Tailored for Trouble: A Romantic Comedy (Happy Pants)

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  Oh no. Taylor gazed across the room at the scowling man in his early thirties wearing a black suit and seated at the head of the table. His thick, wavy brown hair was neatly combed back, and his eyes were a shocking pastel blue, almost too light to even be called blue.

  Taylor actually stopped breathing for a moment as their eyes met and a chill swept over her entire body. Something about the way he looked at her made the room feel unsafe. Not in a “he’s psycho and going to murder me” sort of way; the man literally filled the entire space with his daunting presence. You weren’t sure if you wanted to bow down to him or run.

  Yes, he was that intimidating.

  “I’m s-so sorry about that,” Taylor said, taking her seat as gracefully as she could, “but as you can see, I was in a hurry to get here—”

  “To meet you obviously,” said Vera, who sat closest to Mr. Wade. “And I know I’ve already said this, but I assure you that this is not how we treat our custo…”

  Mr. Wade held up his palm, offering no sign of human warmth or civility. “I’ve already wasted enough of my morning on incompetent idiots. I don’t need to hear a list of excuses from some bottle blonde who calls herself a vice president yet can’t figure out how to ensure her clients have proper limo service from the airport.”

  Taylor’s mouth fell open as she witnessed poor Vera’s face turn red. Had this man actually called Vera an idiot and then ridiculed her appearance?

  “Yes, well,” Vera cleared her throat. “My sincerest apologies, Mr. Wade. I promise I’ll speak to our Travel Services Manager immediately. It won’t happen again.”

  Taylor couldn’t believe that Vera had let Mr. Wade’s comments slide. She was about to say something when Vera turned her head in Taylor’s direction. “Taylor, whenever you’re ready.” Something in her tone made Taylor bite back her words.

  “Of course. Just one second while I pull up the presentation.” She popped open her laptop and the home screen came up, but the presentation shortcut was missing.

  What? But how? She looked up at the anxious faces around the table. Okay, hurrying, hurrying…She clicked on the documents tab and found the file, but when she tried to open it, the little circle on the screen kept spinning, like an evil doughnut taunting her sanity. “Um…” She looked at Mr. Wade. “My computer is a little slow; big file. Probably too big because I stayed up late making sure—”

  “So, Bennett,” Vera chimed in, “while Taylor is taking her sweet time loading the presentation, why don’t you tell the team here—”

  “Did we fuck last night?” Bennett interrupted, his cold gaze locked on Vera’s face.

  Taylor froze and looked across the table, unsure if she’d heard him correctly.

  “Sorry?” Vera’s face went from red to a mortified shade of white.

  Bennett Wade leaned forward in his chair toward Vera. “Did. We. Fuck. Last night?”

  The room filled with a ghastly, awkward vibe, and Taylor was pretty damned sure everyone was pinching themselves underneath the table. Had he really said that?

  Vera shook her head. “I—I don’t understand.”

  Pinning Vera with his eyes, Mr. Wade slowly eased back in his chair, his black suit stretching across his shoulders. “Only my mother and women I fuck get to call me Bennett. So unless I got stinking drunk last night, which would have to be the case for me to ever touch a woman like you, then you’ll refer to me as Mr. Wade.”

  Whatthehell? Taylor felt a fire of outrage ignite in the pit of her stomach. “You know what?” She slapped the table, stood, and then pointed to the door. “Get out.”

  Mr. Wade blinked his blue eyes at her as if he wasn’t quite sure what she’d just said.

  “In fact,” she added, “get the hell off my planet. People like you are what make this world a shitty place for the rest of us who are just trying to be happy and make a living.”

  Vera popped up from her seat. “Taylor, don’t.”

  “Oh, no,” Mr. Wade said, with a superficial smile, “by all means, please go on, Miss…”

  “Reed. And that’s Ms. Reed to you. You…pig in a suit.”

  “Taylor! Outside. Now!” barked Vera.

