Happy Hour

by Piper Rayne

  He chuckles, that deep in his throat one I’m used to. The one that means too many cigars the night before. Must have been guy’s night out.

  “You should come and join me or find a real man who plays. Should’ve known Todd was a loser from the moment I played with him. Didn’t know how to angle his approach.”

  I pick up my pen, teetering it back and forth in my fingers. “Good thing you don’t need to worry about that now.”

  “Yes, thankfully. I need you to organize your mother’s birthday party. I’d do it, but she’ll figure me out. I’ll say I had to loan you some money, deposit it in your bank account.”

  My parents have had access to my bank accounts so they could deposit since I was old enough to take out money.

  “I’m really pressed for time with the gala, Dad, and Mom’s birthday is practically right after. Can’t we just skip a big do this year?”

  “No.” He uses the stern voice I’ve heard only a few times like when he found me and Beau Thornton with weed in our basement when I was sixteen. I’m still impressed that I kept the secret that Beau pissed himself when my dad hauled him up to the wall by his Lacoste polo.

  “Can I hire someone?” I ask.

  “Clearly, you have your marketing director handling the gala. You’ve been organizing that for months. If you’re doing what I taught you to do, you’re in the final stages which means there’s not much more you can do at this point. I’m asking you to plan a small gathering for your mother. We can use one of the private rooms at the club. She needs to know we love and adore her.” The strong female I usually am would tell anyone else absolutely not, but it’s my father and as many issues as my mother and I have had over the years, I still love her.

  “I’ll get it handled. Send me a guest list.”

  “There’s the daughter I raised.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Your mother loves you and has done a lot for you. Remember that.”

  I don’t remark on having to go with my friend and her mother to prom dress shop. Or the fact that she sent someone directly to me to fit me for the debutante ball she made me be a part of. Or the fact that the last time I ate a meal with her the sole focus was her wondering what the social fallout would be of my divorce.

  “I have to get back to work.” I tap the pen from side to side on my desk.

  “I haven’t seen you at any functions in a while. Is there a man taking up your time?”

  I chew on the inside of my cheek. Do I tell him or leave it for a surprise? Shit. I don’t even know how my dad will react. I’m not going to hide Roarke, but he’s not from our world. Even if his bank account would rival those that are, he wasn’t bred into society like I was.

  “I may bring someone to Mom’s party. It’s early and I don’t want to say anything too soon.” That’s an honest answer and I kind of want to pat myself on the back for coming up with it spur of the moment.

  “What’s his name? Do I know him?” my dad asks.

  “Like I said, you’ll find out at Mom’s party if we’re still going strong.” I reach for my cup of coffee with my free hand and take a swig.

  I delay the inevitable. My mom for sure will delve into her own dark web search to find out everything she can about Roarke. She always makes sure she has more information than anyone else, so she’ll never be surprised if someone else digs something up before her.

  “Okay, okay.” He chuckles to himself, lightening the mood. “Let me know if you need anything. Make it small and intimate. You know your mom doesn’t like to be a burden.”

  I just about choke on my coffee. Are we talking about the same woman?

  “Sure thing. Just send me the list asap so I can get the invitations out.”

  “Of course, I’ll work on it this morning. I can’t wait to meet this boy of yours.”

  He’s far from a boy.

  “Okay, Dad, gotta go.”

  “I’m coming to the city later in the week. I have to talk to Cliff, get an update on our hedge fund. Let’s do lunch.”

  I release a breath. “Sure, give me a call.”

  “Bye, Han. Don’t let this new guy walk all over you.”

  “I won’t, Dad. Bye.” My fingers press on the button to end the call and my head falls down onto my desk.

  “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you have to plan a birthday party?” Victoria arrives in the doorway. “That took the glow from your cheeks.” She sits down in the chair in front of me looking all cute in a Tiffany-blue dress.

