Recluse: Wolfes of Manhattan Two

by HELEN HARDT

  “Thanks a lot,” Charlie said. “Now I’ll never get whatever information he had.”

  “He didn’t have any information.”

  “And how do you think you know that?”

  “He wanted to fuck you, Charlie.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “I assure you—”

  “Don’t even try. I could see it. You and he were together.”

  “For a little while. I ended it.”

  “Why? A big partner in a successful law firm? He’d be a catch. Of course, a Wolfe would be a much better catch.”

  She huffed, her hands whipping to her hips. “Get out.”

  “Sorry. I own this building.”

  “You’re ridiculous. If you think for one minute that I was interested in either Blaine or you because of money, you don’t know me at all.”

  Yeah. I was a jerk. A first-class douche.

  “Our dinner date, then? What time should I pick you up?”

  “I’m not going to dinner with you.”

  I sat down. “I’m sorry.”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  “I said I’m sorry.”

  I was. I’d been a jerk for no reason.

  “Uh…okay.”

  “So then…dinner?”

  “Roy…”

  “Come on. I said I was sorry, and I need to talk to you about some stuff.”

  “What stuff?”

  “Dinner, okay?”

  She sighed. “All right. But I’ll meet you there. I’m going to be working until the last minute.”

  “All right. I’ll email you the details.” I stood. “See you later.”

  31

  Charlie

  Eight o’clock at the Red Room.

  I was hardly dressed for the Red Room. The place reeked of cocktail dresses. Here I was in my crisp linen suit. Navy blue, the professional color. A power suit, career counselors called it. Yeah, I’d gone to a career counselor after high school, since I couldn’t afford college without going into major debt. I got no help from my father, who was busy with second kids. And my mother was a marketing assistant, which created another dilemma. She earned too much for me to qualify for any financial aid other than loans, but not enough to actually afford to pay for tuition.

  Them’s the breaks, as my high school guidance counselor had said.

  Yeah, he really said that, bad grammar and all.

  The career counselor had steered me to an inexpensive—well, inexpensive compared to college. I still had to take a small loan—paralegal course of studies at the local community college, one of the few that didn’t require a college degree. I had great grades, so the counselor helped me get in.

  Blaine had once called me a workaholic.

  Seriously. A senior partner in a Manhattan law firm had called me, Charlie Waters, who didn’t have a college degree, a workaholic.

  I wasn’t a workaholic, but I did have a work ethic. My mother might not have been able to afford to send me to college, but she did teach me the value of working hard and doing the best job possible.

  But was there any truth in Blaine’s words?

  I truly had worked up until I had to leave to meet Roy. But could those last-minute things have waited until morning?

  Being dressed a little nicer would have made a nice statement.

  Power suits might be professional, but they were blah.

  Uncomfortable and blah.

  “I’m meeting someone here,” I said to the maître d’. “Roy Wolfe.”

  “Yes, Mr. Wolfe has already arrived. Let me show you to his table.”

  His table. Not your table. As if Roy was the important one, and I was nothing more than his arm candy for the evening.

  As I glanced around the posh restaurant, I saw that most of this evening’s arm candy were dressed a lot better than I was.

  Oh, well. He knew I’d be coming straight from work.

  Roy stood as I approached the table.

  God, could he be any sexier? His hair was in his signature slicked-back low ponytail, and he wore a navy-blue suit and tie.

  Yes, a tie!

  I’d never seen him wear one. The Red Room must have required it. I couldn’t imagine him wearing that noose around his neck for any other reason.

  The navy-blue suit, though. He’d seen what I was wearing, slacks and all. Had he worn basically the same thing on purpose? We looked like the Bobbsey twins on career day.

  “Nice suit,” I said, sitting down.

  The maître d’ placed my napkin in my lap. “Your server will be right with you.”

  “Thank you, Hans,” Roy said.

  “Seriously,” I said again, when Hans had left. “Nice suit.”

  He smiled, one eyebrow rising just a touch.

  “You did this on purpose,” I said.

  “Couldn’t help myself.”

  “I didn’t know you even owned a tie.”

  “I own a few, actually.”

  “Why are you making fun of me?”

  “Making fun of you? What are you talking about?”

  “Did you really have to wear the exact same color I’m wearing?”

  “I’m an artist,” he said. “Did you ever stop to think this might be my only suit?”

  I hedged a moment. Then, “That’s bullshit. You’re a Wolfe. You could have gone out and bought a suit for tonight if you wanted.”

  He smiled. “Actually, I own about ten. I hate them all.”

  “Why the navy blue? Why tonight?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know. I was feeling feisty, I guess.”

  “Feisty? I’d say you were feeling like you wanted to mock me. Mock me for wearing professional attire to work. For staying at work late so I could do a good job.”

  “I admire your work ethic, Charlie. I share it, in fact.”

  “When it comes to your art.”

  “Well…yes. My art is my work.”

  “That’s the difference between us, Roy. I appreciate your work. I fully support what you do. You, however, don’t afford me the same courtesy.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Of course it’s true! You hate the clothes I wear to work. You set me up with watercolors and asked me to paint you. Yes, I love art. I might even have a little talent. But it’s not my life’s work like it is yours.”

