Her words trail off as I hold my hand up. Her chest is rising and falling as fear and panic floods her entire body. She’s trembling and I don’t know why she’s so damn scared, but I’m intrigued. I tell myself that it has nothing to do with those doe eyes. That it can’t be the body beneath those ill-fitting clothes.
“You can be my assistant. My secretary doesn’t have the time. I need someone available twenty-four seven. Can you do that?”
She licks her lips, her eyes widening and I swear to all that is holy, I have never wanted a woman’s lips wrapped around my cock more than I do in this exact moment. Clearing my throat, this time I do shift in my seat as I wait for her answer.
“Anything, Mr. Astor.”
I snort. Anything is such a broad word. I’ve never dipped my pen into the company ink, but I’m wondering how long I’ll be able to steer clear of her. She’s younger than my daughter, but somehow, she doesn’t seem it. She seems different. At least that’s what I tell myself to sound less like a pervert considering my cock is aching just at the sight of her.
“Be here tomorrow, eight in the morning. Go down to HR, on the third floor, they’ll set you up.”
She stands and thanks me about five times before she turns around and hurries toward the door. I call out her name before she slips through.
“I want you in this office at eight sharp. If you’re a minute late, you’re fired.”
She gulps, her eyes widening, and fuck, but I want to see her look at me like that when I’m buried deep inside her sweet little body.
“Yes, sir.”
Fuck.
Yes.
Chapter Three
TENNESSEE
I practically sprint from Mr. Astor’s office and toward the elevator. Extending my finger, I touch the number three that takes me down to the third floor. Only as the elevator doors close, do I allow myself to smile.
As soon as they’re shut completely, I let out a squeal and spin in a circle shaking my hips from side to side.
I got it.
I got a job.
It’s not the intern job that I applied for, but I don’t even care. All that matters is that I have a job, in this building, for this company. I have a chance, a foot in the door, and that’s all I need to prove to myself and to Mr. Astor that I can do this. That I can be this woman that I’ve been dreaming of becoming.
Human Resources is almost as daunting as meeting with Mr. Astor, but when I’m told that Holden can start in the childcare Monday morning just like me, I breathe a sigh of relief. Also, the fee is so nominal that I have to blink twice at the price.
“This can’t be right,” I question.
She smiles, the first smile she’s given me since I walked through her office door. “It is. Mr. Astor is a fantastic family man, he has always made it clear that being near your children is important. I think that if he could have childcare be completely free, he would.”
“Wow,” I breathe.
My mother has only ever mentioned his wife a few times, that they were friends from pageant days. I got the impression that their friendship was surface level, even years ago. They had very different paths in life, my mother being a struggling single parent and Susan being a socialite.
Once pageant life was over, once they were married and had families of their own, living in different states, they just separated ways. At least that’s what I’ve always assumed, anyway.
But hearing this about Mr. Astor, I am in awe. What a wonderful man. I knew from my research into Astor Investments that it was a great company, with outstanding benefits, but I didn’t realize all that it entailed.
“Mr. Astor has just emailed me, your starting wage will be salary since you’ll be on call. Weekends and nights will not be included in that salary and will automatically be double-time if he is to need your assistance. You’ll get all of the standard benefits, plus two weeks of paid vacation a year and a week off between Christmas and New Year’s paid.”
I shake my head, lifting my hand to my throat, I squeeze to keep from screaming out in surprise and elation.
“Your base salary is sixty thousand dollars a year.”
I can’t hold it in. I gasp loudly, then I squeal. She lifts her eyes from her computer, her eyes widening before a smile tugs on her lips.
“Mr. Astor is very generous,” she informs me. “More generous with you than I have ever seen, but he is indeed a very generous man.”
Our meeting only takes a few more moments. She takes all of my identification, makes me a card for the building after taking a picture of me, then we go over all of the paperwork. I sign everything that she asks, not sure what I’m even signing, I am just so excited.
Thanking her, I leave the office and practically skip toward the elevator. I’m not paying attention, my head is in a complete fog. I run into something solid as I step into the elevator. Tipping my head back, I open my mouth to apologize and my words catch.
It’s a younger version of Mr. Astor. He’s handsome, a carbon copy and I assume that he must be Mr. Astor’s son, but the gleam in his eyes is a bit different. A bit more predatory.
“Well, hello there,” he says smoothly.
Taking a step back, I lift my hand and tuck an invisible strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” I murmur.
He chuckles, the sound filling the small elevator car. “What floor?” he asks.
“Oh, first,” I whisper.
I watch as he extends his arm, touching the button. His sleeve brushes my shoulder and I’m sure it’s supposed to be exciting, but I just find it a little odd. He’s standing a little too close. I can feel his body heat through my own clothes.
I try not to be in a position where I’m alone with men very often. Though being in Mr. Astor’s office felt comfortable and exciting, this exact moment makes my stomach clench.
The elevator car slowly glides down and I watch the numbers, holding my breath and trying not to panic with each floor it passes.
“What’s your name?” he asks. “I haven’t seen you here before.”
