by Kally Ash
“I really don’t,” she said, but her boss wasn’t having any of it.
“I insist.”
“What about my cases?”
“Stevenson can take them.”
Stevenson? “No, I couldn’t—”
“Natasha, you’re taking a vacation and that’s that.”
She swallowed. “Yes, sir. I’ll just finish—”
“Effective immediately. I expect you out of here in fifteen minutes.” He smiled. “Come back rested and ready to kick ass as my partner.”
Well, she knew when to give up. “Okay. Thank you, sir.” She stood up, still clutching that piece of paper with her name on the letterhead. She looked down at it. “And thank you for the opportunity, sir.”
“You’ve earned it. Now get out of here,” he added with a gentle smile.
Standing up, she walked back to her office on autopilot. As she passed Layla, the woman looked at her expectantly.
“Good news?” she asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, good news,” she replied in a daze. “Look, I’m... I’m going to be off for the next week.”
“A vacation? Now?”
“Yeah, boss’s order,” she told her with a shrug. “I guess I’ll see you soon.”
Layla bobbed her head. “Okay, I’ll see you then.”
Reaching out, Natasha squeezed Layla’s hand, then went into her office to collect her bag and laptop. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a vacation. What the hell was she going to do?
John’s hands flew across the sheet of paper laid out on his temporary drafting table. After the meeting at the orphanage that morning, he’d come back to the RDM offices and sat down, his mind buzzing with ideas. This kind of work was so different from what he was used to, and he was rising to the challenge.
At his elbow, his phone rang and he picked it up without glancing at the screen.
“Yeah?”
“John, how are you?” Beau asked.
John put down his pencil. “I’m good. How are you?”
“How’d you enjoy dinner last night?”
“It was great.” His eyes traced over the facade of the orphanage extension he’d sketched out. “I enjoyed meeting Natasha,” he added carefully.
“How do you like her? She lives up to the redhead stereotype, doesn’t she?”
Did she ever. She was a firecracker and one he wanted to light her fuse of on a regular basis. “She seems great.”
“Well, I’m glad you like her because you’ll be working with her a little more closely.”
He opened his mouth to tell his best friend he already was, then shut it. Maybe Beau and Vee didn’t know about Natasha’s philanthropic nature and he wasn’t going to be the one to let that spitting cat out of the bag.
He cleared his throat. “What are you talking about?”
“Two words: bachelor party.”
“Yes!” He punched the air discreetly. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
“There’s a catch.”
Oh shit. “What?”
In the background, there was the sound of keys tapping on a keyboard. “Natasha will be planning the bachelorette party too and you’ll be doing it together.”
John coughed, but like that was going to clear up his hearing? “What?”
“We’re having a joint bachelor/bachelorette party.”
“Wait, wait, wait. All I can picture is a chicken with antlers right now.”
Beau laughed. “Why?”
“You know how sometimes they’re called a hen and stag night? Mash them together and you get a chicken with a rack?”
His best friend’s laughter boomed over the line.
John chuckled too. “Anyway, why a joint celebration? This is your last chance at freedom.”
“I don’t want freedom, man. How much time did Vee and I waste? I’m not willing to waste any more time apart.”
Yeah, that was a valid point. “Alright. What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know, but it has to be something men and women will enjoy.”
“So, strippers and paintball are out?”
His best friend’s chuckle was all the answer he needed.
“Alright, no paintball.”
This time the laugh was much louder. “You need to sort this out with Natasha.”
“I don’t have her number,” he replied.
“And I will remedy that. I’m sending it to you now.”
His phone beeped and he pulled it away to see the message. He smiled knowing that he had no excuse not to get in touch with her now. Even if he had to get to know her under the guise of wedding planning, he’d so do that. He never backed away from a challenge.
Fourteen
The last forty-eight hours had been hell. After Natasha had been dismissed from work, she’d gone home and spent that afternoon reading a Tom Clancy book she’d had on her shelf for about a year. On Thursday, she cleaned her damn apartment. Twice. Just for something to do. Friday was even worse. She scrubbed the floors with an old toothbrush. She was literally on her hands and knees, scrubbing, her mind chewing over the pros and cons of Mr. King’s offer.
This was what she came up with:
Pro: the salary was phenomenal. She could do a lot of good with that kind of cash, like donating more resources to the orphanage while still living comfortably herself.
Con: she would be working longer hours, more days. She’d barely have a social life. She figured with Vee getting married anyway, there probably wasn’t much opportunity to socialize anyway.
Pro: this was what would make her father proud. Sure, she was about four years too late, but she would be partner.
Con: she’d be trapped in this job.
Although maybe trapped wasn’t the right word. Imprisoned, maybe. Jesus, it felt like a life sentence.
Thank God her mother had called and asked her to come over to the house on Friday afternoon. If she hadn’t, Natasha had no doubt she’d be elbow deep in motor oil or creating a communal garden in her building’s very non-gardeny public space on the roof. That’s how strong the need to occupy her mind was.
