Foundation

by Lainey Davis

  “Here you are, dear,” Mick says, pointing down a poorly lit hallway flanked by rows of cubicles. The door at the end of the hall says Zack Brady, and an entire army of young engineers looks up at me as I make my way down the aisle with the company CEO.

  “Zack!” Mick hollers, startling the few employees who hadn’t yet looked up to gaze at us. I hear rustling sounds and the door cracks open. “Your girlfriend is here.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Zack

  MY FATHER JUST referred to Nicole Kennedy as my girlfriend. In front of an entire room of my colleagues. If I could just control the muscles of my face, this would be fine, because my dad makes these kinds of inappropriate jokes about most women.

  But she doesn’t know this, and we never bring clients up to the offices, so the whole thing just throws me so hard, I just stand there with my mouth hanging open while Nicole glares at my father.

  “Mr. Brady,” she says. “Mick, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  He winks at her. “I know how it is,” he says. “You’re saving yourself for my brother.”

  “Jesus Christ, Dad.” I feel myself blushing. I vow to leave the company and go work somewhere else, somewhere the management controls their impulses and gives employees promotions without sending them jumping through deranged hoops.

  “Aw, come on, son. You’re always so damn serious! I ran into Nicole in the lobby. She says she’s here to talk about the hole in her yard.” Dad winks again and takes off, stopping to greet some of the people in cubicles as he goes.

  I stand frozen in shock and horror until Nicole clears her throat and raises her brows. “Can we talk?”

  Shaking myself back to consciousness, I nod and gesture into my office. It’s kind of a mess and I don’t really have space in here for visitors. I try to clear some tools off the folding chair so she can sit, but she makes a face at the dirt that crumples off the measurement devices I’d used at her property yesterday.

  “Sorry,” I mumble. “I would have met you in the conference room if…” I drift off. “I don’t want you to think I said anything to my father about us,” I say, my eyes no doubt conveying the panic I feel about her reaction to all of this. “I know we didn’t talk about parameters yet.”

  “He seems like the wrong person to confide a secret to,” she says. Then she leans toward me. “Is that what I am, Isaac? Your dirty secret?”

  Fuck. Me. That mouth on her…I exhale slowly, letting my cheeks puff out as I adjust my flannel shirt. “You’re not a secret,” I tell her. Liar. “Unless you want to be?”

  “I haven’t figured out what to do with you, to be honest,” she says. She tosses a folder on my desk. “So ostensibly, I came to thank you for your work on my yard. Is what Mark said true? Is it really just…handled?”

  I scratch at the stubble on my chin. “Yeah, seems like it,” I tell her. “My brother Liam has worked with that company before. They’re always taking shortcuts, and then the developers have to call us in to fix shit after the inspections fail.” I shrug. “Jared mentioned that you work closely with half the pro athletes in the city, and that just happens to be the target market they’re trying to sell condos to.”

  Another professional link in the chain between our companies. Another reason it’s a bad idea for me to be involved with her. Yet here I am, half hard and longing to kiss her.

  I reach for a folder of my own and slide it toward her. “These are the plans to fix your yard,” I tell her. “If you’re comfortable with all of this, I can break ground next week.”

  “Next week?” Her eyes are wide as she thumbs through the 3D renderings I printed for her to see what I think we can do to restore the yard. “I guess I have to consult with Valerie. Who knows what she wants for her half.”

  I nod. “I mean, the landscaping and patio work is obviously decorative. My work pretty much ends when we’ve got the dirt level. That was just to help you visualize what it will look like.” Nicole and Valerie will lose about two feet of yard, and their property will end with a tiered retaining wall, rather than dropping straight off like a sheer cliff by the river bank.

  She looks dazed. I want to reach for her, rub her shoulder, tell her to take her time. Instead I sit down and pull open the file she brought. “Am I really coming along to all these meetings in Paraguay?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Well, we can’t very well leave you sitting in the car,” she says. “Tim is totally stoked to have your father coming along with us. You don’t have to talk at the meetings. Ideally, you’ll say nothing,” she says, pointedly.

