by Layla Hagen
“Morning, everyone,” I say as I step into my department on Thursday.
Blake and Logan are sitting in front of my desk, and they’re both wearing suits. Logan always wears a suit, but seeing Blake in one comes off as a shock. He only wears them at special events, such as weddings. My little brother means serious business.
“What are you two doing here?” I ask as I round the table.
“Why, I thought she’d be happier to see us here,” Blake tells Logan.
I notice an orange pouch on my desk. It contains cookies from my favorite store. There is a card next to it.
A little bird told me these are your favorite cookies. Hope they make your day better. Don’t stress too much.
Eric
I read the text over and over again, the corners of my mouth lifting in a smile. I inspect the pouch again, then raise my eyebrows at my brothers.
“So, which one of you stole three of my cookies?”
“You know how many there are inside?” Blake asks, flabbergasted.
“Told you she’d notice,” Logan tells him under his breath.
I jut my chin forward. “Yeah. I know the package sizes. Small white organza pouch—five, red organza—seven, orange organza—nine. Brother, I love you, but if you have any preservation skills, you won’t come between me and my sweets again.”
“Duly noted,” Blake says.
“So, both of my brothers are visiting. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m not staying,” Logan says. “Blake will finalize analyzing the budget for the new generation of mock-ups with you.”
My jaw nearly drops. “Impressive. Blake’s been here for a few days, and you already send him to do your dirty work.” Moving my glance to Blake, I add, “Spoiler alert. I hate talking about numbers.”
“No problem,” Blake says. “I love numbers.”
Freaky thing is he does. He majored in finance and partying in college. Graduated with honors in both.
“Right on track to become Logan’s henchman,” I tease.
“Henchman?” Blake says, his face stricken. “I’m better than that. If there’s a Batman-Robin situation here, I want to be Batman.”
“You’re drifting off the point, Blake,” Logan remarks.
“Why are you so pissed off?” I ask Logan.
“Because this asshat was hitting on my secretary,” he informs me, pointing with his thumb at Blake and darting him a menacing glare. “You will not sleep with anyone on my floor.”
“Can you repeat that, please? I haven’t heard it the first twenty times you said it.” Blake looks bored. “I wasn’t hitting on her. I was being polite. You’re tenser than usual, brother. If I hadn’t had firsthand evidence of Nadine’s sexual appetite, I’d say she’s keeping you on the dry.”
I stare at them. “What is going on?”
“I caught Nadine preparing herself to give him a striptease in his office months ago,” Blake says, clearly proud of himself. Logan sets his jaw. Oh, man. It’s only their first week of working together.
“How often will you repeat that story?” Logan asks him.
“Ideally, I’d tell every family member individually, in your presence, just to see your expression.”
“Time-out,” I say, looking from one to the other. “Logan, you can leave me with Blake now. We’ll have everything finished in about an hour.”
After Logan leaves, Blake points to my cookies. “I couldn’t help but notice that those are from a certain Boston import.”
“So?” I challenge.
“I want to make sure I don’t have to kick anyone’s ass,” Blake answers.
I let out a loud whistle. “This is usually Sebastian’s role. Are you channeling him?”
“That’s twice you offended me today, sister,” Blake says with humor. “And I look much better in a suit than Sebastian does, anyway. My ass is much sexier.” He leans forward over the desk. “Ask your girls here. They’ve been checking me out since I arrived.”
Scanning the room, I realize he’s right. At least three of the girls are looking at him with a dangerous longing, practically drooling.
“You are not sleeping with anyone in my department,” I warn him, barely moving my lips.
Blake sighs. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but let’s start with the budget. If I hear that warning one more time, I might lose my good humor and actually become Logan.”
***
After finishing with Blake, I talk to my lawyer, Oliver, about Terence and his new lawsuit. Oliver informs me that my ex has hired one of the sharpest lawyers in San Francisco, but in his professional opinion, he has no case. Terence is simply hoping that I’ll settle so I won’t go through all the hassle of mediation meetings and court visits again. Well, the asshole is in for a surprise, because I’m not changing my stance. He won’t get one cent. I don’t care if I have to go through hell for this—and being in the same room with Terence is hell for me—but I won’t let him touch what belongs to my family.
