I can’t help but laugh. “So do you make a habit of inappropriately buying drinks for people?”
“No.”
His answer is so quick, I almost believe him.
I take a sip, knowing this conversation is about so much more than wine. He’s the devil, and I’m being led down a very illuminated path of temptation. It’s not like he’s trying to pull the wool over my eyes.
We both know neither of us should be here.
Which is probably why I attempt to lighten it up.
“So you don’t like wine?”
He makes a face. “No. I’ve tried, trust me. It’s just not my thing. When we venture from beer to wine, that will be all Enzo.”
Shit. There’s no way around it. “We should probably avoid discussing Angel, Inc.”
Clearly amused, he doesn’t move. I’d call him Raised Rich if he were a statue.
“Because this is purely a social visit?”
“It’s certainly not an official one,” I admit.
So there it is.
“I’m surprised.” He shakes his head at the waitress as she approaches. She turns away. “After you waited twenty-four hours to text, I didn’t expect you’d agree to meet me.”
I try to play it cool.
“Are you always so forward?”
“Are you always so coy?”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “Coy?”
But he doesn’t laugh along with me. So he thinks I’m playing games.
Aren’t you?
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I say. “There’s nothing coy about that. We both know we shouldn’t be having this lunch.”
I sip my wine, enjoying the verbal sparring, trying not to think about the fact that I’m teetering on the very edge of propriety.
“So why did you come?”
I’ve dealt with plenty of men like Hayden before. Forthright. Cocky. But this isn’t just a power play to bend my will. Which makes it, him, so much more dangerous.
“Because I’m the queen of bad judgment, apparently.”
This appears to amuse him.
“The queen? Really?”
He’s still sitting back in his chair, casual as you please, but his eyes tell me he’s not as relaxed as he appears. Good. I’d hate to be the only one off-kilter here.
“Yes, really.”
“I don’t know, until this very moment you’ve been pretty hell-bent on following the rules. I’d say you are, if anything, a princess. But no queen.”
My eyes widen.
“Of bad judgment, that is.”
If only he knew.
“What about you? Are you a king? Or just a prince?”
Hayden laughs. “I am an emperor.”
I take a sip of wine. “Tell me something you’ve done that you shouldn’t have.”
He looks to the sky as if hoping divine intervention will save him from answering. “I mean, where do I start?”
“At the beginning?”
Hayden leans forward, evidently warming to the topic. “My third year in boarding school at St. Moritz I feigned migraines so bad that my mother eventually bought a house in the area because of how often they were forced to come check on me.”
I’m not even sure what to say. “There’s a lot to unpack there. Boarding school? Where is St. Moritz? And why did you pretend to have migraines?”
“Yes, boarding school. I was sent at the start of seventh grade. St. Moritz is in Switzerland. And I pretended to have migraines because in two years I’d only seen my parents twice. So I forced them to come to me.”
Holy shit.
“Twice in two years? Are you serious?”
Looks like Qasim was onto something. It’s baffling for me that people could go that long without seeing their kid. If I go two days without calling my parents, they threaten to send the National Guard.
“Very,” he says as if he’s talking about the weather and not his traumatic childhood. “I went to school with kids who spent more time with their nannies than their mothers, but even they went home more than once a year.” He shrugs. “My first Christmas away, my parents planned a trip to Bondi Beach in Australia.”
“Why didn’t they take you with them?”
“I cramped their style.”
The fact that he says it so matter-of-factly makes his words that much more chilling.
“Enough about my childhood. What’s one bad decision, outside of this one, that you’ve made?”
I consider, for the briefest moment, telling him. After all, he just opened up to me in a big way. But the waitress saves me from making the decision. We order this time, and Hayden asks for another drink. And when she walks away, I rush to change the topic.
“So how did you meet Mr. DeLuca?”
Hayden gives me a look of amusement.
“Enzo? I think we’re past formalities, don’t you?”
His words, coupled with his tone, set off warning bells. Ones I can’t ignore.
“Maybe. But that’s not necessarily a good thing.”
“No?”
God, he’s cocky.
“No. And you know it.”
“Hmmm.”
What the hell kind of response is that? For some reason it freaks me out, and I find myself blurting, “Honestly? I have no idea what I was thinking. When I texted back. Or met you today.”
“You weren’t.”
A breeze brushes a strand of hair on my cheek and onto my lip. I open my mouth and peel it off. The look on Hayden’s face reminds me of how badly I’m screwing myself.
“And neither was I. If someone you worked with walked in here right now, what would happen?”
“Depends. Do they like me?”
He thinks about that. “No. Definitely not. They’re up for the same promotion as you and have a vested interest in taking you out.”
That makes me smile. “We typically don’t take each other out in my office. There’s some backstabbing, maybe. Posturing, definitely. But you make it sound like someone will be ordering a hit on me.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
I wait as the waitress comes back with Hayden’s beer.
