by Vivian Ward
Those boys might have given me hell when we were growing up and dared me to climb the tallest of trees—and then make fun of me when I got scared and stuck halfway up—but they also taught me how to let loose and not be so serious.
They taught me a lot about life, and how to get to the top. I think they’re a big part of what has made me so competitive. I never had to compete for love from our parents. I had plenty of love, but they were my rivals, and we did everything together from playing games and making dares to fighting with each other and sticking up for one another.
I also viewed academics as a challenge and worked my ass off for every A and advanced class that I took. My second oldest brother, Matt, was always on the honor roll and was in the National Honor Society. I always liked that he was my biggest academic competitor out of all of my brothers because I learned a lot from him.
The way mom and dad lit up and beamed at him when he showed them all of his A’s made me want that same attention. Sure, it was nice to be the baby and the cute girl in the family, but I wanted everyone to know that I was more than a walking baby doll, which is how I sometimes felt.
Ironically, Matt never knew that I saw him that way. Instead, he embraced my studying and helped me when I needed him. He’d probably laugh at me if he knew the real truth about how I viewed things and looking back at it, it was pretty silly. But, it did bring us closer together and gave us something to bond over.
Our oldest brother, CJ, he was the ring leader of all of us. He made decent grades, but he was our prankster, and he loved to play games. Actually, he taught the rest of us how to play cards and how to gamble. Mom used to always catch us betting our allowance money on a card game or over a game of dice. She’d always yell at us, and we’d pretend to stop, but we never did.
We waited for her to walk back up the basement stairs and throw all of our money back in the pile and continue playing until winner took all. When we got older, we invited our friends to play and usually took all of their money in games. We always had a lot of fun.
Ian, the youngest of my brothers and the last boy before I was born, is probably the most spoiled out of all of us. Being the last baby boy, mom and dad gave him a lot of breaks when it came to the rules. They also let him get by with a lot more than the others because I was born right before his second birthday. Most of their attention went to me, and as we got older, mom and dad had certain expectations of me.
He grew into a successful businessman, though. Ian went into sales, which is actually what made me major in marketing. Without him, I might not be where I am today and would have never met Logan. I’ll never be able to thank him enough for that.
When it comes to relationships, I’ve always viewed them as a challenge too. How can I make him happy? What can I do to keep things fun? Where would he like to go? Will he like it if I wear a particular outfit? What makes him tick?
My challenge has always been to keep my man as happy as possible and figure out what he likes. And while I’m a man-pleaser, I’m also a Piper-pleaser. Logan completes me; he’s what makes me tick and he’s what makes me a happy woman.
He’s so good to me. When I hear my friends complaining about their man and how he doesn’t do enough for them, I can’t imagine that. If I’m sick, Logan runs me a hot bath and fixes me chicken noodle soup. When I’m tired and fall asleep on the couch, he carries me to bed. If it’s my birthday or our anniversary, he has candies or flowers and a card waiting for me.
So, me meeting with his boss and keeping this secret is worth it to me. I want to make him happy, and his success is my success.
Applying a thin layer of lip gloss, I place the tube back inside my purse and exit my car. We’ve still got almost 10 minutes until our meeting, but his secretary called me today saying that he’ll be waiting on me at the bar. The last thing I want to do is keep the man waiting; she reminded me of that when we ended the phone call yesterday and I intend to keep this man happy so that Logan makes partner.
A tall man wearing black slacks and a maroon vest with a white undershirt pulls the tall, heavy door open for me as I approach the building.
“Hello, ma’am,” he says. “Are you joining someone tonight or will your party be here soon?”
“No, I’m joining Oliver Ford,” I say, peeking around the man as I try to spot Mr. Ford.
“Oh, Mr. Ford. Yes, he said that he was expecting company. Please, follow me,” he says as he leads me inside.
It’s no shock that the doorman knows exactly who Ford is. Everyone in the city knows him.
The place is nice; more than nice, actually. The tall ceiling makes it feel roomier than it probably is and the dark blue floor accentuates the shiny, marble blue countertop where patrons sit facing the neatly stocked bar. The low-hanging ceiling lights reflect off the surface which almost illuminates the bar, giving it an electric blue glow.
Surprisingly, the place doesn’t smell at all like a bar. It has a fresh, citrus scent and feels so relaxing. The soft music playing in the background is a nice touch, though it’s barely audible.
Following the man through The Indigo Room, we pass the open bar area and continue past all of the tables and booths where guests are sipping cocktails and enjoying appetizers while partaking in conversation.
We begin walking down a hallway, and when we reach the end, he opens a door to my left where there’s a private sitting area. Mr. Ford is sitting in a booth, casually sipping his drink when the gentleman shows me to the table.
“Piper, have a seat,” Mr. Ford pats the black leather seat beside him.
Taking him up on his offer, I sit beside him and lay my purse on the table as I nervously smile at him. It’s been about six months since I last saw him, but even then it was a quick hello, and I was right back to talking to Diane, Mitch’s wife.
“Can I get you a drink?” our hostess asks me.
She’s a tall, slender blonde with resting bitch face. I’m not sure if the bags under her eyes are from lack of sleep or from crying, but either way, I feel bad for her. She doesn’t look happy at all, almost like she’s miserable.