I’m glad when the elevator dings, I take a step away from him before I answer. “Tennessee, and I was just hired today,” I announce chirpily as I continue to step out of the car.
Before I get too far, I feel his hand wrap around my wrist. He doesn’t pull me, just holds me and I quickly spin around.
He’s looking down at me, his lips curved up into a handsome smile. His teeth are straight, he’s obviously had braces and it makes me feel self-conscious of my own teeth. My mother couldn’t afford braces, and thankfully, I didn’t really need them, but I would like to have them a little straighter.
“Have a drink with me. We can celebrate your new job.”
It’s not really a question and I find that I don’t like that. He’s a little too forward as well and just his words send a small panic through me. I don’t date, haven’t wanted to since the incident. My focus is Holden and only Holden.
My mom has tried to get me to go and enjoy myself, but what’s there to enjoy? Dancing with strange men? No thank you.
Shaking my head, I give him a small smile. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I already made plans with Bethanie,” I say.
It’s true, too. I promised her that I would go and see her after my interview. He glances to his left toward Bethie’s counter, then looks back at me and shakes his head once.
“Okay, rain check?” he asks.
Nodding my head, I give him a bright smile because I know without a doubt, he will never cash that rain check. I may be inching closer to being able to date, but there is no way that I’m starting any time soon. And definitely not with him, he’s a player, I can see it in his eyes.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Laurent,” he offers with a smile. “Laurent Astor.”
I notice a small dimple in his cheek and bite the inside of my cheek. This guy always gets what he wants, his dazzling smile, the dimple, his tall, strong body. The way
he made sure to tell me he’s Mr. Astor’s relative. As if I couldn’t tell that he was related to him based on looks alone.
He is someone who doesn’t take no for an answer, he is someone who isn’t used to rejection. He is someone that I do not want any kind of contact with. Laurent reminds me of him.
“Tenny, are you ready?” Bethie asks. She’s standing next to us, her purse in hand, an expectant look on her face.
“Nice to meet you,” I offer, then turn to Bethie and quickly make my way toward her.
I have a few more hours before I need to be home. Thankfully, my mom is still here and she’s with Holden. Bethie takes my arm, hooking hers with mine.
“That guy, he’s hot, but he’s totally a womanizer. He’ll chew you up and spit you out. Sweet girl like you doesn’t stand a chance,” she sighs.
I snort. “He’s not going to have an opportunity. I don’t date.”
She pauses in her tracks, turning her head to the side, she looks at me with wide, shocked eyes. “Why not?” she practically screeches.
I could keep my son a secret, but he wouldn’t be for long. I have to walk right past her desk to get to the childcare center. I won’t tell her how he came into my life, about what happened to me, only my mother knows that. But, Holden? I’m so proud of him, I’ll definitely tell her all about him.
“Tell me over lunch?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I smile. “I’ll tell you over lunch.”
I don’t take chances anymore, not ever, but something about Bethie seems really safe. She’s inviting and she reminds me a lot of myself… especially the me before.
LANDRY
Clearing my throat, I finish the last line of my document before my office door opens. Laurent waltzes in and plops down in the chair that Tennessee just vacated. Pushing send, I email the file to the attorney, then lift my eyes to meet my son’s.
“Laurent?”
“Lunch?” he asks.
It’s not often that my eldest child asks me to go to lunch. Leaning back in my chair, I eye him suspiciously. Granted, Laurent and I are close, but he usually does his own thing, preferring to see me after work hours, at family functions, and my forced weekly dinners.
“What do you want?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Can’t I want to go with my boss, my own father, for lunch?”
I grunt as I stand to my feet. Turning off my computer monitor, I don’t bother grabbing my suit jacket, preferring to keep my white shirt sleeves rolled up to my elbows. Rounding my desk, I clear my throat as I make my way toward him.
Laurent chuckles again, making his way toward my office door and wrenching it open. “I did want to talk to you about something,” he begins.
I let out a groan. “How much is this going to cost me?”
He lifts his arm, sliding it across my shoulders. “Not much.”
I don’t say anything. Instead, I walk into the elevator car and can’t help but imagine the woman that was just here. Tennessee. I shouldn’t be thinking of her. I should push her out of my mind, but there is a thrill that fills me at the thought of seeing her first thing Monday morning.
Pressing my lips together, I grunt to myself. I’m sick. Truly, there must be something wrong with me. This is not normal. I have been attracted to women before, I can appreciate a beautiful woman of any appropriate age. But never have I hired one I’ve been sexually attracted to, never have I been unable to control an erection the way I was today.
I’m over sixty years old, this just isn’t fucking normal.
The restaurant hostess seats us and I’m glad to sit down. Lifting my hand, I ask for a drink before she can even leave.
“It’s a little early isn’t it, Dad?” Laurent asks.
“You’ve brought me here to ask me for money, or some kind of favor, so no, it’s not.”
He chuckles, his eyes finding mine and he holds my gaze.
“A favor, not money.”
“What is it?”
He grins, leaning back in his seat as the bartender brings my drink and sets it in front of me. Lifting my hand, I extend my finger as I take a sip of my bourbon. Clearing my throat, I place my glass back on the table before I flick my gaze back up to meet my son’s.
