by Holly Hart
“I’ll let you off this time,” Tilly mutters shyly.
“Plenty of rich people out there who act like –. Act unpleasantly, you know? But you don’t have to be one of them. You get to make your own choices in life. Don’t let anyone define you but you.”
Tilly reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezing it. We both fall silent, and I consider my own words, replaying them back in my mind. Hell, I sounded kinda wise! Don’t let anyone define you but you.
I need to put that into practice.
“Can I ask you something, Tilly?” I say.
Tilly looks up at me, and smiles a small, friendly smile. I breathe a hidden sigh of relief.
“Shoot.” She says calmly.
“Why aren’t you more freaked out?”
“By what?”
“By all this,” I say, “by me. I’m suddenly in your life and you don’t even know who I am.”
Tilly considers my question for a long time before answering. “I do.”
“How?”
She shakes her head. “I mean, I know who you are; not where you came from, or anything like that. But you’re nice. You’ve got a good heart. Like I said, daddy chose good.”
I bite my lip.
My eyes are tearing up. I didn’t expect this afternoon to turn into a comfort cry, but it’s quickly going that way. I reach over and loop my arm around Tilly’s shoulders.
“Thanks, kid,” I mutter. “You’re not so bad yourself…”
21
Charlie
Penny’s out shopping. I told her she couldn’t keep wearing clothes that Ella picked out for her forever… Today is just me and Tilly.
“How long’s it been since you got back from London,” I ask, even though I know the answer down to the hour, “a week?”
My stomach lurches as the elevator from the penthouse carries us down forty floors in a matter of seconds.
Tilly squints at me. Her gray eyes look too big on that serious-looking face. It doesn’t seem right that she can have a button nose and dimples on her cheeks, yet also have a woman’s eyes.
Which she rolls at me…
“Get to the point, daddy,” she says.
“I can’t slip anything by you, can I?” I groan.
It’s six days, actually. Not a week. It’s only been six days since Tilly got back from her hockey tour; six days that the three of us have been living together like a family; six days of… happiness.
No matter what’s going on with the business, and all these rumors of Landon Winchester’s imminent takeover attempt, I can’t remember being this happy. It’s like Penny completes me – us. It’s like she’s the missing leg our stool needs to stay upright.
Okay, that’s a crappy metaphor, but you know what I mean.
“Not anymore,” Tilly confirms. “So what are you really asking, daddy?”
I let out a sigh. “When did you get so smart? And don’t roll your eyes! What I’m asking is – are you okay with all of this?”
“All of what?” Tilly asks with a wicked gleam in her eyes.
I groan. “You’re going to make me spell it out, aren’t you?”
Tilly nods, but doesn’t say a word. A wide grin splits her face.
I punch her lightly on the arm – far from hard enough to hurt. “You’re an –.”
Tilly’s eyes widen. I know she’s just waiting for me to say it: ass. But not so fast, I’m not going to the swear jar, not this time.
I recover quickly. “– Irritant,” I say, narrowing my eyes at my daughter. “Yeah, that fits.”
“Get to the point, daddy…” Tilly pouts. We step out of the elevator into the lobby, and walk straight forward toward the waiting black limousine.
“I want to know if you’re okay with all of this. I know I’ve kind of changed everything on you, and I need to make sure you’re okay with it; with Penny. You don’t need to humor me, you know. You always come first.”
“Do you like her, daddy?” Tilly asks as the limousine’s doors slam close around us, sealing us into a calm, polished quiet. As usual, she cuts right to the chase.
My eyebrows kink with surprise. “You know, I’m not sure that’s any of your –.”
Tilly cuts me off. “This is family business, daddy,” she nods seriously. “I’m not asking for myself, of course.”
“Of course.” I say.
Tilly makes a kind of upside down smile with her lips, and leans forward inquiringly. “So?”
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, I like her. I like her a lot.”
The realization comes to me slowly, but hits me with the force of a heavy weight punch. I really do like Penny: quite a lot.
