by Layla Hagen
"Nice tie," I remark, and it occurs to me that it's the first time he's wearing one in my presence. For some reason, he doesn't seem comfortable wearing it.
"I forgot I had the stupid thing on. I hate them."
"Why wear it if you hate it? You're your own boss, after all."
"Believe it or not, it helps in some meetings, especially with banks." In an instant, he removes the tie, shoving it in his pocket. "Much better." Even without the tie, he exudes power and authority—thanks to the dark gray suit he's wearing. Still, his mischievous expression betrays him, giving him a youthful charm.
"Ah! It was one of those meetings. Yeah, I have a special suit I wear when I have a meeting with my bank adviser. It says I have a stick up my ass and never stray from the beaten path. Now, give me all the money in the world." I'm surprised that even someone of his caliber still has to work to impress the bank. Then again, the loans Bennett Enterprises asks for probably have quite a few more digits than mine do. "I'm glad you made time for this."
"Hey, just because I don't know jack shit about decorating doesn't mean I don't want to have a say in the things I'll buy."
"I've had clients who gave me carte blanche. I gave them a general concept, and they pretty much left me to my own devices."
He pinches his brows together, rubbing his jaw. "How did that work out for them?"
"Good for some, not so well for others. Which is why I prefer to window-shop with the client. Shall we go in?" I ask. Christopher surveys the four-story shop as if it's his own personal hell. "I promise it'll be quick and productive."
"And fun. That's the most important part." He leans into me slightly, unleashing the full power of his gaze on me. "You promise to make it fun?"
"Only if you promise to keep your eyes from wandering."
"Touché. After you."
The store is unusually quiet when we enter it, with only about a dozen customers shuffling around.
"Hi, Donna," I greet the first-floor supervisor, who is currently with a young couple, showing them a selection of curtains. She gives me a quick nod, but she winks at Christopher. My insides tighten, as I lead Christopher further inside the building, then up to the next level. I suppose he's used to this kind of attention from women. Curiosity grips me all of a sudden. Did he return Donna's blatant ogling? Doesn't matter. He can do whatever he wants.
"I called the store to check which of the items you liked from the catalog are on display, and they have quite a few. We can start by looking at the couch you chose. It's in a different color, but you can test to see if it's comfortable enough for you."
When we arrive in front of said item, Christopher plops himself on the U-shaped sofa.
"It's comfortable," he says as he runs his palm over the armrest. "Perfect." Christopher stands up, stretching his legs. While we check out the chestnut table and the chairs next, two warehouse workers move out one of the huge couches available on display. Their orders must be not to disassemble it, and the poor men have a hard time moving the giant around.
"I worked in a warehouse one summer," Christopher says unexpectedly.
"You did what?" I asked, stunned.
"Yes."
"How come? I thought your family…."
"By the time I was in high school, we had plenty of money. I think my parents feared us kids would grow up to be self-entitled brats."
"Which would have been a real possibility."
"Yeah. So for my sixteenth birthday, I asked for an exorbitant computer so I could play my video games. My parents and oldest brother made a deal with me. I had to find a summer job, and if at the end I still wanted that computer, I had to use my earnings, and they'd pay the difference. I was a sixteen-year-old with zero skills except pranking and playing video games—two things that don't belong on a résumé, unfortunately. My options were limited, so I ended up working in a warehouse."
"What happened?" I ask, entranced.
"When I received my paltry checks, I realized they'd barely make a dent in footing the bill for my computer. And working side by side with people who had to live on a slightly higher paycheck kind of made me feel like a self-centered schmuck. As my dad put it, it taught me the value of hard work and money. I ended up saving that money and continued using the computer I already owned, which was a good one anyway."
"Wow, your parents are so smart. That's a brilliant tactic. I'll keep it in mind in case I ever need to apply it to the kids. Any other wisdom?"
"Parenting tips, you mean?"
"Yeah."
"Nothing comes to mind right now."
"I've read some books on the topic," I confide in him, "but I don't feel like much of a parent. It's a work in progress."
"Everything is," he says encouragingly. "Don't be too hard on yourself. I'm sure my parents made mistakes too, but there were so many of us that by the time they got to me, they’d already perfected their techniques."
"That's really encouraging," I tease, but already feel better. We return to inspecting the table and the chairs, and in the end, Christopher declares he likes them, insisting the chairs be fitted with leather seats and backrests as well.
"Next on the list?" he inquires. "This really is efficient."
"Told you it would be."
He trails behind me as I lead him to the next section. "Let's go to the bedroom," I murmur, head bent to check my list.
"Ah, my favorite words to hear from a woman," he whispers into my ear. I swirl around, which turns out to be a big mistake because I've miscalculated the distance between us, and my face ends up inches away from his. On top of that, the motion made me dizzy, and I lose my balance for a split second. Christopher places his hand on my waist, and the gesture electrifies me, lighting up every nerve ending. My pulse quickens, and I lick my lips nervously. Another big mistake. Christopher's gaze zeroes in on my mouth with an intensity that makes my knees weak. "You okay?"
"Yeah."
He lets go of me as I step back, trying to gather my wits. "Sorry about that."
