by Evelyn Sola
Unwilling to think about my history with Paige, I shake my head and continue my quest to find the bar. A stiff drink is in order if I’m going to endure any time here. I figure I can show up for an hour before getting the hell out. I pull on my tie, the damn thing like a noose around my neck. Why the fuck this can’t be more casual is beyond me, but this is the way it’s always been done, and I’m the new kid on the block. The hated new kid if all the icy stares are any indicator. They fail to realize I don’t care.
The minute I stepped inside a few minutes ago, my eyes landed on the lonely figure in the long red and black dress leaning against the door. I’ve never seen her before, but I knew she didn’t want to be here either. She’s not one who works for us, so I wonder if she’s someone’s date. If she is, he’s a fool for leaving her alone even for a second.
She looks downright gorgeous in that dress. As soon as I saw her, I envisioned sliding my hand up the long, red skirt and unwrapping the black wrap around top. A simple tug of the sash, and she’d be exposed.
Even seeing only her profile was all it took to take my breath away, but I kept on walking, determined not to take another look for fear of what I’d find. But less than a minute later, I locked eyes with her again and came dangerously close to rubbing against her as I stepped inside the ballroom. She smelled incredible, and her brown skin looked flawless and smooth.
I shake the thought out of my head. I’m not looking for a woman, and even if I was, I sure as fuck would not be looking for one at this party. Besides, that woman, whoever she is, is not my type. With her smooth brown skin, straight nose, and full lips, she’s absolutely not for me. She also looks young. Very young. No, my type is white women who don’t look like jailbait. Blondes preferred.
The bartender finally hands me a cognac. I down it in one gulp and quickly order another. The drinks help, but unfortunately, time seems to stand still because I’ve only been at this party for less than five minutes.
The job itself is straightforward. Uncle Joe keeps immaculate records, and I was able to jump right in. With my background as an architect, it was a natural fit for me, and I’ve gotten Bain Construction approved for three project bids starting next year.
Surprisingly, I’ve been enjoying the work. What I don’t enjoy are the hostile employees, especially one Mona Moore, who seems to hate me more than most. I agree, I was not on my best behavior the morning we met. I arranged breakfast and lunch for the office the next day to make amends for my behavior the day before, but her hostility has not waned an inch.
Whatever I do seems to offend her. She took umbrage when I requested to look at the accounts. When I asked her to explain her job to me, something I did with everyone at the office, she pursed her lips so tight as she stared at me, I thought she might have misheard what I said. When she finally sat down, I expected her to be combative, but what I got instead was an exercise in patience. Every question I asked was met with a one or two-word answer. After about an hour, she finally left my office, but she left me with a headache.
The next morning, things only got worse. We were both in the kitchen at the same time. She was reaching into the cabinet, grabbing a roll of paper towels. When she turned and saw me in the kitchen, the air turned cold enough to keep a snowman from melting. No words were exchanged. Not a good morning. Not a hello. I continued to the coffee machine only to slip on something. I caught the counter to keep from falling, but when I did, I knocked a mug over, and it shattered on the tile floor upon impact.
Mona’s eyes widened, and she came running to me. If I thought she was coming to my aid, I was sorely mistaken. She dropped to the floor, each hand on her head as she let out a loud scream.
“No, no, no, no.” She kept muttering the same words as she picked up the broken pieces of the mug. Finally, I stood up and look down at her.
“My son made this for me when he was in the second grade. My son, Mr. Bain! The same son I hardly get to see because he’s halfway across the world fighting for your freedom. Fighting for your right to come in here and destroy my property!” She’d huffed as she continued to pick up the pieces. When she stood up, she’d turned to me, her eyes like small slits and her lips formed into a straight line. She then turned her back on me and slammed the broken pieces into the trash, causing a loud crashing sound. Then, she ran out of the kitchen like a teen girl who just got dumped by her boyfriend, her sobbing fading with each second.
