The Suit (The Bro Series Book 3)

by Xavier Neal

  Our attention turns to see a mousey man in a gray uniform holding a glass vase full of yellow buttercups and a tiny golden teddy bear wearing a gray tie. “Delivery for Miss Young.”

  “That’s me,” I softly reply.

  He quickly crosses over to my desk and places the objects carefully down. Afterwards, he pulls out a phone, tilts it on its side, and taps to the screen. “Just need your signature.”

  I sign my name and politely thank him, instantly regretting over tipping the barista this morning, which left me completely cash less.

  How was I supposed to know I’d be getting something delivered today?!

  And from who?

  Who on earth would send me flowers?

  I’ve never had someone buy them for me before.

  Not once.

  Not even back when guys were constantly begging me to date them as opposed to reluctantly agreeing to dinner.

  The question I’m chewing on reaches Brad’s lips. “Who are they from?”

  “Not a clue…” I confess, grabbing the envelope and flicking it open.

  A smile immediately appears on my face.

  Ryann,

  Have dinner with me this week?

  - Pax

  Underneath my message is one for my daughter.

  Little Miss Hattie,

  I hope you like the bear.

  Will you have dinner with me and your mom?

  Check the box for your answer.

  -Mr. Pax, a new friend of your mom

  The two drawn squares not only add character to the card but warm my heart in ways I never imagined possible.

  “Well?” Brad eagerly questions, bringing me back the current situation at hand.

  I casually place the card on my lap and lock eyes with my co-worker. “Well what?”

  “Who’s it from?”

  My hesitation to respond spurs him into a guessing game.

  “Pleased client? Pleased boss? Belated birthday gift?”

  Rather than give him the answer he’s searching for, I politely redirect the conversation, “What were you saying before the flowers got delivered?”

  His blue stare steals one more glance of the gift. “Just um…asking if you wanted to get a drink later?”

  “Like friends?”

  “Like a date.”

  An uncomfortable feeling crashes into me.

  It’s not that Brad isn’t cute. He’s definitely cute. Light brown hair. Bright blue eyes. Joggers build. Not the greatest taste in suits but isn’t afraid of ties like the other guys who work in research. He’s only been out of college a year and still has the twinkle in his eyes society hasn’t smothered out yet. However, there’s nothing about him that gets my heart pounding or blood pumping. Looking at him doesn’t make me wet nor does the idea of him using his tie to bind my hands while I furiously blow him.

  Pax does that to me.

  Effortlessly.

  It’s why I couldn’t stop myself from letting him in the other night.

  It’s why I had to stop myself from consistently texting him back this weekend.

  It’s why I can’t allow myself to get actually involved with him.

  He has this undeniable control over me that I can’t explain. I’d loathe it if I didn’t think I possessed the same power. Anytime we’re near one another it’s like gasoline meeting fire. A thrilling explosion is inevitable…but I worry about who will get burned. Whose wounds won’t heal? Which one of us will be left to sweep up the ash of a reckless inferno? Pax ignites the impulsive side of me I put to slumber years ago. The side of me that wasn’t afraid to show a little leg in a bold print dress or smoke an expensive cigar as she crashed a strip poker game. The side that got me into a predicament that haunts me to this day. I can’t be that Ryann again… Even if sometimes I miss her.

  “Is that a no?” Brad asks just above a whisper.

  I toy with the card in my hand, brain still battling between following logic and instinct. “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “You know I have a daughter.”

  “Hallie.”

  Strike one.

  “Hattie.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  “Hattie is the most important person in my life.”

  “Shouldn’t she be second? Shouldn’t you be the most important person in your life?”

  Strike two.

  “My daughter comes first. Always.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “So, if I told you, dating me, even for just a drink meant dating her, what would you say?”

  The instant panic in his eyes strikes him out long before his eventual words do. “Uh…I um…I’m not um…I guess we could go to McDonald’s or something?”

  My face scrunches in silent criticism. “Gonna have to pass on the date, Brad.”

  He nods, spins on his heels, and exits, shutting the door behind him.

  I drop Pax’s card open on my desk and stare at the adorable note for my daughter.

  His answer was at least playful. The fact he addressed part of the card to her as well as sent her something indicates that he took my words to heart despite the joke he made.

  More contemplation cakes itself onto my shoulders.

  Would it really be so bad to take a risk? Drop him smack dab in the middle of parenthood to see if he sinks or swims? Maybe watching him flail around or try to flee will shake the hold he somehow managed to place on my heart. But what if it backfires? What if he excels, and I become attached? What if Hattie becomes attached?

