could all snuggle close on the couch. I can almost hear the sound of Emilia sucking on her thumb and feel the tangles of Lacey’s hair as I try to unknot them before bed.

  Maybe another time.

  After a little while, I get up, careful not to wake them. My shoeless feet pad across the floor toward the bathroom. In a few minutes, I’m standing under the scalding downpour of my shower, letting the water burn away any hesitation I have about tonight.

  There was no chance of sneaking out before the girls woke up. When I’m clean and dressed, I find them sitting up in my bed, both reaching for me with sleepy eyes and adorable yawns. I pick one up in each arm and they relax into my chest. I’m not always going to be able to hold them like this, so I do it as often as I can.

  I carry them to my dresser and plop Lacey on top. Emilia is still waking up, her warm little nose nestled in the crook of my dress shirt collar. This is a game we’ve played before, so Lacey looks expectantly at the first small drawer. I slide it open, revealing all the cuff links I’ve acquired over the years. A gold pair from graduation. Two pairs gifted to me by my mother a long time ago. A silver pair I inherited from Teddy.

  Emilia prefers the smaller, prettier ones, the ones my mother gave me. Lacey’s the one choosing this time, though.

  “Bis!” she blurts, one fat little finger pointing at Teddy’s silver cuff links with the square crowning. She jabbers some more, and I laugh at her gibberish. They’re a little gaudy for my taste, but the lady insists.

  I snap the cuff links into place. Just like if Teddy were coming with me.

  “Now, which tie?”

  * * *

  As expected, Presley’s presence is a game changer. Roger is nearly red in the face with laughter, eating up every second of this woman’s attention. At first, I thought he was merely excited to have the attention of a younger woman. But now I’m fairly convinced that he genuinely likes her as a person.

  As he should.

  Presley flashes me a pretty smile, and my heart clenches like it did when she first walked out of her apartment earlier this evening.

  “Aren’t you cold?” I asked as she slid into the passenger seat of my Porsche.

  She froze momentarily, her hands hovering over the seat belt and door handle. “Should I change? Too much skin?”

  “No, you look great. And if you get cold, I’ll give you my coat.”

  “Oh, right. Good detail.”

  I swallowed, looking away. For a moment, I’d forgotten that this was all an elaborate, staged scheme of ours. I was just going to give her my coat to warm her, not to make things look more convincing. “Devil’s in the details.”

  We then fell into a comfortable silence. The Seattle streetlights zipped by.

  “I was expecting a limo,” she said, out of the blue.

  “Oh, was this not extravagant enough for you?” I smirked.

  “Jesus, no! This is your car?”

  “It is.”

  I wasn’t about to pull up with the SUV and its car seats nestled into the back row. No, this version of me drives a Porsche, a recent model with plenty of horsepower. I may be a single dad, but I can still have a bachelor’s sports car.

  “I don’t have a car,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “You don’t need one in the city.”

  “So, why do you have one?”

  “Because I can afford it,” I said with a grin, and she smiled back at me with a short laugh.

  And that was how our car ride went. Playful. Comfortable. Fun.

  * * *

  So far, dinner is meeting every one of my expectations. The only bump in the road is that Roger refuses to talk business. The fat old bastard.

  “There’s always time for office talk,” he says, brushing aside my second attempt at focusing. “I’m enjoying this young lady’s company.”

  Presley gives me a knowing smile and turns back to Roger. “It’s as if he thinks we can’t do both,” she says, pretending to be appalled.

  Roger practically roars with laughter.

  I shrug with as much of a charismatic smile as I can offer. She’s got me.

  “You know what,” Roger says hoarsely, after he’s recovered. “You two should come to the waterfront.”

  “The what?” Presley asks.

  “It’s my weekend home, right on the Sound. A couple of hours from here. Monica and I are going tomorrow morning. You should join us.”

  In unison, Presley says, “Oh no, we couldn’t—” right as I say, “We’d love to.” She turns to me with a desperate look in her eyes.

  Reaching under the table, I find her hand resting on her knee. I give it a reassuring squeeze as if to say, We’ll talk about it later.