  “Yeah, but I’m calling in a favor from my event organizer. No way I’m planning her party just to be ridiculed about choosing the wrong linens and flowers.” I grab my phone searching for the number of the woman who does all the events at the club. She’ll make sure everything is up to my mom’s standards.

  “You really don’t like your mom, huh?”

  I click on the number and my thumb hovers while I continue talking to Victoria. “Neither of us care much for the other. I’m a constant disappointment and she’s always advising me on how I could’ve been a perfect wife if I’d only cut out my tongue.”

  “She said that?” Victoria’s mouth goes slack jaw.

  “No, but heavily implied my sharp tongue needs controlling if I’m ever going to keep a man.”

  “She’s so different than my mother.” She shakes her head.

  “Your mom is nothing like mine, believe me.”

  “I thought something was up since she’s never set foot in the office or called the office line.” She stands, seeing my phone lit up, waiting to call the person. Forever the perfect assistant and I’m going to miss her help when I promote her.

  “Yeah, there’s no scheduled lunch dates and I’d never trust her with my daughter if I ever had one.”

  Victoria’s mouth dips down. I’m sure it’s a buzzkill since her, Jade, and her mom are like a three-generation trio of love. “I’ll let you make that call then. Can I handle anything for you? Balloons? Entertainment? Just let me know.”

  “You’re the best ever, thanks.”

  Her lips turn up into her usual optimistic smile and she shuts the door on her way out.

  I make the phone call and luckily Tracy is more than happy to organize a Crowley event. She gushes on how much she loves my mom and I’m pretty sure she’ll make the event jaw-dropping amazing. I snap my usual enthusiasm into place because we wouldn’t want anyone getting the idea that I don’t want to plan her party. Let them believe I’m just swamped with this non-profit foundation I’m running. My mother can spin anything the way she wants. Good ol’ mother, reputation is key.

  Chelsea walks in as I end the call.

  “Am I bothering you?” She sits down in the chair in front of me. No papers in her hand, no phone clutched in her grip. Fear that she’s turning in her notice wraps around me.

  “Not at all. What’s up?” I ask.

  “We have a situation. The venue usually uses this one caterer, but that caterer has to work another event for some family member or something. So we need to find a great caterer on short notice for the gala.” She cringes, and her outward expression matches my inward one.

  “Okay,” I say, using my computer to pull up a list of caterers.

  “I’ve literally called all the big ones. I’m on a waitlist, but everyone else has bad Yelp ratings and I didn’t think this would be the time to try out a newbie.” She crosses her legs, her arms clasped in her lap, her face holding a green tint.

  “Are you okay?” I side eye her.

  “Let’s just say all those sweets I’ve been eating? I’m not going to have to worry about gaining a pound.”

  “Morning sickness?”

  “Yeah, but as long as my body isn’t my own, I’m happy. Means the little bean is still there.” She tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I can’t even imagine what she and Dean are going through. Every day waiting for the ball to drop.

  “What have the doctors said?” I press print and the hum of my printer fills my office.

&n
bsp; She crosses her fingers in the air. “All good things…so far.”

  “Special delivery!” Victoria comes in holding a box.

  Normally I might have assumed it was for me, but since Chelsea is always getting deliveries from Dean, I’m not surprised when Victoria hands the present over to her.

  “We’re going to have no money to raise this kid.” This time her smile does reach her eyes, her cheeks round, and her eyes glisten.

  Do I look like that when I’m with Roarke?

  “Um…I’m pretty sure that’s an exaggeration,” Victoria says.

  We both wait, eager for Chelsea to open the gift. Dean is definitely an outside the box kind of gift giver.

  She pulls another wrapped gift from the cardboard box. It’s in Cubs wrapping paper. She reads the note and places it on my desk then giggles to herself and tears off the packaging.

  Victoria eyes the note on the edge of my desk. “May I?”

  “Sure,” she answers, her concentration intent on opening the box.

  “Thought tearing the paper would be a good stress reliever. Love, Dean,” Victoria reads it and then sets it back on the desk.