  I screw my eyes shut.

  This overthinking bullshit has its place and purpose. Protecting my little girl is always at the front of my mind. It’s always the starting point for every decision…Does that mean I can’t be happy? That I can’t find love? That I can’t fall for a man who takes her into consideration?

  Like by simply inviting her to dinner with us.

  Like by sending her a teddy bear.

  Like by showing more concern for her than the man responsible for half her DNA does.

  A heavy sigh falls from my lips as I pop my eyes back open.

  I gotta give Pax a real shot. Not just for me, but for Hattie. She deserves a man in her life as much as I do. Someone to make Father’s Day cards for. Someone to teach her about sports. Someone to threaten physical harm if the guy she’s dating breaks her heart. Not to downplay the important jobs a mother has, but it would be amazing to have a partner to share some of the experiences with.

  Some of the hardships.

  Some of the love…

  My hand dives into my purse to fish out my phone and dial Pax’s number.

  It only rings once before his deep, velvety voice professionally states, “Rossi.”

  The sound has my thighs squeezing together. “Too bad…I was looking for Pax.”

  His voice immediately softens. “Hey, Buttercup.”

  “You busy?”

  “Mr. Rossi,” a male’s voice impatiently croaks.

  “You are busy,” I quickly retreat. “I’ll call back later. I-”

  “Two mins, Russell.”

  “Really, Paxton. It’s fine. I’ll call back-”

  “You won’t,” he flatly argues. A brief rustling noise invades my ears followed promptly by, “Let me be clear, Ryann. I’m never too busy to spare a couple minutes for you. Understood?”

  His selflessness in combination with his boorish charm dampens my panties.

  “Now, what would you like me to do or say for the minute and forty five seconds you have left?”

  I give my bottom a lip a brief bite. “Is it strange that I have no doubt you could please me in that amount of time?”

  Paxton groans deeply into the phone.

  Geez, I can’t get enough of that sound.

  My fingers graze the card in front of me. “I got the flowers you sent.”

  “You hate them.”

  Confusion cloaks my tone. “What?”

  “I should’ve gotten something else. Something be
tter. More classic. More traditional. Less creative.”

  There isn’t room to get an objection in.

  “Perhaps orchids?”

  I start to speak when he interrupts once more.

  “Bouquet of red roses. That would’ve been better, yes?” He grumbles to himself. “I should’ve listened to my assistant. I should’ve went with the direct romantic approach.”

  Finally allowed the opportunity to answer, I question, “Why do you think I hated the buttercups?”

  “Because you’re sexually teasing me in the middle of a work day. That’s not a reward. That’s punishment.”

  Helplessly, I snicker. “Relax, Paxton. I loved them.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. They’re perfect.”

  You’re perfect.

  You make me feel perfect.

  Ugh. I can’t say any of that.

  I won’t say any of that.

  “I was just calling to say yes to dinner and find out the details.”

  A pleased hum hits my ears. “What did Hattie say?”

  Surprised by the question, I cautiously retort, “I…haven’t seen her yet.”

  “Then we don’t have details to discuss yet.”

  The shock that hits shoves me back in my seat. “What?”

  “I took your words seriously, Ryann. That’s why I asked the both of you. It wasn’t for show. It wasn’t just to prove the point I was listening. Hattie is the most important thing to you, and I will treat her as such. I expect you to show her the card, lightly explain the situation, and let her choose the appropriate box for her feelings.”

  Impressed and flabbergasted, I quietly question, “And if she says no?”

  “Then I’ve gotta try harder.”

  A small swoon seeps free.

  “Rossi!”

  He grunts his irritation. “I have to go. Call me tonight?”

  “We will.”

  Pax’s light chuckle is the last sound I hear before the line goes dead.

  Am I going to get more than I bargained for or is Paxton Rossi just another well-crafted liar in a power suit? Everything he says sounds so genuine, but I know men like him. Men who say and do whatever it takes to get the task or challenge complete without true care or concern to who it hurts or destroys. Whatever happens, I won’t let my little girl’s heart get broken even if it means mine has to be shattered.

  Chapter 5

  “You cannot take a six year old to eat sushi.”

  Pax doesn’t tear his eyes away from the road. “I can.”

  “But you can’t.”

  “I currently am.”

