The Sunday Arrangement

by Lucy Smith

  “A year, Mom. He’s one year old. Say it with me. He’s a one-year-old.”

  She smiled. “You go by months until they’re two—you know that. Anyway we’ll see if they can make it. Let’s plan to have dinner tomorrow night with or without ‘em.”

  I took a small sip of my coffee. “Sounds peachy. Maybe I’ll bring Kat along.”

  “Whoever you’d like, darling. You know your father will probably have —”

  “Something better to do. I know.”

  I could hear the hesitation over the line. “Well, I’ll try to convince him all the same. Nothing’s more important to us than you. I love you, Lauren. Don’t you forget it, baby girl.”

  “I love you, too, Mom. I’ll talk to you later.” I hung up the phone.

  Well, at least I’ve got one parent who’s doing it right. I stretched my arms high above my head. I supposed it was time to start the day. There was still a lot of packing to do. I didn’t even know where to begin with my clothes. Chastising myself for imagining what Pierce would like to see me in, I made a mental note to go shopping later and to call Kat for an emergency consultation. If I was going to do this Vegas thing, I wanted to do it in style. And who better to advise me on what looked good on women than my lesbian friend?

  Chapter Four

  The French restaurant was surprisingly calm for a Saturday night. The lights were dimmed to a romantic level. The pale pink napkins were folded in an elegant fleur de lis shape atop each plate. I glanced around the quaint restaurant to spot any of my family but saw no one I recognized.

  The short, blonde hostess gave me an electric smile. “Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Hart,” she said. She turned to grab a single menu from the brown basket behind her short podium. “Just you this evening?”

  Her familiarity with my face spoke volumes to how often I dined here. She was always sweet enough to ask if others would be joining me, though I doubted she had ever seen me actually eat with another living soul. Kat despised this place, and she was really the one I’d think to bring.

  “Actually, yes. I believe there will be three others. Possibly four, if my brother brings his baby.”

  Her seafoam-colored eyes widened in surprise. The glitter painted over her eyelids caught the faint light of the room and glimmered. I couldn’t help but think how much Kat would love this petite woman’s kind face. “Look at those eyes,” she would say. “You can tell everything you need to know about someone by their eyes. They’re the windows to the soul, you know.” My Kat, a lesbian Dickinson. They would make an interesting couple—tattoos, glitter, and all.

  “Excellent! Right this way,” the small hostess gestured. “I know you prefer this side of the restaurant.”

  “Thank you. This will be perfect,” I said as she seated me at a large, round table near the back. “They should be here shortly.”

  “We’re here now!” my mother practically squealed from a few feet away. My brother and his wife were right at her heels, and behind them was my father with a frown already etched across his unpleasant face.

  Immediately I clutched the table. A family dinner and it’s not Christmas? Something has got to be up.

  “Hi everybody,” I said, feigning excitement.

  “Lauren, you look wonderful! Is that a new dress?” Margret asked as they all settled into their seats. Her pleasant smile lit up her otherwise plain, tired face.

  I glanced down at the fitted red halter I’d just picked up that afternoon. An impulse purchase. I had admired the way the short chiffon was snug around my hips, accentuating my curves and freakishly long legs. The little red number made me feel like a desirable woman, something I hadn’t truly explored or dressed for since Professor Tilton unbalanced my world.

  “Yes, actually,” I gushed. “Thanks for noticing.”

  “Seems a little fancy for such a measly restaurant,” my father quipped. He folded the napkin across his lap, not bothering to meet my eye.

  My finger nervously played with the edge of my empty wine glass, making it whistle slightly. Two seconds into the evening, and he was already being difficult. That had to be a new record. “Thanks?” I mumbled.

  The awkwardness hung in the air, palpable yet inescapable. My mother reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “We all think you look wonderful, dear.”

  “Smokin’,” Toby enthusiastically chimed in. He casually put his arm around Margret in the booth, pulling her close. They were an oddly matched pair, but I knew my brother loved her. His dark hair, dimples, and tall frame had never failed to get the attention of several beautiful girls. But he had chosen Margret a few years ago—a poor, plain girl with a kind heart. I loved her instantly and found it easy to understand why Toby had as well. “You’ve never looked better,” he added.

