The Sunday Arrangement

by Lucy Smith

  Despite my attraction to men, Kat would always have that special spot for being my “level three” girl. Kat came up with the levels in college. Levels for girl crushes, very similar to a man crush for guys. Level one was a girl that another girl wanted to be friends with. Level two meant you wanted to be that girl or have specific aspects of a girl, like perky breasts or straight hair. Level three was the woman another girl would have sex with if the opportunity ever presented itself. For most girls, level three was reserved for celebrities. Not me. For me, it was Kat.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway,” I said, once I wiped the beer off my face. “The man is a stud, but he’s as arrogant as you are gay. I was with him five minutes, and already I can’t stand the kid. The next few months in Vegas are going to be hellish.”

  “Well, there’s always gambling or strip clubs. Wash your blues away on the Strip by watching gals strip. That’s my motto.”

  I cocked my head to the side. “That seems like something that’s more up your alley, Kat.” I sighed. “I wish I could at least work on my other projects in my free time. Dad’s making me give up all my other work, even the big one I’ve been tweaking. He told me it’s time I do some ‘real work.’”

  “Real work? What does he think you’ve been doing all this time, cooped up in that giant office of yours? I would’ve slapped him.”

  My eyes strayed to an old family portrait hanging on the wall by the front door. It was the last one where we all looked happy, years and years ago. “I’m going to have Monica continue to work on them while I’m away. She has her dog to look after, and she doesn’t want to leave with me to go to whatever spot in Vegas Maverick wants to build this damn casino.”

  “I can’t believe you’re just going to sit there and let your father pull the strings like that.” She quickly stood up from the couch. “Stand up for yourself, Lo.”

  I pulled her back down to the couch before she had a chance to storm off in her normal fashion. “I want to become CEO of the company before I’m thirty, and if this casino deal goes well, it could be a good stepping stone for that. Besides, if we happen to build the casino in Vegas, which I’m sure we will, I’ll fly you out a few times to have fun with me. I know I’ll need you if I have to be around him all day.”

  She shook her head at me and smiled. “You don’t have to pretend to be so fed up with him around me, friend. I can tell you don’t completely hate the idea of being cooped up in the neon city with Mr. Please Fuck Me Anytime You Please.”

  I grimaced. “I doubt I’d go that far. . . .”

  Kat fiddled with her white-blonde hair. She swooped the short strands over to the side, giving her pixie cut a small adjustment. “Fine, but I still say you need to start your own company. You don’t need your father’s business anymore. Just look at your brother. He’s doing just fine without good ol’ Hart Corp. Go out and build something friendly for women, Lo. The world is your pearl!”

  “I thought it was ‘The world is your oyster,’” I said with a laugh.

  “Sick, who wants those slimy things?” she asked.

  I took another drink from my beer. “Anyway . . . I can’t build my own company because it would destroy my father. Ever since Toby left the company, Dad’s been more cantankerous than ever. He still brings it up every time we’re all together. It’s really tiring to hear the same speech at every meal.”

  “You care too much for him. He was never there for you, and he’s using you now.” She sighed heavily and rubbed her brow with her hand.

  “Maybe, but it’s still my job—Daddy problems or not. Besides, I’m good at it.”

  Kat reluctantly agreed. “Kicking ass in the office is kind of your thing,” she said. She set her empty Dos Equis bottle on the small chest in front of the sofa. “Enough business talk for the day. I came over to see if you wanted to go clubbing. . . . Let me rephrase that. . . . I came over to see if I could persuade you to come clubbing with me.”

  “You know I look like an awkward chicken on the dance floor. Besides, I’d rather not have women who don’t know I’m straight trying to hit on me all night. I feel bad when I have to turn them away.”

  “You can always tell them you’re with me. That’ll keep them from trying to get in your knickers.”

  I laughed. “Panties, Kat, say it with me. Pant-teees.”

  She shuddered. “Even the word sounds gross . . . pan . . . I can’t do it.”

