by Louise Bay
We spent the next hour looking at different styles, working out what would be demure enough to please her father, but pretty enough to please her.
Eventually Amanda’s laundry was ready. “I better go back. He’ll be home from work and wondering where I am. I left a note, but he won’t read it.” She rolled her eyes. Her phone started to vibrate, Dad flashing on the screen. “Speak of the devil.”
“Hi, Dad.” She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m coming up now.”
“He has dinner ready,” she said. “I better go.”
Wow. A man so devoted to his daughter he didn’t date, and on top of that he cooked. Sounded like a keeper. “Never say no to a man who can cook. And remember, be nice to him. That’s the way to get what you want. Men get taken in so easily by a few compliments.” I winked at her.
“Thank you so much.” She flung her arms around my neck and I froze, her gesture taking me by surprise.
“I’m going shopping again next week,” she said as I squeezed her back. “Yesterday was a total bust, but at least now I won’t just try the same things again and have the same argument.”
“Exactly. Men have to think they’ve won. Never let on that really, you’ve gotten your own way.”
Amanda laughed. “I need boy lessons from you.”
“Single girl,” I said, pointing to myself. “I don’t know anything.”
“That’s not true. I’m not going to listen to a word boys say from now on. I’m only going to watch what they do.”
“You’ll go far if you remember that. It was so nice to meet you, Amanda. Have fun at your dance.”
She took her pile of clean, folded laundry and left me to my three washers, my report, and thoughts of my father. Was it because Amanda’s father was of a younger generation than he was so involved with her growing up? When I was younger, every now and then my dad had tried to get involved in my life. I even remembered him coming to a couple of my school plays. But it had never lasted long and then we wouldn’t see him for months. He’d just disappear as soon as I started to expect anything of him. I grew out of any expectation eventually.
Or maybe not. I still wanted him to ask me to go work for him, even knowing all the times he’d let me down. I guess I still wanted him to prove with his actions that he loved me. It would be like he’d turned up for every birthday and school play. My mother always told me he loved me but I never saw any evidence. So when I graduated and he didn’t offer me a job, I stopped answering his intermittent calls. And now my only communications with him happened through his lawyer.
*
“Is that a penis?” I asked Grace matter-of-factly as we stood in front of a canvas at the exhibition in New Jersey she’d convinced me to attend. The space wasn’t a pretty, shiny gallery in Chelsea, but a huge warehouse in the middle of some industrial area. I was pretty sure if we looked hard enough, we’d find a dead body.
“No, it’s not a penis. Why would my boyfriend paint a gigantic knob?”
“Men are weird. And obsessed with their penis,” I replied. I thought that was obvious. I was always surprised when male artists didn’t paint their junk. I was sure Van Gogh had plenty of penis drawings hidden away in his attic.
“Many of the great artists painted beautiful women,” Grace said.
“Exactly. Because they were obsessed with their penis. Case closed.”
“How’re things with your asshole boss?” Grace asked as we walked over to a plinth with an empty Perspex case on it.
I hadn’t told Grace I’d wound up naked with Max. How could I explain it to her when I didn’t understand it myself? She’d think I’d totally lost it. “Still an asshole.” Which was true, even more so now that he was ignoring me after the nakedness.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
I shrugged and took a sip of my warm white wine. “What can I do? I’m just going to grow a thick skin and stick it out.” And try not to fuck him again. Scratch that—definitively not fuck him again. I hadn’t mentioned to Grace that he lived in the same building. There wasn’t any reason to hide that piece of information, but for some reason I didn’t feel like sharing.
“Great. So I have to listen to you moan about him for the next two years?”
“You brought it up, and anyway, I have to put up with things like this for you.” I twirled my finger in the air, then peered closer at the box in front of us. It was as if someone had stolen the artwork we were meant to be looking at. “Did they forget to put something in here?” I asked.
