“Yeah,” she breathes. “Hell, if we get it, drinks are on me tonight! I could really use one after the week I’ve had.”
I chuckle. “You and me both. Trust me.”
The elevator chimes and when the doors draw apart, I allow her to walk ahead of me. She knows exactly where to go, walking straight down the hallway and stopping at Kelly’s desk that is only a few feet from the waiting area.
She looks towards Neil Stratford. The uptight jackass in the terribly tailored black suit—the one Kelly probably mentioned as the impatient one.
I greet him, and he only nods. Like I said, he’s a jackass.
I take out my keys, going for my door behind Kelly’s desk.
Kelly hops up. “Sir, before you go in I wanted to let you know that Mr. Jenkins, has called. Said he’s been trying to reach you.” I nod, doing my best not to roll it off my shoulders.
“Thank you, Kelly.” There’s a reason he can’t reach me. My father-in-law is testing my nerves, pressuring me to move to New York so I can get closer with Wall Street and him. Truth be told, I don’t want to get closer to Wall Street… or him for that matter. I want to stay as far away as possible, and Florida is just fine.
I enter my office, taking out my cellphone and checking the call log. Two missed calls from my father-in-law and the other from Colette. She has to wait, but I wonder what she wants.
Angelina follows me into my office, looking around and observing its modern appeal. “Nice,” she remarks.
Pulling out my chair, I sit down, dropping my briefcase on the desk. Neil walks in moments later, his cellphone in hand. “You saw the drop today?” he asks.
“This morning. It will go back up.”
“If we don’t get Quarter today, we might miss out on thousands of dollars. This deal will be worthless with all we’ve spent—all the work we’ve done.” He’s worried. Always so fucking worried. Why can’t he just let me do my job? I extend my arm to both of them, offering the seats across from me. “Relax, Neil. Sit. Please.”
He blows a thick puff of breath, dropping in one of the chairs. A few seconds pass before I realize Angelina hasn’t taken a seat. I look her way. She continues a small stroll by the window.
“Miss Clark, should we get started?”
“I’d prefer to stand right now. Keep my blood flowing. Thanks, though.” She flashes a pearly smile that makes my cock spasm.
I straighten in my seat, clearing my throat as I pull out a stack of papers and pretend it didn’t just fucking happen.
“I have the plan written out,” I start. “I’ve been in touch with Bob Brinkman at Quarter. He says he’s 98% on board with us. The other 2%, I’m sure, is just his nerves. He’ll come through. I’m going to call him again in just a minute.”
“No, call him now. Let’s get this thing done so I can sleep a little easier tonight.” Neil’s frustration is on full display. It’s no wonder he can never make a deal stick.
Their business came to me for a reason… because they need me. Why he works around the stock market honestly confuses me. It’s clear Angelina’s brother, Scott, is the reason their business has survived for this long.
Just because Neil’s father partly owned the business and handed it down to him doesn’t mean he couldn’t have sold it to do something else—something he wanted to do.
But because Neil didn’t know what the hell to do when he first started, he let Scott handle everything, giving Scott the role to call shots and soon become part CEO.
“I’ll get to that, Neil, but you have to understand that Quarter Banking is new and they are vulnerable. If they feel like they are bleeding and sharks are circling them, that they’re waiting to be fed on or attacked, they won’t budge. Allow some time to pass, see if the stock for Wall Street builds back up.”
“Yeah. Whatever. Whatever you think works.” Neil grunts, his eyes swinging to Angelina. He observes her, mainly her ass.
I look towards her. She’s standing in front of the window that gives a clear view of the ocean and the towers to the left.
She’s not even listening to us, at least that’s what I think until she says, “He’s right, Neil. They are new. They just opened shop last year and are thriving. We have to let this one breathe. We have to gain their trust. It’s a bank after all and banks have very strong lawyers. They have to be very precise when it comes to this stuff.”