“No, thank you,” I tell her.
“Oh, come on. Get a drink,” Mr. Ford says. “What do you like?”
The waitress waits for my answer, and she seems more annoyed that I didn’t just order something right off the bat when she asked the first time because now she has to stand there and wait, taking up more of her time.
“Um, I guess I’ll take a tequila sunrise,” I finally say.
She nods with a curt smile and disappears, leaving me alone with Mr. Ford. Suddenly, I wish that she were back here because it feels weird for me to be with Logan’s managing partner with not much to talk about besides the favor I want to ask him for.
“I pictured you as more of a bourbon girl,” he says, with a smile plastered on his face.
“Sometimes I am, but why would you say that? I mean, what would make you guess?”
“Call it a hunch,” he winks at me. “You seem like a classy girl, but a tequila sunrise? That tells me something else about you.”
“What does it tell you?” I ask.
God, he’s so handsome. His black hair is beginning to go a bit gray at the edges, and his strong jawline has just a bit of stubble.
He’s every woman’s dream when it comes to the older man, younger woman fantasy and he can totally play that role with the amount of money he has.
His suit probably cost a grand and judging his expensive black leather shoes; I’d say those were another few hundred dollars.
Everything about him is perfectly groomed and tailored. His eyebrows are neatly trimmed, his nails are nicely manicured, and his clothes fit him like a glove. The expensive scent of his cologne tickles my nose and acts as an aphrodisiac. I’d love to buy Logan whatever this man is wearing because it’s practically disintegrating my panties.
“That you like to cut loose. You’re laid back, and that you like to have fun. It also tells me that you’re a bit of a drinker.�
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I’m impressed. He’s not wrong, and I find it fascinating that he’s able to pick up that much about me from a drink order.
“Here you go,” the waitress says, placing my glass on a cocktail napkin.
The tall glass is filled with the prettiest mix of orange and red, and is garnished with an orange slice that rests next to the floating black straw. Eager to taste how delicious it is, I give it a slight stir and take a sip.
It’s strong, maybe a little too strong. They didn’t skimp on the liquor, that’s for sure. Blinking fast, I try not to show how strong it is and avoid making a sour face.
I look at Mr. Ford who’s smiling at me, almost as though he adores me. For some reason, it makes me smile back at him.
“So tell me, Piper,” he leans back against the thickly padded leather. “Why did you want to meet me here tonight?”
“You get right to it, don’t you?” I ask with a chuckle.
He nods as he raises his eyebrows.
“That, I do. You must forgive me. I’m a businessman and a pretty good judge of character. Usually, people don’t ask to meet with you unless they want something. So what is it that you want, sweetheart?”
He’s a bit intimidating. Okay, more than a bit. My heart is pounding through my chest, but I’m not sure why. This man shouldn’t have this much power over me, and I almost feel guilty for the way my body is responding to him.
As my pulse quickens with each passing second, I can feel the tingle in my nipples as they stand on end and the heat pooling between my legs. I’m ashamed of myself.
He sort of gives you that comforting feeling that you’d get from an uncle, but sex exudes every pore of this man’s body, leaving you with the illusion that he’s a sex god. Looking at him, I try to tell myself that it’s normal to be attracted to a man as handsome as Mr. Ford, but the engagement ring on my finger reminds me that I shouldn’t let him have this type of effect on my body.
“I, I um,” I swallow the knot in my throat.
Why does this man have this effect on me?
“You know your party?” I finally spit out.
“Yes, I’m familiar with my party,” he chuckles. “I figured you’d already went out to buy yourself a fancy dress, but Logan says you don’t plan on attending,” he leans in and places his hand on top of mine. “Tell me that’s not true.”
His eyes sear my skin as he commands a response from me—an answer that I can’t give him.
My mind blank, I’m unable to respond. I don’t want to disappoint him by saying no, so I don’t answer at all.
The waitress walks past our table and eyes us before returning.
“Can I get you a refill?” she asks him.
“Please,” he nods, sending her away again.
This time, I’m glad she’s gone and that we’re alone.
“You are coming, aren’t you?” he asks.
But he’s not asking. His eyes and the tone of his voice tell me that he’s demanding and according to everyone who knows this man, you don’t disappoint.
“Mr. Ford,” I begin to say, but he cuts me off.
“No, Piper. Please, call me by my first name. There’s no need to be so formal.”
His hand pats mine, making my heightened senses all the more aware of his touch.
“Sorry,” I apologize. “Oliver, it’s just—,” he stops me again, squeezing my hand.
“No, that’s not what I mean. Call me Olly,” he smiles at me, cocking his head to the side.
I stall, debating if I want to call him Olly or not. He can sense my hesitation and lowers his hand onto my knee.
“Go on, call me Olly,” he gives my knee a squeeze but never really lets up on the pressure. “Now, what were you going to say?”
I take a drink of my tequila sunrise, sucking half of it down in one go and hope that the strong alcohol calms my nerves a bit.
“I was going to say that I’d love to attend your party,” I smile.