  “That’s fucking fantastic,” Roger says, raising his glass. “To spontaneity!”

  “To spontaneity.”

  With dinner finally done, Presley walks several paces ahead of me, purposely keeping her distance as we head to the car. She didn’t even give me a chance to ask the valet to bring it around for us. After jogging to catch up with her, I grab her hand, and she snatches it back as if I’ve burned her.

  “You keep doing that,” she says.

  “Doing what?”

  “Touching me.”

  “I’m sorry.” The apology is reflexive. “I won’t do it again.”

  “It’s fine,” she says, backpedaling.

  “No, it’s not. I won’t do it again without your permission.”

  She accepts that easier than she did my last apology. We get to the car, but Presley leans against the door to face me before I can unlock it for her.

  “I don’t want to go to Roger’s place.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s a whole weekend. That’s a lot more involved than one dinner every now and then.”

  “It’s a lot to ask, I know.”

  “Yes, it is.” Her cheeks are pink, and her arms are crossed against her chest as if she’s cold. Seattle is always a little chilly at night, no matter the season.

  “Would you like my jacket?”

  She shakes her head, lips pressing into a line.

  “Let’s get in the car.” I reach around her to put my hand on the door handle. When she doesn’t move, I let my hand drop away, determined to keep my promise not to touch her.

  “I need you,” I hear myself saying. “Presley, I need your help.”

  A small crease forms between her eyebrows, but she’s staring at my lips again, giving me that look she gave me in my office on Monday. The look I wasn’t sure I was ever going to see again—hooded eyes, wet lips, and a faint blush. And it’s pulling me in. Big fucking time.

  It doesn’t matter that I’m the boss and she’s my employee. Because right now? I’ve never been more aware of the fact that I’m a man, and she’s a woman.

  I shrug off my coat and place it around her shoulders, thinking how tiny she looks wearing my large coat on her slight frame.

  “You’re cold. Please wear it.” I step into her, as close as I can without pinning her against the car, then softly brush her jawline with my knuckles, my gaze fixed on her pink lips.

  Looking deeply into her eyes, I ask a silent question. May I?

  She nods, and my heart stops.

  I press a kiss to her mouth, intending for it to be slow, chaste. But Presley’s lips open against mine, and I’m shot back in time to our kiss in my office, reliving that first touch of her tongue.

  But this kiss is even more despera
te and wild. She lets out a soft moan, lifting on her toes to get closer, her fingers curling into my jacket. I couldn’t pull away from her if I wanted to. And I sure as hell don’t want to.

  My hands skim down her waist as she rakes her teeth gently against my lower lip.

  God, I want her.

  When we break apart, I struggle to find my voice.

  “Please come?”

  “Okay,” she agrees, breathlessly.

  Presley

  Sliding into the buttery-soft leather seat the next morning, I huff out a sigh. It took some convincing, but in the end, Dominic won, and I agreed to accompany him to Roger’s waterfront home on the condition that it was only for one night.

  Dominic agreed easily with my terms, and so here we are, his shiny black limo parked at the curb in front of my building. He chats with the chauffeur as my overnight bag is placed in the trunk, and then he slides in beside me.

  As the driver pulls back into traffic, Dominic turns to me, his expression serious. “Are you okay?”

  I nod and stuff my phone into my purse. “I’m fine.”

  He’s a puzzle I’m still trying to solve. A CEO and billionaire who sometimes acts every inch the dominating powerhouse the media makes him out to be. And then other times, my favorite times, he’s softer somehow, transforming into a twenty-something single guy you’d meet at the corner bar for a beer and a slice of pizza. Part of the fun on these little excursions, I’m coming to realize, is that I never quite know which version of him I’m going to get.

  The breathless feeling in my chest grows with each of his worried glances. What will happen later? What do I want to happen later?

  We head toward the highway, and Dominic presses a button to raise the privacy screen, separating us from the driver.

  He runs one hand over the back of his neck, looking a little uncertain. “I’ve been thinking . . . we have some work to do. If Roger’s going to believe we’re a couple, we need to get our stories straight. Make it look like we know each other well.”