It’s common courtesy to offer assistance if you’re the one who made the damn mess. Even Armstrong, who is the most epic of douches, has some manners. Usually he’ll try to look up a skirt or down a shirt while he’s being polite, but it’s better than this.
I turn to retrieve the papers when two things happen, a power surge ramps up the box fans—it happens at least twice a day, and at the same time Lincoln pulls the door open again. The simultaneous actions create a vortex of air inside my office, and my skirt flutters into the air. Like I’m Marilyn Monroe and I’ve stepped onto one of those subway grates. The fabric rises quickly, and a breeze hits me right between the legs, which is the exact moment I remember that I’m not wearing panties.
I drop the papers and battle the fabric back down. It’s fruitless, though, the wind tunnel whirls through the room like Dorothy’s freaking tornado, and the back of my dress goes up. I meet Lincoln’s gaze from across the small room. All it takes is a second of eye contact before those ridiculously blue eyes pull me in, and weird, inappropriate things start happening to my body. It’s irritating as hell. I don’t even like this guy, but my body seems as if it hasn’t gotten the same memo as the rest of me. Even more aggravating is the realization that based on his expression, he totally caught an eyeful of cooch.
Lincoln stands frozen at the door, eyes wide and fixed on my crotch, mouth hanging open.
“Close the damn door!” My voice is siren high. And loud.
“Right. Yes. I’m going. Now.” He steps out of my office, pulling the door closed behind him.
My dress settles around my knees. “Dammit.” I drop into my chair, which is probably what I should’ve done as soon as the wind tunnel started, but clearly I’d been too panicked to think straight.
On the upside, I went to see my waxer last week, so he’s seen my girl bits when they’re looking their finest.
On the downside, my project for the next six months has seen my naked girl bits.
CHAPTER 5
MAKEOVER MORNING
LINCOLN
I head for the balcony with my coffee in hand. While I’m not a fan of the city, I can still appreciate the view from the penthouse floor.
It’s early, before seven, but I’m used to rising with the sun. In Guatemala, we’d get up at the crack of dawn and put in as many hours of labor as we could before the sun made it impossible to do anything but hide.
Here I wake up to air-conditioning and stainless steel appliances. My coffee is freshly ground and there’s a breakfast menu on the kitchen counter—in case I need to order something from the condo’s twenty-four-hour restaurant instead of putting bread in a toaster. It’s excessive luxury.
The air is cool, but even this high up, I can still smell the exhaust and pollution. I miss the freshness of trees and sunshine on grass.
“How’d the meeting go yesterday?” Griffin’s voice breaks up as I switch to speakerphone so I can have my hands free.
“It wasn’t the best.”
“Armstrong being a pain in your ass?” The question comes out with bite, which isn’t a surprise considering he knocked up Griffin’s ex-fiancée, before she became his ex.
“When isn’t he?” I gather my hair up so it’s not blowing in my coffee and secure it with an elastic. “He’s not my biggest problem, surprisingly enough.”
“What else is going on?”
“They’ve made me the CEO of Moorehead.”
The pause is so long, I wonder if the call dropped until Griffin speaks. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.” I cringe, considering that’s exactly how my father went. “Okay, that was bad, but yeah, I’m serious.”
“I’m sorry, Linc. Is this permanent? What’re you going to do about the Guatemala project?”
“G-mom said it would only be for six months, but we’ll still have to find someone to take over when I leave. I can leave Carlos in charge of the project for the short-term, but I’m going to need to hire someone to manage it eventually if it really takes more than a couple of months to sort this all out. You interested in taking it on?” I’m only half joking.
Griffin blows out a breath. “You know I would if I could. We’ve got another month in Panama, and then we’re supposed to head to Costa Rica after that. I can see if I can shift some things around—”
“It’s all right, don’t worry about it. I have people I can call, but I’d still really appreciate it if you’d stop there before you head to Costa Rica like we planned.”
“Of course I’ll do that. I wish I could drop everything here and go now, but we’re right in the middle of a hotel reno, so we have to stay put.”
“I get it. I’m disappointed we aren’t crossing paths. I’m hoping this is going to take a lot less than six months, but I have no idea what’s been going on here apart from the Armstrong drama you’ve updated me on.”
Griffin grunts. He may have moved on after everything with his ex, but I doubt he’ll ever get over what my brother did to him. “I guess you can’t really blame them for wanting your help. Armstrong can’t handle Moorehead on his own. But, man, you haven’t had any part in managing that gong show. What exactly do they expect from you? Is this some kind of payback for taking off and leaving your dad to run the company with your brother?”
“Hell if I know.” Although I suppose I can see what Griffin means about payback. I didn’t know my father well enough to be able to say with any kind of certainty what his motives were.
“So, six months in the city? How are you going to survive that?” It’s a serious question, not a joke. I haven’t lived in the city in years. Any time I pass through it’s only to see Griffin if he’s here, and I typically stay for a couple of days before I’m off again.
I scrub a hand over my face. “I have no idea.” I’d say take up drinking, but I’m still feeling the effects of yesterday’s hangover, so I don’t think that’s a solution for me.