My attempts at apologizing fell on deaf ears. Since then, we’ve only communicated through emails.
The others around the office are better, but not by much. If I step into the kitchen while they are in there, all conversation ceases until I leave, then the whispering starts. Unfortunately for them, I don’t give a fuck what they think. I’m here to do a job for my uncle, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. Their opinion of me is irrelevant. If I agree to what my uncle is proposing, I’ll be part owner instead of temporary boss.
I can already imagine the hate in her eyes being replaced by fear, but Mona knows she’s untouchable. For now. She’s a great employee. Her records are immaculate, and she knows all our vendors and recruiting companies. She’s charming and liked by everyone. Everyone except me.
As I get closer to Uncle Joe, I see a group of employees congregating around him. I don’t bother to smile at them when they notice me, and neither do they at me. If I had my way, I would have canceled this damn party and had a catered lunch in the office instead. They know that, too.
I made those sentiments clear to my uncle after I signed off on the final invoice to the hotel, but he told me how much the employees and their families look forward to this. In fact, I think Mona overheard the conversation and ran her mouth to everyone else because they’ve been even more hostile than before.
I’m not a soft touch like Uncle Joe. I don’t waste time with pleasantries. I couldn’t give two shits about weekend plans, new additions to families, or the health of the family pet. It’s a goddamn workplace, not happy hour at a bar.
I check my phone again, and it’s as if time refuses to march on. It might feel like days, but I haven’t been in the building ten minutes yet. When I look up from my watch, I find the same perfect ass from a few minutes ago. It’s like she’s here tonight only to torture me. I could have sworn when I looked at her last, she was walking to the bar, but here she is in front of me again.
I stand back to admire her figure again, this time taking my time. Despite the high heels on her feet, she’s on the short side as she stands close to my uncle, smiling at him. I walk to them, telling myself that it’s only because the clock is ticking, not because I need to get closer to her again so that I can hear her voice, or if I’m lucky, feel her touch.
It’s not until I’m right next to her that I see Mona standing on the other side of my uncle, holding onto his hand as if it’s a life raft while she holds a glass of wine in another. Her smile slips when she sees me, but she catches herself. To mess with her head, I give her the most genuine smile I can muster. As expected, her eyes narrow, not buying my sudden bout of politeness.
“Nicky!” Uncle Joe says. This causes the mystery beauty to turn in my direction. She turns just as I approach, and when she turns, it is directly into me.
A pair of small hands land on my chest as she tries to steady herself. I hear a whoosh sound coming out of her and I feel her warm breath on my skin. I look down and see my hands on the same red dress I saw earlier. Slowly, I look up and almost drown in the most beautiful pair of brown eyes I’ve ever seen. We both stare at each other, neither of us saying a word or attempting to move away.
I study her face, and she’s even younger than I initially thought. Her lips fuller. Her skin smoother. Her smell more intoxicating. Everything about her is better than I thought.
It takes seeing her again for me to realize where I know the face from. No, she does not work for Bain Construction, but her mother does.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Of course, I’ve seen her face before. I see it every day
because she’s in a family photo in Mona’s small office. I can’t remember how anyone else in the photo looks, but she’s completely changed since that picture was taken. Gone is the chubby teenager with acne and a mouth full of metal. The picture is obviously several years old because it’s a beautiful woman standing in front of me now, not the awkward teenager in the picture.
Her hands linger on my chest, but then she must catch herself because she mutters, “excuse me,” drops them as if I’ve burned her, and all too soon her touch is gone. I’m in big fucking trouble. She’s young. Really young. She’s even more beautiful than she was a minute ago as I take note of her long eyelashes surrounding those big, brown eyes. Innocent looking brown eyes.
“Nick, meet Mona’s daughter, Miranda. Miranda, this is my nephew, Nick.”
Miranda. Like in the Tempest, she looks naïve and innocent, but I know there is no way I’ll get the chance to find out anything else about her. I can’t. I won’t.