  “Being someone’s assistant is your life’s work? You’re better than that, Charlie.”

  “Being Lacey’s assistant is extremely rewarding.”

  “Having someone bark orders at you?”

  “Have you met Lacey? She doesn’t bark orders at anyone. Why are you being such an asshole?”

  He didn’t reply, just looked down at his menu.

  And it struck me. He didn’t know why he was being an asshole.

  But I did.

  Something was consuming him. Eating at him. Eating him alive. “What is it, Roy? What did Rock tell you in that meeting? About your sister?”

  He didn’t reply.

  “All right. We don’t have to talk about it. But something is bothering you. I’d be an idiot if I couldn’t see it.”

  He twisted his lips, still staring at his menu. “The foie gras is excellent here.”

  “I don’t eat liver.”

  “This isn’t liver. It’s foie gras.”

  “Potato, po-tah-toe.”

  That got a smile out of him.

  He didn’t want to tell me? Fine. Two could play this game. I opened my menu. “I think I’ll start with the calamari.”

  “You don’t eat liver, but you eat squid?”

  “Not squid. Calamari.” I gave him a saucy smile.

  “Mind sharing?”

  “What about your foie gras?”

  “Reid eats it. I actually hate the stuff.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I burst out in laughter. All right. Things were calming down now. The server returned and Roy ordered the calamari and a bourbon. Funny, I didn’t mind him ordering the calamari for me. Maybe because we were going to sh
are it.

  Maybe because he wasn’t Blaine Foster.

  “Just a glass of water for now,” I said, when the server nodded to me.

  “Not drinking tonight?” he asked.

  “I might have a glass of wine with my dinner. I don’t want to overdo it. I have to be in the office early tomorrow.”

  “Meeting?”

  “No. Just a lot of work to do.”

  Go ahead, I dared him in my mind. Comment about my work again. I double dare you. I triple dog dare you.

  He kept his mouth shut.

  I perused the menu, deciding on an entrée. Trout amandine sounded good. Or the salmon. I wasn’t much into red meat.

  “Charlie,” Roy began.

  I looked up and met his gaze. “Yeah?”

  “Did you find a therapist for Lacey?”

  “Several, actually. I sent her an email before I left. I was able to talk to all of them and explain the situation, and they all felt they could help her.”

  He cleared his throat. “Would you mind sharing that information?”

  “Not at all. With whom?”

  Once more, he cleared his throat. “With me.”

  32

  Roy

  Guts.

  And strength.

  I’d used all my guts and strength to ask Charlie for that information. I sat, waiting for her to interrogate me about why I wanted it.

  Seconds—that seemed like hours—passed before she said, “Of course I will.”

  I lifted my brow. Anything else? Wasn’t she going to ask why I wanted it? Didn’t she care?

  “Thanks,” I finally said. “Just email me what you emailed to Lacey.” I bent back over my menu.

  Nothing looked good. My appetite had waned.

  Charlie sat across from me like a cross between an innocent angel and a naughty vixen. She was amazing.

  She’d understood my painting in the lobby of the Wolfe building.

  She might have understood it even better than I did.

  She said the painting was hiding something, and she kept looking for a key.

  I’d told her there was no key, but was I right?

  Why would she be looking if I hadn’t left clues for a key?

  Maybe a key did exist.

  Maybe I just needed some help to find it.

  Help from guided hypnosis?

  Probably couldn’t hurt.

  But maybe help from the woman in front of me. The woman who’d helped me reach a new plateau of pleasure. A new plateau of…

  The word hovered just above my consciousness, and I captured it.

  Love.

  I could hardly be in love with a woman I’d only just met.

  Though I’d watched my brother fall hard and fast for Lacey.

  I wasn’t my brother.

  Still…I was feeling something, and “love” was the word that had slipped into my consciousness from beyond.

  I’d scare her if I confessed that I loved her.

  But as I sat, watching her take dainty sips of her water, watching her silver eyes sparkle when the calamari came, watching her wriggle uncomfortably in that damned navy-blue suit…I knew.

  I loved her.

  I loved Charlie Waters.

  Damn.

  I’d never allowed those blurred images to surface in my mind. Instead, they lay dormant, their only purpose the mindfuck I’d lived with for so long.

  How long?

  How old had I been?

  Rock had already left. I’d graduated from high school.

  Right.

  It was that summer. That last summer before college.

  That last summer of what costumed as my youth.

  The Wolfe building.

  I hated this place. Had no interest in the family real estate empire. Still, I’d agreed to intern the summer before I left for college. I’d wanted to go straight to art school, but the great Derek Wolfe insisted on a liberal arts degree. Like that would help me ever in my life.

  I never actually saw my father, of course. I was the property of one of his many assistants, doing grunt work.

  Not that I minded the grunt work. It was easy, and it kept me out of my father’s scope. I didn’t want to be around him anyway.

  Today’s grunt task was to move some old records to the lower level.

  I loaded the cardboard boxes on the dolly, got into the elevator, and pushed LL, the lowest floor in the building, two floors below the lobby.