  I chuckled in spite of myself. My brother somehow always knew what to say. “Moving on . . .” I said. “Thanks, guys, for coming to see me off. I’m kind of surprised to see you here, Dad.”

  His large, wrinkled hands shot up in the air as though I had just accused him of spitting in my salad bowl. “What? A father can’t visit his only daughter before she ups and leaves town?”

  I cocked my head to the side. Interesting logic, Daddy Dear. “Under your orders, remember?”

  “Yeah, what’s up with that, Dad?” Toby asked. “The Mavericks, really?”

  “It’s just business,” my father responded dismissively. He turned to my mother and gave her a look as if to say, “Deal with your children.”

  Our waiter interrupted with two bottles of the restaurant’s finest merlot. Dad must’ve ordered it before he sat down, a classic Robert Hart move.

  “Thank God,” I heard my brother mutter under his breath as the stout waiter poured him a generous glass. He took a sip of the red amber liquid and smacked his lips. “So Lauren,” he said, “how do you feel about working with the Pierce Maverick?”

  I sighed and glanced at my father, who was paying more attention to the wine label than the conversation—my father, a man of few, disgruntled words. The less he said, the happier he usually was. “It’s work. I already don’t care for the man,” I said, hoping my forced tone was at least semi-believable. “He is obnoxiously arrogant and full of himself—”

  “Now, Lauren, . . .” my mother interrupted as though scolding a young child for not looking both ways before he crossed the street. “Be nice.”

  I shrugged. “What? I’m willing to give him a fair shot. Toby asked how I felt, and I’m telling him.” I’m just choosing to leave out the part where I’m ridiculously attracted to him.

  Margret handed me the small basket of garlic bread. “Arrogant men are the worst. How often are you going to have to see him?”

  “Oh, I’ll see him every day for at least the next three months,” I said, not breaking eye contact with my father. “I don’t know how I’m going to get through it, honestly,” I said feigning exasperation. I knew exactly how I would survive though—my vibrator and a tall glass of Scotch every night. Maybe then I could forget about the man I was supposed to hate but found myself desiring nonetheless.

  Toby reached across the table to put his hand on top of mine. “I’ll fly out once or twice when we start talking architecture and keep you company for a few days. Will that make it any easier?”

  “I wish I could come, too,” Margret admitted. “But somehow I don’t see babies and Vegas really mixing well.”

  I smiled. “Henry wouldn’t like the strip?”

  “No, but his dad sure would,” Toby joked. Margret playfully punched him in the arm.

  “Well, Las Vegas has some amazing restaurants we can check out, and maybe we can even see a magic show. I know how you much you love those. I suppose if I have to be in hell, it’ll be nice to have family burning right there with me.”

  I watched my father as he adjusted the dinner fork next to his plate. “Let’s talk about something else, shall we? Business talk isn’t for the dinner table.”

  Toby gave me an annoyed glance. I could
practically read his thoughts: That wasn’t your philosophy whenever the phone rang during our family dinners growing up.

  “So Margret, how’s Henry? Is our little man asleep?” Mom quickly asked. Thank God for little Henry. He was the perfect conversation buffer. Everyone always wanted to know about the baby.

  I listened only half-heartedly to my sister-in-law talk about my nephew who turned one the previous week. We had all been there for the giraffe-themed party. Henry had made his big birthday debut by grabbing a chunk of his cousin’s chocolate cake off her plate and promptly falling asleep twenty minutes into his first party. Another baby was on the way. Another chance to hear about my brother’s successful family life.

  I took a generous gulp of my wine, suddenly ready for this evening to end. Kat still needed to come over and consult with me about the “male friendly” purchases I had made earlier that afternoon, though I still wasn’t willing to admit what had prompted me to splurge on them.

  “Lauren, are you taking the jet tomorrow?” Mom asked after the tales of Henry had stretched for as long as they possibly could.