She blushes and turns to her mother before turning back to look at me. I don’t smile. I stare into those brown eyes as I extend my hand. Her hand drowns in mine, and when I press my lips to her warm skin, she exhales loudly. It was fast, and anyone else would have missed it. She snatches her hand from mine and does her best to try to rub my kiss away.
“I was just telling Miranda and Mona what a great job you’ve been doing, and how lucky we are to have you back in Boston for good. Miranda, dear, are you still working at the call center while you finish school?”
I continue to look down at her, eager to hear her voice.
Mona lets out an unladylike snort.
“That boy she was dating turned out to be—”
Miranda elbows her mother in the ribs as she widens her eyes and mouths something to her. Mona gets the hint and promptly shuts up. I’m disappointed. This is the only time I’ve ever been eager to hear what Mona has to say.
“No, Mr. Bain. I haven’t been there for a while now. I have a seasonal job at a Victoria’s Secret at the South Shore Plaza. I’m hoping to get something permanent when I graduate in the spring.” Her voice is soft and feminine. It’s perfect.
“Nicky here can always find work for you to do at the office. Why don’t you ladies go get some appetizers while Nicky and I greet our guests? Enjoy the party.”
The last fucking thing I need is her around the office torturing me every day with that beautiful face. Her voice itself is like a Siren’s call. I need her in the office like I need a hole in my head.
Reluctantly, I watch as Miranda walks away, her perfect little ass sashaying in that dress as I stand next to Uncle Joe, greeting the incoming guests. My eyes don’t leave her for longer than a few seconds. She looks bored as she talks with a group of women, most likely wives or girlfriends of the crew.
She grabs a glass of wine, sniffs it, makes a face and hands it to her mother. Yeah, she didn’t drink the first glass either. I don’t know why she thought this one would be any different. Definitely not a wine drinker. I make a mental note of that. She looks around the room, and when her eyes end up in my direction, I make sure that she sees me looking at her.
Just like a cliché in any romance novel or movie, our eyes lock from across the room. She bites her bottom lip and looks down my body before looking up to meet my gaze again. For the first time in a long while, I smile a genuine smile. She quickly looks away as if she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t, only to give me another view of her ass as she walks to the bar.
“I thought you were bringing a date, Nicky?” Uncle Joe says.
I twist my face and blow out a breath.
“Why on God’s green earth would you think that?”
“You don’t want to end up like me. Alone with a broken hip with only nurses to take care of you. Go mingle, and for the love of God, forget about Paige and find yourself someone new. I think everyone is here. I’m going to go talk to some of the guys.” He walks away before I can object.
I don’t get a chance to tell him he was happily married for thirty-five years until his wife died, or that his son, the investment banker, visits him every weekend with his wife and their daughter. There is no need to tell him I’m completely over Paige, and that losing the money hurt more than losing the woman. That particular woman, at least. That’s telling.
I’m across the room and at the bar in a few quick strides, grabbing a glass of wine along the way. I lean my back against the bar as she faces the counter. Soon, the bartender hands her a red drink in a mason jar. When she lets out a soft moan as she takes a sip, my mind flashes to her underneath me, moaning for a completely different reason. I will my body to remain calm, but it seems to have a mind of its own tonight.
“Are you even old enough to drink?” I ask, finally breaking the silence. She turns her head to look at me as I look down and almost drown in her brown eyes.
“Are you a cop?” she asks. She sticks out her tongue and licks a bead of moisture from her bottom lip. The gesture is fast, and I’d bet my last dollar she did it subconsciously, but my body didn’t get the memo. Those damn pouty lips with the bottom just a little bit wider and plumper than the top. Images of her underneath me, my mouth on hers while she breathes and moans into my mine as I pull her bottom lip between my teeth play through my mind.
“Hardly, but it’s my party and I have to make sure we’re not serving anyone who’s underage.” And I need to find out exactly how old you are, but I don’t tell her that.
