by Regina Wade
The thick red velvet curtain whisks open, catching me by surprise. I can’t quite read Beau’s look, one eyebrow raised as he looks me up and down.
“We never said anything about the cost of your new wardrobe. I told you this was a sign-on bonus. Lesson number one, Brooklyn,” Beau takes a step closer. The dressing room isn’t made for someone as tall and broad as him. His shoulders alone take up too much room. With both of us and all the clothes in here, it’s all I can do not to brush up against him. “Never talk yourself out of a good deal.
This close, I can smell Beau. He smells distinct. Rich and spiced, like well-oiled leather and fresh pine with the slight undertone of old money. Even after the drive and the pizza and being cooped up in Cleo’s bucket chair all afternoon, the Armani suit still hangs on his frame like it was just pressed.
“Thank you,” I nod up at him, my throat suddenly hot and dry. Inside my dress, my nipples strain against the soft lace of the new bra. “For everything.”
Something sharp and hungry sharpens Beau’s eyes to the color green glass as he drags them down to my mouth, where my breath is decidedly more ragged with his proximity. There’s a heated pause as he looks from my face to the small pile of lace and silk to my right, at the rest of the lingerie Cleo left for me to look through.
“Cleo, we’ll take everything. Please have it all delivered this afternoon.”
Chapter 7
Beau
Seems like everybody’s got a price tag. Wonder how they sleep at night. When the sale comes first and the truth comes second. — Jesse J. ‘Price Tag’
The late afternoon breeze is delicious. Coming in off the water, it teases the edges of Brooklyn’s blue-black hair, picking it up off her shoulders and twirling it playfully. I want to reach out and wind one of her soft curls around my finger, feel it’s silky length for myself. Fill my hands with the endless dark coils of it.
I have no doubt that I will. Brooklyn is meant for me— her curves and sweet smile are made for me alone. I know it as surely as I know my own name, feel it as much as my next breath.
For now, though, I lead her along the winding path between the rows of shops towards the boardwalk and the beach beyond. A contented sort of quiet stretches between us as we walk. I watch the way she stretches her face up, soaking up the warmth of the sun like a cat seeking out the best place to nap.
“I love the summer,” Brooklyn admits with a cheeky grin when she catches me watching her. “As a kid, I always had to work every summer vacation. All my friends would get to go to camp or the beach or the lake.”
Brooklyn talks with her hands. Big, emphatic motions, as if she needs her entire body to get the point across. It makes me smile to watch, even as her words pierce my heart. I’ve always known how privileged my life has been, but comparing my upbringing to hers really brings it all into sharp focus. She’s told me a little about growing up in various foster and group homes over the years. I promise myself to make it all up to her; every single missed summer vacation and birthday party, every little luxury and big opportunity. Even if it takes the rest of our lives.
Especially then.
“I once worked the shaved ice machine at the fairgrounds for three weeks straight and didn’t get a single shaved ice!” She looks at me, clearly still indignant over this particular outrage. “Not one. I went home hot, sticky, and craving shaved ice every night of the fair.”
“Unforgivable.” I shake my head. It’s as much in solidarity over her mistreatment as to clear my mind of the image of a hot, sticky Brooklyn. I am only a man after all. “Let’s remedy that right now.”
“Are you going to buy out the shaved ice booth at the county fair?” Brooklyn’s smile is wicked. She looks remarkably intrigued by the prospect. “A bit of overkill, but I can’t say I don’t like your style, Addison. Let’s put a hotel on Boardwalk while we’re at it.”
I laugh hard and long at that before taking her gently by the arm.
“Grandfather is going to love you,” I tell her as I steer us towards a brightly colored storefront where the walkway meets the sand. “No corporate sabotage today, Brook. Sorry to disappoint on your first day. But I can get you some shaved ice.”
She looks up then, eyes widening to twin blue saucers as she drinks in the SuperSno Cones sign beneath its brightly striped rainbow ribbons.
“Beau!” She positively bounces in place beside me. “How perfect. And here I thought today couldn’t get any better.”
Neither did I, until a few minutes later, when Brooklyn takes advantage of a lull in the crowded line to slip her hand loosely into mine.
The contact is simple, skin against skin. Her palm fits perfectly in mine. There’s a charge of undeniable electricity rocketing up from our fingertips to the apex of my shoulder. I’m not the only one that feels it, either. Brooklyn squeezes her grip once, as if to ground herself. Her fingers look good in mine. Right. They belong intertwined, just like she belongs here with me, always.
I knew it by looking at her in that dressing room, seeing the bright flash of heat behind her beautiful eyes. But feeling the undeniable proof that Brooklyn is feeling the same intense attraction I am is more than reassurance. I squeeze her hand back, relishing the way she smiles up at me from under her dark hair.
“What can I get you?” The guy behind the counter is nearly as tall as I am. His name tag reads Broc, and he’s brawny in that way that only comes from spending too much money on CrossFit and steroids.
“I have no idea.” Brooklyn looks from the assortment of flavors written on the whiteboard menu to my face. “They all sound so good. Why don’t you surprise me?”
