by J. Saman
I stifle my laughter because this woman really has no wiggle room in her. “Well, since I’m awake now, I guess I can accommodate you.”
“I’ll expect your email shortly.” And then I get the hang up beeps.
I get her being a little pissy about it. I mean, most corporations are run a certain way. Ryan doesn’t really play by the rules like that. He’s a hands-on guy. Luke and Ryan still write their own code and do a lot of development and brainstorming together. They don’t outsource any of that.
Sure, we have teams of people who service our software in the many companies we work with. We have tons and tons of hardware in a crazy-ass server room that needs like three different verifications to access it, and only a very select few have that access. I am one of them, but that’s only because I’m me. None of the other assistants do. We employ people in marketing, sales, finance, and everything else that all the regular joe companies do.
But we’re different because we have Ryan Grant and Luke Walker, and even me. I am so much more than just a personal assistant. I am in on everything. My black-manicured fingers touch it all. And that’s more Ryan’s doing than mine.
Ryan and Luke are my family, and by extension, Kyle is now too. He’s part of our team. Our weird consort of mismatched freaks.
And I wouldn’t have us any other way.
I have to admit, I was apprehensive about Kyle being in Seattle. It’s really only because I’m wildly attracted to him. So yeah, that had me nervous about how things would go. And despite a minor moment here or there, we had a really great weekend together.
It all makes sense to me now. Why he moved out here. I couldn’t believe my ears when he told everything. I still can’t. It makes me sick to think about it. Kyle was shot at. A bullet grazed his skin. He was threatened by some creep- ass dudes who mean business. He had a leukemia scare. It was negative, thank God, but still. I don’t know how to wrap my brain around all of these things. In the year that Kyle has been a part of my life, I’ve gotten to the point where I can’t picture it without him.
Hopping out of bed, I pee, brush my teeth, and jump into the shower. I guess I’m getting an early start on the day. I throw on my black leather leggings, a green wrap-around blouse, brush my hair, toss on a smattering of makeup, and I’m good to go.
I check my email, and sure enough, Ryan sent me everything that Bridget needs on Kyle. I’d say he was doing it to be an asshole, but I don’t think he was that methodical with his thought process. Until about eight months ago, I was the go-to girl for all this HR crap. The only reason we hired someone official was because our legal people told us we had to have an HR department; otherwise, we’d be breaking all kinds of laws.
That, and I think Ryan and Luke were tired of having to hire people. I was certainly tired of sorting through their crap. So, we got Bridget. And she got a lackey or two. But I don’t think Ryan really knows how to do things in the proper order, hence me getting Kyle’s crap. I forward that on to Bridget and leave my house in under half an hour.
It’s a beautiful day in Seattle. The ever-present morning fog is out in full swing, but the hint of the sun above tells me that it will burn off quickly. I love this city. It fits me so much better than Philly did, or St. Louis, or any of the various army bases I spent some time on before that.
The bell above the glass door jingles out an annoyingly friendly hello as I walk into my regular coffee shop. This is Seattle and coffee shops are ubiquitous here. Like cheesesteaks in Philly. Or deep dish in Chicago. There is literally a coffee shop on almost every corner.
But I like this one.
It’s small, and the people who own it are this old Eastern European Jewish couple who like to tell me stories about how they escaped the Naz’s when they were kids. It’s cool shit to hear. That, and they make the most amazing baked goods. I had never seen a rugelach before I started coming here, but damn those cookies are good.
“Ah, you’re early, bubbelah,” Laura says to me through her Hungarian accent, a bright smile displaying her perfectly straight dentures.
Laura is four-foot-nine with short platinum-blonde hair that is sprayed into submission. She goes to the beauty parlor—her words, not mine—once a week to have it done. And half of the things she says or calls me, I have to Google. But I freaking love this woman.
“I am. Where’s Oscar?” I ask, looking around for the silver-haired man.