“No, I’m not.” At least not that question.
His gaze could unbalance a champion Olympic gymnast simply standing on the beam.
“They could tell my boss. Who would probably ask what the meeting was about.”
“So no big deal?”
“I mean, it’s not a crime. And we’re not talking about your application.”
“But we could be.”
He’s right. “Yes, we could be. But my boss trusts me.” And I’m not going to whittle away that trust, like I did in Maryland. “I go on multiday site visits with sponsors all the time. There’s no exact rule about this.”
“So nothing on the books, you mean?”
“There’s a code of ethics for government employees. So yes, there’s plenty on the books.”
“Such as?”
“Such as putting loyalty to country first. Upholding the Constitution, never discriminating. ‘Government employees have no private word which can be binding on public duty,’” I quote, knowing that clause by heart. “And I can’t use information I’ve learned”—I use air quotes—‘in the performance of governmental duties as a means for making private profit.’”
“That’s it?”
“Not all. But those are the biggies.”
“Nothing about drinking while on the job or meeting with sponsors while off it?”
I shake my head. “Nothing in writing.”
“So you wouldn’t be fired for this.”
“No. Not unless you claimed I acted improperly.”
“And if we were to do it again?”
My heart races. “There’s nothing technically wrong with it, but there’s not much right about it either. So no, I probably wouldn’t lose my job, but it wouldn’t look great. I’d be reassigned for sure. And my judgment would be called into question.” Again. “I might lose
out on a promotion.”
“Hmmm.”
I can tell he wants to say something. “What?” I decide to be as forthright as him. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“So you could lose your promotion. And if you were reassigned, I assume we’d be given a new RPM, which would mean more delays?”
I nod. “Most definitely.”
“Without getting into details, since you asked me not to discuss Angel, and I won’t, if you were reassigned, I would be risking the future of our business. And despite all of those bad decisions I talked about, I’ve made one good one, and that was befriending and going into business with Enzo. He let me into his life, his family, and is trusting me with his invention. I would never risk the one good thing I’ve ever done.”
I feel like a balloon that’s just been relieved of all its air.
“Well, that makes it easy. We just won’t text, or meet, or talk outside of work again.”
Hayden puts his beer down on the table and leans forward.
From the corner of my eye, I can see the waitress coming toward us with our food.
“Ada?”
I shift my attention back to him.
“Neither of us is thinking right now. We both have too much to lose.”
Why do I feel like there’s a “but” here?
“But here we are. And if you tell me you don’t want to speak again outside of our professional relationship, that’s your call. But I won’t make promises I have no intention to keep. Because if I’m being honest, I do intend to text you again after this. Probably before the end of the night.”
I am so in over my head with this man.
“Ball is in your court.”
The waitress lowers her food tray, giving me time to think. To formulate any coherent thoughts.
He doesn’t know about my career hiccup. Nor do I know why another delay would wreak so much havoc for him. But it doesn’t matter, really. As he said, the ball is in my court.
And I’ve never been much of a tennis player.
14
Hayden
“Evening, Hayden.”
“Evening, Tony.”
He reaches into the case without asking for my order.
“What if I wanted something different tonight?”
I love that the Corner Deli is open late. Tony makes the best meatball sub in the world. My mother would be appalled to know I get it at least twice a week for dinner.
You need to refine your palate, she’d say.
Just one of the many platitudes I try to forget from my childhood.
“You don’t,” he correctly guesses.
As Tony prepares my sandwich, I take out my phone, intent on fulfilling the promise I made to Ada earlier today at lunch. Time to text her.
Oddly for me, I’m at a loss for words.
“What’s on your mind?”
I look up. Tony isn’t much older than me, but he’s owned this deli since his dad passed away last year. It thrived thanks to his genius social media strategy. And fantastic subs.
When I moved into this neighborhood out of college, Tony gave me the lay of the land. I know his delivery guys as well as anyone at this point in my life.
“A lot,” I admit.
Since Sunday is a dead day for the late-night munchies crowd, we’re the only two people here.
Handing me the sub over the counter, he takes my cash, puts it in the register, and then leans on the counter, his warm smile as friendly as the first day we met. Everyone loves Tony, with good reason.
“Lay it on me.”
“You’re sure? This might take a while.”
He waves his hand around the empty deli.
“All right,” I warn him. “But you asked for it.”
“Let me guess? Your dad?”
Oddly enough, not this time.
“Actually, it’s a woman.”
“Ha-ha. Now that I didn’t see coming.”
I give him the side-eye. “Funny.”
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I pull it up in record time. It’s just Enzo. I glance back up.
“Your ladylove?”
“No. And she’s not my ladylove.”
“Ah,” he says knowingly, “so that’s the problem.”
I wish it were that simple.