  “I think you’re the only lesbian in the world who hates that word.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Can’t help it. . . . Knickers, now that’s a fun word to say. Knickers, knickers, knickers!”

  I just shook my head. “Really though, I’m pretty beat from the day anyway. I was in the office before sunrise again. I think I’m just gonna crash.”

  Her grin quickly faded. “How are you feeling? Are you still getting those headaches?”

  “You mean my work-induced migraines? Sometimes, but not recently. Maybe that’s a bad sign?” I laughed. “Clearly my brain has just submitted to the hours and hours of work I put in every day.”

  “You are your father’s child,” Kat said. Silence enveloped the room like a cloud. Abruptly Kat stood up from the sofa. “I should go. Imagine what those gossip rags will say about our lesbian affair if I spend the night?”

  I laughed to try and lighten the tension. “Because you’re leaving so early, they’ll say I broke up with you over that blonde ho you were with last month.”

  “That blond ho sure did know how to kiss . . . too bad she was jealous of you.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Me? She was a total ten bombshell, no doubt about it. She was jealous of me?”

  Kat shrugged her shoulders. “You’ll always be first in my heart, love. I don’t think she was ever going to be okay with that.”

  I stood up from the sofa and walked her to the front door. She hugged me tightly.

  “Thanks for rescuing me today.”

  “No problem. You know I’m a sucker for the whole damsel-in-distress bit.”

  I smirked. “Have fun clubbing. And tell those photographers that I shagged you silly and then broke up with you because you forgot to buy me flowers.”

  She smiled and gave me a wink. “Oh, I think that story is being written as we speak. Later, love. I’ll text you.”

  She left, and I watched her trudge to her car from the window, hoping the paparazzi would be civil to her since I wasn’t on her arm. I knew she was right. They were probably having a field day with my lesbian friend rescuing me from the limo. God only knew what the papers would say tomorrow. My father stopped trying to quell the rumors that I was a closet lesbian years ago when he decided to have the company adopt an “open-minded policy.” I wasn’t complaining. Kat’s presence wasn’t exactly negotiable, and as long as we were hanging out, the papers would make whatever they wanted out of the millionaire’s daughter. Only in the trashiest gossip rags did I ever get any action. Too bad my life wasn’t nearly as exciting as so many people believed.

  I locked the door and headed up the stairs, ready for yet another night alone.

  Chapter Three

  I stood at the window of my office waiting for Pierce to show himself. Dark, ominous clouds loomed over the bustling city. Downpour was imminent. “This can’t be a good omen,” I muttered to myself as I crossed my arms. I wondered whether Pierce would even bother showing up this morning. I hadn’t exactly started our business relationship off on the right foot since I refused to meet him where he’d specifically requested. I didn’t care. My message this morning needed to be clear: I did not work for him. If anything, this little prick worked for me. After all, I was the one with all of the experience. I was the one who had clocked an ungodly number of hours at the office. And I was the one who would carry us through the tedious details of creating this new casino. That was, if I could force myself to focus while he was in the room.

  I glanced down at my outfit, a black pencil skirt with a sleeveless, pink ruffled top. It
was a little frillier and brighter than I was used to wearing around the office—heather gray slacks and black, long-sleeved tops were more my staple. As I was leaving my house that morning, I tried to convince myself that my appointment with the handsome Pierce hadn’t persuaded me to choose the overtly feminine outfit. In my heart, I knew better.

  Glancing at the clock on the wall, I secretly hoped he would be late. Better still, that he wouldn’t bother coming. Whether he showed up or not would tell me how much his heart was in this project that our fathers had entrusted to our care. The very idea of working with the Mavericks still baffled me. I grew up hearing my father’s endless tirades about how Peter had managed to steal another one of his ideas, or how excited he was to best him in something. Now to be working alongside Peter and his son seemed inherently wrong, like I was going against a cardinal rule.