“I’m so sorry, Linc. I know this is the last place you want to be. Is Armstrong losing his mind?”
“What’s left of it, yes.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. Dealing with him is going to be a challenge. A beep filters through the penthouse signaling someone has entered. “Do you have a housekeeper I should be aware of?”
“Yeah, she comes on Mondays, but you can change the day if that doesn’t work for you.”
I strain for the sound of movement in the penthouse. “Is there anyone else who has the code to this place?”
“My brothers, but they know you’re there, so they wouldn’t stop by without calling. What’s up?”
“I think I have company.” I leave my coffee on the balcony and grab the closest heavy object—which happens to be a weird piece of art, likely belonging to Griffin’s girlfriend—and head for the hallway.
“Lincoln?” a familiar female voice calls out.
It takes me a few seconds to place it. “I gotta go. My handler’s here.”
“Your what?”
“I’ll explain later. Enjoy the beach and your girl. I hope you packed Viagra.”
I end the call with a smile and set the phone on the cradle—he’s one of the few people I know who still has a landline. I nearly slam into my handler when I round the corner.
“Oh!” She stumbles back a step, and her hand goes to her chest.
“You’re letting yourself in now?”
“I knocked several times. And texted. And called. You didn’t answer.”
“Maybe I didn’t want to be disturbed. What are you doing here so early, and how’d you manage to get in?” I also haven’t so much as looked at my phone since leaving Moorehead yesterday, mostly because I’m not the least bit interested in dealing with any of this.
“I took down the code the last time I was here, in case you proved to be difficult to get in touch with. Better get used to me, Lincoln. I’m going to be like your shadow for the next several months.”
She strides through the living room, head held high like she owns the place. S
he’s wearing a pantsuit today. Probably safer than a dress if she routinely runs around without panties on. I fight off the memory of what I saw yesterday, irked by the spark of excitement that comes with it. She’s also wearing bright purple heels. They clip irritatingly on the hardwood.
She drops her bag on the kitchen table and spins to face me. A pair of dark-rimmed glasses frame her eyes, making the gray pop. Her too-red lipstick sets everything off balance. I want to hand her a tissue and tell her to wipe it off so it’s not a distraction, but I might end up in a headlock for that.
Instead, I go with something snarky and only somewhat improper. “You decided on breeze-appropriate attire today, huh?”
The only sign that I’ve gotten to her is the slight tic in her cheek. She blinks once and drags her pink tongue across her red lips before she smiles. “Watch yourself, Lincoln. You’re sounding a lot like your brother, and we both know how I deal with him. Next time you’ll know to knock before barging into my office and throwing out asinine accusations.”
“First of all, they weren’t asinine accusations. You should know that, considering you’re the one cleaning up all my brother’s messes. Secondly, who the hell wears a dress without panties?” Okay, that last question should have stayed inside my head instead of coming out of my mouth; however, I’m curious as to the answer. Also, I say this kind of stuff to be funny, where my brother would say it expecting to get lucky, which is not the same.
Being panty-less in an office with my brother seems dangerous.
“My panties were wet,” Wren snaps.
I arch a brow, and her eyes flare.
“Because of the coffee that Armstrong spilled on me. And sticky. They were wet and sticky and uncomfortable from the coffee.”
I fight to keep from smiling while I nod. “Makes perfect sense.”
“Speaking of panties, it would probably be a good idea for you to put something else on to cover yours, considering we need to leave sooner rather than later.” She spins on her heel and stalks down the hall in the direction of my bedroom.
“What are you even doing here?” I rearrange my cock, because for whatever reason, it seems to be responding to the female company. Clearly it doesn’t realize she’s an annoyance yet.
“You have a suit fitting this morning and an appointment at the spa to clean this up.” She makes a circle motion around her face. “If you’d bother to check the messages I sent you, or your calendar, or your voicemails, you would’ve known that. Also, I told you yesterday when you were in my office accusing me of being paid for sexual favors.”
She throws open the closet doors and steps inside. Despite this being the spare bedroom, the right side is filled with my cousin’s suits. It’s his winter wardrobe, so he rotates with the seasons. He’s particular about his clothes. I try not to be too judgmental about it.
Wren lifts one from the rack and frowns. “This is a great suit, although a little heavy for the season.” She checks the tag on the inside then holds it up in my direction, mouth turning down even more. “Why is it so big?”
“Everything in here belongs to my cousin.”
“Is he a descendant of the Hulk?”
I lean against the doorjamb as she combs through the suits. “He’s actually the smallest of his brothers.”
She waves in my general direction. “You’re already more than enough man; anything beyond this is ridiculous.”
“Is that right?”
Her head turns in my direction. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Like what?”
She brushes past me. “Nothing, never mind. We have to be at Saks in forty-five minutes. You need to get dressed so we’re not late. Where are your clothes?”
I motion to the worn, oversize backpack on the lounger in the corner of the room. “Most of it’s still in there.” I hadn’t planned to stay, so I never bothered to unpack. Now that it looks like I’m sticking around, I’m going to have to find alternate living arrangements and clothes that aren’t meant for hard labor in warm climates.
