by D. M. Burns
I’m afraid that I’ve already witnessed my highlight of the night though. I consider myself lucky on so many different levels. It was when I was awarded a front-row seat to the viewing pleasure of Brogan Creed’s breathtaking smile.
That was like opening a special gift on Christmas day. And the dimple in his left cheek was simply a bow on top. I have a feeling that very few people get to witness that side of him. I’d bet money that any happy emotions Brogan has shared can be counted out on one hand. That alone makes my southern heart shrivel up with sadness.
Brogan’s an enigma and for whatever reason, outside the obvious, he has managed to capture my interest long before tonight. My lifelong workplace rules that I live by are firmly in place though, non-negotiable. No hanky-panky. That imaginary work DJ is on a loudspeaker blasting out a high alert every time he gets within reaching distance. That’s a line that I refuse to cross. Essentially, I’m the only one that stands to monetarily lose in this scenario and that’s not an option. Heck, us little fish must eat too.
“How long have you worked with The House of Creed?” Nate’s gruff voice pulls me from my thoughts.
“Right at a month now.” I look up into those chocolate brown eyes that are focused on me. He smiles and nods his head.
“Are you happy with that career choice?” Not sure why but it feels like Nate is baiting the hook. For what? I have no clue.
“Well, I love marketing. In my opinion if you love your work then you really can’t go wrong.” Nate nods his head.
“You’re absolutely right. I only ask because the man of the hour hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you stepped onto this dance floor with me.” He says.
“Who?” I ask.
“Your fearless leader… Creed.” He smirks at me.
“Oh. Well… Uhmmm. You must be mistaken.” My eyebrows scrunch up into my hairline. Nate shakes his head no with a wide smile.
“You’re the most intriguing and elegant woman here tonight. Why is that so hard for you to believe, Brealyn? Capturing the attention of the most powerful man in the room is no chore for you.”
“Wow, that’s very kind, but he’s my employer. That’s a red zone for me.” Maybe if I keep telling myself that my body will conform and adapt to that mindset too.
“Since I won’t be disrespecting anyone or stepping on their toes, agree to go out with me Brea?” He asks.
“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” I smirk at him. Nate tips his head back and laughs out loud before returning his warm fudgy gaze to me.
“Don’t act to overjoyed. I promise to make it memorable. And if I play my cards right, hopefully, you’ll enjoy yourself and agree to do it again. What do you say?” Beth’s words play out in my head from earlier, live a little. What the heck? Why not?
“Sounds like fun. When?” Nate stops as the song ends but doesn’t let my hand go. He leads us off the floor and in the direction of his table but not before he snags us another glass of the bubbly.
“How about tomorrow night? My family owns a little restaurant called Renaissance. The food’s delicious and on Saturday nights the live music sets a lovely tone.”
Nate pulls a chair out for me and as I lower myself down my eyes land on one irate looking boss man from across the way. My head snaps back before I can control my reaction. I’m so caught off guard by Brogan’s demeanor that I automatically look around me to see who the intended recipient could be, other than me of course. But I find no one that warrants this death by eyeshot glare.
“I told you he wasn’t happy,” Nate says with a bit of humor in his voice.
“That’s absurd, Nate. I’m his employee, that’s all.” I say.
Instead of looking over at Nate, I quirk my eyebrow at Brogan. It’s a “what the heck is wrong with you” notion that I hope he picks up on. Brogan tosses back the rest of his drink and sets his glass down on a passing table as he starts to cross the room. He’s advancing right in my direction. Holy crap.
Running from him in the other direction is my first instinct. Crap. If I weren’t surrounded by all these clients, I’d blast past this scene altogether. Brogan is a frightening sight right now. What have I done?
“Are you sure about that?” Nate throws his arm across the back of my chair and tilts his head toward me. My eyes stay on the tailored Boogeyman remake forcing his way straight to me.
“I’m one hundred percent positive,” I whisper. I’m so not. When Brogan stops in front of the table Nate stands and holds his hand out in introduction.
