“So, short story long, I showed up to his hotel last night to surprise him and found him with one of his interns. He had her bent over the desk in the room and was giving her the business end of a deposition, if you know what I mean!” I snort, half at my punny joke and half to emphasize my point.
Vincent smirks a little at the comment. “I did not go to law school, but I can deduce what that statement means.”
“I didn't even say a word to him; I just turned around and left the room. I was shocked and didn’t even know what to do. He followed me and tried apologizing and giving every excuse in the book from ‘it’s not what you think,’ to ‘it’s your fault because you haven’t come to visit me here.’ I just took the ring off and handed it back to him, er—maybe I threw it at him; I can’t recall. We live together, so that’s another nightmare I have to figure out when I get back. I haven’t told my sister or my boss.”
Shock registers on his otherwise passive face. “You win. Not that it’s a competition, that sounds rude, but fuck. You’ve had one shitty day. Not to pry, but did you suspect anything?”
“I wouldn’t say I suspected infidelity but…the truth is I was settling. I think I was aware of that; I just didn’t want to admit it. When I met Brian, things were great; we were young and in love and all that. But now…” I feel my words slurring together. I am wildly out of character at this point. Miss Type-A, always in control and uptight, is letting it all out to a complete stranger. I rub my hand over my face, most likely smearing my makeup. “I mean, I still love him…it just fucking sucks to put your trust and faith in someone and have this entire life planned out and they just throw you away for someone that ‘didn’t mean anything.’” I make sure to use dramatic air quotes to emphasize my point.
I look over at him as I shrug my shoulders in shame. He’s unsure of what to say, but his eyes are sympathetic to my situation.
“I feel like a privileged asshole complaining about this stuff. I’m sorry.”
He reaches out and brushes a stray section of hair behind my ear. It startles me, and I’m sure the emotion shows on my face as he pulls his hand back quickly.
“I’m sorry, I hate seeing a beautiful woman cry.” His eyes drop to my lips briefly before he turns back to face his drink.
“Well, Alison, you do have a right to be unhappy about where your life is going; privileged or not, we all deserve happiness. The important thing is, if you are unhappy, you have to be willing to be uncomfortable to change it. Otherwise, you’ll be stuck in the same situation complaining about the same things over and over. The big question now is, what are you going to do?”
I let out a deep sigh as I look up toward the ceiling. “I don’t have a fucking clue, Vincent.” I can feel my phone vibrate in my pocket again as the bartender sends me over another dirty vodka martini. I nod a thank you and reach into my pocket. “Finally! My flight is scheduled to depart in the next thirty-five minutes; looks like my delay was cut short. My section should be boarding soon.”
Vincent checks his watch and then pulls out his phone. “Lucky you. Looks like my flight is still delayed with no scheduled departure.”
I throw a few bills on the bar top and stand up to gather my things. “Thanks for being my airport therapist. It was nice to talk so freely to a complete stranger, admitting things that I haven’t even said aloud to myself.”
“Happy to listen. It was lovely meeting you, Alison Ryder.”
He gives me a crooked smile as he reaches into his pocket again and pulls out his business card.
“In case you need someone to drink an overpriced martini and have another therapy session with when you get back to Chicago.” I smile and take the card from him; our fingertips briefly touch, sending a current through my body. Just as I turn to walk away, he pipes back up.
“Oh, and if you’re looking to completely uproot your life, I’m looking for an assistant.” I laugh, unsure if he’s serious, but a little intrigued at the idea. I won’t lie: the thought of jet setting around Europe for several weeks on someone else’s dime sounds like a dream job…especially if it means spending time with him every day.
“Thanks again, Vincent. It was great meeting you. I hope you get everything sorted and can find a replacement assistant soon. Best of luck on the acquisition!”
I grab my suitcase and make my way toward my gate. I know I just met the man, but weirdly I feel a little sad walking away from him. A small part also questions if he really just hit on me after telling him I found my fiancé cheating. The thought of Brian makes my stomach churn…I feel like a piece of shit too. I’m still coasting on the realization that my six-year relationship is over and my heart’s broken while I’m fantasizing about a complete stranger.
I am technically now homeless and single…I just need to get on my flight and let my thoughts marinate in the vodka now sloshing around my brain.
Chapter 2
Vincent
I was two glasses of scotch in when I saw the petite blonde come barreling into the airport bar. She was breathtaking and looked as though she were ready to rip a few heads off. She didn’t seem to notice me as she waved the bartender over and ordered her dirty martini.
She looked a bit disheveled, but I could see from her fitted pencil skirt and silk blouse she had a taste for fashion and knew how to dress for her body. It was only a matter of minutes before the shark approached.
I watched as she handled her own like a pro. I have to admit; it was even a little intimidating to see such a gorgeous woman own her looks and not feel she owed anyone anything for it. I didn’t feel a bit sorry for the overzealous, drunk asshole that though he could get to her with just an offer to buy her a drink. Guys like him give us all a bad name. A woman wants to feel important and special, like she’s the only one in the room. I have a talent for it; I won’t lie. I’ve never once struggled to get a woman to notice me, or into my bed.
