“You’re a pig,” I called after him.
“And you’re useless.” He slammed the door behind him.
I push the contract in the trash and walk into my living room. A barren room, void of any reference to life or family. It’s just filled with things.
I fall to my knees and open the bottom door of the entertainment unit. Inside is a bronze box, ornate in detail, with rose filigree. I open it and take out the only personal artifacts of my childhood.
At the top is a newborn hospital hat. It has a smear of dried blood on it, obviously the one I wore the day I was born. I hold it in my hands and feel the soft fabric between my fingers. It used to smell like baby powder. Now, it just smells stale, like it’s been trapped in a box for three decades.
Next, I take out a tiny pink bear with the words Mommy’s Little Cub written on the belly. I’d like to think she loved me once upon a time in order to have kept these things. I’ve thought about hiring someone to find her, but I never will. She left me. She might not have wanted him, but she deserted her only child.
I push past a few knickknacks—most from school, like a medal for winning the science fair and an eraser set given to me by the first boy I ever had a crush on. I don’t know why I still have it, but I do.
At the bottom of the box is a picture. It’s faded, and it has my fingerprints indented on it. In the photo is a man. He has shaggy dark hair that falls around his ears and a mustache that rounds down to his chin. He looks like he’s sleeping, but he’s not. His eyes are closed in a peaceful moment, a smile on his lips. In his arms is a sleeping baby, snuggled close to his chest, content and safe in her father’s embrace.
It’s a picture of me and my dad.
I don’t know what happened or why he changed. It doesn’t matter. All I know is that, for one fleeting moment, a moment long enough for someone to grab a camera and take a picture, he loved me.
I’m sure my parents had no idea when they named me, but heather is a plant that thrives in decaying lands. That’s me. Thriving in a home that slowly fell apart each year until there was nothing left but sadness and pain.
I place everything back in the box and close the door. With my back against the wall, I bring my knees to my chest and stare at the carpet. The same carpet I danced on with a beautiful man, feeling right for the first time in my life.
A man who, despite only knowing him for one night, has captured my soul and made it flourish in his light.
A man who I wish I would stop dreaming about.
A man who I secretly wish I could be with.
A man who I need to stay far away from.
It’s been four weeks since Ryan started his internship, which also means it’s been four weeks of enduring certain office chatter.
“What are they feeding these boys these days?”
“They didn’t look like that when I was in college.”
“Forget compliance. I’d risk my job for one night with that.”
The chitchat of the office girls in the break room makes me over pour the milk into my tea.
“Damn it,” I mutter as I use a napkin to brush away the milk dribbling down my skirt.
“You okay there, Heather?” Michaela, a sexy New Zealander with dark skin and a too-friendly smile, cautiously asks me.
It’s not like anyone on the staff to talk to me about anything other than their assignments.
“I’m fine.” I toss the napkin in the trash and adjust my skirt.
When I look up, three girls are staring at me.
“So, when’s the wedding?” Michaela asks.
The other girls are now staring into their coffee cups.
As much as I don’t want to like her, the truth is, she’s really nice. Like, annoyingly sincere in a way that seems fake but you know it is genuine.
“We haven’t set a date,” I answer. Then, I grab my tea off the counter to leave.
“You make a beautiful couple,” Michaela says.
I wonder if she chose the word beautiful over wonderful or happy or even loving for a reason.
Because we’re not. Any of those things.
“Thank you,” I say. I leave the room before any more questions are asked. I’m not two feet outside the door when I hear the other two bitches snickering from the break room.
Who cares? I got the guy. And the funds. They’re just jealous.
I walk my tea toward my office but pause when I see Ryan chatting with Zahara, one of the other interns, in the hallway. Ducking inside an office, I take cover so as not to be seen.
I’ve been doing this a lot lately.
It sucks, having to see him everywhere. Since Jarrod put Ryan under my wing, and our failed one-on-one mentoring session, we keep our conversations strictly business and low on eye contact. It’s an arrangement we made in silence.
Yet, every once in a while, I catch him looking, and I pretend my heart isn’t beating out of my chest at the sight. Like when I’m in the control room, microphone set on my head, calling out orders to the director and telling the tech guys when to get the graphics on-screen, I’m in the moment, trying to keep our live broadcast on schedule, looking as clean as possible…and then I see him.
Ryan.
He’s just standing in the corner, watching me like he’s never seen someone produce a television show, never seen a woman man the helm of a broadcast and dictate orders to others. The look on his face is not one of intimidation. It’s admiration. And it kills me.
Or, the other day, when the whole show imploded. Guests canceled, props went missing, and our host started freaking out because someone took her weave from the dressing room. I was scrambling like a chicken with its head cut off, and when I got to my office, there was a grande chai tea waiting for me. I asked Meg if she left it. She said no and wasn’t sure who had. I’m pretty sure I knew though.
You know what kills me the most? He’s smart. Over the past few weeks, I’ve had the honor of sitting in on various meetings where he brings up the latest trends in news. He has an uncanny way of knowing what is going to be on everyone’s mind the next day.
And he’s kind. I witnessed him giving a homeless guy twenty bucks. That has to be a lot on a college student’s salary, especially one who is working an unpaid internship.
