Polished

by Turner, Alyssa

  “We were just checking things out first. I wanted to get a look at the other side of the seal.”

  “You are confirming that it was on your orders then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m glad no one got seriously hurt.”

  Jack felt his heart constrict in his chest. She was wrong; people had gotten hurt.

  He ran through her questions with a string of yeses and noes, keeping his answers short if not sweet, until he started to feel that if Molly said Spencer’s name one more time he was going to fucking scream. Then, just like that, she thanked him for his time, saying she had everything she needed.

  Jack had never been so painfully aware that he had none of what he needed.

  Why couldn’t he have them? Why? He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Because he was a spineless coward who couldn’t stand up to his father—that was why. Jack had craved his father’s respect and approval for so long that he couldn’t imagine not seeking it, even when the journey seemed endless.

  It was close to five o’clock. If he’d had trouble concentrating before, it was going to be damn near impossible to get anything done now. Jack grabbed his suit jacket from the hanger next to his door and grumbled a few words to the temp as he headed to the elevator.

  The doors slid open and he nearly collided with Jackson as he stepped out of the car.

  “Son, I was just coming to see you.” Jackson stepped back into the elevator with Jack. “Leaving early?”

  The overnight courier that frequented their building gave him a polite nod as he maneuvered a hand truck of packages farther to the back to make room. Jack nodded in return and glanced at his father. “I’m not feeling well, Dad.” Leaning on the paneled wall, Jack pressed the lobby button and sighed. “Can it wait?”

  Jackson scowled at him. This was a look he usually saved for moments when they were alone. “You need to stop moping around like some kind of spoiled child who lost his favorite plaything, Jack. What kind of example are you setting for your staff?”

  Jack’s shoulders straightened and he coughed loudly, glaring at his father. The courier busied himself with the loose tape on a package, shifting his feet uncomfortably. In that second, Jack flew light-years past mortified; he was livid. Jackson, on the other hand, was oblivious.

  “I heard from the speaker’s office this morning. Is there a reason the city council is suddenly requiring us to bid on the Forty-Seventh Street fountain project?”

  He couldn’t believe his nerve. Or maybe he could—nothing fazed Jack anymore. Either way, he wasn’t about to have this discussion in front of the FedEx guy. “Not now,” Jack said through his grinding teeth.

  Jackson removed a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket and tapped it on the box. He glanced sideways at Jack. “The mayor isn’t returning my calls either. Are we on track, Jack?”

  The elevator slowed and stopped on the fifth floor. The courier excused himself past the lethal glare Jack gave his father. The moment the doors closed again, Jack slammed the stop button. An alarm rang out, giving Jackson a start. Jack was undaunted.

  He leaned toward his father, tilting his head and looking him dead in the eye. “I want you to listen very closely to what I’m about to say.” His breath was shaky with rage. The years of dirty work, the double-dealing and cover-ups, the yearning for a pat on the back that actually meant something—it all bubbled up like a ball of fire in his chest. He needed to get it out or be incinerated by it. “I am not your fucking puppet. I am done with all of this.”

  Jackson shook his head. “We do what we have to in order to keep ahead of the pack, son. I thought I’d at least taught you that.”

  “Thanks to you, it’s a lesson I’ve learned over and over.” Jack huffed and watched Jackson fold his arms over his insufferable chest. “Listen, I’m sorry you never felt like you lived up to Granddad’s expectations, but that is not my problem. Your failures are your own. You can not use me to fix the problems you created.”

  “My father built this company on his own sweat and tears. He—”

  “He would be rolling in his grave.”

  Jackson released the emergency stop button and the elevator began its laborious descent. “If you want out, Jack, the door is wide open. Rothman Development will go on without you.”

  Jack boiled with rage, counting the floors as they flickered above them. He crushed his jacket in his fist and had one foot between the doors before they had even fully opened. “Or maybe it will got on without you,” he mumbled on the way out.

  He decided to walk home. It was forty-plus blocks. It would take him two hours, minimum, and give him plenty of time to figure out the rest of his life.