  “He’s right, that felt good to rip the blue and red,” she says with a smile.

  She opens the clothing box and I’m expecting to see some sexy lingerie, but she pulls out a little onesie. A note that was folded within the fabric slips back into the box and she places the onesie down to read the letter. This time she reads it aloud. “We can be the first people to raise a crosstown lover. No picking sides. Love, Dean.”

  Victoria awes as Chelsea holds the onesie back up. It has the Cubs logo on one side, Sox on the other. The back has a number one and the name Bennett. One tear falls down Chelsea’s cheek, and then another, and then another until there’s a cascade of them.

  “Let’s not ruin this.” Victoria grabs the box and I snatch a tissue to hand over to her.

  Chelsea accepts, dotting under her eyes. “I’m seriously losing all control. He’s so sweet. I can’t believe he’s mine,” she sobs, her sentences barely making any sense between the hiccups of her labored breathing. I think she said something about their past and how sometimes you just know and why did she try to fight it.

  Victoria and I let her get everything out of her system. “Chelsea, go call Dean and thank him. Maybe ask him to lunch,” I suggest because at this rate she’ll never find a caterer for me.

  “No.” She swipes the tears but more fall. “I’ll get control of myself. I’m a professional.” She says the words like I am Superwoman. She is, but not today. Today she’s a pregnant woman whose hormones are tormenting her.

  “Go. It’s fine. I’m sure Dean will love the surprise.”

  She stands, and Victoria hands her the box with the onesie and notes, sharing a look to me like this isn’t the last of her outbursts. I wonder what stage will come next?

  “I’ll just go have lunch,” Chelsea says.

  “Please, we know you’re going to have an afternoon delight.” Victoria laughs, spurring Chelsea to change her tears into a chuckle.

  “Now that you mention it.” She wiggles her ass on the way out of my office.

  Two minutes later she’s waving goodbye and heading out the main door.

  “You know she’s gone for the day, right?” Victoria asks, walking over to the doorway.

  “She deserves it.”

  “I should convince Reed it’s time to have a baby,” she jokes.

  “Something tells me that boy will do it the traditional way.” My phone vibrates on my desk.

  “You know it. I keep half expecting him to propose to speed things along. He’s hardly the type who waits around for the time to be right.” She pats the entryway of my door and heads back to her desk.

  My phone dances across my desk, reminding me it’s ringing.

  “Hello?” I answer, not looking at caller ID. Hopefully it’s not Tracy telling me the club is booked. No way do I want to find a restaurant.

  “I miss you.” Roarke’s deep voice sets my body on high alert.

  “You saw me this morning.” I pick up my pen, teetering it back and forth.

  “Exactly. It’s been too long. Torrio’s at six?”

  “You don’t plan on feeding me?”

  He chuckles. “Do you want the gentleman to answer that question?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll feed you something substantial, but you’ll still be hungry after.”

  I press my thighs together. “You call me at noon to torment me?”

  His deep chuckle rings through the line. “Am I tormenting you?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Oh Firecracker, I hope that I am.” A phone beeps in the background and I catch his name said by a sweet woman’s voice, one that sounds much younger than my own.

  “You have to go?” I ask.

  “I do. For the first time in my life, I want to play hooky.”

  “Well, I just sent home my marketing manager.”

  “Tempting baby, but I’ve got back to back meetings with clients. Can’t people be civilized?”

  The beep comes through again but before she can say anything, he must hit a button to reply. “Please tell Mr. Quinton that I’ll call him back.”

  “No, Roarke. It’s fine. I have to go find a caterer for the gala anyway.”

  “What does Sonya say about the one they usually use?”

  “I guess they’re not available. Hopefully I’m not having taco trucks, not that I personally would oppose.”

  “Do you like tacos?” he asks and I’m reminded that he never gives up an opportunity to find out something about me.

  “I do.”