  Which is absolutely fucking ridiculous! Who in their right mind drags a poor child to eat sushi? Why wouldn’t you take her for hamburgers? Or corn dogs? Or pizza? Fuck, anywhere that serves chicken nuggets? Why ruin your first impression with a child even if they typically forgive easier than adults in that department?

  Ugh. This date is going to be awful.

  Frustration fuses itself to my vocal chords. “You know, I can stop you.”

  He finally tosses me a sarcastic glare. “You’re buckled in.”

  “Funny thing about being a grown ass woman. I magically know how to unbuckle myself.”

  Paxton rolls up to the stoplight and diverts his stare to me. “You’re not going anywhere, and neither is she.”

  My glare knocks into his.

  Who the hell does he think he is? What gives him the right to just throw us in his SUV, his expensive, customized SUV, and not allow for us to have a say in where we go for dinner? It doesn’t matter that he bought a booster seat specifically to keep in the car for Hattie or that he bought her a blanket to have just in case she became too cold and couldn’t adjust her air vent. That’s irrelevant if this behavior is a prelude to the relationship we would have. All controlling, no compromising?

  No, thank you.

  I’d rather be single and free then coupled and chained.

  Unless it’s sexually chained, which I would probably be into…

  For some reason, my sex life is the only section I still feel comfortable letting my old self out to play. The therapist I used to see said it was alright to let that energy flow freely in that department. She explained it gave me an outlet that might deter the depression that I used to constantly feel I was a breath away from. She also expressed her belief that in letting myself freely explore my sexuality that I would be taking back an important amount of power I felt had been stolen from me…

  After the exhilarating experiences with Pax I have to say…

  She was definitely right.

  Pax unknowingly re-instills courage and confidence.

  Quietly challenges and motivates me.

  I hate it.

  I love it.

  I’m terrified of it…

  There’s no reason I should be feeling this much so quickly.

  Not after a couple long phone calls and steamy texts.

  His hand crosses the gap between us to gently grab my chin. In a sweet voice, he encourages, “Relax, Ry. I’ve got this handled.”

  My shoulders struggle between the decision to stiffen and slump in surrender. “Look, it’s not that simple.”

  Pax’s touch disappears to grip the wheel again. “I doubt it’s that complicated. She’s a child not a chimpanzee.”

  I ignore the ache from the lost contact and focus on the snarky retort. “She has dietary needs.”

  He accelerates forward as he inquires, “She’s allergic to something?”

  “No.”

  “Vomits if she eats something in particular?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  I press my lips tightly together not sure I’m ready to discuss her life so freely with someone I barely know.

  Even taking into consideration our phone time together, he’s still practically a stranger. We only know minor details about one another at this point, like what we do for a living, where we like to get our coffee, and the thrill we get from voyeurism as well as a bit of exhibitionism. Our kink keys open the same doors, but that doesn’t mean we should base a relationship off of that.

  Pax pushes in a stern tone, “I need to know, Ryann.”

  “You don’t need to know,” I mutter in return, attention drifting out the window.

  “I do.”

  “Why? Because I just brought it up, and you’re afraid the curiosity will kill you?”

  “Insult me to my face. Not your reflection in the window.”

  Consternation cracks my jaw as I snap my eyes back to him.

  God, I don’t know whether to be pissed off or turned on at his blatant approach to everything.

  “I need to know for the future. What if I pick her up from camp or school and she wants a snack?”

  “Jennie handles those things.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “My nanny!” Hattie speaks up from the backseat. “She’s so fun! We go get frozen yogurt every week! She kisses the boy behind the counter and then I get free sprinkles!”

  I frown at the idea of my daughter watching her nanny whore herself for a rainbow topping.

  Pax cocks a grin. “Is that her special friend?”

  “Super special. His name is Evan.”

  Pax doesn’t leave an opportunity for me to interrogate what else she may have witnessed. “You said every week?”

  “Every. Week.”

  “Even in the winter?”

  “No,” Hattie giggles. “It’s too cold then. When it’s cold outside we go get hot chocolate at Loca Mocha Casabloca! Sometimes Mom comes too…if she’s not working late.”

  The distinct disappointment in her voice tugs at my heart.

  I hate working late, but it is what it is. I’ve gotta pay my mortgage. Our bills. A nanny. A private school. Camps. And let’s not forget the attorney fees to keep her “father” from being able to change the custody agreement on a whim. Do I wish I could spend time wiping whip cream off her nose and dusting sprink
les off her lap? Of course. Is it realistic? No…Part of me fears it never will be.