In fact, I think I’m beginning to fall for her – and fall hard. This might all have started as a ruse, but it’s turning into something much, much bigger than that.
“Then that’s enough for me,” Tilly says matter-of-factly.
“Are you sure?”
“Weeell,” Tilly says, stretching out the word. “You know what could make me more sure?”
“What?” I recognize the tone Tilly’s using. It’s the one she always uses when she wants something… Of course, I’m a sucker. I can’t help but give my daughter whatever she asks for.
“Ice cream.” Her eyes glitter with mischief.
The limousine’s engine growls and we merge into traffic. I lean over and ruffle my daughter’s hair. “Come on. Let’s go get your ice cream.”
With the ice cream in question acquired, we hop back into the limousine – and quickly get stuck in Manhattan traffic. A couple of slow, lazy turns later, the glitzy shop fronts of 5th Avenue glitter in the late afternoon sun.
I’m lost in my cell phone dealing with urgent work requests. They are all urgent when you own a company the size of Thorne Enterprises. Even so, I know I shouldn’t be acting like this. This is daddy/daughter time.
It should be sacred, not wasted.
“You should do something nice for her, you know daddy,” Tilly says in between long licks of her chocolate and vanilla double-scoop cone.
“Who, kiddo,” I ask, distracted.
“Eyes front, daddy,” Tilly says. She uses another voice this time – the one when I know I’m in trouble. “You spend too much time on that thing.”
A pang of sadness flows through me when I hear her say that. I instantly kill the screen and toss my phone onto the opposite row of seats. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”
“So?” She says, raising her eyebrow.
“So what? Oh, Penny.”
I pause for a few seconds, studying my daughter intently. She looks so damn young and innocent, yet beneath that front she hides a fiery intelligence. I know that she’s a whole lot more than she seems. It impresses me, but it doesn’t surprise me. I always knew that Tilly would turn out this way.
Then again, maybe all dads think like that. Still, I don’t know about their kids, but I know that my Tilly’s special.
“What do you know about relationships, kiddo?” I ask, grinning.
I cuff her gently around the ear, sending her face flying forward into the ice cream. Tilly rears back with outrage on her face – and white and brown ice cream smeared all over her little button nose. I can’t help but laugh.
“I’m a girl, daddy,” Tilly grumps. “I know more than you do, that’s for sure. You should do something nice.”
“Like what?”
Tilly frowns. “She’s your wife.”
I grin. “Well you’re the expert… supposedly.”
“I can’t do everything for you, daddy. But Penny’s been amazing all week. I’m not an idiot, daddy. I see how hard she’s trying. She deserves it.”
“Swear jar,” I mutter absently. But my heart’s not really in it. My mind’s somewhere else. Tilly’s right, I haven’t been neglecting Penny, necessarily – but she’s been so much more than I could ever have expected, slipping seamlessly into the family life as though she’s always been.
The limo chugs forward another couple
of slow, quicksand inches, and a familiar turquoise store comes into view.
Tiffany’s.
Perfect. I’ll buy the whole damn store if I need to.
I lean forward and knock on the privacy partition that separates the passenger cabin from the driver. Not a second later, it hisses down.
“Everything okay back there, boss?”
“Everything’s fine, Tim. Just – I’m going to get out here. Can you get Tilly back home safely?”
“Don’t blame you, boss; traffic’s murder today.” Tim jerks his head forward at a line of stationary cars, all pumping out thick, steaming exhaust. “You can leave Tilly with me. We know how to have fun, don’t we kid?”
Tilly giggles in response.
I ruffle Tilly’s hair one last time, and wipe a stray smudge of ice cream off of her cheek. “Stay safe, kiddo.”
As I’m closing the door behind me, I hear Tim ask, “what’s it gonna be, kid: rock or hip-hop?”
My daughter’s in safe hands.
22
Penny
A courier hand delivered the mysterious package. It was addressed to Penny Thorne, but handed to the doorman.