“We don’t need anyone trying to sneak in and steal our business,” Neil says. “It’s bad enough we are letting them call the shots. They aren’t going to tell us if there is someone else they think might be an option.”
Angelina turns, her face going stiff. “Jesus, Neil, you’re just like Scott. Calm down. Let it breathe. Like Mr. Boyd said, he will handle it and when he does the deal will be sealed. I’m certain it will.” She looks from him to me, those piercing eyes locking on mine. With gentle, mellow eyes and a wicked curve of her lips, she asks, “Right, Mr. Boyd?”
“Right.” I look away. I can’t keep staring at her.
I’ve come across plenty of women that show interest, most of whom are very vague about their attraction towards me, but Angelina is different.
She likes what she sees and she presents it without fear, but it’s strange because she’s also holding back. I’m not sure if it’s because we’re business associates, or because she knows I won’t feed into it too much.
My stomach twists, and not in a bad way. “All right. I’ll make the calls and see where we are at with them. In the meantime, you two can hang out in my office, maybe have Kelly run over to pick you up some lunch. He won’t mind.”
“Oh, I don’t mind going to get it myself.” Angelina moves closer in my direction as I stand with my cellphone in hand. “There is a little Italian place I’ve always wanted to try. You could always make the calls to Quarter there, right? We can all go.”
Neil shakes his head rapidly. “No. I’m not hungry. I’m going to give Milo a call, see if he can set up that meeting with Carter.” He pushes out of his seat, rushing from my office in a big, sloppy hurry.
I watch until he disappears, shaking my head. “Your partner is way too antsy for this business.”
Angelina rolls her eyes playfully. “You’re telling me. Guy’s a douche. I hate that we have to share partnership with him. What were our fathers thinking?”
I laugh.
“So, should we grab lunch before we get started?”
I blink twice before dropping my head. When I look back up, she’s on the opposite side of my desk, her arms crossed tightly and her breasts popping out of her blouse.
A hint of allure swims deep in those aqua irises, making my chest tighten and my throat work hard to swallow down the attraction. “Actually, I think I’ll take the call in my office. It’s quieter. I also just ate not too long ago.” That’s a lie. I didn’t eat much, but I’m not hungry.
Her bottom lip pokes out in a pout. “Oh. That sucks. I really wanted to try the place. Don’t want to look like a total loser eating alone, but if I have too, I will.” She grins and shrugs, dropping her arms and stepping aside.
“You know, if you order the food I can have Kelly pick it up. I’m sure the kid is bored out of his mind by now. We won’t have much work to do until Quarter falls through… if they fall through.”
“They will.” She nods. “I mean, if you think about it, no one can cut a deal like you, Mr. Boyd. We’ve all heard great things. Honestly, the reason Scott wanted to work with you is because I recommended it. He trusts my instincts and you have yet to fail us. Business is actually better than ever. I’m sure you will get Quarter.”
“Hmm.” I fight a smile. “Thanks, I guess.”
She looks around my office again, pushing off my desk and starting a mini stroll. “I guess it would be smarter to hang out in here. Have the lunch picked up.”
“I’ll buzz Kelly. Do you know what you want?”
“Yes. I checked out the menu online while we were waiting for you. The spinach tortellini w
ith Alfredo sauce. Sounds so delicious right now.”
“What place?”
“I think it’s called Cleo’s.”
“I know exactly where you’re talking about.” I press the button and call for Kelly. When he pops between the doorway seconds later, I tell him to call Cleo’s and order the spinach tortellini meal for Angelina.
“Oh, and breadsticks!” Angelina adds. A girl who isn’t afraid to eat? She just keeps making herself seem more and more irresistible.
Kelly takes off seconds later, and Angelina settles in the chair opposite of me. I blow a sigh, scrolling through my list of contacts. “You don’t talk much, do you? I mean, about stuff outside of work?” she asks.
“I like for my work life and personal life to remain separate.”