“It’s nice to see you again, Brogan,” Nate says. Brogan’s icy glare turns to Nate and he extends his hand returning the expected businessman formalities. “Are you in charge of hiring now because you have a prize winner here with Brealyn?”
“That’s still Carson’s area of expertise. I can’t take credit for this wise business decision.” Brogan says. “Where’s Chelsey? Figured she’d be here with you.” Nate visibly looks uncomfortable.
“She moved back home last month. We called off the engagement.” Nate says with a sad undertone to his voice.
“Sorry to hear that.” Brogan turns his attention to me without a care in the world for that hurtful butthole remark he just tossed out and continues, “Brealyn, can I speak to you for a moment?” He doesn’t even wait for my reply. Brogan turns and walks away from the table heading straight for the exit.
“I’m so sorry, Nate. Please excuse him and me. Uhm, I’ll be right back.”
“No worries at all, Brea. I know Brogan well. Pleasantries have never been his strong suit.” Nate pulls my chair out for me and I trail quickly behind the butthole of the ball.
When I march out front into the deserted hallway Brogan grabs me by my upper arm. Guiding us down the long elegant hallway until he steps into an empty room that’s decked out for business adventures with the filthy rich. Without any time to get the details of the room, Brogan advances forward where I back myself into the wall.
“Brogan, what in the ever-bee-loving heck is wrong with you? Take your hand off me right now.” I jerk my arm out of his hold. My entire face feels as though it’s on fire.
“Ever-bee-loving heck…” He chuckles. “Jesus, it’s that kind of repressed vocabulary right there that has me wondering the same thing about you, Brealyn.” He rakes his large hand through his black silky strands. My globes are bouncing frantically between his ice barriers searching hopelessly for any clues as to what has set him off.
“Are you insane?” I whisper yell. “Other than my interview, that was the rudest display out of you to date. I’m so embarrassed for him…” He cuts me off.
“I’m not a relationship counselor, Brea. Any consoling done by me would only inflict more harm on that guy.” He studies me a moment then continues, “Dating the clients is against company policy.” He steps into me. Keep in mind that there wasn’t much room left between us to begin with. If he moves a centimeter our bodies will sculpt together.
“You’re lecturing me on business practices when being a kind human should come naturally, Brogan, really? And how could you possibly know that Nate asked me out? You were across the room. Wait, what?... How?... What?” I stumble over my words. “Are you some kind of lip reader or something? If so, how dare you, Brogan Creed.” I’m so aggravated with this man that I stomp my darn foot like a five-year-old. Wow, just wow.
My face must mirror that of a caged hostile country girl about to unleash a dirty south butt whipping because Brogan steps back, but not quick enough that I missed the smell of cognac in our shared breathing space. That granite slab jaw of his is working overtime but those led lights for eyes dart away.
“How much have you had to drink tonight, Brogan?” I let out a resigned sigh.
Since I’ve been here, I’ve seen him down at least seven glasses of that brown sedative. After witnessing his refusal to entertain or interact with others, my heart went out to him. Carson is the only one he spares a few words with and even that’s limited. I’ve been paying
attention, okay?
My question must catch him off guard. His eyes snap back to me and he just stares. It’s like I’m his lab experiment and he’s waiting for my next move so he can type out a report on my suspicious behavior then run statistics on his findings later.
My emotional country girl cares are there, plentiful. It’s just the way I was raised. But it also has a lot to do with the fact that I’m drawn to this man. I have no idea why but I am. It’s crazy. My gut instincts tell me that he has no one other than Carson and Geneva. I can feel it. He needs someone to care for him, the person. Not what he can afford them or provide for them, just him.
My fingertips tingle to reach out and skim across his face then continue the motion through his blonde streak of hair, but I stay pressed into the wall, motionless. He’s my boss. Most importantly, I’M TERRIFIED.