It’s only when I see a hand shoving a sandwich under my nose that I realize it’s lunchtime.
“Turkey sandwich,” Luke says.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I reply before I dig in. My stomach rumbles violently as I down the first bite.
“Can’t let you starve, boss. You haven’t even eaten the cookies on your desk.”
Oh, wow. I completely forgot about them, which goes to show how much the Terence issue stresses me out.
I lean back in my chair as I continue to munch on my sandwich, eyeing the sweets. I will not eat them until after my workday is done. I repeat this mantra a few times, but the more I eye the cookies, the weaker I become.
I’ll have one.
I fail, of course. Once I taste one, I can’t stop. I need more. In my defense, though, these are really tiny mini-cookies. They are mini mini-cookies.
I’m on my second one when I decide to text Eric.
Pippa: I received your cookies. How did you know they’re my favorites?
Since it’s lunchtime, I’m keeping my fingers crossed that Eric’s also taking a break and can text back. My wish comes true less than a minute later.
Eric: Alice. Are they helping with your stress?
Pippa: They are. But I remember you telling me that exercising is the best stress reliever.
Eric: After what happened yesterday, I agree with you. Exercising is dangerous.
I hover with my fingers over the letters, unsure what to write to him. Then I see the little dots indicating he’s typing, and I wait.
Eric: I don’t regret it. Those were some fantastic kisses.
I hesitate, still unsure what to write back, so I concentrate on devouring another cookie. After a minute or so, my phone beeps again.
Eric: I was not expecting radio silence. If you don’t think it was at least one of the best kisses in a while, by all means, lie to me. Honesty is not required this time.
I chuckle, shaking my head. Okay, I can do this. My flirting skills are rusty, but phone flirting seems less challenging than if we were face-to-face.
Pippa: Someone can’t stand having his ego wounded. Sorry, I was too busy eating cookies. They’re like your kisses. As soon as I have one, I need more.
Eric: This comparison is the best thing that could happen to my ego today. My team should be thankful to you.
Pippa: Ah, so you’re on the friendly end of the shark-o-meter today.
Eric: I’m still debating that. Can’t wait to see you on Saturday.
Oh, yeah… Saturday will be dangerous, because I have a suspicion that all bets are off.
Chapter Nine
Pippa
When I step out of the cab in front of Eric’s house on Saturday, my heart is beating fast. I jam my hands in my pockets, surveying the one-story home. I feel like an impostor as I walk to the front door because I’m here supposedly for Julie. But the memory of Eric’s kisses still lingers in my mind. I can still sense the rough touch of his lips on mine
, as well as his taste.
I shouldn’t want a repeat of the gym incident. I should be more cautious. I’m not ready to trust a man again, and Eric has his own issues, which I respect. The biggest issue? He’s going to leave when Julie’s holiday ends. No matter what, I’ll end up heartbroken, and I couldn’t piece myself together a second time. But all the arguments in the world can’t subdue the way my nerve endings are buzzing at the mere prospect of being in Eric’s proximity. Drawing in a deep breath, I knock at the door. I hear footsteps from the other side and Julie’s excited voice. “She’s here. She’s here.” Seconds later, the door swings open.
“Hi, Pippa,” Eric greets me. “What did you bring?”
“Dessert, of course. Ice cream.”
Eric steps back as I enter the house, and our fingers brush by accident. The slight touch sends tendrils of heat through me, singeing me. I catch my breath as Eric pulls his hand behind him. Damn it. If this is what a simple brush of his fingers does to me, how will I survive the evening? The answer comes in the form of a bubbling twelve-year-old who wraps her arms around me. I will focus on Julie.
“Come on, Pippa,” she says without further ado. “The wings are almost ready.”