“No, it’s supposed to be some kind of commentary on reality TV and how the public will watch anything the networks commission.” Grace pulled her eyebrows together. “I think that’s it. Or they might have just forgotten the art.”
We giggled before being interrupted by Grace’s new boyfriend, Damien, and his very tall friend.
Grace’s eyes gleamed as she said, “Harper, this is George.”
George had one of those faces people describe as friendly. Five-foot-ten, with brown hair cut short and in a blue, button-down shirt and jeans, he was quite attractive. There was nothing about him that would immediately have me pressing my red emergency button and running for the door, which had happened more often than not when Grace had introduced me to men.
“George, this is Harper, my best friend in the world. Keep her company? Damien’s taking me to look at his etchings.” Grace pulled Damien’s arm, leaving George and I alone and embarrassed.
The word setup echoed around the space.
Couldn’t we all have just stayed and talked?
“Excuse Grace. She was dropped on her head a lot,” I said.
“As a baby?” George asked.
I shook my head. “No, by me, every time she tries to set me up.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, she’s a force of nature.” A half-second of uncomfortable silence followed before George said, “Are you enjoying the art?”
“Honestly, no. I don’t get it.” I winced as I looked him in the eye.
“Thank God I’m not the only one,” he replied, smiling back at me. “Don’t tell Damien I said so, but what the fuck? Have you been into the black room?” He pointed across the space to a sectioned-off part of the warehouse. “It’s full of women holding their heads and screaming.”
“Really?” I asked, intrigued. “Women sick of bad dates? Sorry, present company excepted, of course.”
He laughed again. “Maybe. I didn’t recognize anyone, so I’m hopeful none of my exes are in there.” He winked and for the first time in my life, instead of getting an urge to put a spoon through a guy’s eye, I thought the gesture was cute. “Another drink?”
“The bar I like.” We walked toward the biggest crowd of people who all seemed to have similar taste in art—the kind that smelled like wine. “So, tell me about yourself. Was your mother a Wham! fan?”
“No, I’m named after my grandfather, not George Michael. Although I am a fan, particularly of his day-glow period.”
There weren’t many men who made me laugh. Maybe this wouldn’t turn out to be the worst setup in the world. We got fresh drinks and found a free spot, away from the crowd and the art.
“I’m an architect, I’m from Ohio, and I don’t like cats. You?”
“I’m from Sacramento,” I replied. “I don’t like cats either and I’m a researcher at a consulting firm.”
“Grace said you were new to the city. Did you move for the job?”
“Partly.” My move had been totally about King & Associates. I’d have moved anywhere to work with Max King. “And to live in New York.”
“And now that you’re doing it, is it all you thought it would be?”
“I don’t get along with my boss.”
“Oh,” he said, nodding. “But does anyone? I mean, isn’t it like the rule that you hate your boss? Isn’t he just there to stand between you and your internet surfing habit?”
I tilted my head. “I don’t resent him because he interrupts my online shopping experienc
e. I enjoy what I do. My boss is just rude.” And gorgeous. “And arrogant.” And great in bed. “And ungrateful.” And kisses as if it was his major in college. Max King was a man who had every right to be obsessed with his penis.
George had a dimple that appeared on the left of his face when he smiled. “I have my own firm. I wonder if one of the guys working for me is standing at a party having the exact same conversation about me.”
I winced. “God, I’m sorry. I’m sure that’s not happening—”
“Don’t sweat it. Like I said, I think it’s part of the job—some people aren’t ever going to like you.”
“And you’re okay with that?” I asked, genuinely interested.
“I’m not sure I’ve thought about it. Whether or not I’m okay with it, it’s still going to happen, right? Not everyone likes you, do they?”
I laughed. “Hey, you’ve only known me a few minutes and already you think people must hate me?”
“It’s not personal. And when you’re signing someone’s paycheck, things just get magnified. Normally, if you don’t get along with people, you don’t have chemistry with someone, you can just avoid them. But at work, you’re forced to spend time with them, so you’re just more aware that you don’t like the person.”