  “I’d love to join you in the sky, Ms. Hart,” a voice from behind me suddenly said.

  I hurriedly spun around. The one person I didn’t want to see until tomorrow in Vegas was standing behind me with an incredibly thin woman wearing an elegant, low-cut dress. She was practically draped on his arm. My father quickly stood up like he was a much younger man. “Ah, Mr. Maverick! What a coincidence seeing you here. This is my daughter’s favorite restaurant.”

  Maverick’s icy blue eyes locked with mine. “Your daughter and I have very similar tastes.”

  I gave the eye candy he seemed to be rubbing in my face the once-over. Oh, I doubt that. Eat a cheeseburger, I wanted to tell her. Any wind that evening, and the sensationally dressed woman would likely blow away. On second thought, maybe she should forget the burger.

  “Of course you can take the jet with my daughter,” my father continued, suddenly full of energy and conversation. “I apologize for not thinking of it sooner. It will be good if you two learn how to work with one another.”

  “What time is it taking off?” he asked. His gaze never left mine.

  I felt my face heat up as I imagined sharing a private space with him. My mind drifted to a shirtless, muscle-bound man ready and willing to create a little turbulence of our own. “In the morning, seven thirty sharp. Don’t be late, or we’ll take off without you.”

  “I can’t wait. Good to see you all.” He put his hand on the small of his date’s back and guided her away from the table. She looked back at me before she turned and whispered something in his ear. He shook his head, and the two of them continued walking.

  Goosebumps bubbled on the surface of my skin as I imagined the next few months. I took another generous mouthful of wine. This man would be the end of me, or the very beginning.

  Chapter Five

  I stood outside the jet at my father’s private hangar. Pierce was already ten minutes late, not that I was surprised. If I hadn’t been so nervous, I would have been royally pissed at the inconvenience. I wasn’t used to dealing with incompetent employees. As it was, I could barely pretend to focus on the onslaught of e-mails on my iPhone. Instead I concentrated on the next three months, the next few hours even, over and over in my head. Never had my focus been so shaken, my confidence thrown so off-kilter. Typically, I was as serious as the straightjacket my father forced me to wear around the office. Pleasure and business had never before been a temptation for me, and I didn’t want them to be now . . . no matter how much my imagination enjoyed the sensation of Pierce’s tongue down my throat.

  “Ms. Hart!” I turned my head. The pilot, dressed in navy blue pants and a pale blue collared shirt, was walking toward me. His round jaw was firmly set as he briskly made his way toward the front of the plane.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  “We are ready to leave now if you are.” I could tell from his eyes that he was restraining an annoyed tone. Not that I could blame him. Flying all the way to Las Vegas on a Sunday morning wasn’t exactly protocol for my father’s hired men.

  “A few more minutes, please. Unfortunately, I need to wait for my business partner. My father won’t be happy if I leave without him.”

  The pudgy pilot clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. “Of course, Ms. Hart. We’ll wait for your signal.” The pilot abruptly turned on his heel and left me, and I continued to stand there. Maybe I should enjoy these last moments of silence before he shows up. It would probably be the last alone time I would have for months, though the idea was slowly growing on me. I almost looked forward to the next few weeks, though I’d never admit it out loud. You’re supposed to hate this guy, remember?

  Finally, a sleek white limo pulled up on the stretch. Pierce got out of the car and gracefully walked toward me. As he strolled over to me, he adjusted his pastel green tie, which complemented his khaki linen suit beautifully.

  I glanced down at my skinny jeans and casual leather jacket and immediately felt uncomfortable. Who dresses up to spend five hours in an airplane? Apparently, this rich kid did, and I’d be damned if he didn’t look better than a topless Brad Pitt. I could practically feel my mouth begin to water. Trying to recall all the things of which I wasn’t particularly fond about him, my mind was an empty slate—my only thought was discovering what was underneath his fancy three-piece suit.

  Pierce grinned when his eyes locked with mine. He was about to say something to me when a little girl crawled out of the limo. “Pier, Pier!” she yelled, running toward him. “Wait, Pier, I forgot to give this to you!”

