by Cecy Robson
“What happened to the parrots?”
“Oh, they’re still there, too. But you can’t have an erotic jungle without some toucans. You hear what I’m saying?”
“Of course.”
“Good, ‘cause I’m picturing some kind of aerial show with the parrots, toucans, and maybe a flamingo tossed in for a little pizzazz.”
“Pizzazz?” he asks, his humor casting a shimmer along his green eyes.
“I’m just watching out for you,” I point out.
“By warning me about Ashleigh and what she has planned for me in this make-believe jungle?”
“No, by giving you nice birds to sing to you when she pounces on you in this erotic jungle. Aren’t you paying attention? This fantasy is taking some work on my part.”
His widening grin warms my insides. Kind of like hot chocolate. Sexy hot chocolate. Sexy and very naked hot chocolate.
“Are you suggesting I thank you for this rather descriptive vision of Ashleigh’s supposed fantasy?” he asks.
I smirk. “I am, and you’re welcome.”
His gaze melts into mine. “Perhaps now is a good time to remind you that I’m not attracted to Ashleigh, nor have I ever been.”
“Never?” I ask. So Much for not going there.
“No,” he says. “But I can’t say the same about you.”
And cue the dimples.
I bend my arm against the back of the couch and lower my head to my palm. “She has it bad for you,” I remind him, trying to keep the talk on her and not on us.
Because there is no us.
And there shouldn’t be.
Right?
“I don’t agree,” he says, looking at me like I shouldn’t want him to look at me. But he does, maybe because I’m doing the same. We fall into what should be a tension filled, angsty silence. Except there’s no tension or angst. It’s just Evan and this ‘way too easy feel’ I get around him.
Ashleigh said he was busy and didn’t have time to see me. But he doesn’t appear rushed, taking me in like he’s not the CEO of this super-tech company and giving me one more reason to like him.
“So you own the company?” I ask, when he doesn’t say more.
“I do. My father gave it to me when I was twelve.”
“Twelve?” I ask.
He nods. “You can imagine I wasn’t ready to run it. I took my time, learned everything I could about nanotechnology and business, and then learned even more when I took over our London branch. Initially, we had an outstanding leadership team here. But they were older. Each retirement brought in more of the wrong people until this branch suffered an exorbitant amount of loss, dwindling the profit I’d secured us in Europe.”
He leans back and rubs his jaw. “Our advisors thought it best to shut down this branch and continue to build upon our success in Europe. But in doing so, thousands would lose their jobs, and everything my father developed here would be obliterated. I couldn’t do that to him.”
“I can’t blame you,” I tell him, looking around as if Alfred is going to magically teleport his father into the room. “Where’s your dad now? He must be really proud of you for stepping up.”
He quiets. “He died when I was twelve.”
At first, I don’t move. Evan could have said he inherited the company and I would have understood he’d passed away. But in saying his dad gave it to him and everything else that followed, it’s like he didn’t want to be reminded he was gone.
I reach for his forearm and give him a squeeze. “I’m sorry,” I tell him, gently.
“I am, too,” he says.
His attention drifts to where my fingers rest along his forearm. He doesn’t have to say he’s done discussing his dad, I already know. I give him another squeeze. “So, how’s reestablishing an empire working out for you?”
He smiles. “It’s a slow and arduous process which is why my time is so limited. But failing isn’t something I contemplate. In fact, the first step toward global domination starts today.”
“Global domination?” I ask.
“I have my first major sales meeting.” He winks. “But global domination sounds sexier.”
Oh yes it does, big boy. “And what are you selling?” I ask, realizing too late I’m inching closer.
“Do you really want to know?”
I’m surprised how much I do. “Yeah. Let ‘er rip.”
“My sales team and I are pitching Adeptus Mechanicus to two local hospitals. It’s nanotechnology in its most advanced form, capable of delivering chemotherapeutic agents directly to cancerous tumors and breaking down the remains into minute particles, so the body can easily excrete them.”