  Chapter Fifteen

  They called it a grande, but Spencer thought it wasn’t going to be nearly enough to clear the sand out of his eyes that morning. He took a sip of the fancy-man coffee Rory had insisted he try, and studied the headline tucked into the corner section of the newspaper that was folded in his other hand. Three months and they’d both managed to avoid mentioning his name. Even during the union hearing Spencer had been forced to attend, the formal nature of the proceedings had meant all parties involved were only referred to by last name. Mr. Rothman was someone he could pretend he didn’t know. Jack was someone he still wished he’d never met.

  Or at least that’s what he kept telling himself.

  “I like us riding the train into the city together,” Rory said, taking down the hood of her wool coat. “We’re going to save a fortune on parking.”

  “If I have to ride the train, I’m glad it’s with you, babe.” He smiled at her and dabbed at the froth she had on her lip from her latte. “Looking forward to your new internship?”

  “You bet. I can’t wait until they finish the renovations.”

  “Speaking of which…” He pointed to the article. “Take a look at this.”

  Rory leaned forward to read the headline out loud. “Redemption for Rothman Disgrace.” She looked wide-eyed at Spencer and then back at the paper. “Rothman Development to give GBLT resource center a pro bono facelift. After exposing his family firm’s habitual shortcuts and shoddy practices, Jack Rothman forced dissolution of the company assets and a corporate restructuring aided by an employee buyout. Now operating under a cooperative structure, Rothman Development has a new company decree, says CEO Jack Rothman, Jr. With a focus on eco-responsibility and sustainable design, Rothman Development seeks to become the city’s foremost authority on green engineering.

  “Rothman Development was found to hold no responsibility for the July 25th water main break that trapped Mr. Rothman and demolitions foreman Spencer Hartley in an abandoned subway connection site. That did not stop Jack Rothman from revealing the questionable standards set forth by his former boss and father, Jackson Rothman, Sr. Sources close to the family say that Jackson Rothman is now retired and living in Boca Raton, Florida.”

  Rory was speechless.

  “Seems like Jack is doing a good thing,” Spencer said in a quiet voice.

  “Yeah, probably just a PR stunt,” Rory replied, turning past the picture of Jack’s handsome face. “Your stop’s coming up. Meet you for lunch? My last class is over at two.”

  “Crew breaks at one.”

  “Damn.” She bit her lip. “Can I interest you in an extra special dinner instead?”

  Spencer smiled. The tone in her voice hinted at more than a special dinner. Things had been a little off between them since that weekend in the Hamptons. Nothing obvious. Just not quite the way it used to be. He didn’t love her any less. God knew there wasn’t a minute he wasn’t thankful for the way she loved him. But something sad lingered in the air around them now, something that they just couldn’t shake. He didn’t need to be a genius to figure out what it was. The draft that chilled the air around them came from the door Jack had left open in their relationship. But it was a hell of a lot easier to act like there was nothing wrong.

  “I’ll be looking forward to
it all day, babe.” He bent forward and kissed her on the mouth. Her lips tasted just as sweet as always. “Be good.”

  She smiled. “Yes, sir.”

  * * *

  Time has a way of putting things into perspective. After three months, Rory couldn’t say she was still angry with Jack. If anything, she was confused. Not once the whole time they’d been with Jack did she question the honesty in his smile, or the very real way he looked at her and Spencer. There was a certain deference in the way he’d treated them. It wasn’t fake. It couldn’t have been, or everything she knew about reading people was a crock of shit. Seeing what lay beneath the surface was a talent that Rory prided herself on, and she had chosen to study psychology because of her sensitivity to people’s real motivations.

  Now Rory was simply confused about what she felt was true and what she’d heard with her own ears. She read the article again, having bought her own copy at the corner newsstand on her way home from class. The picture was a good one. Jack was smiling, looking pleased. She wrinkled her brow at him and the bell went off on her kitchen timer. She slipped the article into the junk drawer next to the sink.