Generally, he made sense, but he hadn’t met the specific asshat that was Max King. “I guess.”
“How about I distract you from work one night this week, take you to dinner and prove not all bosses are evil?”
I bit the edge of my plastic cup. “This week?” I asked.
“Yeah, unless you’re booked up already.”
“No. Not booked up.” Did I want to go to dinner with George? The memory of Max’s hips pinning me to the wall of his apartment flashed through my head. I touched my neck, as if I could still feel his breath whispering against my skin. “Dinner sounds good.”
I needed new memories to replace the ones of Max King.
*
Monday at King & Associates was busier than I’d expected. I’d gotten pulled in on a new, high profile research project on luxury goods in China. I’d been so excited I’d almost forgotten Max King was my boss. For the first time in forever, I left work with a smile on my face, despite it being past eight.
“Hi, Barry.” I waved at the doorman as I passed his desk and pressed the elevator button. I wanted a warm bath, my bed, and maybe a smidgen of Game of Thrones.
As the doors slid open, Max stood in front of me in his workout clothes, tall, handsome, and staring at his phone.
God-damn you, Lycra.
I froze, unsure what to do. Was he coming out or going down to the basement? At that moment he glanced up and for the first time since he’d made me come a bazillion times, he looked me in the eye.
“Harper,” he said, a note of surprise in his voice.
Had he thought he’d never see me again? I worked for him, lived in his building, for Christ’s sake. Maybe he wasn’t as smart as people said he was.
“Going up?” I asked.
“No, yes.” He sounded confused. “Get in. I’ve been wanting to speak to you.”
“Well you know where I live, and you know where I work, so I’m not sure you gave yourself the most impossible task there.” I tapped my forehead. “You just had to set your mind to it.”
He grabbed my elbow with his large hand and immediately warmth flooded my body. He pulled me into the elevator just as he had when I’d turned up at his apartment door to complain about the noise, and just like that I was surrounded by him, his smell, the nearness of his breath, his tongue, and his cock.
Chapter Six
Max
“Get your hands off me,” she spat, twisting her arm and forcing me to release her.
“I thought we’d have a chance to speak at work—”
“Funny thing is, when you cancel meetings with people, it means that you don’t see them.”
Had I canceled meetings? “Last week was difficult. And Donna controls my schedule. I didn’t deliberately—”
“Save your breath.”
The elevator stopped at the basement and its doors opened. I’d been heading to the gym.
“We live in the same building. You could have knocked on my door.” She folded her arms.
I had to try very hard not to smile. She was so pretty, despite her mood. Maybe even because of her mood.
“Are you getting out?” she asked.
I shook my head and she started jabbing at the seventh-floor button. “I couldn’t knock on your door. I know you live on the seventh floor because you complained about the stomping on your ceiling, but there are five apartments down there. Trust me.” I pulled her chin up with my index finger. “I counted them on Thursday evening.”
Her stare was blank. “It’s Monday, Max.”
It was strange, hearing my name on her lips again. Last time I heard it she’d been about to climax.
I reached out and smoothed her hair over her shoulders. “I’m sorry.” It was true; I was. Since the day Amanda was born, I’d sworn I wouldn’t be the guy who messed around with women. If I didn’t want anyone to do it to my daughter, I couldn’t very well do it to someone else’s. I might only have casual relationships, but I didn’t ever pretend it was anything more. “I wasn’t ignoring you. Frankly, I hadn’t expected you to have gone when I woke up. I thought we’d talk before work.”
“Yeah, well I wanted to be at work on time.” She shrugged and I’d taken a half step toward her when the doors opened. I liked her sass. The employees at King & Associates came packaged earnest and compliant. Other than Donna, everyone just nodded their heads and said yes to me. At home, the world tipped on its head, and it was a miracle if I ever got anyone to say yes to anything. Harper continued to blur the boundaries between my work and personal life.