  The elevator descended, and—

  I fell against the wall as the small room dropped rapidly. My stomach lodged in my throat as my flesh prickled. The boxes tumbled off the dolly, banging to the floor.

  The red button.

  Push the red button.

  The lights flickered as I smashed my hand against the crimson disk.

  “Here you are, sir.” The server set a basket of warm bread on the table.

  I inhaled, letting the yeasty scent warm me, take away the thoughts that wanted to permeate my brain.

  Why? Why would they come now, while I was with the woman I loved?

  Yes. Loved.

  I couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t even think about telling her this soon. She’d freak out, and rightly so.

  I reached toward the basket, ready to grab a piece of kalamata olive bread, one of my favorites, and then picked up the basket instead and handed it to Charlie.

  She smiled, taking it and helping herself to the kalamata bread.

  Only one piece, and she took it.

  Not that I got stingy with food, but normally I’d be disappointed that I didn’t get the bread I wanted.

  But I wasn’t. If she wanted it, I wanted her to have it.

  Must be love.

  “You like that olive bread?” I said. “It’s my favorite.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry. Do you want to split it?”

  I shook my head. “No. Enjoy it.” I reached into the basket and chose a pretzel roll. It was no kalamata olive bread, but a decent substitute.

  The server appeared at the side of the table and nodded to Charlie.

  “Are you ready to order?”

  “Yeah, thank you. I’ll start with the house salad with the herb vinaigrette, and then I’ll have the trout, please.”

  “Very good. And you, Mr. Wolfe?”

  “House salad, same dressing, and the filet, very rare, with a baked potato.”

  “Butter or sour cream?”

  “Both.”

  “Excellent. Will you be having wine with dinner?”

  “Charlie?” I said.

  “Yeah, that would be nice. Something red, but light.”

  “I have a Beaujolais-Villages that would complement both your meals nicely,” he said.

  “Great. Bring a bottle.” I handed him my menu.

  “I’m not sure I can drink more than one glass,” Charlie said.

  “So?”

  “So…you ordered a whole bottle.”

  “I guess that means I’ll drink three glasses, then,” I said.

  She sighed. “All right, then. You won’t be driving me home.”

  “Charlie, I’m kidding. First, I’d probably be fine to drive after three glasses of wine—”

  “And a bourbon,” she added.

  “And a bourbon. But I probably won’t drink three glasses of wine. Who cares?”

  “Well, I—” She reddened. “You’ve never had to watch money in your life, have you?”

  “No, but I don’t think I’m overly pretentious with my purchases.”

  “I’m not saying you are.”

  “You don’t have to be a billionaire to leave a little wine in a bottle,” he said.

  She blushed again. Adorably. “You’re right, I suppose.”

  “Let me treat you to a nice dinner. The only meal we’ve shared outside my place so far was the one in Helena.”

  “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

  “You don’t sound ungrateful. You sound frugal, but you don’t have to be when you’re dining wi
th me. It’s all on me.”

  She finally settled down.

  Again, I had the desire to talk to her about why I was seeking guided hypnosis.

  But should I? Did she deserve to be burdened with that part of me?

  I might love her, but I had no idea what her feelings for me were.

  “Tell me,” I said, “about you and Blaine Foster.”

  “He’s a senior partner at Lacey’s old firm.”

  “I know that much. My father was a client of his. You said you were together. I just want to know the extent of it.”

  “Just a few months. He wanted to get serious really quickly, and that turned me off. I’m too young, and he’s so much older than I am.”

  Shit.

  She didn’t want to get serious so quickly.

  So much for her possibly returning my feelings.

  “Uh-huh,” was all I said.

  “He’s a pretty nice guy, but he did things that annoyed me. Treated me like I was beneath him, you know?”

  “How so?”

  “For one thing, he always ordered my meal for me, even if I didn’t tell him what I wanted yet.”

  “Then how did he know what you wanted?”

  “That’s my point. He’d just order something he thought I’d like. Most of the time it was something he liked. Like foie gras.”

  I laughed at that one. “But you don’t eat liver.”

  “That’s what I tried to tell him, but he was convinced I’d love it if I tried it. Even today, when we had lunch, he ordered lasagna for me. I love lasagna, but maybe I wanted something else today, you know?”

  “I know.”

  I knew more than she was aware. My father had constantly tried to change me into something I wasn’t. An heir to run the business. Thankfully, Reid had turned out to be interested in running it, and he let me go off to “do my sissy art,” as he’d liked to put it.

  Do your sissy art.

  Get out of here! This has nothing to do with you! Go do your sissy art!

  I froze.

  33

  Charlie

  Roy’s gorgeous face went pale.

  I stopped chattering about Blaine and how he liked to control me. At least he hadn’t been controlling in the bedroom. Actually, he’d been kind of boring in the bedroom, as if he no longer needed to please a woman because he brought so much else to the table—his position in the community, his money, his power. Not that he was bad in bed—well, his huge cock was great in bed—he just didn’t have do much. He’d hated going down on me, but of course wanted blow jobs all the time, which were difficult, given his girth. In that regard, he was just like every other man on the planet.