I was more than a little curious to know what series of events brought her to this moment. Being that I was stuck at the airport for god knew how long, I figured it couldn’t hurt to make small talk with a stranger. Especially someone as gorgeous as her.
“That was a pretty brutal rejection; you seemed well practiced at it though.” I raised my glass to her and watched as the look of disgust melted off her face when she saw me. Yeah, I have that effect on women. I reached over and introduced myself to her, offering to swap stories.
I let my eyes drop from hers down her long, slender neck. She’s delicate and smooth: the kind of woman you can’t help but want to see beneath you gripping the sheets and calling out your name.
I listened intently as she described her day. My assistant quitting certainly didn’t seem like that big of a deal once I listened to her detail how she just caught her fiancé cheating on her. While I couldn’t relate to that situation, it was exactly why I preferred my “relationships” to be quick and easy…no emotions, no commitments, just sex. At least, that’s what I told myself. I’d never considered anything more until I started watching everyone around me find ‘the one.’
I wasn’t sure what it was, but something about her intrigued me. Her beauty was something to be admired, but it wasn’t that. She was driven and ambitious; she just needed a little guidance…someone to mentor her.
When I was her age, I was mentored by a man named Hershel Fitzsimmons; he was what they called a ‘wolf of Wall Street.’ Powerful and intimidating but never disrespectful or one to waste your time. He was direct and honest, and that bothered a lot of people, but it got him to the top of his financial game. I watched him be genuine and honest with his clients and partners over the years, and I knew that was the kind of man I wanted to be. I never wanted to betray the trust of the people who helped me build my success.
I pull out the pocket watch that Hershel left me when he died. He always told me, ‘Never waste anyone’s time because time is the only thing we can’t get more of.’ It’s a constant reminder of how far I’ve come since the days when I was wash
ing dishes in the back of an ancient diner to put myself through college and supplement my scholarship to Dartmouth. The road from New Hampshire to Chicago was a long one and seemed eternally uphill. The even longer road had been the one I’d gone down to get from being abandoned as a toddler with my nearly destitute grandparents by a drug addict of a mother, to being the fourth-richest person on the North American continent. It sure as hell hadn’t been because I was timid and afraid to go after what I want. I’m a man who doesn’t understand the word ‘can’t.’
I learned from a very early age that the only way I was going to get what I wanted in life was to go after it with wild abandon. I’d gone after my first hotel like a cheetah after a gazelle…nothing but pure determination, precision, and the realization that failure wasn’t an option.
At twenty-five-years-old, I had talked enough investors into giving me money to buy a bankrupt hotel in the middle of Chicago’s Magnificent Mile and renovate it, turning it into one of the most sought-after accommodations not only in Chicago, but all of North America. I put everything I had into making that happen, and my motto was, “Work hard, play even harder.”
I knew what it was like to go to bed hungry, to not know if you’d have a roof over your head, to have nobody to depend on. The day I made my first thousand dollars, I promised myself I’d never take a single breath for granted again.
The cost of my constant dedication to building my business was a lack of personal relationships. I watched as my best friend Nate Baldwin had met and fell in love with his now-fiancée Elise, both of whom worked for my company. Nate as CFO and Elise as my in-house legal counsel. I love giving Nate a hard time about being completely pussy whipped, but the truth is I’m envious of him and what he has with Elise.
While we were working on our degrees at Dartmouth, I had watched him jump from date to date just as I had. Back then, we made bets with one another about who could get the most numbers in one night or could bring a girl back to our dorm the quickest. It’s not like I set out to be a playboy asshole who never settled down, but somewhere along the way, life happened, and here I am.
I pull out my phone, typing in the name of the design firm she mentioned: Madeline Dwyer Designs. I flip through the images on the website, clearly a high-end establishment with several well-to-do clients in the Chicagoland area. I click on the ‘our staff’ link and scrolled down till I see a familiar face. There she is: Alison Ryder, associate designer.
I let my thumb hover over the number of the firm for just a brief second before dialing, I glance at my watch hoping I still catch someone in the office since it’s almost six.
“Madeline Dwyer Designs, this is Tiffany speaking; how may I direct your call?”
“Hello, Tiffany. My name is Vincent Crawford. I’d like to speak with Madeline directly please.”
“I’m sorry Mr. Crawford, do you have an appointment with Miss Dwyer?”
I’m not one for name dropping, but in a situation like this, I’m not above doing it either. “No, I don’t, but I’m the owner and CEO of Castille Hotels. I’m looking to hire her firm to take on a massive contract to completely redesign several of my hotels.”
“I—I’m sorry, Mr. Crawford, let me make sure she’s in her office and I’ll put you through.”
I drum my fingers on the bar top as I wait to be patched through. Nate would give me hell right now if he knew what I was about to do.
Chapter 3
Alison
I chew nervously on my pen cap, reading and re-reading the text on my phone while I sit at my desk in my cramped office. I refocus, tossing the pen on my desk and twirling a long strand of my hair around my finger. I’ve been told over the years the habit is unbecoming and makes me look desperate and ditzy, but I always do it when I’m feeling particularly stressed.
