by West, Harper
Daisy narrows her eyes and looks at the amber liquid in the highball glass. “Your friend must be a real straight-shooter,” she says, “Whiskey drinkers tend to be that way. A real man’s man.”
I laugh. She’s not wrong.
Logan comes through the door and finds us at the bar. He’s changed into his favorite slate grey suit and dress shirt and looks like something out of a men’s magazine. I notice Daisy swallow hard.
It’s not that I feel inadequate next to Logan. We elicit different reactions from women. I tend to get them laughing and comfortable, charming my way into a girl’s panties. Logan just gives a woman ‘the look.’ The ‘I’m going to throw you on the bed and ravish you’ look. Both are effective. And the combination is perfect.
“Logan,” I say, introducing them, “This is my new friend Daisy.”
“We meet again,” Logan rumbles.
“Mr. Rutledge,” she squeaks.
“That’s my title in the office, Daisy,” he says, “But we’re not in the office now, are we?”
“But the mentorship…”
“We're capable of separating our social lives from our professional lives, aren't we?" he asks, smoothly.
Daisy nods.
“Fantastic,” I say, “Now we’re just three friends enjoying a night out.” I make a show of clinking my glass against hers. Logan does the same.
A few drinks later, we're all sufficiently loose and laughing. Daisy has been sitting between us, regaling us with stories about a threesome with her roommate and ex-boyfriend and flirting pretty shamelessly with the both of us. I've got one hand on her bare thigh, and she's leaning into Logan's shoulder. I'm thinking we're ready to take this party to a second location.
Daisy giggles and takes the last swallow of her drink.
“Okay gentlemen,” she says, sweetly, “My place or yours.”
Because of our business and social prominence, Logan and I don’t take women to our place until we know that we can trust them.
“Yours. Lead the way, sweetheart,” he says.
Daisy hails a cab, and the three of us pile into the backseat. Daisy gives the cab driver directions. Apparently, we’re headed for the village.
She wriggles between us, excited and eager. She’s cute and bubbly and pretty adventurous from the sound of things. She should be perfect. But as she’s sandwiched between me and Logan, I can’t help the feeling in the back of my mind. The one reminding me how wrong this is.
She’s not Ivy, it reminds me. It’ll never be as good.
I try and ignore it.
Daisy leans in and kisses me. It's a nice kiss. Light and delicate. She smells nice, and she tastes alright. But that's it. Nice. Not rocking my world. I kiss her back anyway.
When our lips part, she leans over to kiss Logan.
Bad idea.
He shifts, so Daisy’s lips meet his cheek.
“I don’t kiss, sweetheart,” he tells her, trying not to sound too harsh.
Daisy takes it in stride. She knows that this is a one-off and doesn’t push the issue. She climbs into his lap, though, and kissing and sucking on his neck, which he seems to like.
Her hand slides down to grope him through his pants. She makes a surprised face. And not a pleasantly surprised one.
“Don’t worry,” she whispers to him, “I’ll get you there.”
I try to figure out where his mind’s at. As far as I know, he hasn’t been with a woman since Ivy. One would think he’d be hard as nails after over a year of no action, but it seems he’s having some trouble getting into it. I give him a minute to get it together, helping Daisy off of him and into my lap for the rest of the ride.
“How’s this gonna work?” she asks after we’ve walked up the three flights of stairs to her place. She’s assured us that her roommate is gone for the night and she’s agreed to the NDA we insist on. “Do I take you one at a time? Or do I take you both at once?” she asks with a gleam in her eyes.
“One at a time,” I answer. Ivy is the only woman we’ve done together like that. God, remembering that night sends a pang of lust straight through me.
I look over at Logan. It’s clear he’s struggling with all this. Maybe he just needs a little help.
“Daisy, sweetheart,” I start, whispering into her ear and playing with her hair, “My friend here is a little hard up. He’s been out of the game for a long, long time…”
“Shut up, jackass,” Logan hisses. I ignore him.
“Maybe you can help him out,” I hint, suggestively.
Daisy seems to understand my message, turning to Logan and eagerly eye-fucking him while she undoes his belt. She drops to her knees, rucking down his pants and pulling out his half-hard cock.
She wets her lips with the tip of her little pink tongue and gets ready to take Logan in her mouth.