"It's understandable. I sometimes cause that reaction."
"What reaction?" I ask, genuinely confused.
"Blushing cheeks, weak knees," he says with a straight face.
I become acutely aware of the heat in my cheeks. "Can you be serious for a moment?"
"Why? Serious is overrated. That's what I do at the office all day. It's nice to get a break when I leave it."
"You're so far past unprofessional right now."
"I know. I'm downright shameless, and proud of it." He lets out a long whistle, shaking his head. "And you haven't seen anything yet."
Crossing my arms, I take a step back. The more distance I put between us, the better. "You promised to behave."
"Come on, Victoria. I kept it professional until now." Christopher's eyes light up, like those of a kid when he receives a new toy. "Don't I deserve any points for that?"
"Your cocky self-assessment just wiped out every single point."
"That's not really a fair point system now, is it?"
"Christopher, can we go back to our to-do list?"
He tilts his head to one side, as if considering his words, then smiles devilishly. "You're right. We were about to go in the bedroom."
"Look, I might have given you the wrong impression with all that no-filter talk, but those were just slips. I'm—"
"You're not going to deny we have chemistry, right?"
My shoulders slump. "There’s no point denying it, is it? We don't have to act on it though."
"I know.” His gaze—determined and smoldering—keeps me captive. My breath catches. Damn, those are some strong alpha vibes. “It would be so much fun though."
I chuckle, despite myself. "You were searching for a reason not to act on it when we spoke on the phone."
"I still am. It's just proving to be difficult."
"Come to think of it, you never said why you need a reason."
Christopher shoves his hands in his pockets, his brow furrowing as if he
's weighing his thoughts carefully. He’s silent for so long that I can't help a sense of foreboding creeping up my spine.
"Oh no," I groan. "You're one of those ‘wham, bam, thank you, ma'am’ types, aren't you?"
"No, but let's just say that even though my older siblings are getting married so fast, you'd think they're in a competition, I'm not about to follow in their footsteps."
He seems to be talking to himself more than to me right now.
"Are you rehearsing this speech for someone?" I ask.
"Some members of my family are into matchmaking. I'm next on their list, and I need some solid reasons for them to back off."
"Is your family as hilarious as you are? Pippa and Alice seemed fun but not quite on your level."
"I like to think I take the cake, but they're all a hilarious bunch, especially my younger brothers, Blake and Daniel."
I barely repress my laughter and the urge to ask more questions. His family sounds like my kind of people.
"So where does that leave us?"
He tilts his head to one side, scrutinizing me. "I can't give you my word I'll behave, but I'll try to."
"So we're good?" I ask suspiciously.
"One hundred percent." He purses his lips, clearly wanting to add something more, then just extends his hand, as if saying “After you.” Relieved, I take the lead, showing him the way to the bedroom area.
"This is what you chose." I point to a king-sized bed with a lighted headboard. "Don't bother sitting or lying on it though. It has the wrong mattress. For someone of your height and build, you need a firmer one." I walk over to the nearest bed, checking the tag on the mattress. "You can try this one."
After inspecting it for himself, he gives me his stamp of approval.
"I'm making an inhumane effort not to say anything inappropriate. I hope you appreciate it."
"What were you going to say?" I challenge.
"I was going to invite you to try the mattress with me. Or the shower. That's next on the list, isn't it?"
"Yeah," I acknowledge.
"I have simple criteria: two people must fit inside it comfortably."
In the second it takes me to register his words, my cheeks heat up, and I'm sure they’re the same intensity of red as my boots.
"That’s why it'd be perfectly appropriate to ask you to test it with me."
"Christopher!"
"I know, I know!" He holds up his hands in mock defense. "I promised that I’d try. But it’s a work in progress. Let's check out the showers."
Astonishingly, he does keep his promise, and we check off the shower in a matter of minutes.
"We're done," I inform him afterward. "You can go. I'll just check with the manager on the delivery dates on some of these items. We're not going to order anything yet, in case you change your mind, but we need the information. I'll e-mail you everything as soon as I'm out of here."
"I'll wait for you."
"Okay."
I return with all the information ten minutes later, only to find Donna chatting up Christopher. She twirls a strand of hair between her fingers, smiling constantly at him. Christopher nods and seems to give one-word answers. When she sees me approaching, Donna becomes flustered and gives Christopher her card.
"Call me if you need anything," she tells him with emphasis on the last word before taking off. I often come here with clients, but it's the first time Donna's hit on one. Not that I can blame her; Christopher is too sexy for his own good. Or mine.
Clearing my throat, I say, "Here's the list of the dates."
"Thanks."
"I leave you alone for two minutes, and you already collect a number?" I try to make it sound like a joke, but my voice is a tad too strained to pass off as casual. It bothers me, and it really shouldn't. Christopher shrugs, his expression unreadable.
"She's a nice person," I say as we walk out of the store side by side. "Recently divorced, likes Tiramisu."
Once outside, Christopher stops in front of me, cocking an eyebrow. "Are you trying to set me up with her?"
"No, I was just giving you some info for when you call her."
His jaw ticks, his eyes growing hard. "I'm not going to call her."
"No?"