Even now, as she drove to her parents’ Malibu house, she was still thinking it all through, weighing things up and discarding the ideas that weren’t right just as easily. Thank God for her analytical brain. Pulling up outside the Malibu mansion, she flipped down the visor and checked her makeup and her hair. It wasn’t as if she wanted to give her father any more reason to find fault with her.
Stepping from the car, she locked things up and click, click, clicked over to the front door. She opened it, purposefully giving the maid a conniption. The woman in question came rushing forward, her face fixed in an expression between abject shame and indignant rage.
Natasha knew the protocol, but she wasn’t in the mood for formality.
“Can you bring me a martini? You know how I like them. Thanks.”
Breezing past the woman who was only trying to keep her job, she walked into the living room and found her mother in one of the armchairs. Like all the furniture in the room, it was turned toward the ocean, the wall of glass the perfect frame for all that natural beauty.
“Hey, Mom,” she said, kissing her on the cheek.
Her mother’s face lit up. “Oh, Natasha, you’re here.”
“How are you?” she asked, lowering her bag to the floor beside the other armchair and taking a load off. She looked down at her Louboutin shoes and wondered why she put herself through this torture. Oh, that’s right: they make her legs look fucking fantastic.
“Where’s Dad?”
She waved her hand in the vague direction of his study, which was just off the central hallway. “Where he usually is.”
She grunted and turned her attention toward the vista. The ocean was as smooth as glass, a few vessels dotted here and there on the vast expanse of blue.
“So, what’s the occasion? Getting summoned to come here twice in as many weeks is unheard of.”
Her mom tur
ned to her; her green eyes tired. She looked worn out, not just by work but perhaps by life too. “Your brother is back.”
“Oh?” She turned to look down the hall, expecting the guy to just pop out. “Why? I thought he was studying over the summer.”
“He has news.”
“Let me guess, he’s already passed the bar, even though it hasn’t been set yet,” she said dryly.
Her mother gave her a withering smile. “Natasha, snideness doesn’t become you.”
“Sorry,” she replied softly. She was just so used to going on the defensive when she was there. “So, what’s the news?”
“You brother’s engaged.”
Well, if Natasha had had a drink in her hand, she would’ve dropped it. “Err, what?”
This time, her mother smiled a little. “He’s engaged.”
Natasha stared out the window again. And nope, the echo didn’t help her to wrap her head around the news. “I didn’t even know he was dating someone.”
“Mitch has always been secretive. He’s just like your father.”
“Huh.” She didn’t think there was anyone like her father, but she supposed her brother had been learning the tricks of the trade well before he started going to law school. “Where is he now?”
“In the office with your father.”
“What are they discussing?”
At this question, her mother pressed her lips together like the words she was about to say tasted bitter. “I think you should ask your father.”
She could read between the goddamn lines. “Fine. I will.” Standing up, she turned in time to see the maid bringing out a martini, holding the long-stemmed glass carefully between her index finger and thumb. Natasha grabbed it en route to her father’s office, knowing she’d need the liquid courage to get through whatever was about to go down.
Her father on his own was manageable. Having her brother there too was like staring down both barrels of a loaded shotgun. The blast was going to hurt, but she didn’t know whether it was going to graze, maim, or kill.
She knocked and opened the door. Her father was fixed in his usual place, his back to the water, while her brother was sitting in the chair opposite the desk. Both of them looked annoyed at the intrusion, but too fucking bad. At least Mitch stood up to greet her properly. He embraced her awkwardly and efficiently and she had to wonder what kind of woman he’d managed to convince into marriage. Clearly, she was an idiot.
“Father,” she said softly.
He grunted. “I was just telling your brother here how proud I am of him.”
Of course, you were. “There’s plenty to be proud of, Father.” Turning to Mitch, she added, “Congratulations on your engagement. Where is the lucky lady? Did you bring her with you?”
He bobbed his head, his haircut perfectly preppy, his chinos and buttoned-down shirt also toeing the collegiate line. “She’s getting ready for dinner.”
She took a mouthful of her martini and swallowed it. Not dry enough for her but beggars can’t be choosers. When it was clear that they were waiting for her to leave, she turned around and walked out, leaving the door open behind her. Passive aggressive? Perhaps. But she had to make a stand somehow.
When she walked back into the living room, there was a blonde woman sitting in Natasha’s chair. She looked up as she entered, smiling faintly, although it still looked nervous. The woman stood, as did her mother.
“Natasha, darling, I’d like you to meet Jessica Hannaford, Mitch’s fiancée. Jessica, this is Natasha.”
Natasha stuck out her hand to the blonde and was surprised when she received a firm shake in return. She hated limp-wristed handshakes from men, but she hated it even more from women. Right there: brownie points. As they broke apart, Jessica took her seat and Natasha perched on the adjacent sofa.
“So, you’re a lawyer too?” she asked.
“No, actually,” Jessica replied. “I’m an art student.”
“Art, huh?” Her gaze swept the other woman from head to toe, trying to figure out what the appeal was. She was a natural beauty—a woman who didn’t need makeup or a fancy hairdo, and her taste in clothing was questionable. She was in a dress that looked like it had been pieced together from scraps of material. It was your typical “artsy” crap, but in this case, she could wear it.
