Sucking in a hard breath and biting away an embarrassed smile, I shrug. There’s really no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it. “I slept with my boss. Two nights ago. In a bar bathroom. After demanding he explain why he was being so nice to me that day.”
Melrose drops her makeup wipe.
I continue, “But to be fair, all of my interactions with him leading up to that point had been—”
“—wait, wait, wait,” Melrose says. “You slept with someone in a bar bathroom?”
“Not just someone. My boss.”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s not the part that bothers me. I’m just having a hard time picturing your Clean Freak Ass getting down and dirty in a public restroom.”
“I know. It’s disgusting.” My stomach churns just thinking about the billions of microbes I probably took home with me after that, but looking back, that was the least of my worries that night. “Anyway, I’ve never slept with a client before. I mean, technically his father is my client? I guess? But still. I report to him.”
“Honey, it’s the twenty-first century. As long as it’s consensual, who the hell cares?” She tosses her makeup wipe aside, takes a swig from a bottle of Fiji water, and then grabs another wipe. “It was consensual, right?”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “Too consensual.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The man … is an asshole. He’s hot one minute, freezing cold the next. Kind of guy who’s only ever looking out for himself, you know? And he says and does these things that confuse me. But the way he looks at me …” I let my thoughts drift for a second, my mind replaying the night we first kissed.
“Sounds like you have a crush.”
“I wouldn’t call it that.”
“Then what would you call it?”
“I’d like to call it nothing,” I say. “Unfortunately, the more I hate him, the more my body wants him. It’s like my head is wired one way and my body does the exact opposite. This has never happened before, Mel. I don’t know what to do.”
It suddenly occurs to me that I never got a chance to do a little research on his mom. The way he reacted earlier, practically jerking the picture out of my hand and gifting me with that steely gaze, was unnerving, and that’s saying a lot considering the source.
I drag my laptop across my bed and transfer the call to my computer.
“What are you going to do?” she asks.
“Look something up real quick.”
“No.” She uncaps a jar of Tatcha moisturizer, patting it into her skin. “No, I mean, what are you going to do about your little crush?”
I shrug, pulling up the elder Calder’s Wikipedia page. On the left hand side, it lists his spouses. He’s on number four, it would seem. Number one, who passed away sixteen years ago this month, was named Gwyneth.
There’s no link to her name, and a cursory search for Gwyneth Welles gives me a generic obituary, stating she passed away unexpectedly at the age of thirty-six and she was survived by her husband and twelve-year-old son.
That’s it.
Regardless of how she passed, he was just a child. It must have been devastating, traumatic. And then to have a workaholic, self-involved father on top of that? No wonder he’s so callous. It’s not about me—he’s angry at the world.
“Are you going to sleep with him again?” she asks.
“Not if I can help it.” A rush of heat between my thighs begs to differ.
“KNOCK, KNOCK …”
I glance up from my desk to find Keane standing before me, a white ceramic mug with a tea bag tag dangling over the side.
“I know you don’t drink coffee, but I thought I could interest you in some Earl Grey?”
She places it atop a paper coaster on my desk, rotating it so the handle is oriented to my right.
“Did you have a good weekend?” she asks.
“Really, Keane?”
“What?” She takes a step back.
“You’re going to waste both of our time with small talk? You do realize I have a board meeting in fifteen minutes.” I feel bad for snapping at her. Honest. I do. But there needs to be distance between us, a wedge. I need her to hate me. I need her to stay away from me because all I want to do is be near her.
I can’t recall a single moment over the weekend when I wasn’t thinking about Aerin. The softness of her lips. Her delicate gait. The rhythmic way she grinded against me in the bathroom last week, her nails digging into my flesh. The look on her face when she climaxed … but every time I replayed those moments, images of her laughing with that scrub-wearing, TV-looking doctor replaced them all, and I was instantly reminded that Keane is the one thing I can’t have.