“Oy, he threw out his back last night lifting a sack of flour.” She shakes her head with her lips pursed off to the side. “When will he learn? He’s not a twenty-year-old man anymore.” She pounds her fist on the counter, making the register rattle.
“Right.” I don’t know what to say to that. “May I have my usual, please?”
“What’s her usual?” a familiar voice croons from behind me.
I spin around to see Kyle standing there with a smirk on his face, wearing a fucking suit and looking like he just stepped out of the pages of GQ or British Vogue or something, because he’s got that James Bond, high-brow, I’m a sex god, thing working for him. His dark-blond hair is brushed forward and up off his forehead and is either gelled or still damp from his shower. His face is totally clean-shaven, and that damn cleft in his chin is mocking me right now because I can’t run my tongue over it. His hazel eyes are a muddy green this morning and are most definitely laughing at me.
I might have just drooled a puddle on the floor. I’m not even joking. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man look as yummy as Kyle Grant looks right now.
I hate that he goes to my coffee shop. I knew this shit would happen.
“And who’s this?” Laura asks in that grandmotherly tone that is only used to embarrass you, as she clearly thinks Kyle is my “special someone.”
“I’m Kyle Grant.” Kyle brushes past me, his charming smile smoothing out his perfect lips as he goes. He extends his hand to Laura, who simpers like a preteen fangirl meeting One Direction. She’s old enough to be his great-grandmother!
“Laura Schwartz.” She shakes his hand firmly. “What can I get you, tatellah?”
“I believe you were serving the lady here first. But please put her coffee and whatever else she’d like on me.”
I roll my eyes. I can’t help it. I hate charming, confident, sexy men.
“For an Irish shiksa, she takes her coffee on the plain side,” Laura tells Kyle this like he’s interested in what I order. Kyle turns around to me and mouths shiksa like it’s a question. I can’t help him with that one yet. It’s new to me too. “Our Claire likes her coffee black.”
“Like my men,” I add without really thinking about it. They look over at me before just as quickly dismissing me. Clearly, they are not well versed in the movie Airplane.
“She also likes some of my famous Danish. Cherry. To match her hair.” Laura winks at me with a goddamn knowing smile as if she’s making a match, and Kyle just laughs like he’s enchanted and buying into her routine.
I’m not amused.
I want to get in, get my coffee—and maybe that cherry Danish—and get the hell out.
I don’t care one bit if this makes me a petulant child or even a bitch. It’s just my way.
But no one is listening to me or even paying me much attention. So, I just stand here while they shoot the shit and he explains how he knows me, and that he’s now living in Seattle, and that we work together and blah, blah, freaking blah.
Laura is eating him up with a spoon before licking it clean.
Finally, she hands him a large white paper bag and a cardboard carrying tray thing that has two to-go cups in it.
“Ready?” he asks me, and I can only blink at him.
Why does he have to seem so perfectly attainable? Like I’m a fool for passing on him. It’s annoying really.
“Yup. I’m ready. But no more of this buying me breakfast crap. And no more of that overly hot flirtatious smile.” He’s laughing at me now, and I think Laura is enjoying the show I’m providing too since we haven’t left
yet. “In fact, do not speak to me again until I’ve packed in my caffeine and required fat intake.”
He nods, handing me my coffee. Evidently, he’s a fast learner, but that damn smirk is still on his face.
“And stop smiling at me.” I think I already mentioned the smile and that only manages to make him smile bigger. I take a sip of my coffee and spin around. “Later, Laura. I hope Oscar feels better.”
She yells something back to both of us, and we leave, together, stepping out into the early morning. The streets of downtown Seattle are busy. Everywhere we go, people are walking past us in the typical Monday morning rush. And about eighty percent are on their phones in one way or another.
I take a sip of my delicious, black coffee and Kyle does the same, eyeing me in his periphery. “You can share my Danish,” I mutter, feeling just a little bad about my tantrum. I’m just tired.
“Thanks. Cherry is my favorite flavor,” he says totally deadpan, so I can’t tell if he’s saying this with hidden meaning or not.