I straighten. “Tiny robots that kill cancer and then eat what’s left?” He nods. “Did you come up with this?”
Again, he nods. “I began to conceptualize it at a young age. But it wasn’t until I began my undergraduate studies that I realized it was viable. It took close to a decade for my robotics team and I to fully develop it. But in perfecting Adeptus, we created Chaos, Eldar, and Ork Mechanicus. Different forms from that one prototype capable of treating a large array of diseases and damaged tissues.”
“Damn. I should’ve sold you the upgrade.”
That grin. Jesus, and those dimples! Evan is brilliance and sweet in one steamy package. Can’t say I blame Ashleigh for wanting to keep him all to herself.
Speak of the devil in high heels. “Evan?” she says, throwing the door open without bothering to knock. She whips her head away from the desk where she was expecting us, to the couch where she isn’t, straightening her spine hard enough to support that granite conference table on her head. “Everyone is in the conference room waiting for you.”
She treats him like some disobedient kid. If I was him, I’d flip out on her. But this time, he keeps his tone steady and his attention on me as he rises. “My apologies, but I must leave you.”
When I stand, there’s only a few inches separating us. It’s the closest I ever stood to him, but he doesn’t seem to mind and neither do I. “Don’t worry about it. Your new ride is parked in the V.P.’s spot where your security guard told me to leave it. If you have any problems or concerns, call me, I’ll take care of it.”
I start to leave, but his voice keeps me in place. “How about we finish out talk over dinner Saturday?”
I don’t have to see Ashleigh’s face to guess she’s about two point five seconds away from leaping onto my back. “I thought we were done here,” I say, not that I want to be.
“I don’t think we are,” he says. He cocks his head slightly, examining me in a way that shows he can see past the pretense of professionalism and all the way down to Philly girl with the loud mouth who’s dying to kiss him. “And I think you feel the same. Say you’ll have dinner with me this weekend.”
There’s no hesitation. “Okay.”
We’re both showing more teeth than should be humanly possible. He probably thought he’d have to work for it. But he doesn’t have to work at all. It’s nice being around him. And this talk we had reminded me just how nice.
“Evan,” Ashleigh calls.
She’s closer and pissy. And even though I shouldn’t, I lift up on my toes and press a kiss against his cheek. I linger long enough to let him know it’s not so innocent, but short enough to be respectful. “Good luck,” I tell him. “I know you’ll knock them dead.”
His eyes widen briefly and he lifts his hand slowly to remove his glasses. “Don’t,” I say, offering him a wink. “They look good on you.”
I reach for my purse and walk out without another glance. My mother once told me if I go looking for trouble, I’m sure to find it. Based on that loathsome glare from Ashleigh, I found more than my share.
CHAPTER 6
Wren
My sales job requires me to dress for success. I have a lot of nice clothes and usually drop a few grand every couple of seasons to keep up appearances, and keep kicking ass. But while I like looking nice, I hate shopping. And everyone
hates me when I have to.
My sister-in-law Sofia is the only one patient enough to put up with me. She would’ve earned a shot straight into heaven for all the times she’s tolerated my bitching, if Saint Peter wasn’t already saving her spot for being the nicest person on the planet.
I put her on speaker the moment she answers. “Hey, Sofe. How you doing?”
“Hi, Wren.” She pauses. “Is something wrong, honey?”
Like I said, Sofia is all sorts of sweet, but she’s also really smart and knows I’m not calling to shoot the shit. “Nope. Just trying to decide what to wear. You know that hounds tooth sheath dress we picked up at Talbots?”
“You’re going on a date?”
Yeah, Killian didn’t marry some airhead. “Slow down there, Sofe. I’m just trying to decide what to wear to work.”
“I thought you were off this weekend?”
Okay, now those smarts are backing me into a wall. “I’m helping out for a few hours.”