Her hand hooks on her hip. “Seriously? I bring you tea and ask how your weekend was and that’s your response?”
“We don’t have to be friends just because we slept together, Keane,” I say.
She spins on her kitten heel, rushing for the door and closing it.
“And you don’t have to bring me tea,” I say.
“It was a gesture of goodwill.”
“Noted. And thank you for that. But I think the less we see each other, the better,” I say.
Her brows meet, and she begins to say something but stops. “Why are you acting like you’re dumping me and we weren’t even dating?”
“Not dumping you, Keane. Just saying, I’d like to keep things as professional as possible for the remainder of your time here.”
“You know, the more you try and act like it’s your idea to keep your hands to yourself, the less I believe you,” she says. “It’s like you’re overcompensating.”
She’s onto me.
Aerin takes a step closer, arms folded tight across her chest where the top pearl button of her gray cardigan seems to have come undone.
“You’re more than welcome to believe what you want to believe,” I say.
“You want to kiss me right now.” Her mouth turns into a smile, though it isn’t a sweet smile.
And her words aren’t cute.
They’re a dare.
“Again, feel free to believe what you—”
“—you want to, don’t you?” she asks. “Just admit it.”
“Why should I? And what does it matter? What difference would it make?”
Her eyes hold on mine, her chest rising and falling in quick succession. “I … I don’t know. I guess … it wouldn’t matter.”
Aerin’s arms fall limp at her sides.
“You bring out these pieces of me I never knew existed before,” she says, “and I spent all weekend trying to understand why.”
“Did you figure it out, Keane?”
She shrugs before shaking her head. “Nope.”
“If it’s any condolence, I might be able to say the same about you.” I check the time on my phone. I need to head to the conference room in a few minutes. This was the last kind of distraction I needed before the big meeting.
Her honey brown eyes widen, as if my confession brings her comfort, changes things.
“Anyway, don’t you have a boyfriend to text or something?” I ask.
“Boyfriend?”
“Yeah. Aren’t you dating a doctor?”
Aerin’s head leans to one side. “Are you … are you jealous, Calder?”
I knew it.
I was right.
She is dating him.
“I have no reason to be jealous of a stranger dating a girl I fucked in a bar bathroom.” My words are sharp, and they wipe out all traces of amusement on Aerin’s face just a moment ago.
“You’re such a prick.” She turns to leave.
“Aerin,” I say when she gets to the door. It’s the first time I’ve called her by her name out loud.
Her back remains toward me, her hand white-knuckling the door handle. I don’t need to see her face to realize I’ve probably brought a tear to her eye.
“My brother is an ER physician. Only doctor I know, actually. So if you saw m
e with a guy in scrubs, that was my big brother. His name is Rush. And had you taken a fraction of an interest in getting to know me or treating me like a decent human being, you might have known that.”
“You’re right,” I blurt. “I want to kiss you right now.”
She twists the knob, swinging the door open. “You’re going to be late for your board meeting.”
“HEY, SOMEONE BROUGHT MAGNOLIA cupcakes. They’re in the—oh, my God, are you okay?” Lillie bursts through my doorway. “Are you crying?”
I’m not a crier.
I don’t cry. Ever.
But I’ve never felt the sting of words as sharp as Calder’s.
“What happened? Are you okay?” She takes the chair on the other side of my desk, and I dab the corner of my eyes with a handful of toilet paper I grabbed from the ladies’ room on my way back to my office. “Did you get fired?”
I laugh, glancing at her through watering eyes. “If I got fired, I’d be celebrating right now. Not throwing myself a pity party.”
“Okay, so tell me what happened.” She leans forward, palm covering the top of my hand. “It’s Calder, isn’t it?”
I didn’t tell her I hooked up with him at The Lowery last week. She was too busy making out with some wannabe music producer who was in town from Philadelphia and name-dropping like mad. But in her defense, he was super sweet and funny to boot. She could’ve done much worse.