  And of course I have no business speaking up at strategy meetings for a professional baseball star to start his charity foundation, and I would never dream of opening my mouth at those meetings, but the way she tells me what to do…it ignites something primal in me as much as her vulnerability a minute before awoke some unfamiliar urge to offer comfort. “You telling me what to do, Kennedy?”

  I stand back up from my chair and she draws in her breath. I can see the pulse tick at her throat above the prim blouse she’s wearing today along with loose trousers that hide the luscious curves I’ve been dreaming of touching again. She swallows. “I’m not the one who has trouble keeping quiet, if I recall.” I run a thumb along her jaw, restraining myself from grabbing her hair and pulling her in for a claiming kiss.

  “About that,” she says, and closes her eyes. “Would you consider being my date for a party this weekend? We’d have to miss the group run.”

  “Your date?” She nods. “In public? Should I wear sweaty workout gear again?”

  “Oh, god no.” She shudders. “It’s for my mother’s birthday party, and you have to wear a suit. A nice suit.” She looks me up and down.

  “You’re making this sound so appealing. Missing a run, wearing an uncomfortable suit…tell me more.”

  She blushes. “Well, I’ve told you about my mother…and I usually take Emma to Mom’s birthday brunches, but Emma is unavailable.”

  “Aha. So I’m a consolation date. Excellent.” I’m loving messing with her, watching her fidget with the papers and squirm. Obviously I can’t wait to go out with her, and I’m relieved she even still wants to be around me after my dad called her my girlfriend and set off her fight or flight response.

  “I’ll make it worth your while,” she says, standing and coming closer, chewing that bottom lip of hers. I’m practically sweating, I want her so badly right now.

  “Tell me more about that,” I say, sliding my hands in my jeans pockets so I don’t reach out and cup her ass or pull her against my hard-on.

  She grins. “I’ll buy us each our own beer to share in my kitchen. Naked.” She places her hands on my chest, just resting them there, transferring her heat into me. I’m sure she can feel me trembling, aching for her. She stretches up on her tip-toes and slowly brings her mouth to mine, kissing me softly, briefly, before pulling back and looking up at me. Her brown eyes are huge, searching, hoping I’ll say yes. This feels dangerous, but it’s useless to refuse her.

  “Deal,” I whisper, and I lean in and kiss her back. I work her mouth gently, slipping my tongue inside to caress hers briefly before I pull back with great difficulty, clear my throat again, and open my office door. “Text me the details?”

  She nods and, gathering her things, retreats from my office, leaving behind a cloud of desire so thick I have to unbutton my collar so I can breathe.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Nicole

  ISAAC PICKS ME up Sunday morning ten minutes early, carrying coffee. I’m so impressed by the sight of him in his suit that I can’t even think of something snarky to say to him, so I stand in my doorway staring at his dark, mussed hair, his dark scruff, and the fitted suit that makes him look like sex on legs.

  I pretend I’m blowing off the coffee while I regain control of my mouth, making a mental note of how he looks leaning against my door frame, sipping coffee. I fully intend to recall this image while I use my purple toy. Ever s
ince he assured me my finances are in order, it’s like the floodgates reopened between my legs. I suppose it doesn’t hurt that I’m also recalling his handiwork down there when I try to rub one out.

  “You gonna stare at me all day or should we go celebrate your beloved mother?” Isaac casually sips his coffee, but I see a smile pull at the corner of his eyes.

  “I might stare a bit longer,” I tell him, but I back up from the door to grab my bag and my heels. It doesn’t matter what I wear—my mother will have something terrible to say about it, so I went with what I like. My spike heels are at least two inches taller than Mom would consider decent, but I’ve got a tea-length wrap dress and pearls. It just so happens that the dress has a deep vee neck and the long pearls nestle in between my pushed up breasts.

  For the millionth time, I feel grateful Emma and Maddie made me buy so many of the amazing bras at that shop. I can barely handle how good my tits look in this dress, and I’m glad, considering who I’ll have on my arm today. Man. Candy.