I don’t think most of my male friends are this sweet to me. It’s unnerving. I’m used to brash and sarcastic remarks. I don’t know what to do with this guy.
I roll my eyes but find I’m laughing despite myself.
“Not much of a morning person, are you?”
“No. I’m really not. Especially not this early. I don’t mean to be a total cunt.”
He just stares at me, eyebrows raised, like he’s never heard the c-word coming from a woman’s mouth.
“Do you want to ride with me to work?” I offer. “Your car won’t be ready for a week, right?”
Kyle bought a car yesterday. A sporty Range Rover. I heard it’s hot. Luke was all excited about it when I spoke to him on the phone last night.
He nods. “Yeah. Thanks. That would be great. I was going to order an Uber, but if you’re offering, I’m taking.”
“Bridget woke me this morning,” I tell him as we step around a woman standing in the middle of the sidewalk yelling into her phone.
“That crazy HR lady? Yeah, she called me too. I told her that I’d send her everything when I was off the treadmill, but apparently, that wasn’t good enough for her.”
“She’s annoying, but harmless. She wants you to pay her a visit when you get in. Just charm her the way you do everyone else, and it should go smoothly.” I glance up at him just as he angles his head down to mine, and our eyes lock briefly.
“Do I charm you, cupcake?”
“Definitely not,” I smile, bumping my hip into his side.
“Claire?” someone says behind me just as we reach the lot for my building. Both Kyle and I spin around, and I gasp at the sight in front of me.
13
Claire
* * *
“What are you doing here?” I ask my father, barely able to form the words. That’s how stunned I am right now. I haven’t seen him in years. Not since I graduated college and he and I had a fight about how I should live my life.
I can feel Kyle next to me, his posture stiff as his hand moves up to grasp my arm protectively.
I wish he weren’t here to witness this.
My father has aged in the last three years. Those creases around his eyes from years of squinting into the desert sun are more prominent. My dad is tall and broad with silver hair styled into a short military cut, and the arrogant air of a man who is used to having people do his bidding. He’s dressed in his typical two-star General Army gear.
And after not seeing him for three years, you’d think I’d feel something resembling nostalgia or maybe even regret, since it’s been so long, but I don’t. I feel disgust for him because I can only guess as to his reason for showing up now.
“I’m in town for the Pentagon,” he says, his eyes bouncing quickly to Kyle like the fact that he works at the Pentagon should impress him. So goddamn arrogant.
“So, what?” I ask, tilting my head. “You thought you’d look me up? How did you find me?” I am not listed. And Ryan and Luke, being the paranoid bastards that they are, go to great lengths to keep my shit private.
“Claire?” Kyle asks, grasping my forearm a little tighter, trying to move me behind him. He’s protecting me, and I sort of love him for that right now. Sort of wish he would just whisk me away from here so I don’t ever have to see my father again.
“It’s fine, Kyle. This is my father,” I explain, waving my hand out in front of me.
My father’s cold eyes turn on Kyle, his thin lips forming a sneer. “Is this your flavor of the moment?” His eyes bounce to mine before turning back to Kyle. “You can run along now, son. It’s not like she was going to keep you, anyway.”
Wow. He’s really not holding back.
“Hey, I don’t care who you are, but you can’t talk to Claire—” Kyle snaps, stepping forward, about to lay into my father, but I interrupt him before this gets out of control.
“Stop being an asshole, Dad. This is my friend Kyle. I work with him,” I emphasize the two key words in those sentences hoping he takes the hint and shuts the fuck up. “Clearly, this isn’t the time or the place for this. In fact, you can go back to DC or finish your work here or whatever.”
“You insolent little brat,” my father hisses through his teeth, one stern finger pointed in my direction. “How dare you speak to me that way? You and I are having this conversation. Again. It’s time you listen to me.”
Jesus Christ, I cannot do this with him. I shake my head, suddenly sick to my stomach.