“What? Did you sleep with him?” She smacks the table. “Oh, you naughty minx.”
“Please don’t repeat that. I don’t want it getting out.”
“Sweets, do you honestly think anyone here would care? Everyone’s too busy trying to kiss his ass since he’s going to be the new boss. No one’s trying to sleep with him. No offense.” Lillie laughs. “I think we all just want to be on the nice list in case he decides to trim the fat or whatever. Anyway, I won’t repeat it. I promise.”
“Thank you.”
“But why are you crying?”
I dab my eyes again, which have grown noticeably dryer since Lillie came in here. I guess she has that effect on people. Little Miss Sunshine.
“Because he did exactly what I expected him to do,” I say.
“Oh, sweets. You have to admit, he’s got heartbreaker written all over him,” she says. “Son of a billionaire. Hotter than a Greek God.” She lifts her hands to her shoulders and squints. “Walks around here with those muscles and that broody, ice-cold stare. It’s hot as hell. And you should thank your lucky stars that you got to experience that.”
I wish Lillie could hear herself right now.
Girl like her are partially to blame for the reason guys like Calder are the way they are. We let them think they’re the lucky ones, and we convince ourselves that we’re some sort of special, that we should feel honored just because they want to stick their dicks in us.
“You going to be okay?” she asks, reaching for my hand again. “Guys suck. And guys like him? They suck the worst. There isn’t a woman alive who’s ever going to change that about them either.”
“Amen.” I crumple the toilet paper and toss it in my wastebasket.
“I need to get going. Call me if you need anything, okay?” Lillie rises from my chair, gives a little wave, and dashes out of my office on her four-inch heels.
Grabbing a report off the top of the stack on my desk, I get to work, and by the time I’ve finished two more, my stomach is rumbling and it’s almost time for lunch. Retrieving my purse from a drawer, I get up from my desk and give myself thirty seconds to decide between the deli on the corner or something disgusting to match my mood.
Only I don’t quite make it out of my office before running into Mr. Welles.
“Aerin, I was hoping I’d catch you before you left. You have a moment?” he asks. A leather folio rests beneath his jacketed arm. He must have just finished up with the board meeting.
“Of course.”
We head back into my office, Mr. Welles closing the door behind him. I take a seat at my desk.
“Everything okay?” I ask. If I’m lucky, Calder pulled some strings or worked some miracles and his father’s coming in to tell me I’m free to go.
“Oh, yes, yes.” He smiles, taking the seat where Lillie sat moments ago. “Everything’s going great, actually. I just wanted to see how things were going with C.J.?”
It’s so weird hearing someone call him “C.J.”
It doesn’t fit him at all. He doesn’t look like a “C.J.”
He very much looks like a Calder. Dark, broody, mysterious, and unlike anyone I’ve ever known before.
“Fine,” I say, keeping a tight lid on things. I have no idea what Calder has or hasn’t told him about us.
“Great, great.” His hands form a peak in front of his face. “Then I have one additional … task … I’d like to add to your load while you’re here.”
“Okay?”
“I need you to keep a close eye on him,” he says.
That’s a first.
“In what sort of ways?” I ask. I don’t dare tell him that Calder specifically requested just this morning that we see each other as little as possible the next four weeks. “It’s just that, he’s very busy—as you know. I don’t see him that often as it is.”
“I know,” he says, swatting his wrinkled hand. He clears his throat, which turns into a cough that quickly dissipates, but he dips into his pocket and retrieves a cherry cough drop anyway. “You see, I’ve missed the last ten years of my boy’s life. And I don’t want to miss a minute more. He still wants nothing to do with me. Won’t talk anything but business with me. And it occurred to me just this morning that my son is nothing more than a stranger who shares my name. I want to get to know him, Aerin. I want to know who he is. What he likes. What makes him tick. What makes him smile.”
Mr. Welles flashes a quick, toothy grin.