  “Smells amazing,” Spencer said, padding down the hallway and pulling on an old T-shirt after his shower.

  Rory stepped into the archway of the kitchen, stretching herself tall against the frame. While Spencer was scrubbing the dirt and grime from the subway connection project off his body, Rory had slipped out of her clothes and into a frilly, fifties-style pink-and-white ruffled apron and red patent leather Mary Jane stilettos. He stopped dead in his tracks.

  “I’m going to feed you a nice warm meal, Mr. Hartley, and then you’re going to treat me to a nice hot fuck for dessert.” She tilted her head. “How does that sound?”

  He tugged playfully on the bow of her apron. “What if I want to eat my dessert first?”

  “Bad boys who want to eat their dessert first get sent to bed with no supper at all.” She winked. It felt good to be playful and saucy. It was even better to have Spencer wanting to play along.

  “Whatever you have planned, I like it already,” he said, taking a seat at their kitchen table.

  She had planned plenty. Dinner was chicken bordelaise with wild mushrooms and braised leeks, accompanied by herbed roasted new potatoes and a mesclun salad. The wine on the table was a crisp chardonnay that she’d painfully selected in the local liquor store, hoping it would be right with the meal.

  Rory stood next to Spencer and filled their glasses. “You know, I spent, like, half an hour staring at wine bottles trying to figure out which one I should buy. Who can make heads or tails of those labels?” It had been a little voice in the back of her mind that finally made her just go with her instincts and be satisfied with the choice. The voice had been deep and familiar…and firm.

  “I’m sure it’s perfect,” Spencer said.

  “If you say so. Perfection is a matter of opinion.”

  “I do.”

  She grinned. “So do I. And so it is…perfect.” They clinked. Rory went to take her seat.

  “Oh no, you’re not sitting way over there.” Spencer patted his leg. “Come here, sweetness.”

  The way he looked at her then made her feel all bubbly inside. It was going to be a great evening. Better than any they’d had in a long time.

  They ate with Rory sitting on his lap, feeding each other bites of chicken, slurping on each other’s lips in between. It wasn’t a surprise when dinner didn’t last very long. Spencer’s fingers dripped with the garlic wine sauce. Rory’s tongue chased after them after he’d placed a torn piece of chicken in her mouth. She grinned at him playfully and caught the tip of his index finger between her teeth.

  “Ow,” he said softly.

  She sucked the finger back into her mouth and swirled her tongue around it. “Bad girl?” she prompted. Please, please. She wanted to be a bad girl.

  He drew her lips to his. “I forgive you,” he said. His tongue swiped at hers sweetly, his hand cupping her face.

  Rory swallowed her disappointment and kissed him back. But the guilt she felt for being disappointed in the first place wasn’t as easy to ignore, or hide.

  “What’s the matter, baby?” he said, pulling away and wiping at her eye.

  “What if we’re broken?” she whispered. Then, clearing her throat, she looked at him with teary, upturned eyes. “What if we’ve actually gone ahead and broken what we had?”

  Spencer looked so concerned it made another tear fall. “Shhh. No, baby. Don’t say that,” he said, shaking his head, placing soft kisses on her cheeks. “Don’t ever say such a thing. I love you.” She bit her lip. “Rory, I love you.”

  “I know you do. I love you too. That’s not what I meant.” She searched for a way to explain what she did mean. She clawed her brain for the words, begged them to appear in her mouth. But how could she hurt him any more than she already had? The whole thing with Jack had ended up so terribly only because it had been so amazing at first. It had been a roller coaster ride to hell that she’d accidentally designed. And now maybe they were broken because she needed something he couldn’t give her and he needed something she didn’t have.

  A fatter tear rolled down her cheek. Spencer caught it with his lips. “You know I can’t stand to see you cry.”

  Rory pressed her lips into a smile. “My own version of Chinese water torture.”

  He laughed softly and kissed her nose. “You ready to go to bed?”

  She nodded and he scooped her up into his arms, hands grasping her bare bottom and shoulders firmly.