“Claire?” Kyle says my name again, only I don’t know what to say to him. I look up into his hazel eyes and see the concern and confusion dancing in them. “What do you want me to do? Do you want me to get us out of here?”
I can’t help but grin a little at that.
“Listen,” my father starts, “Kyle, is it? I need to talk to my daughter—”
“I’m not leaving her,” Kyle says firmly, staring my father down with an unflinching gaze.
“You’re not a part of this,” my father yells, his cheeks turning ruddy.
We’re standing on the side of my building, off to the side, but there is no shortage of people walking on the sidewalk behind my father. No shortage of people who heard him yell and who could hear this conversation if they so desired.
I take a step toward my dad, Kyle’s hand still firmly affixed to my arm like he’s afraid to let go. I wish he would just go, but I know he won’t, even if I ask. So instead, I speak directly to my father. And whatever Kyle hears, well, I can’t do much about that right now.
I lock eyes with my father so I know he hears me. “I know what you want to say, but my position on this matter has not changed. And it won’t.”
His dark-blue eyes—the same shade as mine—turn an obsidian black. His rage is taking on a new form, but really, I don’t know what he’s expecting. He’s never spent time with me, never acted the way a father is supposed to act. He made it clear my entire life that I was nothing more than an inconvenience to him. Something he was required to provide for and that’s it. He can kiss my ass if he thinks he’s getting control of that money. Or taking over my life. Or making me work for the government.
“Your mother is dead, Claire. Dead. Is that what you want for yourself?”
I shake my head, but the fact that Kyle has stepped closer to me only reminds me that I need to choose my words carefully. “I can’t do anything about Mom. Nor could I have. She cut me out of her life a while ago, and her decision was made before that. You know that.”
My father shakes his head before his chin drops to his chest in contempt. “She didn’t cut you out of everything.”
He hates my mother for what she did. I didn’t even have to speak with him to know that.
“She’s going to burn in hell,” he says, like he knows this for a fact. “And you’ll join her if you don’t let me help you.”
Help. Right. Like that’s really his intention. More like my lack of autonomy so he can take over my life.
�
��What will you do once you lose your mind the way she did? You constantly make bad decisions for yourself. I can fix that.”
I laugh out loud, but Kyle steps forward. “I think it’s time you go. Now.”
“All I wanted was for you to make a different choice with your life. Why can’t you see that? You can still come and work for the DOJ,” my father says, completely ignoring Kyle who is starting to get really fired up himself. “You can let me take over. Let me protect you from yourself before you end up like her.”
Kyle moves me, trying to get me to turn around so that we can get to my car.
And I let him, but just before I’m facing the other way, I roll my head over my shoulder and lock eyes with my father, probably for the last time. “It wouldn’t make a difference either way,” I tell him honestly. “It is what it is, Dad. I can’t change that and neither can you. And I will never work for you or allow you to take over my life.”
Kyle leads me to my car through the outdoor lot at the back of my building. Somehow, he’s silent, though I’m sure he’s bursting at the seams with questions that he probably knows I won’t answer. He takes the keys from my hand, unlocks my car, and then we both get in.
Kyle starts the engine, pulling out of the lot and past my father, who is still standing in the same spot, watching us go. He doesn’t try to stop us, so I guess he got the message. Part of me has to wonder if he didn’t have business here if I ever would have seen him. I know how he found me. I mean, the man does work at the Pentagon. He has top-secret clearance and access—or whatever the hell you call it.
But I don’t really understand why he bothered.
My father has never told me he loves me. That he’s proud of me. He never hoisted me up on his shoulders, or took me to a ball game, or came to any of my dance or concert recitals. In fact, he wasn’t around. Ever. Aside from the few years I was forced into his possession, I can count the number of times I saw him on two hands, and I don’t even need all my fingers for that.
He can think my mother is burning in hell, but I don’t believe in that shit. I don’t. Sometimes life is worse than death. If that ends up being my fate, then I’m not so worried about it.