Again, she pauses. I’m not one to lie, but I don’t want to go there with Sofia. She knows I haven’t dated anyone since Bryant, which has already led to too many questions. My brothers, being as protective as they are . . . yeah, I don’t need this.
“All right,” she says, slowly, clueing me in she doesn’t believe me.
“I was going to go with the strappy stilettos from Nordstrom’s you insisted I buy. But it looks like it’s going to snow so I was thinking about the ankle length boots with the three-inch heels.” I hold up both shoes and take another look at the nose-bleed heels. “By the way, are you trying to kill me?”
She laughs in that soft gentle way of hers. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I don’t know,” I say, giving the spikey heels another look. “All it will take is one false step for you and Killian to collect the insurance money.”
“You know that’s not true,” she says. I don’t have to see her to know she’s smiling. “I think either pair would look great with the dress. But my suggestion is to go with the thigh-high knotted boots.”
“Which ones?”
“The black ones we bought on sale last spring. Oh, and the multi-colored bead bracelet. There’s too much black and white in that ensemble. You need a splash of color.”
“The interior designer thinks I need a ‘splash of color’. Geeze, how on earth did I guess you were going to go there?” I ask.
I walk to my closet and dig through it after I tuck the other shoes in their boxes. “Wren, may I ask you something?”
My phone is on the floor by my left knee, but I can still hear her loud and clear. “Sure.”
I reach for what I think is the right box, a white one with red lettering. “What’s his name?” she asks.
My head falls forward. I don’t want to keep lying to her. She and my other brother’s girlfriend are the best friends I have. “Evan,” I say, thankful she can’t see the stupid grin on my face.
“Okay,” she says, quietly. “What did you have in mind for earrings?”
That’s one of the cool things about Sofia, she only pushes enough to make sure I’m okay. But this past year, I haven’t been okay much, and have avoided her and my brothers because of it.
My phone vibrates against the wood floor as I shove myself into my boots. I frown when I don’t recognize the number, but keep talking to Sofia. It’s not until I disconnect with her that I realize whoever called didn’t leave a voicemail, but did leave a text.
Hello, pretty girl.
I curse realizing who it is.
I haven’t forgotten our time together. Have you?
My mouth fires off another round of curses at the texts that follow.
Remember, no one loves a whore.
I take a screen shot of the text, including the number, but not before I text back, Go back to hell and stay there, Bryant. I want nothing to do with you.
I block the number and place the phone on my dresser, leaning forward and cursing yet again. Growing up where I did, I’ve seen a lot of bad shit. It’s toughened me up and taught me to throw down. But what happened with Bryant . . . God damn it. I should have known better, and I didn’t. I stayed with that prick until he used every last bit of me.
Shit. Every last bit.
My neighbor’s dog’s deep bark makes me jump. I run to the window in time to see him running to the end of his property line, but not much else. I walk away from the window after another few seconds and pull open the jewelry drawer in my dresser. It’s not until I pull out the dangly earrings Sofia suggested and glance in the mirror that I get a good look at my face. I’m fair-skinned, not that it shocks anyone seeing how I’d bleed shamrocks if cut. But I’m not just fair right now.
Beneath the few freckles scattered along my nose and cheeks I’m deathly pale. I don’t want to think about how bad I look, or about the odd chill poking at my spine. And I especially don’t want to think about Bryant.
I never thought anyone could ever make me feel so dirty. But Bryant isn’t just anyone. He’s a sociopathic asshole who couldn’t stand me leaving him.
I straighten, lifting my chin and setting each earring in place. After a few breaths, and a few more after that, I return to my bathroom and finish getting ready.
Evan will be here soon. I pause as I lift my minute makeup bag from my drawer. “Evan,” I say aloud. Even his name lifts the corners of my mouth. He’s, I don’t know, real.
Yeah, that’s a good word for him. A big shot CEO who’ll munch on a cheesesteak like it’s the greatest sandwich in the world (cause it is), put up with my trash-talking, and still ask me out to dinner. Twice.