  “I really owe you for this,” I tell Isaac as I hop on one foot, fastening the buckle on my right shoe. Suddenly I feel his firm grip on my arm, steadying me so I can put on my shoe. “I guess I could have sat down to do this.”

  “But then I’d miss an opportunity to look down your top,” he says, doing just that. He’s seen me naked multiple times before, but something about his words makes me blush. I feel the heat circulating between us, and I know we have to leave now or we’re going to be late because I’m going to destroy his sharply pressed suit.

  “You got your running stuff for later?” Isaac looked up a trail near the country club south of the city so we can still get in our training run, even if we’re missing the group run with our colleagues. I nod, hoisting up the bag I’ve stuffed with layers and multiple choices for workout wear. The weather today could pull one of its most volatile mood swings, and I’d be set.

  I settle into his truck, trying not to spontaneously orgasm as he drops an arm over the back of my seat when he puts the truck in reverse to back out of his parking spot. I want to nestle into his armpit and inhale his aftershave. I let myself enjoy a deep sniff before he brings his arm back to the gear shift and gets us going toward the bridge.

  I watch his phone buzz repeatedly in the console as he drives and stare at him, puzzled. I’d have been checking my messages at red lights and impatiently yelling at whoever kept messaging me. But then I realize Isaac needs both hands to drive a stick shift. “Hm,” I say. “Want me to see who’s trying to get ahold of you?”

  He shakes his head, shifting gears and driving south toward the Fort Pitt Tunnel. “It’s my brothers. They don’t believe me that I’m with you—they think I’m just skipping out on a family run.”

  I pick up his phone, raising my brow in question. He doesn’t respond, so I read his screen. Cal and Liam have sent a series of profanity and emojis, and Orla wrote in all caps PICS OR IT DIDN’T HAPPEN!

  I bite my lip and look at him again as he merges. The entrance to the tunnel involves multiple lane changes over a short period of time, so I know Isaac is deep in concentration. I click the camera icon on his lock screen and snap a selfie of us in the cab of his truck. His phone doesn’t seem to be password protected, and it lets me send the pic to his family group text thread that he’s labeled Meddling Assholes.

  Once we’re safely in the tunnel, Isaac looks over at me. “What did you just do?”

  “I sent them proof that you’re not home in bed.” I shrug. “Your dad already thinks I’m your girlfriend…”

  I have no idea what I’m doing here. It feels like I’m playing with fire, but everything is so comfortable with Isaac. The phone starts buzzing again as his family alternately sends exploding head emojis, curse words, and GIFs of crackling flames. “I’ll just assume the hot references are for me,” I tell him.

  He laughs. We spend the rest of the drive talking about how we love to hate the people who hound us. His siblings and cousin, my best friend and her vast extended family of Stags. Emma added me to the Stag family group chat a few years ago when she eloped with Thatcher at my boss’s house on Christmas Eve. I feel a hell of a lot more comfortable with Stag banter than I do headed into this morning’s stiff world of gin and frown lines.

  Isaac tosses his keys to the valet and drapes an arm over my shoulders as we walk through the doors. “Am I a ‘make out with you during a toast’ date today or just ‘insinuate that I’ve seen you naked’ when we’re talking to your dad?”

  I’m sorry, I’m drunk on the scent of you and can’t concentrate right now. “Um, maybe neither of those?” We really need to set the parameters of whatever it is we’re doing. We just keep getting interrupted.

  Isaac snorts and I can see him rearing up for a comeback, but my sister comes rushing over to me. “Nicky, what on earth are you wearing? Who in the holy hell is this?” Naomi, two years older than me, is pregnant with her third child.

  The first two are sitting primly at a table with their hands on their laps, causing me to wonder if my sister has given them drugs. When I go to Stag family functions, the children run around like electrocuted insects. I believe Emma when she tells me that children just come out that way. Kennedy children, by contrast, have the joy wrung out of them via stern looks and shaming threats.

  I plaster on a fake smile for my sister.

  “Good to see you, Naomi. This is my…” I hesitate before I say the words, the lie feeling strange in my mouth. “This is my boyfriend, Isaac Brady.”

