She frowns. “Sorry for what? Dad’s the one who gave you the wrong bottle.”
I shake my head, laughing some more because—anxiety. “Right. Sorry.” I wince. “Sorry about the sorry.”
“Oh-kay.” Sonia arches a skeptical brow. “No big deal. Can I come in? Why don’t you have your suit coat on? Do you need help?”
“So many questions you have,” I mutter through clenched teeth.
“Now you’re talking like Yoda.” Sonia puts a hand on my forehead. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
“I’m fine,” I say, praying Jack isn’t overhearing all this. “But I—”
“I just remembered,” Jack says, slipping past me on my left. “I have an appointment in SoHo at noon. Going to have to take a rain check on dude lessons.” He stops beside Sonia, extending a hand. “Hi, I’m Jack. You must be Sonia. I’ve heard a lot about you. Love your work with Ellie’s ringtone.”
“Thank you.” Sonia takes his hand and shakes it with a grin. “I do my best. I have a really embarrassing one queued up for next time.”
“Excellent.” Jack lifts a hand my way as he backs down the hall. “Sorry, Ellie. I’ll text you, okay? See if we can hook up tomorrow? Maybe in the park? Somewhere with more space?”
“Oh. Okay,” I stammer, forcing a stiff smile. “No problem. Just let me know.”
“Will do.” He punches the button to the elevator, relief illuminating his features as the doors slide open and he steps inside.
A second later he’s gone. And I’m left standing in my doorway in semi-drag with a bottle of glue and a head full of unanswered questions.
“Did that really almost happen?” I ask, not realizing I’ve spoken aloud until Sonia says—
“Did he really leave? Yes. More important question, are you really okay? You felt warm, El.”
I bet I did, I think, visions of that near kiss playing on endless repeat on my mental screen.
“I might need to lie down,” I say. “Tell your dad thanks for the glue.”
“Okay. Call us if you need something. Medicine or soup or whatever.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” I say as I close the door. I feel terrible for fibbing, but I can’t very well tell a nine-year-old that I’m feverish with unrequited lust.
It must be unrequited, or Jack wouldn’t have run out of here like my couch was on fire. The near kiss was simply a moment of insanity brought on by exposure to sexy vintage Motown.
Or maybe I imagined it. Maybe it was all in my crazy head.
I absolutely am crazy because Jack is all kinds of off-limits. He always has been and always will be. He’s my brother’s best friend and business partner. Even if he were interested in me, getting my lips anywhere near his is a horrible idea that would end in disaster when we eventually parted ways. Company parties and family functions to which Jack has always been invited would be ruined forever, and I don’t have enough friends or family members to alienate any of them.
I should assure him I can handle duding up solo, and make sure we’re never alone together again.
Instead, when his text pops up a few hours later, I don’t even try to resist.
Meet me tomorrow in Central Park at noon? Southwest corner of the Great Lawn? No need to come in full Eric gear, but bring your improv sock. I’ll bring lunch and we can practice manly eating after you master the walk.
See you then, I respond. I force myself to leave it at that, grateful that they don’t make an emoji for “I daydream about licking you an unseemly amount,” and that I can go to sleep with my dignity intact.
For tonight, anyway.
Chapter 7
Jack
I love the Great Lawn.
Spanning fifty-five acres, this patch of pristine, sun-warmed grass has become my oasis, a breath of fresh air in an impossibly cramped metropolis.
Also, there’s no bed.
More specifically, no chance of visualizing my best friend’s sweet, sexy sister sprawled out on her bed, fists clutching her polka-dot comforter as I make her come in all the various ways I’ve been dreaming about lately.
Christ. I pulled a near all-nighter last night, finalizing an aggressive new portfolio package for one of our VIP NHL clients, but even that wasn’t enough to distract me. By the time I dragged my ass out of bed for my morning run, I’d given up on evicting Ellie Seyfried from my mind.
Yesterday was a close call.
Too close.