“You made me late,” I said, not ready for our conversation to be over.
“What are you doing?” Harper asked as I followed her out of the elevator. “This isn’t your floor.”
“I want to talk to you.” I wasn’t sure what I was doing. What could I say to her? “I want to apologize,” I said decisively. “For the other night. I shouldn’t have taken advantage in the way I did.” It was just that all the fantasies that had been filling my brain since she started at King & Associates had come rushing back when she’d stood semi-naked in front of me.
She opened her front door, stepped into her apartment, and spun to face me. “Take advantage? Jesus, you’re such a fucking asshole.” She tried to slam the door shut but I stuck my foot in the way.
“Get the fuck out,” she yelled.
“I think you’re beautiful,” I said and pushed the door open and stepped inside. “Beautiful, but supremely fucking irritating.”
She stared at me, her mouth open as if I’d just stolen all her words. Then she turned, threw her purse down, and stomped over to her bed. I glanced around. Her apartment was tiny and full of things everywhere including piles of books stacked on the floor and shoes wherever I looked. The bed was over to one side, where the floor was slightly raised. She kicked off her shoes and started to undo her blouse. I hardened immediately. She was undressing?
“Harper,” I said as I followed her.
“I’m irritating?” she asked.
I didn’t know how to react. I wanted to pin her down and make her listen to me. Kiss her. Fuck her.
“I’m irritating?” She shook her head in disbelief and turned to face me. “I’m fucking irritating?”
How could I make her see what I meant? I grabbed one of her hands, pulled her toward me, and kissed her. She broke free and pushed at my chest, but I snaked my arms around her so she couldn’t escape. Eventually, she stopped trying to move away from me, accepted she was trapped, and stilled. “Kiss me, Harper,” I said. “Do as I say.”
“You’re an asshole,” she said as she punched me in the shoulder.
I brought my hands to her face and her lips to mine. She didn’t resist. I snaked my tongue into h
er mouth and found hers hot and ready. I groaned against her lips and slid my hand down to her ass, to pull her against me so she could feel my erection. Her fingers slid into my hair and our kisses became frantic, biting and greedy.
She ended our kiss and moved away. “Max?”
I wasn’t sure what came next. Why had she pulled out of my arms? Was she going to ask me to leave? “Yes?” I replied.
“Get your clothes off and fuck me,” she said.
I grinned as she began to undo the rest of the buttons on her shirt, her fingers fumbling over each one.
“Come here,” I said as I knocked her hands out of the way.
“Be careful with that. This blouse is new and I can’t afford to replace it.”
I’d undone the buttons before she’d finished her sentence and slid the silk over her shoulders. Her skin looked so smooth that I bent to kiss the exposed, bronzed flesh, desperate to feel her under my lips. She tipped her head back and I grinned against her skin.
“Asshole, huh?” I pulled off my running top and stepped out of my shorts.
“Do you want me to change my mind?” She cocked her hip, the bra straps falling from her shoulders.
“You’re not going to change your mind,” I said, leaning toward her, pushing her skirt up around her waist, and thrusting my hand into her underwear.
“Don’t,” she said, her voice breathy. “I can’t ruin this skirt. I just bought it.” My fingers pressed into her folds and though she wasn’t fighting me off, I could tell she was concerned about her clothes. Why?
“Lie down,” I said, guiding her to the bed, where I quickly slid off her skirt and panties.
“Max …”
I wanted to sink into the way she called my name.
“Yes?” I kissed up the inside of her thigh, along her soft, tight skin, reaching her pussy. I gave her one long lick over her slit but continued to work my way up over her belly and between her breasts. The pace was slower than last week. Her anger had ebbed away and just existed in the way every now and then she scored her fingernails up my arms or whispered, “You’re an asshole,” as I continued to kiss and lick and suck her entire body.