“Mrs. Thorne?” He said over the intercom. I see his gray-haired face on the little screen – at least, his cheek, as he stares into an unseen camera. When he backs up, he’s wearing a quizzical look, as though he’s not quite sure he’s following protocol. “There’s a package for you. There’s no return address.”
He comes up in the elevator and delivers it to me himself. I’m alone today. Tilly’s at school, and a ballet class later; Charlie’s at the office.
“Thank you, Mr. Johnson.”
Frederick Johnson grins. “Just call me Fred,” he says. “I’m just glad that you acknowledge I exist at all. Most in this building don’t…”
My forehead wrinkles.
“Not your husband, of course,” Fred hastens to add. “He’s always been kind to me, he has.”
Then I’m left alone, with just a ribbon-wrapped black box for company. It’s about ten inches deep, and fifteen inches wide. I shake it, and get the familiar crackle-hiss of giftwrapped clothing.
I sit down on a chaise lounge that’s pressed up against one of the plate glass windows, rest my back on the cool glass, and open it. My nimble fingers dance around the ribbon and pull it open. I lift the lid, and place it to one side.
An envelope nestles on the top of – something – wrapped in black tissue paper. The white envelope is open. I slide a cream-colored card out of it. It’s embossed with gold ink.
Penny, it reads.
I know the last few days have been awfully busy. Since Tilly arrived home, we’ve barely had a moment to ourselves. I want to change that: tonight. A car will pick you up at 6 PM. Wear what you find in the box.
Your Charlie.
A thrill runs through me as I read Charlie’s message. It’s strange – when he kissed me goodbye this morning, he never mentioned a surprise. He could have had me on tenterhooks all day, guessing his true intentions, but he chose not to.
Heck, he didn’t give me so much as a hint.
I run my finger across the embossed lettering one last time, feeling as well as reading Charlie’s name. It strokes my finger, just like he does.
I put the card to one side, and attack the tissue paper with excitement bursting out of me. I can’t wait to see what’s inside.
“Jesus, Charlie,” I mutter, biting my lip.
I lift a set of gossamer thin panties from the box. The lace is so delicate it almost feels as though it might disintegrate in my hands. For a girl who only lost her virginity a few days ago, it’s pretty racy. The bra is equally skimpy. I don’t know that I would wear the lingerie set for any other guy – but what Charlie wants, Charlie gets.
He deserves it.
He’s been nothing but kind to me, a gentleman when I deserved anything but. I’m not sure I feel comfortable wearing something so revealing, yet I know that when I put it on, I won’t see judgment in Charlie’s eyes.
I won’t see laughter; just desire.
That’s enough for me.
Even so, I’m a little surprised that Charlie bought something like this for me without so much as a hint. He’s been perfect at respecting my boundaries – pushing me when I ask for it, and stepping back from the brink when that’s exactly what I need.
Unless, I grin, this is just one of Miss Casey’s cruel jokes…
I shrug, concealing a little shiver at the thought, and set the lingerie aside. I tear through another tissue paper barrier, and reveal a black cocktail dress.
The silk is like nothing I’ve ever felt. Soft, so delicate I worry it might blow away. The sight steals the breath from my lungs. I press it against my body and stumble over toward the mirror to check myself out.
“Jesus, Charlie,” I say again. Except, this time I’m not startled – I’m impressed. He’s outdone himself. Even without trying it on, I know it’ll fit me perfectly.
I close my eyes and take a moment for myself. I got a funny feeling that whatever happens tonight, it’s going to test my boundaries in a way I can’t imagine.
Truthfully? I’m fine with that. Because whatever happens, Charlie Thorne would never do something he didn’t think I was capable of handling.
So I’m going to surprise him.
“You’ve grown up, Penny,” I say quietly to my reflection, shaking my head wryly, “and filled out.”
For the first time, I see myself the way Charlie sees me. I see my curves and lumps and bumps for what they are – desirable, not disgusting.