“Good, that’s a good girl. Exactly what I wanted to hear,” he grins at me and begins rubbing my upper leg.
“But,” I scoot away from him, making it more difficult for him to reach me. “It’s the same day as my bridal shower, and my bridal party has been planning it for months. My best friend is flying in from Texas to be there. It’s something that I can’t just cancel,” I try to explain to him.
He doesn’t seem to like that I’ve stopped him from being able to touch my leg and it’s apparent he didn’t like my response, either. Tossing his head back, he downs the rest of the scotch that was in his glass and savors the taste in his mouth while he carefully chooses his next words.
“I don’t think you understand, beautiful,” his fingertip traces the outline of my jaw. “If you don’t come with your fiancé, he might as well stay behind with you and all the pretty little bridesmaids.”
Sitting in shock, I come to the realization that he doesn’t care.
“But, um,” I search for the right words, but I’m not sure what they are.
His hand slides up my thigh while he uses his other to grab my face, forcing me to look at him. As soon as his hand stops mid-thigh, I can feel myself blushing as I realize how wet I am.
“Stags aren’t allowed at my parties,” he cuts me off. “I want you dangling on his arm,” he leans over, and his hand slides up the rest of my thigh and stops short of my panties when he reaches my inner thighs. “But if you can’t do that then I’ll have to invite someone else, like Lester or Pardo.”
Logan would die if they got invited instead of him and I can tell from Mr. Ford’s tone that he’s not kidding.
“Mr. Ford,” he gives me a stern look. “I’m sorry, I mean Olly, but I think I need to get going.”
Reaching for my purse, I begin scooting out of the booth when he grabs my wrist and stops me.
“But you will be coming, right?”
Instead of protesting and arguing with him about my bridal shower, I nod in agreement with him.
“Yes, I’ll be there.”
Shutting my car door, I realize that I’ve just made a deal with the devil. The handsome, tempting Lucifer himself; only his name is Oliver Ford, and he makes my body respond to him in ways that it has no business doing.
Now I’ve got to figure out how to keep that promise to him and to my husband without betraying my closest friends.
Chapter 9
Logan
Today has been an awful day. We got tied up in court all day, and our useless team of paralegals was of no help.
Whitlow wanted to argue with us and is trying his damnest to drag things out in court. We’re not doing that. This should be an open and shut case, but he’s got too many damn tricks up his sleeve, and he’s like a magician pulling rabbits out of a hat.
After I had left the courthouse, I had to go back to the office to grab some documents that I’ll need since it looks like we’re going to spend another day in court.
What was supposed to be an in-and-out office trip turned into an hour-long debate with our paralegals and Pardo. I didn’t think I was ever going to get out of there on time. Thank God the copy machine is in the front of the office behind the receptionist's desk because that was how I finally made my getaway.
After making all the copies I need, I load up my docs in my briefcase and quietly slip out the front door while everyone else continues to argue in our regular work area. Sometimes I get so tired of listening to all of the bickerings.
Now that it’s almost 7 PM, I’m sure Piper’s pissed that I didn’t make it home for dinner in time and she probably had to eat alone. I don’t like my fiancée having to eat dinner by herself.
She was probably sulking at the kitchen table, bored out of her mind eating whatever delicious meal she cooked up for the two of us.
In an effort to make it up to her, I pull over on the side of the road and call our local bakery.
“Baker’s Delight,” a bright, chipper girl answers the phone.
“Hello, can I place a
n order for pick-up please?”
“Uhh,” she hesitates. “Sir, we close in less than 10 minutes. Will you be able to make it here by then?”
I look down at the car clock, completely forgetting that most bakeries aren’t open very late.
“Yes, I can do that. Do you have any fresh chocolate cheesecakes?” I ask.
“We sure do! Just boxed some up for tomorrow. Need anything else?”
“No, that’s all,” I say, watching the traffic in my rearview mirror.
“And the last name, sir?” she asks me.
“Kraft, spelled with a K.”
“We’ll have that ready, sir,” she says. “And we close in eight minutes.”
“Right. I’m on my way,” I promise her as I hang up the phone and weave back into traffic.
Baker’s Delight is only a few blocks away, but the thick traffic is hardly moving. Putting on my turn signal, I begin inching over into the slow lane so I can make a right two blocks ahead.
Pulling into the bakery right as they’re about to close, the woman whom I presume answered the phone is about to turn the open sign to closed when she sees me, and I hold up my finger.
“Wait! I’m here,” I say, bolting from the car.
Although Piper’s not expecting me to bring home dessert, I think it’s the least I can do. She kept asking me what time I was going to be home. Maybe she wasn’t up to anything. Maybe she just wanted to make us a nice dinner but I got caught up at the office, and now I feel bad for getting home so late.
“You barely made it,” she holds the door open for me.
Inside of the bakery, all I can smell is the sweet scent of cakes, pies, and cookies. Sugary frosting floats through the air with a hint of chocolate trailing behind it. I don’t know how anyone who works here is as thin as this woman is.
She’s a short redhead with a sprinkling of freckles that runs right across the bridge of her nose and big, hazel eyes.
“Thank you,” I say, taking the door from her. “I got here as fast as I could.”