“Don’t be.” He whispers in a low growl inching closer to me. I blink at him through my angry haze. Did I say that out loud?
“What?” I ask. I’m so darn confused.
“You have no need to be scared of me, Southern Comfort.” Oh my God… Did he just call me that?
His full swollen thick lips move in, but his ice blues are locked to mine. I watch in slow motion as he brushes them tenderly across mine. My breathing catches upon impact. He barely touches me, but the thrill is real. He jerks back suddenly leaving me to believe that my skin inflicted third-degree burns upon him.
As quickly as it started, it’s over. Like I dreamt it all. I reach up and lightly brush my bottom lip where the tingles still exist. He scrubs his hand across his face and steps back, but his eyes are riveted on me. His face morphs over with confusion and he squints at me. I’m vaguely aware that I’m holding my breath, but I’m too stunned to make a move. Holy crap, what have I done?
“Nothing.” He places both of his palms against his temples and backs up another step. “Forget this ever happened and I’ll make sure it never does again. I’ve consumed too much alcohol.” He growls.
He stalks to the door, straightens his spine and peers back over his shoulder at me. Those ice-blue eyes locked and loaded. The boardroom boss façade has slipped back into place.
“The House of Creed has a strict policy against dating clients. I’d advise you to remember that Brealyn.” Then he rips the door open and disappears out into the hallway.
I’m left standing here in a shocked state of mind. What just happened? Oh, yeah… That’s right… You kissed your boss, that’s what. Dear, Jesus. I can tell you one thing, he’s going to keep that butthole crap up, and I’m bound to snap. Then I’ll show him repressed vocabulary. JACK-HOLE…
chapter 10
brealyn
It’s been three weeks since the black-tie bash and Brogan has made it his mission to become The House of Creed’s ghost. I went out on a limb and asked Geneva a week ago if Brogan was well. She said he was overseeing some important structural details for the headquarters site location in Atlanta. I took that for face value and went about my normal work-related responsibilities.
After I found my way back to the inside the black-tie ballroom, I spent the rest of my time in the company of Nate. There was no way I was allowing Mr. Grumpy pants to ruin my night at The Plaza. Nate and I carried on in an easy lighthearted conversation. He told me a little bit about his nasty breakup. I can tell that it still has a hold on his heart.
From what Nate shared, him and his ex-fiancé differences are only a matter of location. His place in this world is here in New York, but Chelsey’s is in Texas. It’s sad to see good people hurt and separate over something as minuscule as a location tack on the circular map. If it comes to love or location, you better believe I’m choosing love.
Brogan disappeared from The Plaza after our so-called closed-door meeting. Poof vanished into thin air. I wasn’t surprised. The man looked painfully uncomfortable the entire time he was there except for the briefest moments spent with me on the terrace.
His expensive cologne mixed with cognac is still embedded in my memory cabinet. Along with the way his lips left me feeling like I had just inhaled an entire bottle of carbonated pop leaving that fuzzy unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’ve tried to block it out but gave up on that notion weeks ago. How something so small can occupy my thought process so completely is beyond me but it’s true all the same.
Even though I secretly high-fived the celibate Nun that lives inside of me when the policies were laid out by Brogan, it has no bearing where Nate’s concerned though. I found this out shortly after I tried to explain the “no dating clients” company policy spiel. Nate’s response was easy. He said, “Then let’s be thankful that I’m not a client of The House of Creed.”
At first, I was caught off guard, but Nate told me that Carson invites him every year. Something about mutual connections that his IT company and The House of Creed share. But his company was not directly connected or obligated by a contract. Therefore, he refused to take no for an answer.
Nate’s a good man but it’s clear that he’s still in love with his ex-fiancé. We go out and occupy each other’s time as friends. I’ve made it clear that I’m in no way looking for a serious relationship from someone emotionally unavailable. His unfortunate messy breakup is my reliable crutch. Nate will find his way back to the love of his life though. I genuinely believe this, and my gut never lies.