She heads off to go nab us an empty table by the sand. I miss the tangle of her fingers in mine the second she’s gone.
“I can recommend something.” Broc’s lecherous tone immediately sours my bright mood. Behind the counter, he’s craning his tree trunk of a neck to watch Brooklyn walk away. “I can think of at least one thing I’d like her to taste, mmm.”
It takes every inch of restraint built up over years of dedicated martial arts practice not to put my fist through his face for looking at my woman that way, much less daring to say something so crass about Brook in front of me. I have the front of his shirt in my fist before he’s finished, hauling him halfway over the counter easily with one hand.
“Have a little respect,” I growl at him through clenched teeth. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are. You’re lucky I don’t drag you over there to apologize to her face, you little shit.”
“I’m sorry, man! I didn’t realize—” he raises his eyes, looking from me to the table where Brooklyn is settling down beneath an oversized umbrella.
“No,” I let go of his shirt and watch the overgrown jackass stumble back towards the shaved ice machine. “You didn’t. But maybe next time you’ll think twice before treating a woman like a piece of meat. We’ll take a large, cherry and watermelon. Oh,” I take a step back to survey the small storefront for a second. “And get me the number to the owner, would you? I think I’ll buy this place after all.”
Chapter 8
Brooklyn
Money, get back. I’m alright Jack. Keep your hands off my stack. — Pink Floyd. ‘Money’
It takes me twice as long as it normally does to get ready the next morning. Even with Willa’s exuberant input and half of my new wardrobe still strewn about my small bedroom, it’s an exciting reminder of the day before. Of the day ahead. Despite the unprecedented struggle of having to decide what to wear for the day, I still manage to be out the door right on time. A lifetime of relying on public transportation has instilled a near-zealous punctuality into me.
The red line, the blue line, the gold line, the purple line… I know them all by heart. Busses, monorails subways— I can tell you how to get from Downtown to San Diego, from The Valley to Century City. Most importantly, I can tell you to forget the time printed on the website, because they all run on their own time. Some leave early, others regul
arly arrive late. It takes a game of mental gymnastics to navigate them all properly. Factor in the insane variable that is LA traffic, and you’re all but guaranteed to have a disaster on your hands.
Still, I’m feeling great when I step out of my apartment complex’s front door the next morning. Yesterday was the most surreal, exciting experience of my life.
Meeting Beau Addison was everything I thought it would be, and so much more. He answers every one of my questions, gives advice without being patronizing or overbearing. He’s funny and sweet. Witty and insightful. I couldn’t ask for a better boss or mentor.
There’s more, though. Much more. There’s an undeniable chemistry between us, a heat and attraction that I want to ignore for the sake of my job, no matter how impossible.
I wasn’t even expecting to meet Beau until I’ve been working at Someday Came for years. The fact that I very literally fell into his lap on the day of my internship feels like fate— something I don’t believe in.
“You weren’t kidding when you said you get an early start.” The deep baritone comes from the back window of a Mercedes limo parked in front of my apartment building and catches me off guard.
“Beau.” I stop dead in my new red heels.
“Good morning, Miss Jones.” He reaches an arm out, fingers of steam wafting off a takeout cup of coffee.
I take it, careful not to feed any to my new shirt.
“What on earth are you doing he— where’s the Ferrari?”
It feels out of place to see him here, in front of the little run-down three-story grey concrete building where I live. It’s across town and a million miles away from the ones he owns. More, though, it seems odd, somehow not to see him behind the wheel of the little red roadster from yesterday. Everything about Beau screams in control.
His laugh is full and rich in the crisp morning air around us.
“I don’t like to drive myself to the airport,” he says while opening the door and scooting over to make room for me. “Come on in, Brooklyn, we don’t have much time.”
I’ve barely settled in and buckled my seatbelt before the driver pulls the car back onto the road. The sudden motion tosses me closer to Beau, pressing me into the unmoving steel of his upper arm. The resulting shiver that erupts along my skin has nothing to do with the blast of air conditioning that starts up with the car.
“You like the T?” Beau asks once I’ve managed to straighten myself out. He’s smiling at me like I just passed some sort of secret test.
“Well, yeah.” I grin back at him. “It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen on wheels. And I’ve already gotten a close-up inspection of the hood, so I know what I’m talking about.”
Beau laughs softly over the lip of his own coffee cup.
“It’s a great car,” he nods, “if a little impractical for the city. We’ll shop around soon. I suppose finding you a better apartment will have to come first, but I can’t have you taking the bus—”
“Whoa. Beau.” It’s my turn to laugh, though more out of surprise than anything else. “Shop around? For what? A car? Apartment? I don’t understand—”
The car cruises to a gentle stop and Beau takes advantage of the opportunity to shift his position. Looking directly into my eyes like this, I can see his sincerity. Nobody’s ever looked at me the way he does. Beau lavishes me with as much time and attention as he does anything else.
“Brooklyn, I know we haven’t known each other long,” he takes one of my hands in his. It’s a mimic of the way I held his while we were waiting for shaved ice. Like everything Beau does, though, it’s somehow more powerful. More intense. “But I meant every word of what I said yesterday. Our meeting was meant to be. I don’t plan on ever letting you go.”