She rummages around in my bag and pulls out a pair of faded black jeans and a shirt with a hedgehog that reads WHY CAN’T YOU JUST SHARE THE HEDGE?
She arches an eyebrow. “I guess these will do. We’ll need to update your casual wardrobe while we’re at it.”
“The kids in Guatemala love my T-shirts.” There aren’t a lot of shopping opportunities, at least not where I was, and the ridiculous shirts made the kids laugh, which is the reason I wore them.
“I bet they do.” She graces me with a smile that seems almost genuine. “Okay, time to cover up all the prime real estate unless you’d like to give all the women at Saks heart palpitations.” Her eyes flutter shut, and she grimaces. “Stupid mouth.” She slaps the clothes against my bare chest. With that, she strides quickly through the bedroom and disappears down the hall.
I’m not sure how to take her, but at least she’s interesting. I throw on the jeans and T-shirt and meet her in the kitchen. She’s typing away on her laptop, having made herself at home. As soon as she sees me, she slams it closed and slips it back inside her bag. It’s huge, almost the size of my backpack.
“Ready?”
“No, but I don’t think you’re going to leave me alone unless I do this, so let’s get it over with.”
My moderately okay mood takes a swift turn into Fuck-This-Ville when we get stuck in New York morning traffic. The car crawls along, horns honking, the semi-fresh air from the penthouse floor is replaced by exhaust, subway fumes, and sewer grates.
“I hate this city,” I gripe as we pass yet another double-parked Lamborghini. “The people here are DBs.”
“DBs?” Wren asks.
“Douchebags.”
“Oh. Not all of them.”
“All the people I know are, with the exception of my cousin,” I grumble. “It’s just a bunch of self-centered narcissists who need to show each other who’s got the biggest balls with their environmentally irresponsible cars. None of this is natural. It’s not normal to be surrounded by concrete all the time.” I motion out the windows at the endless buildings and complete lack of trees.
“There are green spaces everywhere in the city,” Wren argues.
“As if that makes it better. I don’t get the point of this. I have plenty of suits stored away at my mother’s. Maybe there’s something in Griffin’s closet that will fit me.”
Wren levels me with an unimpressed look. “The suit you wore to the funeral is five years out of date and looked like something that fit you back in high school. You’ll swim in Griffin’s suits.”
She’s right, but I really hate this. “Fine. But we can cut out the spa treatments. I can take the electric trimmer to this and be done with it.” I motion to my hair.
She looks up from her phone, horrorstricken. “Absolutely not. You are not shaving your head. I forbid it!”
“Pardon me?”
“Your hair is thick and full and fantastic. Shaving your head would be a disservice to men around the world. And women. You’re getting a professional haircut. End of conversation.”
“You can’t tell me I can’t shave my head or force me to get a haircut.”
She arches a perfect eyebrow. Even her eyebrows irritate me. “I have ten years of self-defense classes under my belt. I can bring you to your knees before you even blink. If you try to give me a hard time about the haircut, I have authorization from Gwendolyn to use whatever persuasion methods necessary.”
“I’m guessing that means you’re not planning to sweet talk me into it, huh?”
“I’m pretty sure that won’t work with you, so I should warn you that my persuasion tactics may include duct tape and rope.”
“Sounds kinky.”
She turns her attention back to her phone and clicks away furiously while her cheeks flush pink. “Wouldn’t you love that. You’re getting a haircut. You can do it the easy way or the hard way. That’s your only choice in the matter.”
“Whatever yo
u say, Wren.” I’m almost tempted to find out what the hard way is with this woman. I have a feeling it might be the fun part of an otherwise craptastic day.
CHAPTER 6
FLIRT LIKE YOU MEAN IT
WREN
As unpolished and infuriating as he may be, Lincoln Moorehead smells fantastic, and being trapped in this car with him is making it impossible to think. Also, now the image of him in nothing but a pair of tighty-whities seems to be stuck in my head.
Lincoln’s body is ridiculous. He’s all sculpted muscle and tanned skin—likely from his time spent in the sun working in Guatemala, digging wells, and building orphanages. It’s clear the photos I’ve stumbled across online aren’t staged, and he truly is involved in the projects. It’s one checkmark against all the Xs he’s racked up with his behavior so far.
And while his attitude still sucks a lot, I can understand better where it comes from. If Armstrong were my brother, and I was under (what I believe may be a misguided) impression my father was a serial cheater, I’d probably have the same reaction. Also, I don’t mind the city, but I can see how it can be overwhelming.
“So, how’d you end up as my brother’s babysitter?” Lincoln asks.
I glance up from my phone. I’m in the process of setting up new social media accounts for Lincoln since he has none. “Please don’t call me that. It’s demeaning and undermines what I do.”
“Fine, how’d you end up as my brother’s handler?”
“My mother is friends with your mother. She asked me to do this as a favor. It looks good on my resume and pays extremely well. And your family needed someone who could handle the situation discreetly, which is something I’m good at, so I took the job.” It’s the abridged version, but he doesn’t need all the gritty details.
Lincoln tips his head to the side. “Is your mother a nice person?”
That’s an odd question. “Yes. Most of the time.”
Handle with Care Page 5