She takes my hand, leading me to the backyard. Eric tags behind us, and I can feel his eyes on me. I’m wearing a simple blue dress. The fabric is light, perfect for this weather, but it shows no cleavage, though it highlights my curves. I was out of tent-sized dresses, and it didn’t seem to do much good last time anyway.
“Won’t Ms. Blackwell eat with us?” I ask.
“No, she has the evening off,” Eric answers. “She’ll be back in a few hours.”
We eat in the backyard, next to the swimming pool. As we eat, Julie begins to talk about her week in the design class.
“And there is this girl, Sophie Ann, who keeps saying anyone who doesn’t wear a headband like she does isn’t cool, and I don’t know what to say back. I hate headbands.”
“Well,” Eric says, “you should tell her exactly that. No reason to pretend.”
“Yeah, I guess. What do you think, Pippa?”
From the moment I met her, Julie struck me as a sheltered girl, even acting a little young for her age. Eric is very overprotective, which I assume is because of the accident. But she’s growing up, and he’s going to have his hands full once she’s a teenager.
“Your dad is right,” I tell her.
Julie gives a quick nod and remains silent throughout dinner. After dessert, she disappears inside briefly, returning with a kite.
“I want to fly this kite,” she announces, holding up the bag.
“You can do that tomorrow, pumpkin,” Eric tells her. “It’s almost dark. You won’t even see it.”
“No, it has to be now,” she insists. “It glows in the dark.”
Eric and I exchange looks, and I know we’re thinking the same thing. Julie could hurt herself if she runs around in the dark, because of her leg.
“What if your dad and I raise it?” I offer. “You can sit at the table, eat a second portion of ice cream, and watch the kite.”
Julie considers this for a moment. “Okay.”
Eric and I inspect the kite and read the instructions for the next few minutes.
“Have you ever done this?” he mouths to me.
“No,” I admit. “How hard can it be?”
As it turns out, it’s very hard. Getting the thing into the air truly requires a team effort. Eric holds the rope, running from one end of the yard to the other to gain traction while I give him directions, so the kite doesn’t collide with any tree.
“If I wanted to work out, I would’ve gone to the gym,” he complains after yet another lap around the yard.
“We’ve almost got it,” I encourage. I walk backward, keeping my eyes on Eric, and gesturing him to keep his current direction.
“It’s beautiful,” Julie calls to us, and Eric smiles, advancing with renewed energy.
“It’s nearly up,” I announce. “You have to—”
Splash. Splash.
***
Eric
We fell into the goddamn pool.
When I surface from the water, my daughter’s shrieking with laughter.
“You were supposed to give me directions,” I tell Pippa, who’s standing a few feet away from me in the water and laughing even harder than Julie.
“I was,” she explains between chuckles. “And I somehow directed both of us into the pool. I’m sorry. I was too busy making sure the kite didn’t end up in a tree to pay attention to our feet.”
I break into laughter too, and man, it feels good. Julie looks between Pippa and me as if we’re two big idiots—which, of course, we are. Two grown adults up to their navels in the swimming pool because they didn’t watch their step. Damn kite. Which reminds me….
“Anyone see the kite?” I ask.
Julie points to a spot beyond the pool. “There. It’s high up in the tree, though.”
“I’ll get it down tomorrow,” I assure her.
"I don't know about you," Pippa says, "but I'm cold." She swims to the steps. I suck in a breath as she climbs out. Sweet Jesus. Pippa in a wet dress is irresistible. It sticks to her body, showing off every delicious curve: her round, perky ass, her waist, and beautiful breasts. My imagination supplies images of all the other delicious parts of her that are not on display. Images so vivid that I have a full-on boner. Damn it.
"Aren't you coming out?" Pippa says, swirling around to me.
Her blonde hair clings to her translucent skin, and bless her, she's so unaware of what she's doing to me that she's not even bothering to hide her body. My daughter joins Pippa at the edge of the pool, a curious expression on her face.