  “Then I’ll be feeding you tonight after Torrio’s. See you tonight, Han.”

  “Bye.”

  The line clicks dead and the fact he called me by Han, something more intimate than my full name, makes me giddy inside.

  Until the client’s name he spoke to his receptionist finally makes its way through the lust induced haze Roarke initiates.

  Mr. Quinton?

  It couldn’t be him, right? No way.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I scan through my contacts and press the green button when I see her name immediately. It rings and rings, but I get her voicemail, “You’ve reached Scarlet. I’m probably at Saks with hubby’s credit card. Leave a message and I’ll ring you right after I grab Starbucks.” A long beep sounds.

  “Scar, it’s Han. Just checking in. It’s been so long. Give me a call and we’ll do lunch.”

  I click the red button to end the call and swivel my chair to stare out the window. I rotate my phone in my hand, hitting my thigh with each turn, I flip it. It has to be a coincidence, but with that asshole being friends with Todd, I can see the referral happening over scotch at the club. Todd’s annoying voice in my head, ‘Roarke Baldwin got me everything I didn’t deserve. Hannah can spare it, she’s still sitting on millions.’

  Since Scarlett doesn’t call back, I decide to conduct a social media stalking. Surely, if they’re divorcing, Facebook or Instagram will reflect that. Going on my own Instagram account, I’m reminded that I suck at social media. The last picture I posted was the day I got Lucy and some lame comments from my friends are there saying they miss me. If they miss me so much why don’t they pick up a phone and call me?

  I click on Scarlett’s profile and a million pictures of her, David, and the kids are the first thing I see. They’re on a beach somewhere and she’s all smiles. There’s another with David’s arm swung over her shoulders with a caption explaining that it was date night. They’ve all been taken within the last month.

  I’m drawing the wrong conclusions. I mean we’re in a city of millions, surely there’s another Quinton around who could afford Roarke’s services.

  My phone buzzes with a text and I hope it’s from Scarlett, but it’s Roarke.

  Roarke: Here’s a caterer, I’ve used him and he’s good. Maybe try him out.

&
nbsp; Listed is a name and phone number, nothing else. No company name or address to visit.

  Since I’m already on my computer, I type in Google and find nothing. What am I missing here?

  Roarke: Counting the hours until six. By the way, you and Lucy are spending the weekend at my place.

  Me: You don’t dictate what I do.

  Roarke: My bad…will you and your overzealous dog spend the weekend with me and Nickel?

  Me: You forgot the magic word.

  Roarke: Orgasm?

  I giggle and Victoria smiles into my office as she passes by.

  Me: Wrong word.

  Roarke: Cunnilingus?

  Me: Wrong again. I’m inspecting my nails now.

  Roarke: Please will my Firecracker agree to spend the weekend at my house, so I can fuck you until your throat is hoarse from screaming and your body is limp. Better?

  Me: Well, thank you for the please. I could have done without the other stuff.

  Roarke: I don’t believe you. Want me to continue? Shut your office door.

  Me: I have to call this mysterious caterer who has no reviews.

  Roarke: If I was there I’d have you bent over your desk and my hand would be slapping your ass while I drove into you.

  Me: Well you’re not.

  Roarke: I have two minutes before my meeting. I can get you off if you just hike up that skirt.

  Me: How do you know I’m wearing a skirt?

  I had left his place early this morning and changed at my house.

  Roarke: I always visualize you with a dress or skirt on. Easy access in my fantasies. ;)

  Me: You are something, all right.

  Roarke: I’m all yours. So no quickie orgasm? My client is starting to give me the stink eye.

  Me: You have a client with you right now!?

  Roarke: I told you, we’re waiting for the meeting to start.

  Me: And you were going to talk dirty to me?

  Roarke: I think I’ve proven that I’m a multi-tasker.

  Me: Bye, Roarke. See you tonight.

  Roarke: I’ll be thinking about how wet you are. See you at six. Give the guy a call, he’s good. Promise.