The feel of her warm body melting against mine as we danced to Sam Cooke’s soulful voice, her sharp intake of breath as my mouth lowered to hers, that damn bed mere inches away…
I close my eyes and tilt my face toward the sun, trying to burn that image out of my retinas.
At least we’ll be in public today, surrounded by the ultimate cock-block—tourists with selfie-sticks.
“You snooze, you lose, buddy.” The voice is light and lovely, layered with a richness that can only belong to the woman who’s taken up permanent residence in my head.
I open my lids and gaze into eyes the color of sapphires and a smile bright enough to compete with the sun. Ellie is already kneeling on my blanket, reaching for the goody bag I brought. Dressed in black jeans and a low-cut turquoise T-shirt, hair swept into a ponytail draped over her shoulder, she leans forward, granting me an unintentional peek at the curves beneath her shirt.
All traces of Eric Webb are gone.
My return smile is too eager, but it’s too late to do anything about that now. “You made it.”
“And you went overboard.” She sits back on her heels, pulling out containers from the overstuffed bag: olives, cut fruit and veggies, three different hard cheeses, fig spread, four knishes, enough deli sandwiches to feed half the park, sparkling waters, and other snacks the owner at my favorite Jewish deli insisted I take when she heard I was meeting a woman for lunch.
You have to spoil her, honey! Ruth said. Keep her coming back for more!
“I wanted props for today’s lesson,” I tell Ellie now. “According to sociologists, eating can be an obvious gender marker.”
Yeah, I’m seriously bullshitting my way through this one, but it’s better than admitting the truth—that I love picnics in the park and wanted to do something fun with Ellie today so she wouldn’t be so nervous about the dude stuff.
“But first,” I press on, not giving her a moment to question my questionable science, “how’s that walk coming along?”
She shimmies her shoulders, radiating newfound confidence. “According to Sonia, I nailed it.”
“See! I told you it would get easier.”
“She and Spence helped me out last night. I got dressed up again, and we did the catwalk thing in the hallway. It was very Top Model. Only—you know—manly.”
“Pics or it didn’t happen,” I tease.
With a grin, she pulls out her phone, thumbs dancing across the screen. A few beats later, my phone buzzes with a text from a number I don’t recognize.
“That’ll be Spence with the evidence.”
Grinning, I pull up the video her friend sent—Ellie strutting her stuff down the hallway in all her masculine glory.
“Nailed it,” I say with a wink. “Want to do a few more laps around the park, just to be certain?”
“I hoofed it here from Grand Central, Jack.” She drags the back of her hand across her forehead. “After hiking forty-some blocks with a balled-up tubed sock chafing my thighs, I think I deserve some food.”
“Here, here.” This, from a random passerby, snickering as he continues across the lawn.
Ellie’s ears turn red at the tips, but she giggles, a sound as contagious as her sunshine smile. I focus on that—the music of it, the way the skin around her eyes crinkles—anything to guide my thoughts away from the dangerous territory between her thighs.
“Now that I’ve announced my freak status to Central Park,” she says, “are you going to teach me to eat like a man, or let me starve?”
Visions dance uninvit
ed through my head—Ellie lying back against my chest, me feeding her olives, her tongue grazing my fingertips…
“God, yes,” I say. Then clear my throat. “I mean, yeah. Let’s dig in.”
We get everything opened up and spread out on the blanket, and right away Ellie goes for the cheese, taking a dainty bite from a triangle of manchego.
“Rule number one,” I say, holding back a laugh. “No nibbling. You’re a man-beast stockbroker ready to conquer the world, not a baby rabbit.”
“Men don’t chew their food before swallowing it?” She rolls her eyes. “So I should… what? Take the whole thing in my mouth? Swallow it down like a champ?”
Oh Jesus, Ellie.
I’m trying to be good. A stand-up gentleman who can spend an afternoon with a woman and not turn every comment into some kind of innuendo.
But I’m off my game, today and every day since Ellie Seyfried came back into my life with a nose for the story and an attitude that won’t quit, no matter how many challenges she faces.