  But Taylor had really had it with guys like this who thought that they could behave any way they liked simply because they had money. She thought of the countless times she’d had to fend off unwanted solicitations by half her male clientele over the past few years. They always made it a point to want to talk business over dinner. Just last week, in fact, one of Mr. Wade’s golfing buddies, a rich asshat named Chip who worked for his mommy’s big perfume company had actually proposed a “weekend dinner meeting” in Vegas. Who did that in this day and age? But of course, these pompous billionaires didn’t seem to care that she found their advances offensive. The more blunt she became with no, the more they seemed to enjoy pursuing her. And what had Vera said about it? “Taylor, these are professional, successful businessmen who know better, especially considering the damage one lawsuit could do to their companies. I’m sure they’re just trying to be friendly—that’s all.” Vera clearly didn’t understand that while women and minorities had come a long, long way, the boys’ club was alive and well in corporate America. Just take a look at the annual report of any large company. Female faces were scarce and there was generally only one shade of the rainbow.

  Begrudgingly, Taylor had listened to Vera and let it go. Again and again and again.

  Well, no more.

  Mr. Wade let out a deep chuckle. “Pig in a suit? This is good.”

  “You think it’s funny?” Taylor snapped. “You come in here and insult this woman because you think you’re some god, some all-powerful being who has been granted the right to trample over those you perceive as lesser. But strip away your money, that suit,” she flipped her wrist through the air, “and that handsome face—you’re no different from the rest of us, buddy. You’re going to die someday! Yep. That’s right. Die. Just like the rest of us.”

  Vera had now moved to her side and was tugging on Taylor’s arm, trying to usher her out the door.

  “You’re right, Ms. Reed,” Bennett said in a slow, overly pompous tone. “I will die. And so will you. But when I go, I’ll have something to show for my hard work. People like you, on the other hand, will find that you’ve plowed your way through life, complaining and pointing fingers at others for what you perceive are their shortcomings. But in the end you’ll realize that is all you’ve done. Because people like you are all bark and no bite. Don’t like what you see in this world, Ms. Reed? Try getting off your pedestal, woman, and do something about it.” Mr. Wade rose from his seat, staring at her with an expression of blatant amusement on his gorgeous, smug face. “Now, folks, if you’ll excuse me; I have some golf to play. I only stopped by for the tax write-off, anyway. My business is firing people and replacing them with machines, not hiring them. So I’m afraid I have no need for your recruiting skills.”

  Oh. My. God! What a horrible, disgusting man! Taylor watched Mr. Wade disappear out the door and debated whether to follow him to the elevator so she could punch him right in his pearly whites.

  “My office, Taylor. Now,” Vera hissed.

  Taylor didn’t make eye contact with anyone as Vera left the room. She already knew what her boss was going to say: “The customer is always right, even if they’re not.” To Vera, that meant allowing people like Bennett Wade to humiliate her in public. It just wasn’t right. Of course, Vera was a divorcée with two kids to put through college. She saw things a little differently than Taylor did.

  Taylor’s team silently left the room while she remained standing, hands planted on the table and head hung low. Bennett Wade’s jarring, blunt words began circulating through her mind. Crap. Crap! He’s right. It’s not good enough to complain. She thumped her fist on the table. That smug SOB had given her a dose of the truth, and while it hurt like hell, she couldn’t look away simply because the person who’d delivered the message was an insensitive prick.


  Instead of going to Vera’s office, Taylor headed for the elevator, down to her tenth floor office. She grabbed her gym bag from the bottom drawer of her desk. Inside the bag, she placed a picture of her with her best friends, Holly and Sarah, sipping hurricanes in Vegas. They were going to flip when they heard about this a-hole client. They would definitely agree that she had done the right thing.

  Taylor then picked up her other photo—the one of her three brothers standing with her father at the Grand Canyon—and cringed. They were going to give her hell for leaving behind a steady, well-paying job. It would be just like the time she left the college volleyball team because it was cutting into her study time. They saw it as quitting. She saw it as doing the right thing. But they subscribed to the school of “suck it up” and “no pain, no gain,” which meant they’d always been extra-tough on her—the youngest, weakest “brother.” Only she was a girl, which meant her head wasn’t up her ass half the time and her view of the world was a teensy bit different.