“Knock, knock. You okay, Ali? You look like you’ve had about six espresso shots for breakfast.” I look up to see my coworker Chloe smiling at me with a look of slight concern on her face.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Great. Why, what’s up?” My sad attempt at masking my anxiety is betrayed by how squeaky I sound.
I won’t lie: the fact that I am always defending against the dumb blonde stereotype and that I’m the youngest junior designer at this firm has given me a bit of a chip on my shoulder, and I am determined to not let first impressions be last impressions. Sometimes it means I get a little too wrapped up in being the perfectionist I am. Like right now, for example. It also makes me second guess my abilities and confidence in my job. Something I hate greatly.
Chloe still stands in the doorway to my office with a look on her face, waiting for me to elaborate on why I’m so jumpy.
“I got a text from Madeline first thing this morning telling me she needed to speak with me. She’s cleared her calendar and wants me to make it a priority.”
Chloe glances at the watch on her arm. “And you’re dragging ass because? It’s almost nine-forty-five already; that’s not exactly making it a priority to Madeline Dwyer.”
“I know, I know. I’m just—avoiding it? What if I’m getting canned?”
Chloe’s crossed arms drop to her sides. “You can’t be serious, Alison. You are the best designer in this office besides Madeline. We all want to be you! You need to grow some balls and realize how amazing you are.” She cocks her hip and points her finger in my direction with conviction.
Maybe she’s right…I have worked my ass off to land my dream job, and I should be more confident in my abilities and judgment. I stand up sharply, smoothing the front of my shift dress and grabbing my iPad. “You know what? You’re right! I am a professional, modern woman!”
I walk swiftly around my desk and high-five a laughing Chloe as I make my way confidently towards Madeline’s office.
“That’s right, girl! You got this; woot-woot!” Chloe calls after me as I raise a fist in the air.
Right before I round the corner, I turn to face her again, “Oh, and I’ll be grabbing those last few boxes from your place this weakened. Thanks again for letting me stay with you. Tell Stan he’s a trooper for putting up with two women for that long. I owe you a lot of wine.”
Madeline Dwyer is everything I want to be. She’s cool, calm, completely put together, and knows her business like no other person in the city of Chicago. She started this business on her own in her twenties, while she was still in college, no less, and has run it on her own ever since, rising to become one of the premier design firms in the country.
This firm is her baby, and because of that, she values the people she hires; nobody gets in unless Madeline hand-picks them. It’s probably the reason that Madeline is still single well into her forties despite the plethora of men who try to work their way into her life.
I feel my heart in my throat. I try replaying Chloe’s words in my head over and over, but my nerves are starting to get the better of me again. I wait patiently outside of Ms. Dwyer’s office for her executive assistant to summon me into the largest office in the building: one with a corner view that looks out over the whole city…naturally. It makes the room that I work out of look like a closet. Those are the perks when you run an entire company instead of just being a newbie designer in a huge firm. It also lights a fire under my ass to work my up.
For all my drive and ambition, the truth is, I’m still new to this game. I am the youngest designer in the firm, barely older than the interns. I was one of those interns just a few years ago. I loved interning here. Madeline gave us every opportunity to learn from her, and I jumped at it. I was burning the candle at both ends in those days, but it paid off. I received an offer letter before I even graduated from college.
“Ms. Dwyer will see you now.” Her assistant Sophie doesn’t even look up from her desk as she hangs up the phone and calls me into the office. I push open the large door, swallowing to get the knot in my throat as I walk into the room. Madeline is sitting in the chair behind the desk with a folder in hand, her glasses resting at the end of her nose as she stud
ies whatever paperwork is inside.
“Have a seat, Alison.” She puts the folder down, grabbing her glasses off their perch and uses them to point to the chair opposite her. I slide into place, trying not to look as nervous as I am. My legs feel like a baby deer’s as I lower myself to the chair.
“Morning, Ms. Dwyer.” I can hear my voice wanting to shake, but I fight back and refuse to let it come out of my throat. I am a strong, confident, modern woman who is talented, driven, and deserves success.
“Morning.” She picks up the file and passes it over the desk to me. I reach for it, opening it and reading the words printed on the title page. Castille Hotels is emblazoned across it in what I recognize as Madeline’s careful and ornate handwriting. I flip through it for a moment before looking back up at my boss in confusion.
“I don’t understand. Is this a new project?”
“We have a new client, as you can see from the information in that folder. Castille Hotels is in the market for a designer to plan renovations in several of their locations. They contacted me the other day, and I thought this might be a good chance for you to prove yourself.”
Her voice is calm and even, betraying nothing of what is going on behind the gray-blue of her eyes. Madeline’s hard to read on a good day, and this morning caught me entirely off guard. I can feel my eyes growing a little wide, despite my determination not to show Madeline how off-kilter all of this has thrown me.
Claimed By Him: (Contemporary Romance Box Set) Page 45