“From the company?” I ask. My pulse is suddenly racing.
“Or my life,” he replies. “I want to teach you everything about the company. Show you the things you’ve always wanted to know— put your name at the top of buildings. Things like cars and an apartment near your office are nothing more than basics now. Just the things we need to start our life together.”
He makes it sound so logical. Like it only makes sense to shower me in the things I’ve always had to struggle for, because of course we’re going to spend our entire lives together anyway.
The worst part is I believe him. On some level, I felt the same way from the first moment I was alone in the office with Beau. Just because I’ don’t believe in fate doesn’t mean she doesn’t believe in me, apparently.
“It’s too much,” I bite down on my lip, willing the tremble in my voice to steady. “I’ve never lived life your way before.”
My eyes are fixed to Beau’s fingers, still laced around mine in his lap. His fingers are so much longer. Stronger and more tanned against the relaxed denim of his Calvin Klein jeans. I want to believe him, want so much to tangle my hand in his every day forever.
He doesn’t unwind his fingers from mine, just tilts my chin until I’m looking right up into those endless green eyes.
“You’ve got a lifetime to get used to it, Brook.”
Chapter 9
Beau
The best things in life are free. But you can give them to the birds and the bees. I need money. — Barrett Strong, ‘Money (That’s What I Want)’
The Mercedes pulls into the private jet terminal at LAX right on time.
Once again, just being with Brooklyn has made time race by. The normally tedious commute across to the airport flew by in a blur of conversation.
I’ve done a lot of traveling. I had my first passport before I said my first word. I can’t remember a time in my life when I wasn’t getting ready to jet-set somewhere. Business or pleasure, vacation or deal of a lifetime; it seems I’m always on the way to or from someplace new. It’s why I enjoy my time back at home so much. Being away makes me appreciate the days I spend on the West Coast so much more.
But this is a special trip.
It’s going to be Brooklyn’s first business trip. The first of many we’re going to be taking together. There’s a lot I plan on doing in the next few days, both on a personal and professional level. I’m eager, more excited than I can remember being in years. Being with Brooklyn does that to me.
More than just falling more in love with her by the moment, I’m remembering why I fell in love with this business in the first place.
“Is there anything you want me to take care of while you’re gone?” she asks.
The car coasts to a stop and I hear the front door open and shut as Walter hops out to take care of all the preliminaries. Another invaluable member of the Someday Came staff, Walter has been my personal driver for years now. He’s great about knowing when I need space to take my own cars for a spin, and asking when I’d rather have him help with things like trips to airports, when dealing with overnight parking is a nightmare. After this long, he’s also honed down the treacherous first layers of getting us through security and into the space where my private jet is gassed up and waiting.
“I guess we didn’t get much of a chance to go over things yesterday,” Brooklyn goes on smoothly. “But I’m a quick learner. Just let me know what you’d like me to tackle first, and I can get started while you’re on your way to—I just realized I have no idea where you’re going.”
I love how seamlessly she can transition into business mode. Even with that gorgeous flush creeping in at the apples of her cheeks, she is geared up and ready to go. She really will fit right in here.
“New York. I’m finalizing the details on the newest Someday Came hotel and spa in Manhattan,” I tell her just as Walter opens the door. It takes a moment to fish a small stack of papers out from my leather briefcase and hand it to her. “And you’re coming with me.”
I’m rewarded with a look of indignation and disbelief. It’s not unlike the one she gave me when she realized I was taking her shopping yesterday. Brooklyn’s dark eyebrows furrow together, a single line etching itself into the smooth skin there.
“I’m sorry, what?” Her voice rises a full octave. “How can I be going with you when I didn’t know about this trip until you showed up in front of my house this morning?”
Walter has already retrieved my garment bag and small toiletry case from the trunk. He’s gripping them easily in the hand that isn’t holding the car door open. A lifetime of traveling abroad has trimmed my packing system down to the barest of bones.
If my driver thinks it odd that my feisty new administrative assistant is glaring daggers at me instead of stepping out of the car so I can follow suit, he doesn’t say a word. But I’m pretty sure I can see the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of the man’s grizzled mug.
“Well,” I try and hide my own smile. It isn’t easy— I love seeing Brooklyn worked up. It makes me wonder what she’ll look like worked up other ways. “In the future, I promise to give you more advance notice for out of town meetings whenever possible. However,” I pause, looking pointedly at the open door.
She gives in with a sigh a moment later. My cock swells in my pants as I watch her crawl out of the car. Brook’s ass is a masterpiece, tapering into her waist in a way that makes me want to grab her and drag her back into the back of the limo.
Stepping out into the morning sunshine after her, I take my time retrieving my belongings from Walter before looking Brooklyn up and down. In the brightness of the sunlight, she looks stunning.
The crisp black power suit fits her like a dream, hugging every one of her curves the way I want to. The snip of her heels on the blacktop as she keeps time alongside my much longer stride is a sensual sound.
“Think of how much more you’re going to learn in the boardroom alongside me than taking notes in endless low-level meetings,” I tell her as we reach the glass doors of the terminal.