“Well?” she demands.
“Don’t overthink it.” I grab a piece of cheese and toss it back in a single gulp, doing everything in my rapidly waning power to stay on task.
Ellie gives me her judgy face again. “Did you even stop for a second to enjoy the complexity of the flavors? The salty tang, the creamy texture?”
“El. When you’re shooting the shit with a bunch of filthy-rich jocks, it’s hardly the time for cheese appreciation.”
She dusts her hands together and shrugs. “Fine. The next time I find myself in a dick-measuring contest, I’ll remember to skip the cheese. What else?”
We move on to the fruit and veggies, but no matter what I offer her, she insists on being mesmerizing, captivating, and so completely not-a-man that I’m ready to scrap the lessons, encourage her to eat her office meals locked in a bathroom stall where no one can see her, and ask her out on real date.
But then I remember the mission, and the stakes, and the fact that she’s not out here today looking for a good time. She’s out here because she’s determined to finish her story, and she’s counting on me to help her.
The sooner I get that through my thick head—both of them—the better.
“I didn’t know what sandwiches you liked, so I got a bunch,” I say. “Whitefish, smoked turkey with cranberry relish, roast tomato with pesto…”
“I’d love to try the smoked turkey, if that’s okay?”
“No. It’s not okay.” I unwrap the sandwich and set it on her plate. “What you mean to say is, ‘Let me get that smoked turkey,’ or, ‘Dibs on the turkey,’ or ‘The bird is mine, asshole.’ Got it? Be assertive.”
She scoffs. “That’s not assertive. That’s devolved.”
“There’s a fine line.”
“More like a gulf.” She lifts the sandwich with two hands and takes a small bite, chewing slowly before swallowing it down. “Anyone who thinks he needs to be a bully to get ahead in life is—”
“Realistic. I’m sorry, Ellie, but it’s the way things are. If you don’t want to be that guy? Fine. But you don’t get ahead in this industry by being a decent human being.”
“You and Ian are decent. My father, for all his faults, is still a good man.”
“I’m not saying everyone in finance is an asshole. But any time you’re dealing with that much money and power, you’ve got bullies and corruption and enough backhanded bullshit you wonder how you can drag your ass out of bed to face it another day. If you’re going to jump into those waters, you need to be prepared.”
“I don’t buy that. It doesn’t have to be that way.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I agree. “But it is that way.”
“Doesn’t mean it can’t change,” she insists.
I shake my head, but she’s already got me grinning again. There was a time I would’ve called Ellie’s unwavering beliefs nothing more than blind hope or sweet naiveté. But now? No way. Ellie’s not going into this with her eyes closed. She’s simply determined to make the world a better place.
How could I not be on board?
"Well…that’s why you’re doing the story, right?” I ask. “To change something?”
She nods, taking another ladylike bite of her sandwich. “First I need to make people aware that something needs changing.”
“Exactly. And in order to do that, you need to play this part. Keep that in mind and don’t shoot the messenger when I give you this next bit of advice.” I reach for her hands and fold down her delicate pinkies. “You’re not brunching with the queen. And you don’t need two hands for a sandwich anyway. Just one-fist that bad boy. Take your filthy man-mitt and show that deli meat who’s boss.”
She rolls her pretty eyes but shifts the sandwich into one hand and mimics my moves.
“Better,” I say with a nod. “You may think this is silly, but Rictor and his pals aren’t dumb. If you don’t walk the walk and eat the eat, you’re gonna get made.”
She hums as she looks out across the park, brow furrowed, the wheels in her head spinning so fast I can practically smell the smoke.
“I can see this is making you uncomfortable,” I say. “If you’d rather come back to the office as yourself, as Ellie, we can find another position—real or fake. There has to be another way for you to get the scoop.”