“You’re the only one with that kind of access to him,” he says. “I need you to tell me everything, no matter how mundane or nuanced.”
“Mr. Welles … I don’t know …”
“There’s something about being face to face with the end of your life, with your own mortality, that changes a man,” he says. His gaze passes my shoulders and he stares through the window behind me, pausing as if he’s lost in thought. “Makes you want to grab everything you can, as fast as you can. Like one of those machines where the money blows all around you and you’re grabbing, grabbing, grabbing. Even if you’re only getting singles, it’s better than nothing.”
It breaks my heart to say this, but I have to be honest. “I’m so sorry, but I’m not comfortable doing that.”
His melancholic demeanor darkens and his bushy salt and pepper brows meet in the middle. “I’m not asking you to do anything illegal, Ms. Keane. And for three hundred grand, I should be asking you to do a hell of a lot more.”
Mr. Welles stands, running his hand down his red tie. His face is flushed, his ears red hot. I take it he isn’t used to anyone standing up to him, refusing his requests.
“You asked me to be your son’s assistant,” I say. “That’s what I was hired to do. Not spy on him. I don’t appreciate being taken for a ride. I’m a person of my word. I thought you were too.”
I realize I’m ridiculously brazen to talk to this man in this way, but the worst thing he could do is fire me, which is ironically also the best thing he could do.
“I want to know everything,” he says, teeth almost gritting. “What he does, where he goes, what he likes, how many fucking sugars he takes in his coffee.”
He doesn’t drink coffee, but I don’t share that little nugget.
As much as it pains me to defend his progeny, I’m the one who has to look myself in the mirror every day. I’m the one who has to lie awake at night with my own thoughts, and it’s a hell of a lot easier to fall asleep without a heavy conscience than with one.
“Keep that in mind, Ms. Keane,” he says, pointing. He heads to the door, stopping just before he goes. “An
d might I recommend re-reading your contract when you have a moment?”
Of course.
There’s probably some vaguely-worded non-compliance clause buried in there.
“Yes, sir.” I shove my purse back in my drawer.
My hunger seems to have vanished.
MY FATHER RAISES THE partition between us and his driver as we merge into traffic. We’re on our way to his weekly “three martini lunch” at Tavern on the Green with a few of the board members who also happen to be close friends of his.
This is day five of my father carting me around like a show pony, showing me off to all of his comrades, trying not to outwardly cringe when he makes a comment that implies we aren’t estranged and that we’ve got the kind of father-son bond most men only dream of.
If delusion is a thing that comes with age, then I don’t want to grow old.
I haven’t spoken more than a few words to Aerin since Monday, when I told her she was just some girl I fucked in a bathroom. Or more like, she hasn’t spoken more than a few words to me.
I regretted the words the instant they left my mouth.
In my attempt to scare her away, I shoved her instead. Metaphorically speaking. And it was wrong. I tried to apologize in the middle of the week, but she cut me off before I had a chance, redirecting any and all conversations to work-related topics.
“How are things going with your assistant?” my father asks.
“That came out of nowhere.” I steer my attention outside my window, counting cars as they pass and watching people dash through the rain, weaving around with their oversized umbrellas. A young mother lets her child splash in a puddle, and he squeals as the murky water drips down his yellow wellies. “Things are fine with Ms. Keane. Why do you ask?”
I glance at him for a moment, catching a glint in his eyes.
“Oh, you know. I just think you need to be careful with that one,” he says. “I think she likes you.”
“I can assure you that isn’t the case.”
If the bastard only knew.
“It’s fine. You don’t see it, but I do. And I’ve been around long enough to know what it looks like when a woman is keen on a man.” He pats his leg, as if he’s amused at himself or proud of himself. But I’m positive it doesn’t occur to him that the majority of women he’s encountered in his dating life have shown interest in him for non-organic reasons.
P.S. I Dare You (PS Series Book 3) Page 10