  I sighed and shook my head before turning to go back to my desk. I had been there early to review what little documentation there was on the upcoming project. I could feel one of my headaches coming on, and dealing with an arrogant man with something to prove was the last thing I needed right now. As I sat down in my checkered wingback chair, I heard my office door open. I didn’t bother turning around.

  “Monica, call Mr. Maverick and tell him that if he isn’t here in five minutes —”

  “Please, call me Pierce.” He walked over to one of the leather chairs in front of me and sat down. He crossed one long elegant leg over the other and pretended to pick an invisible piece of lint from his pinstriped suit. He then looked at me with an insufferably devilish smirk.

  “Why are you late?” I asked.

  “Since when is two minutes past considered late?”

  “Any minutes after an agreed-upon time are tardy in my book.”

  He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “I came in as soon as your assistant permitted. Why did you refuse to meet me at the park this morning?”

  “I had other things to attend to.” I folded my hands on my desk and stared into his almond-shaped eyes. Why am I nervous? “And I typically do not respond to my business partners with snail mail since I’m not exactly in junior high anymore.”

  He chucked softly. “Well, I don’t really believe in e-mails or texting. I suppose I could have called you.”

  Who doesn’t believe in e-mail? How the hell are we going to get any work done? “It’s e-mail. It’s not the Easter bunny.” I grabbed a notepad from the end of my desk and pushed my nerves aside. “You’re here now. Let’s get started.”

  “There was a reason I wanted to meet you there,” he pressed.

  “And what was this reason?”

  He smirked again. There was a taunting glint in his eye. “Doesn’t matter now. But I want to build the casino in Las Vegas, of course.”

  “Cliché.”

  “I prefer to think of it as effective.”

  “Anywhere specific in mind?”

  He licked his thin lips and slowly nodded his head.

  “Well, we’ll have to go out there and see if we can find a lot big enough . . .” I let the rest of my sentence fade as I imagined something else that might be large enough.

  “And if we can’t?” he prompted, after a moment of silence.

  I pretended to fumble through my notepad, looking for a specific page. “In that case . . . then we would try to find a building we could buy out and tear down. My brother is overseeing the architecture, and he’s absolutely excellent at what he does.”

  “I’m sure all of the Harts are,” Pierce said softly.

  I ignored him. “Once we have a design in mind, we can start pitching the plan to the investors.”

  He nodded his head in agreement. “Excellent.”

  “I have a few questions, if you don’t mind,” I said, trying to steady my voice and hone my concentration. “Dad didn’t exactly brief me on the entirety of this project, so I feel a little out of the loop. I tried reviewing some of the paperwork we have, rough sketches and outlines of Hart Corp’s goals and projections. There’s not much there, though I guess I didn’t expect there to be in the project’s infancy.”

  Pierce gestured with his large hand for me to continue.

  I cleared my throat, forcing myself to stare at the papers in my hand. Concentrate, damn it! You’re the professional here. “What’s our projected launch date for construction? I know this is a long way off, but I’ve found that if we have a target date in mind, we can at least have something to shoot for.”

  “I think we can be up and running in a month’s time, give or take a couple of days.”

  I forced myself not to roll my eyes. His ignorance was blaring louder than the fireworks at the fourth of July. Like hell, we will. It’ll be at least two months if not three. “That soon?” I questioned, proud that I was able to keep my response professional.

  He stood and started pacing in front of my desk as though it was his own office. Obviously, he was already comfortable with me though I wasn’t entirely sure I liked that. I wanted him to feel pressure to prove himself to me.

  “I don’t see why not. I’ve got the list of possible investors, the theme of the casino, the design . . .”

  “You do realize this is our project? I’m not sure we have anything set in stone at this particular moment in time.”

  He stopped pacing and turned toward me. A smile curved on his thin lips. “Your father has heard all the details.”