“Too bad,” she says, and I peer up as I sit again. “I can tell something is bothering you. Something personal. But I’m pretty sure you won’t talk about it so I won’t waste my breath.”
I narrow my eyes at her, head tilting. “How can you tell something’s wrong with me?”
“Stiff shoulders. Hard eyes. Clipped tones. You seem… irritated. Like this is the last place you want to be right now. All clear signs of annoyance.”
“Maybe I am, but when it comes to my work I’m fine.”
She folds her arms, her eyes shifting down to the ring on my finger. “Marital issues? Kids?” she muses.
“Don’t worry about it,” I mumble.
She continues looking my way, watching as I rake my fingers through my hair. “Scott told me you don’t have kids… I was just pitching shit. It’s your wife. It’s always the wife.”
I glance at her before looking down at my phone again.
“You know, I don’t get it,” she sighs.
“What is there to get?”
“If you men are so unhappy with your lives and your marriages, why waste time? Why not move on?”
I drop my phone, folding my fingers on top of the desk. “Move onto what exactly, Miss Clark?”
“Well, to me, it seems rich men only marry so people will take them seriously.”
“My wife and I have been together for ten years, married for seven of them. You really think we care what others think after all this time?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. How many of those years were spent despising one another? Doubting one another?”
I scoff, sitting back in my chair. “What do you know?”
“I know I’m not foolish enough to marry a man just so I can call someone my husband. I’m not dumb enough to marry a man unless I know I truly want to be with him.”
Her eyes lock with mine, the air around us thickening with static heat. She studies my face, my locked jaw, and then a smile sweeps across her pink lips. “Mr. Boyd… you should ease up around me. I’m a blabbermouth. I can admit it. Even if you tell me to shut up, I won’t shut up. It’s just how I am, and it’s also why I’m so good at my job.”
“You interrogate and instigate. Make people feel comfortable yet strange in their own skin. Wrong and right.”
“I only do it when someone looks like they need to express themselves.”
I fold my arms.
“So talk,” she goes on.
“Not much to talk about, Miss Clark.”
“I’m sure there is so much you’d love to discuss, you’re just afraid of facing truths. I know, trust me. Men hate getting their egos shut down, especially wealthy men. What is it? Your wife didn’t go and get that Brazilian you wanted so you had to put up with eating a hairy vag?”
I fight a laugh. This woman is outrageous. “Nothing of the sort,” I laugh.
“Well, what is it then? Now I am beyond curious.”
“It’s nothing, Miss Clark. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“You look unhappy, Mr. Boyd.”
“Maybe I am,” I say. “But that wouldn’t be of your concern. I can handle myself. You, on the other hand… well, you just seem flat-out lonely.”
“I am not lonely,” she retorts.
I lift a swift brow. “That was a pretty quick response. Are you sure?”
“It’s the truth. I don’t mind being by myself. I don’t have to care for anyone’s feelings outside my own.”
I chuckle. “Is that what you tell yourself? Is that your mantra?”
“Ha. Screw you, buddy,” she titters.
“Well, is it true? Because only a lonely person would say they don’t like to care about anyone else’s feelings.”
“I don’t like to care for anyone’s feelings. Is that so bad?” She folds her arms across her chest.
“Nope. Been there. Done that. It gets boring.”
She presses her back against the back of the chair, looking around my office for the third time. “I can tell your wife helped you set this place up. Has a woman’s touch.” She’s changing the subject, but it’s okay. I’ll play along.
“Not my wife. My mother. She only helped with the décor and wall colors.”
“Smoky gray… ehh. I would have gone with a light shade of blue. Better for the eye. More welcoming. Why add gloom on top of gloom?”
“What are you trying to say?” I crack a smile. “That I’m a gloomy person?”
“You have your tendencies.”
My head shakes. She’s hilarious. Really.