“So, you’re a party monitor then? Or maybe a party pooper? I bet you’re the type who hands out apples or toothbrushes to the kids on Halloween.”
Unable to help myself, I laugh. I don’t tell her that on Halloween, I keep my lights off. I’m not going to be responsible for pumping children full of sugar and processed foods. Something tells me she would not approve.
“More of an observer.”
“Observer?” she asks, pretending to mull over the word. “Sounds more like control freak, but I promise you, Mr. Bain, I’m of age. You are not providing alcohol to any underage minors. Have been legally allowed to drink in this country for two years now.” To prove her point, she finishes her drink and orders another one. Then she does the craziest thing. She smiles at me as she playfully bats her eyelashes, not realizing for a second that she’s playing with fire.
Jesus, she’s fucking young. Thirteen years younger than I am. I have no business here. I should walk away and go back to my uncle. I can mingle with our guests and forget all about Miranda Moore, who’s too damn young for a jaded asshole like me, but I don’t do any of that.
There’s a secret part of me that’s relieved to find that she’s not only of age, but that she’s no longer a teenager. When I walked over here, all I cared about was that she was over eighteen. Twenty-three is a pleasant surprise.
“Two whole years above the drinking age, huh? You’re practically a senior citizen.”
She copies my stance and turns to face the room as she leans against the bar. When she puts the straw between her lips, my dirty mind flashes to something else between her lips. Maybe while I’m standing over her in the shower, or while she explores my body underneath my down comforter.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Bain,” she says after sipping. She reaches into her purse, and as she politely thanks the bartender for her drink, she shoves a few dollars in the tip jar.
“From whom?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“I think you know.” She smirks. “You’re often the main topic of conversation around the dinner table. For a while, I thought you were the villain in the Batman movie.”
I let out a loud laugh. She laughs too, revealing her straight teeth.
“That’s Bane,” I tell her and spell the word out. “It’s spelled differently than my name—Bain.”
“Pity. And you look nothing like Tom Hardy.” She does her best to appear bored with our conversation, but I can tell by the sly glances she keeps giving me she’s anything but bored.
&n
bsp; “Is he your type?” I press.
“Nah,” she says, snorting into the drink. She puts the jar down and turns her body toward mine. I do the same, putting us face-to-face. “He doesn’t exactly do it for me, if you get my meaning. He lacks a certain something.” She turns back to the bar, ignoring me.
“Oh, yeah? What’s he lacking? What is it that Miranda Moore has to have that Tom Hardy is missing?”
Instead of walking away, I take a step closer to her. She stills, not even so much as taking a breath.
“Look at me, Mr. Bain.”
“I haven’t been able to stop looking at you since I saw you standing outside of this room, Miranda. But what is it that you want me to see?” I make a point of looking over her entire body before landing on her face. She’s as still as a statue when I get to her eyes.
“Good, then in that case, you’ll notice the stark difference between us. First, blondes don’t do it for me, and let’s just say I like my men a little bit less melanin challenged.”
“We all have our preferences, I suppose, but you know what? I don’t care and neither do you. You don’t think I’ve noticed the way you’ve been looking at me? And luckily for me, I’m not blonde.”
“You’re a little sure of yourself, aren’t you? Have you looked in a mirror lately?”
“I did. In fact, just an hour ago when I tied this tie.” I make a show of pulling at it. “What do you think?” I ask.
She takes the bait and looks at me again. She puts her drink down and reaches for me. My heart rate increases at the unexpected movement, and this time, I’m unable to control the tightening of my pants. She adjusts my tie, which I know was already straight, and glides her hands down to my pecs. All too soon, her touching stops and she goes back to her drink.
“It’s not all that impressive,” she says with a shrug. “You know,” she takes a sip of her drink as she looks at me over the rim of her glass, “all the talking my mother did about you, she left out one tiny, little detail.” She holds up her thumb and index finger.