  Well, it’s my life, not theirs, and you only live once.

  She shoved the frame into her bag, took one last look at her big office, and shut the door behind her.

  CHAPTER 2

  Present Day

  As Taylor stood in the rain, unable to believe that it was Bennett Wade glaring at her with those icy, pastel blue eyes from the back of a stretch limo, she didn’t know if she wanted to spit, scream, or cry. This man—a horrible bastard of a human being—was the last person in the world she wanted to see. It was bad enough hitting rock bottom without him there to witness the big, ugly, festering event.

  “Get in,” he finally said, breaking the long silence.

  “What are you doing in Seattle?” she snapped.

  “Get. In,” he snarled.

  “I don’t work for you, and even if I did, I’d never let you speak to me like that. Have a nice life, Mr. Wade.” She turned, heading down the sidewalk opposite the flow of traffic. There was a hotel a few blocks over. Maybe she’d have luck catching a cab—

  “Ms. Reed.” A strong hand grabbed her arm, and when she spun around, she found Bennett Wade hovering over her, those nearly translucent eyes staring down with an odd expression—contempt mixed with…she didn’t know really, but it made her insides jitter.

  “What do you want?” she hissed.

  Damn, he’s tall—six-three or -four, maybe? She was five-seven so that gave him a leg up on the intimidation factor.

  “It’s raining,” he said. “I want to give you a ride. And to talk.” His eyes momentarily flashed to her mouth before he offered her a charming smile, one that appeared to be well-rehearsed—and probably totally insincere—yet still managed to make her notice how his lips seemed a little more sensual, possibly fuller, when he wasn’t trying to verbally inflict damage.

  “What could you and I possibly have to talk about?” she asked.

  “Fifty thousand dollars.”

  She blinked.

  “That is twice your going consultant rate, is it not?” he added.

  “But—How?—Why?” Her new company, HumanitE, provided individualized, one-on-one training for executives, specifically geared toward increasing profitability by reducing turnover rates through compassionate leadership techniques. “We Put the Humanity in Executives.” In other words, “Stop being such a dick to your people and you’ll make more money!” But she couldn’t use that as a slogan. And of course, she didn’t have any clients so she was seriously beginning to think her plan had flaws or that she wasn’t such a great salesperson after all. In any case, why would Bennett Wade want to take her coaching course?

  “You can’t be serious,” she said.

  His smile melted back into that intimating scowl. “I’m standing in the fucking rain, ruining a very nice wool coat and running late for a very important conference call. Ask me again, Ms. Reed, if I’m fucking serious.”

  Who the hell does this guy think he is, speaking to me like that?

  “Then you’ve barked up the wrong tree. Wait. Sorry.” She laughed and yanked back her arm. “You’ve barked up the wrong fucking tree.” She pivoted on her soggy heels and continued walking.

  This time, Bennett Wade didn’t come after her nor did she turn around, but she somehow knew he wasn’t done with her yet. Men like Bennett Wade didn’t take no for an answer. In fact, nos only made them more determined.

  Whatever. Bring it on, she thought, but that was her pride talking. The less egocentric part of her was whining like a six-year-old in the candy aisle at the grocery store: “Fifty thousand dollars! What’s the matter with you? Come on. Come on. At least hear what he has to say. Pleeeeease?”

  Taylor ignored the shallow thoughts and continued to the hotel to find a taxi.

  —

  “Taylor Reed?”

  Taylor looked up from her seat in the crowded Southwest terminal, having just taken a bite of her veggie sub and wondering if today was payback for every bad thing she’d ever done. Wasn’t it enough to get a rejection, face bankruptcy, and have to see that despicable Bennett Wade? Apparently not because she’d also missed her flight, and there were no open seats until eight o’clock in the evening. It was twelve-thirty in the afternoon.

  And now this?

  She quickly chewed and then swallowed. “Yes, Officer?”

  The large, African American man with endless biceps spoke into the radio clipped to his shoulder, “Found her.” He then looked back down at Taylor. “Come with me, please.”