And that’s how I end up explaining the whole sorry tale to Tony. In addition to being the owner of the deli, he’s the de facto neighborhood counselor. Everyone, myself included, finds it easy to open up to him. Which means he already knows that my father will be permanently tied to our business if we don’t start bringing in money soon. If I’m not careful, the man who doesn’t think I can make a good decision to save my life will be micromanaging me forever.
“Sounds like an easy dilemma to solve,” Tony says when I finally finish.
“I can’t wait to hear this,” I say dryly.
“Run for the hills.”
I wait for more, but that’s it.
“Seriously? That’s your advice?”
He shrugs. “Do you know how many women there are in the city?” He puts up a hand, palm out. “Wait, don’t answer that. You do. You’ve probably been with half of them already.”
He’s not entirely wrong.
“You said yourself that Enzo was the best thing that ever happened to you. That he was the first person who didn’t make you feel like a total screwup.” He shrugs like it’s simple. “So don’t screw this up.”
Easy for him to say.
“You don’t think I should text her tonight?”
He looks at me as if I’m nuts.
“Do you think it’s a good idea?”
My answer is automatic. “No.”
“Then why the hell would you do it?”
After a stare-off that lasts a few seconds, I frown and thank Tony for the advice. He laughs like a man who knows I won’t listen.
Back in my apartment, I toss the cold sandwich on the table and stare at my phone.
Of course I shouldn’t text her. Tony’s right. I don’t want to let Enzo down. I don’t want to earn my father’s poor opinion of me.
But it would be weird if I didn’t say anything, wouldn’t it? We still have to work together. Nothing wrong with clarifying the situation.
Hayden: Make it home OK?
I’m peeling back the sub wrapper when she responds.
Ada: I live a few blocks from the restaurant. So yes, I managed OK.
Smart-ass. Her response makes me grin.
Hayden: Just checking.
Ada: 5 hours later. . .
Since I can’t very well say I stewed all afternoon about what to text, I pause. Thinking.
Hayden: Were you that anxious for my text?
No response.
I take a bite of the sandwich and head to my refrigerator to grab an iced tea. While it’s no fifty-million-dollar apartment like the one my parents own in the city, the kitchen is big for a place in this part of town. Probably three times the size of most. My mother’s only been here twice, and both times she begged me to move somewhere “more appropriate.”
I’m nearly halfway finished with my sub before she responds.
Ada: Pleading the 5th.
I chuckle out loud. This woman is more than a pretty face. She’s smart. And funny. And sassy. And ambitious.
Even if she weren’t our RPM, those are all reasons I should be shutting this down instead of enjoying myself immensely. I’m not looking for a relationship, and she makes me want things I can’t have. Which means she’s dangerous to me in two ways.
Hayden: I’ve been thinking.
Ada: Sounds dangerous. . .
If only she knew.
Hayden: Funny.
I pause, knowing what I need to write and really, really not wanting to do it. I might have said “the ball is in your court” this afternoon, but I’m going to lob one over the fence.
Finally, I heave a sigh and type the message.
Hayden: This isn’t a great idea.
; Ada: Agreed.
Hayden: I shouldn’t have asked you to lunch.
Sounds better than, “Sometimes I act like a total asshole and forget the world isn’t all about what I want. Sorry.”
Ada: I shouldn’t have accepted.
I smile.
This isn’t helping. I keep liking her more and more with every interaction.
Hayden: Will email about site visit.
Part of me wants her to refuse. To tell me it’s not necessary. That we can still communicate like this.
I want her to rationalize it for the both of us.
So when she sends back, Good idea, I flip my phone over, irrationally angry at it. At myself for having pushed things this far.
When my phone steadfastly refuses to buzz, I stand up and put the rest of my sandwich in the refrigerator. Strolling over to the window, I look out from the 15th floor at the quiet before the storm of Monday morning.
It’s a big week for Angel, Inc. And it’s time for me to get my head out of the sand and do what needs to be done. I will not look at my phone. I will not continue to be distracted.
And I certainly will not fantasize about peeling off Doctor Flemming’s clothes and sinking deep inside her.
Nope. Definitely not.
15
Ada
“How was the rest of your weekend?”
I’m nursing a nearly cold coffee when Karlene pops into my office.
“Good,” I lie. “You?”
She looks behind her and then slips in and shuts the door.
“Who’s out there?”
She makes a face. “Eleanor.”
It’s no secret that Karlene and our boss, Eleanor, don’t exactly see eye to eye. And while I’m more philosophically aligned with Karlene, I also know better than to clash with the woman in charge. Karlene, not so much.
“She’s apparently on a whiteboard kick. Installed them in all of the boardrooms and is handing them out left and right.”
I’m too tired to ask why Eleanor is doling out whiteboards on a Monday morning. I had maybe three good hours of sleep last night courtesy of one Hayden Tanner.
“‘A fight with your boss is always a loss,’” I say, quoting my father.
Karlene plops down in the chair in front of my desk.
“I mean, she’s fine. I’m just not in the mood.”
Last Call Page 7