  “You know you look hot in that apron. Keep it on for me?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

  “That was the idea.”

  “Shoes too?”

  Rory pointed her toes. “They are sexy, aren’t they?”

  “You left sexy ten miles back,” he said. “Believe me, I’m going to show you just how not broken we are.”

  Could it be that easy? Rory closed her eyes on his shoulder and licked at his earlobe. Maybe all she needed to do was focus on everything she had and stop thinking about what was missing.

  He laid her down on the bed, brushing her hair from her face and tucking a wavy lock behind her ear. “I am so damn lucky,” he whispered.

  She looked back into his deep blue eyes, as soft and sincere as ever. His head dipped and she buried her face in his mop of hair as his lips explored her jawbone. He smelled like home, like her own slice of certainty.

  When he stood back up to undress, she took in the sight of him with greedy eyes. The simple act of pulling off his faded baseball shirt was more sensual than it had any right to be. She slept next to that body every night and still the long string of muscles marching down his torso gave her tingles in all the right places. And when he plied his just-fitted-enough, worn-to-death favorite pair of jeans down his sinewy legs she licked her lips, convinced that there wasn’t a better formed example of manhood on earth. Spencer was the full package, good to the core and hot as hell. Truly there was no place else she wanted to be.

  Those eyes had her in their sights, not wavering for a minute. She felt that tremor of excitement. She hadn’t really been worried, had she? Three months had passed and their sex life hadn’t exactly suffered. After three years, they knew the cues, the special buttons to push. He loved her with his body just the same as before, nothing had changed that. But…oh God, no matter how much she wished there wasn’t, there was a big fat “but” in the way.

  Now their secrets were out of their cages. Both Spencer’s secret and hers, the one she never really knew she had until Jack. Now she knew there could be more for both of them. She wanted that look of searing intensity back on Spencer’s face. She wanted to see him have everything that gave him pleasure and for him to grant her the same. And the very worst of it was that she wanted to know that the weekend they spent with Jack hadn’t been a mistake. She wanted to know the sheer amazement of it all had been real and right, like it had felt. She wanted Jack to be good
, for Jack to be good for them. And tonight in a frilly apron that seemed a little sillier the more she thought about it, she was trying hard to make all of those wants go away.

  She was trying too hard, Jack would say.

  “Help me with this?” she said, tugging at the bow behind her neck.

  “Thought you were keeping that on?” he said, helping her with one raised eyebrow.

  “I want it to be just us. No props, no pretense.”

  “I can do us,” he said, dropping to his knees on the edge of the bed, hooking her leg under his long fingers. He crushed his mouth onto hers and sucked on her tongue as his fingers found her center. In moments she was more than ready for him. There was a real need to be connected, to feel him fill her with everything he had. She called to him with grabby hands and he pressed into her, hot and deep, in one deliberate thrust.

  He pushed her leg higher, resting it against his neck and then clutched her shoulder with his freed hand. All the while he pinned her other leg to the bed and stroked her innermost depths, as if he were trying to prevent even the slightest bit of space between them. Then he ground his hips against her for good measure. The effect was pretty fucking epic. She felt him within her, felt him holding her in his eyes as much as she held him within her core. Connection. Mind and body.

  Rory wrapped her hand around his ass cheek, holding him to her with all of her strength. He managed another stroke in the narrow space she permitted. Rory clenched around him, trying to keep him there, buried inside her. He pulled her bottom lip between his teeth and then sucked on it softly. Another stroke and she started to shudder, her grip lessening. Spencer tore away and pulled to the very edge of her channel, stared at her with sharp eyes, and then whipped his hips forward, causing her to scream out his name.

  Hearing his name roar from her lungs seemed to give him all the reason he needed to do it again, and again. It was enough to bring her to orgasm with ease. He knew exactly how to bring her there, never leaving her behind on the path to his own release. This was Spencer, loving and generous with his pleasure without fail. She had no right to want more than that. But an itch that needed scratching still nagged at her.