“I want a promotion.”
What I want to do is laugh in his face, but I don’t. Instead, I lift a brow as I watch him, then take another drink from my glass.
“No.”
“No?” he practically cries.
Jerking my chin up, I grunt. “No.”
“Why?” he demands, sounding every bit the spoiled brat I tried so hard not to let him become.
I failed at that, just like I have failed at a great many things in my lifetime. All three of my children are spoiled as absolute fuck. I like to think that it’s not my fault, but rather the fault of their mother who bought them things rather than spend quality time with them.
However, I know that it would be a lie. I did the same. Awarded them with things even if they didn’t necessarily deserve them. Sent them to the best schools, gave them every opportunity in life, because these were things that I was given. Though my father did not give them freely, he forced me to earn them, usually forcing me to work much harder than I needed to.
They’re all good and decent people, my children, but they are also spoiled.
This is a lesson that Laurent must learn. He will not get every single thing that he asks for simply because I can give it to him. He will earn it. No longer is he a teenager in high school or college. He is a thirty-year-old man now, he must make his own path, even if I’ve given him his job, he must work his way up the ladder like everyone else.
“Because being related to the owner does not make you qualified for a promotion,” I explain.
“That’s bullshit, it’s not fair,” he announces, sounding as petulant as he did when he was a boy.
Humming, I lean forward and wrap my fingers around my drink before I bring it to my lips again. My mind flitters back to the memory of Tennessee. Her thirst for a position, any position. The way her lips said ‘anything,’ but I knew that I could not ask just anything of her, at least not the anything that I wanted.
She is hungry for a position. Laurent just desires it because he is used to getting what he wants. He definitely is not hungry for that or anything else in life.
“It is fair, to you and everyone else. Work hard and get rewarded, son.”
He huffs, leaning back in his chair. The waiter appears and asks us for our order, a few moments later he’s gone and it’s just the two of us again. I watch Laurent, waiting to see if he will say something else. When he does, his words make me proud and I know that even with his mother’s voice in his head, he still has a bit of his father in there as well.
“Okay. I get it,” he heaves. “But I will earn that promotion.”
“I hope you do, Laurie. I hope you do.”
Chapter Four
LANDRY
Weekends.
I have a love-hate relationship with them. I love them because Sunday evenings my children always set aside for family time. I loathe them because it means I usually go home and am forced to be around my wife.
I’ve long stopped taking luggage back and forth from my office to my home. Instead, I just moved all of my clothes out of my house and into my penthouse apartment at the office. Susan knew what I’d done and she didn’t even comment on it.
It’s not like I can’t come home every night, my house is only a twenty-minute drive from my office. It’s that I don’t want to come home, not to her, not to this cold house. I only keep enough clothes to wear on the weekends in my bedroom at the house.
Soon, I won’t even keep those there. I’m moving, officially, and this weekend I’m having her served with divorce papers.
I’ve had enough of the charade. There is no point to it, never really was other than my stubborn pride and my sense of feigned loyalty. And she’s never said anything, never even broached the topic before because she has everythin
g she wants, needs, and desires. Her life is exactly the way that she wants it, why would she complain?
Gripping the steering wheel of my car, I stare at the house. We had happy memories here, not together as a couple, but as a family, we have had many. I hope that they continue, that we can all move past what is about to happen. But I don’t hold out very much hope of avoiding her wrath when she discovers that she will not get half of every ounce of what I’m worth, she will indeed, be very angry.
Reaching over to the passenger seat, I grab hold of the manila envelope in my hand and clear my throat. These aren’t the initial divorce papers, but rather the contracts, the agreements, everything that outlines the divorce, or at least what I want from it.
Unfolding from the car, I close the door and lock it behind me. Walking up the steps, it feels final. Completely fucking final and I know that it shouldn’t because we have been over for a very long time—decades even.
Making my way into the house, I look around. She’s redecorated, again. Shaking my head, I listen for her. The sound of clinking ice in a glass fills my ears and I can’t help but chuckle. I won’t miss that. Her drinking, her constant fucking drinking.
“Susan?” I call out.
“I’m here,” she says, her voice already slurred.
I wonder if it’s just permanently like that now? Like she doesn’t know how to be sober anymore? Probably.
Walking toward her voice, I’m not surprised to find her in my study, or what is left of my study. She’s made it a lounging room. Where my books were once neatly placed on the shelves there are now knickknacks and odds and ends. The walls are also painted pink and the carpeting is leopard print. My desk is gone, replaced with a lacquer black one, and a zebra print chair sits behind it.
“So, you’ve decided to come early for your weekend visitation?” she asks, lounging on her black chaise, a drink properly in hand.
“I would like to talk to you, Susan,” I begin.
She sits up slightly, attempting to balance her drink, but it sloshes out a bit. If she notices, she doesn’t react to any of it. Her eyes find mine, her lids are lowered, but that’s most likely because she’s on the verge of passing out and not because she’s attempting to seduce me.
Hypocritically Yours: A Standalone Age-Gap Romance Page 3