He’s the type of guy who comes in early and stays late just to help other people get their work done.
And, Lord help me, when he volunteered to be a model in our “Summer Splash Swimsuit” demo on the show, the baby-soft skin of a young twenty-one-year-old over the rippling muscles of a former football player brought back memories that are still too fresh in my mind to easily recover from.
“Not only am I going to lick your sweet pussy until you’re screaming my name, I am also going to fuck you until the sun comes up.”
“Can I help you with something?” Michaela appears next to me in the hallway.
I jolt back with my hand over my heart.
“No.” I pause. “I was just waiting for someone. I have a meeting.” I awkwardly point to the office I am half-standing, half-hiding in.
Michaela’s dark eyes dart to the space behind me. A desk and an empty chair are in the room. “That’s my office,” she states in that Kiwi accent.
“Oh.” I step into the hall. “My bad, I thought this was—” I can’t make up anything on the fly, especially because, when I look to my right, Ryan and Zahara are looking my way. I pivot to the left and smack into Meg, who is walking down the hall.
Hot.
Burning hot.
Steam.
“I’m so sorry, Heather. Did you burn yourself?” Meg asks, fanning down my chest with rapid hand movements where my cup of tea just crashed into me.
My skin is on fire. I pick up the lapel of my shirt and start pumping it away from my chest, a poor attempt at creating a breeze. Making quick work of my feet, I scurry down to the break room, which, thankfully, is empty, and I turn on the sink faucet to splash cold water on my chest.
My blouse is soa
ked. My skirt now has milk and tea stains, and I, quite possibly, have second-degree burns on my skin. All in all, I’d say this is a fabulous day.
The door behind me opens. I close my eyes in mortification of who in the world could be in here. I think the only person I can tolerate right now is Meg, but she knows better than to bother me. I’m sure whoever it is loves the front-row view of my embarrassment.
The body behind me walks around to the refrigerator.
It doesn’t take long for the tall, well-built frame and perfectly defined ass in a pair of Dockers to make its way into my peripheral vision, sending my body into a frenzy. I can pick Ryan out of a lineup of a thousand men—blindfolded. There’s just something about his presence, his aura, that appeals to my senses.
He opens the freezer door and takes out a tray of ice cubes, pouring them into a Ziploc bag. He turns to me and pauses. That scowl from the last few times he’s looked at me is gone. Slowly, he walks toward me, stopping just a few feet away.
“May I?” he asks, holding the bag up in the air.
I nod and let out a sigh of defeat.
He closes the gap, the heat of his body hotter than the tea on my skin. He’s wearing his glasses, and they make him look so much older and sexier than his twenty-one years.
He lifts the bag to my chest, and I insert a hiss at the cold feeling against my heated skin. It stings at first, but then I let out a light moan when relief quickly sets in.
“I see I was right,” he says.
“About what?”
“You like tea.” His mouth is quirked to the side.
Memories of the sweet note and that beautiful rose that has since died and disposed of in the trash come back to me. I was happy. Genuinely happy. The euphoric feeling is gone, and I seem to get glimpses of it every time he’s in the room.
I fight a grin. “I love tea. And bagels.”
Ryan moves the ice around my chest. Each move stings but is followed by comfort.
“You have a beautiful smile, Heather. You don’t smile enough.”
His gaze focuses on mine, and I can see my smile in the reflection of his glasses.
“I don’t have many things to smile about,” I say truthfully.
His face falls, but those eyes stay tuned in on me. “I don’t know about that. Aren’t newly engaged women usually the happiest they’ve ever been?” He takes my hand with his free one and raises it to my chest, placing it over the ice. When my hand is secure, he removes his and steps back. “You got what you want. You should be happy.”
“I am,” I say with a cough. “I’m really excited. Jarrod and I have been planning the big day. He’ll make an amazing husband.”
Ryan nods. His hands go in his pockets as he retreats back a step. “Good, because that would be a sin to spend eternity with someone who doesn’t make you happy.”
I swallow, trying to find words, something to say.
“She used to dance.” My eyes are trained on a white button on his shirt. “My mother. When I was little, we always had music in the house. She would put on these little shows. I didn’t realize it at the time, but she was probably drunk. Still, those moments, they were the best memories.” I inhale a shaky breath. “I haven’t danced with anyone since she left. The thought of being held by someone else when she didn’t want to do so hurt too much. I’ve avoided it for too long.”
His chin nods as he takes in the severity of what I just said.
I look up into his eyes, the ones I’ve feared staring into, knowing I’d lose myself completely.
I continue, “That night…our night, when you danced with me…it meant more than you could ever imagine.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this. It just feels like something I’m supposed to do.
Ryan lifts a hand and tucks my hair behind my ear. With his thumb, he wipes a stray tear I didn’t know I’d shed. I nod into his hand, savoring the feeling.
“Thank you for telling me.” He rubs a small circle on my cheek. “Heather, that night, with you, it was the most—”
His words are cut off when the door to the break room opens. Meg peeks her head in, her eyes bugging out for a second, and then she retreats backward for a moment. Something in her eyes changes as she takes in the sight of Ryan with his hands on me, the intimate embrace we are sharing. She moves back into the room and stands there, looking at us like a mother hen getting her chickens in line.