  “Glad to meet you,” he says, offering his hand for a shake. My sister presents him with a limp wrist, and Isaac seems unsure what to do. He makes a face at me before placing a kiss on my sister’s knuckles, which makes me laugh into my fist.

  Naomi pulls her hand back, making a face. “Mother is by the bar, greeting guests with mimosas,” she says, gesturing vaguely. “I’m sure you two need to clean up after driving so far and from such a…difficult neighborhood.”

  This time Isaac can’t even hide the shock on his face, but pulls his arm tightly around my waist. “We don’t want to keep your mother waiting, babe.” He steers me toward her and I grit my teeth, desperate to dismantle every one of my sister’s layered insults. But before I can catch my breath, I hear my mother hissing similar sentiments about my appearance.

  “I thought you were dieting, dear,” she says, her face immobile and prim. Isaac’s eyes fly wide and he opens his mouth.

  I pinch his leg and grin at my mother. “I said I’d started running, Mom. Isaac is helping me train for the marathon relay.”

  “Hmm,” she says. “And this is your trainer?”

  I clench all my muscles. “Isaac is my boyfriend. As I said in my email.”

  “A boyfriend would come around to dinner and meet your father.” Mom doesn’t offer him a hand, so he keeps his arm around me and leans in to grab two flutes of mimosas with the other hand. His long fingers handle the glass stems delicately and he hands one to me with a smile.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Kennedy. Should we drink to timeless beauty?” She looks medium flattered and starts smoothing her skirt. “I’m sorry I haven’t come around to meet you and Nicole’s father. I’ll have to correct that as soon as possible.”

  His thumb starts stroking my arm as he keeps a firm-yet-relaxed grip around my shoulder. I like how it feels, having him with me while I talk to her. Emma usually just hides behind a giant glass of alcohol and steels herself to listen to me vent later.

  “And what do you do, Isaac?” Mom purses her lips and stares him up and down. I take a smug satisfaction that I know she’s searching for something to disapprove of about how he looks, and is coming up short. He’s a god damned fox and I can’t wait to fuck him later.

  I bite my cheek, realizing how much I’m enjoying my time with him, how much he seems to be enjoying his time with me here in the lion’s den. It feels unsafe, this comfort I feel around him. I can’t make sense of it. I realize Isaac is talking about work,
about my yard.

  “Did I hear someone say Brady?” My dad wanders over and snags a mimosa of his own. “Travis Kennedy,” he says, holding out a hand toward Isaac.

  “Zack Brady,” he says, removing his arm from around me to shake hands with my father. “I’m pleased to meet you finally. Nicole has said so much about you.”

  “Zack? I thought you just said his name was Isaac?” My mother clutches at her necklace again, looking confused, but Dad barrels on with questions for my arm candy.

  “You Mick Brady’s son or Kellen’s? No, wait. Kellen just has the one daughter. Your dad and I go way back.” Of course my father knows Isaac’s father. They probably grease palms together and smoke cigars in places where their female colleagues are still not invited.

  I smile while Isaac talks about working with his father and uncle and feel relieved when he puts his arm back around my shoulders. He’s actually anchoring me to the earth, and realizing that sets me on edge again.

  “Well it’s good you have this man to depend on, sweetie,” my father says, jolting me back to the conversation.

  “What?”

  “Saving your house. Teaching you how to run.” Dad winks. “Seems like this is a good one to keep around longer than a week.”

  My mother scoffs. “Honestly, Travis. Do not encourage her abominable behavior. It’s indecent.”

  “Isaac isn’t some casual fling,” I spit out, realizing that it’s already true. “We’ve been together for nearly two months.”

  Dad smiles. “Two months and you already can’t live without him. You and your dad should give me a call, son,” Dad says. I don’t hear him as he invites Isaac golfing, can’t pay attention as we take our seats for toasts and plated brunch.

  My parents keep emphasizing how dependent I am on Isaac. And they’re right. My life has been falling to shit the past few months. I’m not asserting myself at work. The strategy of our project with Augusto isn’t mine so much as it’s Isaac’s father’s.