I realize that I’m comfortable: comfortable in my skin; comfortable in my sexuality; comfortable with my body.
Tonight, I’m going to give Charlie Thorne exactly what he deserves. I’m going to give him a night he’ll never forget.
The car arrives exactly on time. I get in at precisely 6 PM, am driven for only a few blocks through only a smattering of traffic, and get out here: the front steps of the American Museum of Natural History.
“Are you sure?” I say to the driver. It’s not one of Charlie’s usual stable, I don’t recognize him. He’s got dark hair and a squat, stub-nosed face.
“I just go where they tell me,” he shrugs. “But this is the right address. Good luck.”
He drives off.
I tussle awkwardly with the hem of my silk cocktail dress. It keeps riding up and revealing my legs. I wonder if that is exactly what Charlie wants. I close my eyes and imagine the look on his face when he sees me like this.
I look good, and I’m not just saying that.
I might just look hotter than I ever have in my life. Not just because of the dress, but because Charlie Thorne’s given me confidence I didn’t know I possessed.
He’s given me the confidence to wear a ten thousand dollar supermodel’s dress, and not even feel out of place:mostly…
“Well, what the hell now,” I mutter.
I catch a couple of passers-by staring at me, and I don’t hide, even if their gazes burn against my exposed legs.
“Pick a door, any door,” I say, scanning the area.
My eyes settle on an open side-entrance to the otherwise dark museum. Every other door is firmly shut. This one is conspicuously not – almost like an invitation. I take it.
My heels click against the stone as I climb the steps out front. I halt nervously in front of the open door, wringing my hands.
“This better be worth it, Charlie,” I groan. Then step through.
What happens next is surreal. A white-jacketed waiter hands me a glass of champagne, and I enter a whole different dimension of the world. “Mrs. Thorne,” he says. “Your guest is waiting. Please follow me.”
“Um… Okay?” I say.
Mostly my mouth is open wide.
I don’t know what the hell’s going on. None of this makes any sense. Especially not the pathway of red rose petals, that stretches across the museum’s flagstones. Oh – and did I mention that the whole
place is lit by freaking candlelight?
Yeah.
This is so not Charlie’s style. Sure, he likes a grand gesture as much as the next guy, but I know him. At least, I know him as well as anyone, who’s been his wife for a couple of weeks, has any right to…
The Charlie Thorne that I know is quiet and humble, even though he’s worth more than almost anyone alive. He’s aggressive and arrogant – but only in the boardroom and the bedroom, and only when I ask him to be.
So this whole set up? This doesn’t make any sense.
“Tonight’s the night,” I mutter to myself. “You can do it.”
“I’m sorry,” my guide says, squinting back at me. “I didn’t catch that.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
A few seconds later we come to a stop in front of a giant statue of a woolly mammoth. I can’t for the life of me figure out why Charlie has organized a date here. I rack my brain to try and figure out whether we’ve ever talked about this place before, but I come up short.
“Please, sit,” the waiter smiles, gesturing at a small circular dinner table.
Set for three.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “Where’s Charlie?”
The waiter shrugs, crisply opens up a white cloth napkin, and lays it on my lap. “I’m afraid I don’t know,” he says. “I just do what they tell me.”
“You and everyone else,” I growl.
The waiter’s leather soles click against the museum’s stone floor. In a few seconds, he’s gone. The oppressive silence of the huge, high-ceilinged museum begins to beat down on me. My stomach falls as though I’m in a plunging, out-of-control elevator. I take short, nervous breaths.
I might not know exactly what’s going on, but I know something’s not right.
I hear something: leather on stone. My head jerks, even though it’s probably only the waiter on his way back.
Except … it’s not.
It’s Landon fucking Winchester. He’s got a smug smile on his face. He looks like he’s won the lottery.
My eyes widen, my mouth drops open, and my heartbeat doubles. I scramble backward, kicking my chair out from beneath me. It clatters against the ground.