With Christmas right around the corner, I broke down last week and purchased a small Christmas tree for my loft. Tamera is supposed to come by tonight and help me put it up. Incidentally, around this same time last year, my old apartment was broken into and the thief stole everything under the tree including the decorated tree itself. That’s what I call a career criminal that takes their profession seriously.
The office shut down nearly two hours ago and I missed my ride out with Beth again. Winters in New York, to me, are bone-chilling cold. The rain feels like tiny ice pellets and the snow freezes to my face. But I love the festive lights and decorations that come to life in the city.
Every year since moving here, I pencil in time to visit the Rockefeller Center and Facetime my grandparents, so they get to see the tree with me; something shared instead of nothing at all. It’s sorta like our tradition now because traveling back and forth is costly. By my calculations, if no unexpected expenses come about, I should be able to fly out by summer to visit with them.
Slumping back in my chair, I click the mouse a couple of times and shut my computer down. Performing the daily ritual, I prepare to head out. Walking over to the door, I bundle up in my coat and scarf then flick the light kicking up a straight shot for the elevator, destination home. My best friend and a Christmas tree require my full attention.
Admiring the beautiful tree work that Tamera and I spent the last two hours working on has me all up in my holiday spirit feels. Tamera’s searching through the iPhone looking for the perfect tunes while I pay the delivery guy for our pepperoni pizza.
“Mr. M is going to be pissed if he catches sight of that delivery guy. Not eating his Italian food is reason enough for eviction.” Tamera mumbles.
“Just know, if he busts us out, I’m throwing you under the bus. You don’t have to live here, I do.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her and she shrugs.
I take a slice out of the box and give it to the delivery guy and he graciously accepts. My grandma taught me to feed people. It’s a southern hospitality thing that lives and breathes in me. After giving him a good tip, I wave bye, and close the door while making my way into the open space.
My loft is a combination of a kitchen, living room, and bedroom all in one with rustic brick walls encasing the space. The bathroom is closed off though, thank God. I’ve layered the dark hardwood floors with a huge off-white fake fur rug but splurged on the soft gray lounger, couch, and loveseat. My favorite part of the loft is the adorable fire escape that I pretend is my luxurious balcony. This space in the world is a welcoming comfort away from the bustling city chaos going on outside.
�
�And to think I spent my Friday night helping you put up this tree and you’d simply hand me over to Mr. M like that,” Tam says.
She shakes her head while walking over and setting the iPhone on the dock. The sounds of My Own Prison by Creed sounds out into the loft. The irony of the band’s name is not lost on me nor the lyrics of the song.
What’s even more baffling is the fact that I haven’t told my best friend the first thing about Brogan Creed. Oh, she knows all about him though. Anyone living and breathing in New York knows of the notorious financial footprint of the Wallstreet God.
Tamera and I met during my first week in Manhattan. I was exiting the train at Grand Central and she was entering; it was a head-on collision that resulted in best friends instead of a homicide. After that unlikely meet and greet we’ve been inseparable for the past three years.
We’re also total opposites but it works for us. Where she’s tough as nails; I’m sweetness reserved. Where she’s punk rock; I’m totally Justin Timberlake with a side of Hank Williams Jr. (You can take the girl out of the country but never the country out of the girl.) Where she’s all about some leather and chains; I’m business suits and sundresses. Where she’s quick to cuss like a sailor and jump to conclusions; I look for understanding and reframe from verbal blows. But where we both meet in the middle is our love for each other and spicy foods.
Tamera’s a walking talking glamour runway model with a side of thug too. Her long black glossy hair resembles spun shadowy silk and she has beautiful large ice-blue eyes. Tam is constantly booked out for her fierce walk and unique look. My girl is famous in her own right. Her love for rock music is an educational trip for me but she’ll say the same for my country collection too.
“Thanks for helping with the tree, Tam,” I say as we both sit in front of the beautiful twinkling triangle of pine needles. I plop the pizza box on the floor between us and we dig in.