"Why aren't you coming out, Dad?"
"I'll be out in a minute," I inform them, looking away from Pippa to try to calm the situation in my boxers. Numbers. Yeah. If I think about the sales reports I was reading before I left my office today that should work. Except it doesn't. My dick twitches with awareness just knowing Pippa is a few feet away. Okay, think, Eric. Think. I need Pippa to know what’s going on, so she can leave my sight. That's the only way I'll calm down. But I can't exactly spell out the reason with my daughter here.
"Bones," I blurt out. "Some of my bones hurt. The water helps."
Julie raises her eyebrows. “You’re not making sense, Dad.” Of course not. I’m trying to bullshit my way out of this. I’m the worst father in the world.
Pippa looks crestfallen. Come on, Pippa. Adult code. Replace the s with an r. She continues to stare at me questioningly, so clearly she’s not getting it.
“There’s some wood here in the water. I’ll pick it up.” Wood. Come on, Pippa. Finally, her eyes widen in understanding, as Julie says, “I think Dad hit his head when he fell in the pool.”
Pippa giggles, then tells Julie, “Let’s you and I go inside. I'm cold and I need a towel."
"Okay."
Pippa throws me a furtive glance over her shoulders, winking at me as the two of them head back in the house.
***
It takes me about ten minutes to calm myself. Afterward, I leave the pool and hop in the shower inside the bathroom adjacent to my room. I use the time to cool down. After I put on dry clothes, I head to the living room. The snippet of conversation I overhear stops me in my tracks shortly before entering the room.
“Do you ever feel lonely, Pippa?” Julie asks.
“Sometimes.” Pippa’s voice is calm and smooth. “Do you feel lonely? It’s okay if you do. Everyone does once in a while.”
“I’m okay, but I think Dad feels lonely lots of times.”
I flatten myself against the wall, barely believing what I’m hearing.
“What makes you think that?” Pippa asks calmly.
“He spends a lot of time with me. In Boston, I have friends at school who only have one parent. And their parent goes out on dates.”
Wham. I feel as if someone punched me.
/> “Would you like for your dad to date?”
“I don’t want him to be lonely. I want him to be happy, and if he meets someone nice, both of us will be happy. You’re nice. Do you like Dad?”
“I, well… Um,” Pippa stutters. “Everyone likes him.”
“Why don’t you ask him on a date?” Julie continues. I smile, imagining how red Pippa’s ear tips must be.
“I—Wait, what?”
Julie continues in a serious tone. “The high school students at my school had a spring dance where the girls asked the boys out. You should ask Dad. He doesn’t know how.”
“Why do you say that?”
“If he knew, he wouldn’t be so lonely.”
My daughter is the best kid in the world. I listen intently for Pippa’s reply.
“We should hurry up with the nail polish,” she says. “Let’s try the red one.”
They delve into a discussion about colors next, and I stay hidden for a few moments longer, digesting this new piece of information. I drag my hands across my face in disbelief. All these years, I thought my self-imposed ban on dating was for my daughter’s own good. Apparently not. Remembering Pippa’s non-answer when Julie asked her if she likes me, I chuckle. I can’t believe even my daughter is trying to set us up.
I have a rule in business: When too many people tell me the same thing, I get my head out of my ass and listen to them. Maybe it’s time I applied it in real life as well.
I step into the living room to find Pippa and Julie sitting on the floor with their fingers sprawled on their legs.
It strikes me as odd until Julie looks up and says, “We’re waiting for our nail polish to dry.”
I nod, but Pippa captures my attention. She’s wearing one of my shirts and sweatpants, her hair up in a ponytail. She looks homey. More than that, she looks like she belongs here, with Julie and me.
“Sorry for hijacking your shirt and pants,” she says with a shy smile, pointing to a small transparent bag on the couch, which contains her wet dress. “Julie’s clothes don’t fit me, and Ms. Blackwell isn’t here, so I couldn’t ask her for clothes. Julie brought me these.”