“Quitting is not an option. I just… Don’t you see the irony?” She drops the sandwich onto her plate. “I’m taking pointers on how to be a guy for the sole purpose of infiltrating your company to research sexism and misogyny. And you’re saying everything I do is too feminine for me to be taken seriously—from the way I walk to the words I use to how I chew. This kind of thing hurts everyone. Women should have equal opportunities in the workplace, and men should be able to eat cheese any way they want without other men threatening to tear up their man cards.”
She rises onto her knees and reaches for the half-spent containers, ducking my gaze as she packs up the leftovers.
“Ellie. Please look at me.” I reach for her wrist, my fingers circling it as I stroke her soft skin. When she finally sighs and meets my gaze again, I offer a tentative smile. “You’re right. Everything you’re doing at S and H… I feel like I’ve been asleep for years, then you show up and I haven’t been able to catch a wink since. Just knowing that I’ve contributed to this, that I might have been unfair to the women in my life…”
I shove a hand through my hair. Why can’t I find the words? Why can’t I tell her that I want to be better—that she’s making me want to be a better man? And it’s not just for the sake of her story, or because it’s the right thing to do, or even because I’m into her and want her to trust me.
It’s because she fucking inspires me.
I lost my parents when I was a junior in high school. In a single heartbeat—enough time for the guy in the car beside us to glance at his texts and swerve into our lane—my happy, carefree childhood was over.
Since then, life has done its damnedest to turn me into a jaded prick—hell, work in this soul-sucking industry long enough, and your heart will shrivel up even without the tragic backstory.
Yet Ellie makes me believe that things actually can change for the better.
But I guess my troglodyte DNA is the dominant gene today, because all I manage to say now is, “You don’t need my help. You’re going to do a kickass job.”
Ellie blows out a frustrated breath, but she relaxes. “What happened to, ‘Welcome to Dude 101, insubordination will not be tolerated?’”
I lean back on the blanket and look up at the drifting clouds because if I keep looking at her I’m going to kiss her. And this time, I won’t be able to stop, no matter who interrupts us. “I’m not exactly an objective source on this anymore, El. But for what it’s worth? I think you’re in good shape. Attitude goes a long way, and you’re definitely—to quote our friend Rictor—in it to win it.”
She laughs again, and I find myself ready to offer up my firstborn if it means I can keep hea
ring that sound.
Leaning back beside me, Ellie nudges my elbow with hers. “You really think so?”
“You’re walking around Manhattan with a sock between your legs—that’s dedication. And I don’t know many people who could pull off a gender bend in the finance industry, and make friends doing it, yet you seem to have half the office eating out of your hand.”
“My filthy man-mitt, you mean.” Ellie turns on her side to face me, her head propped on her hand as she smiles. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here feeling proud about how manly I am.”
My gaze sweeps her face, taking in the delicate arch of her brows, the perfect slope of her nose, the curve of her lush, full lips.
Manly? Two days into our dude lessons, and she gets more beautiful every time I look at her. How on earth am I supposed to keep pretending she’s not getting under my skin, drowning my senses, invading my every thought?
Fuck it. No more pretending. I want to kiss her. I need to kiss her, no matter how many people surround us, no matter how many warning bells clang in my head.
“Can I kiss you, Ellie?” I ask, voice husky.
Her blue eyes wide, and alive with a spark that melts my hardened financial sector heart, Ellie nods. But before I can make a move, she leans close, eradicating the distance between us.
Instantly, I’m lost in the taste of her kiss. There’s no hesitation, only the intensity I’ve come to expect from her, mixed with a hunger that ignites things low in my body.
My hands slide into her hair, pulling her ponytail loose as she gasps into my mouth. I trace the outline of her lips with my tongue, teasing and tasting, breathing her in, committing every delicious second to memory.
The sounds of the city fade away—car horns and sirens and endless chatter—all of it muted until there’s nothing left but the rush of my blood and a single word flickering through my mind.
Perfect.
She’s perfect, exactly the way she is, no lessons required.
By the time we break for air, the sun has shifted to the other side of the park, and a cool breeze has chased off the less intrepid tourists.
Like a Boss Page 6