"My incessant innuendos might have given you the wrong idea, but I don't flirt with everything that moves, Victoria. I only call a woman or respond to her advances when I'm interested. That's not the case with Donna."
Even though I know I shouldn't care, I can't help the sense of elation overcoming me.
"Okay."
Checking his phone, he says, "I’m going to grab a coffee before I head back to my office. Would you like one?”
"No time. . .and I can’t believe you're a coffee person," I say, feigning disgust. "I knew there had to be something wrong with you."
"Don't tell me you're a tea person. You were drinking hot chocolate when I met you. I have it on good authority one should never trust a tea person."
"Yeah, I like hot chocolate but hate coffee. I’m a tea person through and through. There you have it. We could never work. "
He shakes his head, squaring his shoulders, but then his face lights up. "Should I bring breakfast tomorrow?"
"No way. You're coming to my house to help Lucas. Breakfast is on me. Do you have any preferences?”
“I’ll eat anything.”
“Okay. I really need to go now, or I’ll be late for my next meeting.”
Christopher closes the distance between us, and his proximity is all it takes for my senses to come alive. We’d been closer than this inside the store, when I practically spun around into him, but this is different. The chilly air forms a stark contrast to his cologne, and the smell all but engulfs me. Raising his hand, Christopher touches the hinge of my jaw with the back of his fingers. It's a light touch, really, but the effect is devastating.
"By the way, is it okay if I use your shower tomorrow?"
My throat dries up. "What?"
"I plan on showing Lucas some moves, and I like to shower after a workout or a soccer game.”
"Sure. Of course. No problem."
“See you tomorrow, Victoria.” Dropping his hand, he steps back, winking once at me before taking off. As I walk to my car a few seconds later, I try hard not to think about Christopher in my shower.
Chapter Seven
Victoria
I'm full of energy after the meeting with Christopher, and on the way home, I debate whether to take the kids out to dinner, and possibly a movie too. My mood takes a deep dive when I arrive home because a familiar car is parked in front of the house. It belongs to Hervis Jackson, the social worker assigned to our case. I had hoped he wouldn't visit this month. Over the last three months, he's been doing the monthly checkups over the phone, and I hoped he'd stick to that method. Social and family services are supposed to help in cases such as ours, but from the beginning, it’s felt as if they’re against me.
Steeling myself, I climb out of the car and head inside. I find Hervis in the living room, talking to the kids. He's in his late forties with short hair and premature lines around his mouth. He's also a master at pushing my buttons, getting on my every nerve.
"Ms. Hensley," he greets me.
"I would have preferred for you to call me beforehand. What if we weren't home?"
He ignores my question, instead surveying the kids. "I'm done here, anyway."
"You won't mind if Lucas, Chloe, and I go in the front yard, then," Sienna says. She has as much love for Hervis as I do.
"Not at all," Hervis answers. Sienna and the little ones are out the door the next second. He turns to me. "The commute to the minors' schools is fairly long. That isn't much of a problem for the oldest one, but for the little ones, not the best."
"It's fifteen minutes longer than it was from the old house. I thought it would be best if they didn't change schools. One less new thing to adapt to. Their school is much better than the ones around here."
"That's true, but also more expe
nsive."
And here we go again. Breathe in, breathe out, Victoria. I pace around the room, his stern gaze following me.
"Mr. Jackson, we've been through this. I can afford it. I've already proven I have an income—"
"Which varies heavily from month to month, depending on how many clients you have. Have you reconsidered finding an actual job? Steady employment and a steady paycheck?"
I fold my arms over my chest so he can't see I've curled my hands into fists. "We've been through this too. I'm more flexible working for myself, I can attend the kids' recitals and so on, and I can be home for dinner every night. I'm aware my income is variable, but even in the lowest months I've made enough to cover our living costs."
"Yes. Of course, having no mortgage helps," he deadpans. I taste bile at the back of my throat. The mortgage on my old parents' old house still had fifteen years of payments to run, and it immediately became clear my “then” salary wouldn’t have been enough to cover the monthly payment. Not even by taking into consideration my parents' life insurance could we have kept the house. So I did what I thought was logical, sold that house, paid the debt, and with the money left from the sale and the life insurance, I bought this house. I thought it would show my commitment to offer the kids a stable home. Hervis thought I was conning my siblings out of insurance money so I could live rent-free. Talk about perspective.
"I won't deny it helps. But I pay for their private school and make sure they have everything they need."
"How long are the minors alone at home every day?"
"Since school and preschool started, about two hours. However, Sienna is seventeen, and she's always with Chloe and Lucas when I'm not home. Mr. Jackson, I have to say, I understood your skepticism regarding my abilities to be the children's guardian in the beginning. I'd lost my job and clearly had no idea what I was doing. But I'm working hard to provide them with a stable home now."
"Ms. Hensley, I'm here to make sure you are indeed the best person to look after the young minors. You've made improvements, yes. I have noted that. Rest assured it's being taken into account. But we're talking about a span of a few months. That's hardly proof enough you're a fit guardian for another fourteen years until the youngest minor becomes an adult. I've been a social worker for twenty years. I've seen things that would make you sick to your stomach."