I reach for my mascara and give my lashes a few swipes as I think back to that kiss I gave him. Maybe I shouldn’t have with Ashleigh there. Maybe I shouldn’t have at all. But, I couldn’t help myself. Just like I couldn’t say no to seeing him again.
Except that was pre-Bryant, again.
I toss the mascara back in my bag. This is yet another moment when it doesn’t pay to be Catholic, when it sucks to have an overly superstitious mother, and grandmother, and neighbors when you’re growing up. “It’s a sign that you shouldn’t get involved with this man,” they all would have said, before crossing themselves twenty times in a row.
I shake off the thought. “Settle down,” I tell myself. “It’s just one date, and Evan is different.”
I make a face. “That’s what I said about Bryant. And we all know how that went to hell.”
I shake off that horrible unease and dig at the bottom of my drawer for a lipstick. As much as I hate shopping, I hate makeup more. I follow up the mascara with a hot pink lipstick (another must-have Sofe insisted I needed), and nothing more.
My eyebrows knit as I step back from the mirror and take a good look at myself. I’ve never been a fan of pink, and this shade shouldn’t work with my skin tone, but somehow it does.
The sound of the doorbell ringing has me hurrying, but my steps slow when I make it halfway down the stairs and don’t see anyone near the door. “Shit,” I mutter, walking carefully. I have my phone out, ready to hit 9-1-1 when Evan’s tall frame steps in front of the glass.
I open the door, smiling when I see him with two dozen lavender and silver roses in his hands. “Hi,” he says, his eyes widening when he sees what I’m wearing.
“Hey.” I stop smiling when I see who’s behind him.
“Damn it, Wren. You’re supposed to marry me,” the little neighborhood kid says.
Okay. Maybe “little” isn’t the best word to describe Sauron. At eleven, he weighs almost as much as me, and his mouth is almost as big. Almost. “Sauron, what are you doing here?”
He crosses his arms. “Keeping you safe from the likes of him.” He motions to Evan who is doing everything he can not to laugh outright. My stare bounces to him before turning back to Sauron.
“Sauron, you’re eleven. I’m twenty-eight. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you and me, are never going to happen. By the time you’re even old eno
ugh to drive I’ll already be two point five kids in, driving a mini-van packed with diapers, binkies, and one of those bouncy chairs your little sister can’t get enough of.”
“Love knows no age limits, baby,” he counters.
I hold out a hand. “I’m going to stop you right there. Go home, be nice to your sister, and vacuum the house for Gloria.”
He sighs, defeated. “Will you help me with my science project if I do? I have to build a volcano or some shit.”
“No, but I’ll kick your ass if you don’t stop swearing,” I tell him.
“Wren,” he whines.
“Okay, look. I was never good at science, but me and my brother have always been good with projects. Do what I tell you, and me and him, we’ll try to help you.”
“Yeah?” he asks.
“I promise.”
He adjusts the beanie on his head and starts to turn. But then he narrows his stare at Evan. “Let me ask you this. What does he have that I don’t?”
“A legal age limit,” I offer.
Sauron huffs. “Okay, I’ll give you that one.”
Evan and I watch him hop down my wood porch steps and onto the freshly plowed sidewalk. He jumps onto his bike, but it’s not until he pedals onto the sidewalk leading back to his house that Evan speaks. “It seems you have suitor.”
“Oh, yeah,” I tell him. “Grade schoolers can’t seem to get enough of my sparkling wit.”
He laughs, stepping through when I pull open the door. I shudder when the frigid air from outside rushes in, and quickly lock the door.
My house isn’t huge, but it’s a good size and almost three times as big as the row house I grew up in. There’s a small sitting area that doubles as a library to my right and cozy family room with a fireplace to my left. But it’s not until I see Evan standing by the couch, small flurries melting into his dark hair, that I see it in a different way.