  “What’s this about?” she asked. Of course the other passengers in the terminal thought she might be packing a bomb or something equally deadly because everyone began inching back. One mother grabbed her baby and darted away, leaving behind her stroller.

  “This can’t be happening,” Taylor said under her breath. She looked up at the officer. “What did I do?”

  “Ma’am, I’m just here to escort you to your flight.”

  Taylor felt relieved for a fraction of a second until she realized how strange that sounded. “What flight? Because mine doesn’t leave for another seven-something hours.”

  And since when do airport cops provide personal escorts?

  The officer looked like he was about to lose his patience when another policeman showed up—a tall, thin blond man with a buzz cut.

  Great, now there are two. How embarrassing.

  “This her?” asked officer number two.

  The first man nodded and reached down for her roller bag. The second man grabbed her purse from the floor and said, “Hurry up,” before walking away.

  “Wait!” Taylor stood up from her seat, still holding her sandwich. “Where are you going with my stuff?”

  The two officers ignored her and continued down the long corridor at a swift pace. Obviously, she couldn’t not follow. They had her stuff—wallet, boarding pass, and cellphone included.

  She tossed the sandwich into a trashcan and ran after them, fuming. “Excuse me, but could you please stop?”

  “There’s no time. Mr. Wade’s plane is about to take off,” said the African American officer.

  “Mr. Wade?” Her mouth dropped open.

  The officers stopped at a locked door at the end of the corridor and the blond proceeded to punch a code onto the keypad next to it.

  “After you,” said blondie as the door popped open.

  Taylor was about to blow a massive fuse, but realized yelling at two police officers wasn’t the wisest choice. “You’re not giving me back my things, are you?”

  The two men stared back with stone cold expressions.

  “I’ll take that as a no.” Taylor sighed. “Fine. I’ll take this up with Mr. Wade.”

  She followed the two men down a stairwell and outside to a waiting police car. She seriously didn’t know what sort of game Bennett Wade was playing, but he had just crossed the line.

  When the squad car pulled up to a sleek, gleaming white plane with a roll-away staircase at its side, Taylor headed straight for it, ignoring the pou
ring rain. By the time she got to the top of the steps, her hair was once again dripping wet.

  “Ah, Ms. Reed. There you are.” A redheaded flight attendant, who wore a navy blue skirt suit and had her hair in a neat bun, handed Taylor a towel and then quickly took Taylor’s bags from blondie, who’d followed right behind.

  Taylor swabbed the rain from her damp face and then glanced around the elegant cabin. There were five rows of double black leather seats and a set of doors in the back that looked like they might lead to a bathroom and storage space, but no sign of Bennett Wade.

  “Where’s Mr. Wade?” Taylor asked the flight attendant who was now shutting the plane’s door. “Wait!” Taylor held out her hand. “Don’t close that!”

  The attendant looked at her, puckering her red lips. “Sorry, Sugar?” she asked with a slight twang.

  “I’m not flying on this thing. Where the hell is Mr. Wade?”

  An awkward expression crossed the woman’s face. “You’re not flying?”

  “Not even close. I came to tell Mr. Wade—” The plane jarred forward, and Taylor nearly fell over.

  “I’m afraid it’s too late,” said the attendant, sounding slightly worried. “Once the plane starts moving, I can’t open the doors again without clearance from the captain. Well, that and the plane has to stop moving, of course.”

  I can’t believe this. I’m not flying on this thing!

  “Let me speak to the captain.” Taylor reached for the cockpit door, but it was locked.

  At the same time, the attendant picked up the phone situated to the side of the door and pushed a little button. “Captain, the young woman would like to speak with you. She says she doesn’t want to be on this flight.” The attendant listened for a moment. “Yes. All right. I’ll tell her.” She hung up the phone. “I’m sorry, ma’am, the captain says we’re on a schedule so it’s time to take your seat.”

  What a complete assho…Taylor gasped. “Wait. Mr. Wade is flying the damned plane, isn’t he?”

  The attendant smiled. “Of course. But don’t you worry, Sugar, he’s a very good pilot. The best. I go everywhere with him.” She winked.