  He reached down and picked her up. “What’s up, Nats? What’d you forget?”

  Surely that’s not his . . . I shook my head. Pierce was too young to have a little girl her age. She had to be a least six, maybe seven.

  “The lucky bracelet I made you in school. It’ll keep you safe when you go up in the sky.” She pulled a simple beaded bracelet out of the pocket of her yellow dress. She clasped the bracelet over his hand and smiled. “See? It’s purple because that’s my favorite color.”

  “Well thank you, Nats,” he said as though she had just given him a million dollars. He kissed the top of her little head. “I’m so glad you remembered. We definitely want to be safe when we’re flying!”

  “There, now you and the lady won’t get hurt while you’re high in the sky.”

  He turned to me. “Ms. Hart, this is my little sister, Natalie. Natalie, this is Ms. Hart.”

  “Hello,” she said. “You’re pretty. Pier said you were pretty.”

  I smiled and forced myself not blush. Did he really think I was pretty? “Hello there, Natalie. That’s awfully nice of you to think of your brother’s safety and —”

  “Natalie, come here,” a woman’s voice from the limo hollered. “Your brother needs to leave.” A young, elegant woman slowly got out of the limo. She looked to be the same age as me, perhaps a little older. Her blonde hair was pinned in a chic bun, and her white fur coat was bunched up around her face. The clicking of her heels on the asphalt resonated throughout the hangar.

  Immediately, my skin began to crawl. The elation Natalie’s sweet confession had just created within me quickly faded like the warm glow of the setting sun. This woman reminded me of Cruella De Vil. Her regal face and superior air seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place it. She wasn’t the blonde woman Pierce had at the restaurant the other night. This woman was even more stunning, much to my annoyance. What’s with all the blondes in his life?

  She dramatically took the cat-eye sunglasses off her face and sighed in an annoyed, dramatic way. “Put her down, Pierce. She can stand on her own.”

  Pierce carefully put his sister on the ground. “Ms. Hart, this is my stepmother, Sophie.”

  I held out my hand to her. “It is nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Maverick.”

  She looked down her tiny nose at my hand as though deciding if I was worthy to shake the hand o
f her royal highness. Eventually she took it briefly with the tips of her cold fingers. I had an urge to sneer at her but pushed it down. So there is someone who annoys me more than Pierce, after all.

  She turned to Pierce and put her hand lightly on his shoulder. Her fresh French manicure shined under the hangar’s florescent lights. “Have a safe trip, darling. Do call when you arrive so that your father and I can know that you’ve arrived safely.” The same hand moved to cup his cheek for a moment before she finally let go. Her dark brown eyes narrowed in on me as if to say “Sorry, he’s mine,” before she walked back to the limo, her daughter’s hand in hers.

  I forced myself not to shudder. There wasn’t anything remotely motherly in her lingering touch. Her desire for Pierce was as obvious as the cleavage gaping from under her silk, low-cut dress. Apparently, she and little Natalie weren’t on their way to church.

  “Bye, Pier!” Natalie shouted when she arrived at the limo door. “Have fun in Nay-gas!”

  Pierce waved to Natalie. “For some reason, Vegas is a difficult word for her to say,” he whispered to me. He blew her a kiss and turned toward me. “Are you ready to go?”

  A short nod was all I could manage. A vortex of nerves suddenly bubbled within my stomach like I was about to go on stage. He was beyond good-looking and he cared about kids? Maybe he wasn’t such a prick, after all. For Christ’s sake, Lauren, calm down. It’s not like you’re going to fuck this guy in Vegas.

  We boarded the jet. He sat down at the small table in the back and gestured for me to sit across from him. His long, spidery fingers reached into his briefcase and shuffled around some papers.

  My iPhone suddenly lit up. It was a text from Kat, essentially the only person I communicated with besides dear ol’ protective Mom.

  Thinking of you today, love. Hope your flight goes well. Don’t let Mr. Hoity Toity get in your way, okay? Kick ass and take names while you’re in Vegas like you always do. I’ll see you in a week!