“You know,” she murmurs, sitting forward and making a face, “you really shouldn’t be so miserable. You are a great businessman that shows respect and has everything he wants and needs. Most people are envious of that, but me. I find it kind of… hot—but that’s just my take.”
“I think you could do better than a man like me.”
“Nah.” She sighs. “All the good ones are either taken or gay.”
I laugh as she does, and as our merriment settles, our eyes remain glued, heat building in my chest. She smiles at me, biting on her lower lip.
My cock has a fucking mind of its own, now straining against the zipper of my tailored pants. I don’t know why. She’s hardly done a thing.
Perhaps it’s the way she plays innocent, but deep down I know she’s probably a freak behind closed doors.
She’s right about one thing. She doesn’t shut up. She is a blabbermouth. She doesn’t hold back. I’m not quite sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
“Mr. Boyd, we really should have caught that lunch together,” she whispers.
“No,” I state, but it’s flat and lifeless. There is no meaning to it. Just a simple word in the air. “Here is fine.”
“Too bad,” she breathes, her voice now a seductive rasp. “I think it would have been great to get to know someone like you.”
“Business, Miss Clark,” I say under my breath. “This is business.”
“I know,” she agrees. “That’s what makes this much more exhilarating. But you’re right.” She holds up two hands, as if pausing on everything. “Let’s focus on work. Are you going to make that call, or what?” Her brows raise and a smile touches the corners of her lips.
I study her face, my heartbeat picking up in speed. She’s grinning now, dropping her gaze, and allowing me to ogle her.
Her legs are crossed, her skin appearing satiny smooth beneath the rays of sunlight. Her teeth are still clinging to that juicy, plump bottom lip.
She sucks in and then releases, making me wonder what more she can do with that mouth of hers.
I’m sure there is so much more, and if she doesn’t know, I can always show her…
Then again I can’t.
Colette.
My wife.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” I start, and she looks up. “If I didn’t have a wife or a ring on my finger, I may have considered that lunch with you. Unfortunately, reality always wins.” Shouldn’t I feel terrible for saying something like that to her? If so, I don’t. Not when I know how Colette really is. But this woman doesn’t need to know everything.
Her face glows, teeth sparkling from the stream of sunlight. “That’s wonderful to kn
ow, Mr. Boyd. I’m sure you don’t tell women that often.”
“No,” I say, knowing I really shouldn’t have said it at all. “I don’t. Consider yourself fortunate.”
TWO
Colette
* * *
I haven’t come to peace with my downfalls. My failures.
They are what hold me back. My disgraces make me feel like I am less of a woman.
As I sit on the park bench, studying each mother happily pushing the stroller before her, fingers gridlocked around the handles as if they will never allow any harm to come to their tiny offspring, I feel something heavy settle in my stomach.
The feeling is always like swallowing a block of lead. It’s weighty and uncomfortable and it never bothers to leave me alone.
I can admit that it’s easier to accept now, but it’s the very sight of the protruding bellies, the mothers calling for their toddlers, or cooing to their darlings that makes me wince and want to curl into the very fetal position that child had once been in.
I observe the park with a pant, catching my breath. The air is thick and salty. I hate Florida. There’s too much humidity, too much crime, and not enough privacy. I have no idea why I agreed to move here with Griffin.
I’ve just completed a run around the park three times and I pushed myself until I no longer could.
Griffin really irritated me this morning with the breakfast. Why couldn’t he just cut up some fresh fruit, maybe make tea instead of the coffee?
Perhaps I was too hard on him.
I should feel bad, but I don’t. He’s my husband. He should remember things, like how I have a salsa competition coming up next month and need to stay in good shape for it.
I’m one of the leading ladies. I have to be in tip-top shape. I can’t let the younger girls outshine me. I’ve always been good at the arts—the best.
I should thank him anyway for trying. I mean, it’s what a good wife would do, right? Even though it’s not what she wants, it’s the effort that counts.
Yeah, a good wife would appreciate it. Though I consider myself far from the good wife.
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