Ryan’s body stiffens. When he releases me, I feel so alone.
I watch as Ryan walks to the break room door and nods to Meg. A secret conversation passes between them.
He turns around to me and says, “Take care of yourself.” He points to my burn, but I have a feeling this is his way of giving up on us.
On our one night.
On our standoff.
On our coexistence.
The door closes behind him. I lean my hip against the counter, the ice on my heart and my hand on my head.
“He’s an intern.” Meg’s words pull me out of my sorrow.
I lift my head to her. “Excuse me?”
“You’re senior level management and, not to mention, Jarrod Bellomy’s fiancée. He’s a student. It’s against company policy to fraternize with the interns. It’s also tabloid fodder to be caught in an intimate embrace with a boy who is still in school.”
“It wasn’t—” I stop, trying to find the words. “What you saw, that was just…”
Meg frowns her lips, unhappy with me. Unhappy with what she saw. Unhappy with this role reversal the two of us seem to be sharing.
“Unless you want to destroy that boy’s good name and your own, you’d better stay away from him.”
Meg leaves the room, and I fall further into myself. My eyes are heavy, and before I know it, tears start trickling down my face. I haven’t cried since I was a kid, and here I am, in the goddamn break room, sobbing like a baby.
Perhaps tears are a side effect of getting burned.
Seven p.m., and every soul in the building is rushing out to get home after a long day’s work. The sound of people flocking through the lobby to get home drowns out the sound of my four-inch Pradas as I walk through the lobby. I swing through the revolving door onto Wacker Drive and raise my arm to hail a cab.
The yellow taxi reminds me of New York as it pulls up in front of me. I step off the curb. As soon as my fingers hit the handle, another hand is on top of mine.
“Well, this is some coincidence,” I say as I take in the male standing against me. I don’t even have to look up to know it is Ryan.
“Who said it was a coincidence?”
That voice makes my heart beat fast. If I could cover my ears, I would.
“What are you doing, Ryan?” I open the door and step inside the open frame, Ryan standing on the other side of the door.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“Dinner with Jarrod.” I lower my shoulders and get into the cab.
He holds the door open. “Someplace fancy?”
Shrugging my shoulders, I reach over to the door, preparing to close it. “Sushi.”
Ryan places his body in between me and the open door, halting me from closing it. He bends his body, so he’s looking into the cab. “You hate sushi.”
He’s correct. “What’s your point?”
The cab driver turns around. “I don’t have all day, guys.”
If we keep this up, Ryan and I will have our photos placed in every taxi depot in the city with a note that reads, Do not pick up this fare. They won’t let you leave the curb.
“Run the meter,” Ryan commands. He watches as the driver does so. Then, he turns back to me and says, “Come with me.”
I look down at my tea-stained shirt and my milky skirt. “I don’t have time for this. I still have to go home and change and meet Jarrod—”
“Cancel.” His stance is stern, powerful.
His words force me to look up at him, and I’m damned for doing so. His cobalt blues are staring at me in earnest. He is a man set on
a mission and won’t back down until he gets what he wants. What he needs.
“Why would I do that?” I ask, afraid of how he might answer. Afraid of how my heart will react.
“Because you want to,” he says. “Take a chance on me. Just for tonight. One last time, and then I swear, you will never have to see me again. You’ll marry one of the wealthiest bachelors in Chicago and live happily ever after. But at least you’ll know that, for one night, just once, you had a great time with a guy who only has eighty bucks in his pocket, fulfilling his dream of taking a beautiful girl dancing in Chicago.”
My heart stops beating at the sound of the most incredible proposal I’ve ever heard.
When I don’t immediately answer, Ryan adds, “Besides, you think I have a great personality.”
I fall back in the seat and raise a brow. “When did I ever say you had a great personality?”
“It’s known. That, and the fact that I have a great ass. I’ve seen you checking it out.” He flashes that award-winning Midwestern smile. “Despite what you think, I’m a sought-after bachelor myself. In ten years, you are going to be kicking yourself if you don’t let me take you out just one last time.”
“I will, will I?”
“Yep,” he says. He scoots me over in the seat. He doesn’t even give me a chance to say yes before he closes the door.
I can’t believe he is hijacking my evening.
“I can’t go anywhere like this.” I point to my ensemble.
Ryan looks down at my blouse and skirt, clearly noticing my disaster of an outfit for the first time. “You look perfect,” he says in a sweet, seductive tone. “But, if it makes you feel better, then you can change.” He turns to the driver and says, “LSD.”
I raise a brow. Ryan laughs.
“Lake Shore Drive,” he says. “We’ll make a Chicagoan out of you soon enough.”
Just like that, I am canceling my plans and going out for one last hurrah with Ryan Pierson.
We take a train into a working-class neighborhood that is a far cry from the bright lights and big buildings of Chicago. Ranch homes, close together, some with shared driveways, line the streets. A city park with a baseball field is at the nearest intersection.
Sinful Abandon Page 7