  “And as I have already stated, I have not. Since I’m the overseeing project manager, your ideas need to be pitched to me before we take any steps.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, willing the oncoming headache away. The doctors always encouraged me to avoid stress-inducing environments. They probably would not approve of my new partnership with the increasingly stressful Pierce Maverick. The man had been in my office for five minutes, and already I felt more stressed than I had in weeks. Whether that was his arrogant nature or the way his smile awakened parts of me that hadn’t been touched in years—I didn’t know.

  “Of course, of course, Ms. Hart. We are partners, I agree,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension. “Let’s go grab a nice cappuccino, and I’ll discuss the project in full detail so you can get on the same page as your father and me. I believe you’re going to like what I’ve come up with so far.”

  Abruptly, he headed toward my office door before I had the chance to turn him down. I gathered my purse and followed him out of the building, hating myself for quickening my every step to close the space between us.

  ~*~*~*~

  “We will fly out to Las Vegas and stay there until the building is underway,” I said to Monica over the phone. I held my favorite yellow mug filled with a hazelnut blend of freshly brewed coffee. The smell was intoxicating so early in the morning.

  “Yes, I already signed the condo’s lease.” At least I’ll be comfortable while I’m in hell. “Tell Dad we’ll contact him when we discover the perfect space or building for the project. Could be a few days. Thanks. Bye.” I tossed my cell phone onto the sofa cushion beside me. If it weren’t for my assistant, communication with my father would be almost nonexistent.

  I cupped my hands around the warm mug and took a small sip. The serenity of the Sunday morning quietly calmed my anxious thoughts about the upcoming trip. The thought of having to see this egotistical man every day was unimaginable. My father’s nagging voice whispered in my ear. “Give him a chance,” he had uncharacteristically advised. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was being too harsh on the young man so eager to prove himself. He had, after all, had some pretty interesting ideas for this project. Maybe he deserved a fair shot from me, even if I did find his continual arrogance a bit intolerable. I just had to remind myself that this was a small stepping stone to becoming a CEO and, later, the head of the company.

  My phone buzzed to life. “Hi, Mom,” I answered.

  “I tried calling your office, but it kept going to voice mail. Your father told me you’re going to Las Vegas for a few months?”

 
; “Yes, it’s for that new project he’s doing with Maverick.”

  “Don’t get me started.”

  I set the mug on the coffee table in front of me. “Well, what are you complaining about? I’m the one who has to work with the guy.”

  “I’ve seen some recent pictures of Mabel’s youngest. I don’t feel sorry for you at all working with that handsome fellow,” she said.

  Great, Pierce even turns on my mother. “Then why are you upset?”

  “I just can’t believe, after all this time, your father is suddenly agreeing to do this. He loathes Peter Maverick. Always has, always will. I’ve had to listen to the man’s tirades for years, and now he’s willingly going to work with him for a ‘better image’ as he put it.” She sighed loudly. “I think we should have his head checked, but what do I know?”

  I laughed. “Maybe you’re right. But Daddy has his reasons, and you know his gut has never steered him wrong.”

  “Yes, his gut . . . I’m quite familiar. That’s how I got him to marry me, you know. I fed him my famous pecan pie and let his stomach do the thinking.”

  “You’re a wise woman, Mom.”

  “Well, I’m glad someone in this household thinks so. . . . Listen, I want you to clear your schedule. We have to see each other before you leave for this big project! How does dinner at that flutey-tooty French restaurant on 55th Street that you love so much sound?”

  I rolled my eyes. My mother, God bless her, was a multi-millionaire, but any restaurant with hundred-dollar plates was “flutey-tooty” in her eyes—one of the many reasons I adored her. She was just a simple girl from Mississippi when she met my dad. When he proposed, he promised her the world. Little did she know that merely meant multiple banks accounts all over the globe. “All right. I could use some company and a nice glass of wine. Invite Toby and Margret too. I leave the day after tomorrow so it will have to be soon.”

  “I’m not sure your brother can make it. They put little Henry down awfully early these days. Something Margret read about the baby going through an adjustment phase at twelve months . . .”