She smiled and it was a nice, innocent smile. She hadn’t grown cynical yet, but she still had time. She was marrying into her family after all. “I know, I know. It sounds so nondescript and vague, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does.”
“Natasha!” her mother admonished.
She shrugged, nonplussed, and Jessica laughed. “It’s okay. I get it. My parents think I’m wasting my time. They didn’t even want me to go to college.”
“What did they want you to do?”
“Follow the family business.”
Oh, boy, did Natasha know all about that. “Family business?”
Jess nodded grimly. “I come from a long line of bankers.”
“Could be worse,” Natasha replied. “You could come from a long line of lawyers.”
“Natasha!” her mother gritted out again.
She gave her a smile. “Sorry, Mom. Force of habit.”
“Just don’t say things like that in front of your father.”
She wouldn’t dream of it. “Anyway, Mitch mentioned something about dinner? Since I can’t smell anything cooking, I assume we’re going out?”
“Correct. A colleague of your father’s has opened up a new tapas bar. We’ve got a reservation for seven.”
She looked at her watch. It was coming up on five thirty. Loads of time to kill. Hooray.
“So, Jessica, tell me how you and Mitch met,” her mom said, saving the day. Natasha finished her drink and placed the glass beside her, happy to get stuck in the vacuum of a love story she had no freaking interest in, thank you very much.
Natasha walked into the restaurant behind her mother but in front of Jess and Mitch. Man, talk about third wheeling it. She tried to distract herself with the restaurant’s decor instead. The whole place was low-lit, like forcing a romantic ambience on them would somehow result in a better profit margin. Maybe it did. What the hell did she know about owning a restaurant? The decor was earth toned with pottery and clay sculptures scattered around in niches that were spotlit from above. The place was about half full, but the chatter of voices was just a drone. The walls were rendered in some kind of stucco that seemed to absorb the sound.
The hostess showed them to the table and Natasha was left at the end, the extra seat kind of tacked on like an afterthought. And didn’t that just give her all the feels? She sat down, arranging her napkin in her lap like she’d been trained to do since she was old enough to hold her own cutlery and feed herself. A waitress appeared then and drinks were ordered.
“I’ll take two dirty martinis, two olives, then have another two ready to go in about thirty minutes,” she told the girl. When her eyes widened, she pointed at the table and asked, “Do you think I need something stronger? Can you drop a Valium into one of them?”
The comment got an angry look from her mother and an even sterner one from her father. She shrugged and smiled at the girl who flushed and ran off.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” her father intoned in that lawyer voice of his. “It’s improper of a lady. You also shouldn’t drink so much.”
“I don’t have to drive home, so I’m good,” she replied. Man, that black wool she was wearing sure was making her stand out tonight.
Better to be the black sheep of the family than the prodigal son.
Her eyes ratcheted over to Mitch to see him speaking softly to Jessica before her brother turned his attention to their father.
“Your dress is beautiful,” Jess said to Natasha, snapping her eyes back to the table.
“Thank you.”
“Your shoes too. I was admiring them before.”
“Thank you,” she repeated. She’d never been good
at small talk. “Your dress is very…” She paused, searching for the right words. “Eclectic?”
Jessica nodded. “Eclectic is a good word. Thank you. I was going for Boho chic, but eclectic will do too. I just love fashion and experimenting with materials.”
Well, she certainly did that.
“Fashion design is one thing I’d love to do, but deviating from banking that far was a no-no,” she added. Natasha realized she talked a lot when she was nervous and she liked her even more. She was nothing like the woman she pictured her brother would marry. She seemed so down to earth, but they did say that opposites attract.
Natasha let out a yelp when two martini glasses were suddenly deposited in front of her.
“The Valium is in the one on the right,” the server said with a wink.
Natasha threw her head back and laughed. This night wasn’t turning out so badly after all. As the rest of the drinks were distributed—twelve-year-old scotch for her father and Mitch, merlot for her mother, sparkling water for Jessica—Natasha finished off her first glass and handed it back to the waitress.
“Would you like another?” she asked quietly.
“I’m good,” she replied. “But in thirty minutes, you’d better have another one with my name on it.”
As the young woman walked away, Natasha looked up and caught her father glaring at her.
“I hope you’re not going to be making a spectacle of yourself tonight.”
“When have I ever made a spectacle of myself, Father?”
“You know what I mean,” he groused. He watched her over the lip of his glass as he took a sip. “How’s work? Have you been made partner yet?” He looked her up and down. “Although with the amount you’re drinking, maybe not.”
She swallowed another mouthful of martini and said, “Actually, Father, I did.”
Everyone. Stopped.
“Natasha?” her mother asked, her hand fluttering to rest against the pearls at her throat. Hell, even her brother looked shocked. Her gaze found her father and she swallowed. The guy looked... proud of her. For the first time in her life, he actually looked proud—happy, even. She cleared her throat as the sting of tears hit the corners of her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time her dad had been proud of anything she’d done.