He pulls her up to her feet.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters. He looks like he’s having a panic attack. “I can’t do this.” He tucks himself back into his pants and zips up. “It’s not you, sweetheart,” he assures her, “And it has no bearing on your application, I promise. I just have to go.”
He heads for the door without ceremony.
I follow him.
“You too?” Daisy asks, bewildered.
I nod. “We’re a package deal,” I explain. I gather both mine and Logan’s jackets and head into the elevator after him.
We’re silent. Until…
“What the fuck, man?” I blurt out.
He lets out a deep, exasperated sigh.
I wait.
“She’s back,” he explains finally, “Ivy. She’s back.”
I blink a few times, just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. Ivy. Our Ivy. Our Ivy who told us that she loved us and then suddenly up and left one day, out of the blue, never to be seen or heard from again?
“She came into my office after you left, begging me for the receptionist job,” Logan explains.
“So, what did you do?”
He closes his eyes and lets out a fuck my life sigh. “I hired her,” he says, “She starts on Monday.”
Fuck me.
Chapter 5
Ivy
“You’ve got the emergency numbers, right?” I ask Patty, the sitter I hired this week. She came highly recommended from a childcare website and has all kinds of CPR certifications and child development education. She’s perfectly qualified, but none of that makes it any easier to hand her my son and leave for work.
Patty assures me for the umpteenth time that she's got everything under control and I ready my briefcase and head out the door for the nearly hour-long train ride into Manhattan from far south Brooklyn. My neighborhood is… fine. I mean, the apartment itself is pretty safe, but I don't walk around alone late and night and I'm nearly constantly cat-called as I pass storefronts and wait on the train platform.
Finally, the subway spits me out right in front of Rutledge Enterprises. I head straight for the ladies’ room to straighten my dress and spray some perfume on to hide the subway smell as well as possible.
I report to the receptionist desk, ready for training, and wait. No one meets me. Everyone passes me by.
The phone rings. I let it. No one answers. The call ends.
It rings again. And again.
I hop behind the desk and answer it.
“Hello,” I say, then catch myself, “Um… Rutledge Enterprises.”
“Hello?" the voice says. It's female, and she sounds older. "I need to speak to Logan. Tell him this is Ronnie Little, his housekeeper. He's not picking up his mobile phone."
I almost laugh, practically giddy. There’s a voice I hadn’t heard in a long time and greatly missed. “Hello Mrs. Little,” I tell her, “This is Ivy.”
“Ivy, dear,” she says, “How are you? Oh, it’s been ages.”
“It certainly has. I’m doing well. And yourself?”
“Oh, fine. Same old, same old.” She pauses. “And how is the little one?”
I swa
llow hard. I swear Mrs. Little knew I was pregnant before I did, even. And she was kind enough to keep my secret from Logan and Tyler even though I know it killed her to do so.
“He’s great,” I answer, wanting to get off this topic as quickly as possible. “Let me get Logan for you.” I put her on hold before she can respond.
Having been a receptionist before, I know how to transfer a call, however with no knowledge of Logan's extension, I'm forced to go to his office personally and tell him that he has someone on the phone for him. I take the elevator to his office and knock on the door. When I don't hear any noise, I assume Logan is in there alone, and I'm not interrupting anything, so I walk right in.
“Logan, you have a phone call,” I tell him, “Mrs. Little is on line one. She sounds like…”
“Ms. Lawrence, have you lost your mind?” Logan asks me, eyebrows pinched, positively glaring at me.
“Excuse me?”
“You answer a phone call without being trained to do so properly and then barge into your boss’s office to tell him of the call. Addressing him by his first name, no less,” he spits out, “Like you own the place or something.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, “But, really, how else was I supposed to relay the information to you?”
Logan clearly hadn’t thought of that, but he’s pissed at me, no less. “Ms. Lawrence, none of my employees call me by my first name,” he starts, “And none of them barge into my office without permission.”
“What about Tyler?” I snap back.
“I trust Tyler.”
Meaning, I don’t trust you.
“We have a history, Ms. Lawrence. We can't deny that. But you won't receive any preferential treatment, and you will submit to my codes of decorum," he insists, stepping just a little closer to me.
I have to admit that I still like the way he says ‘submit.’ That definitely wasn’t by accident. Fuck, I forgot how intimidating Logan could be when he was angry. It’s as frightening as it is hot.
“What are you going to do about it?” I ask. And for good measure, I add, “Sir.”
That rattles Logan. A shiver runs down my spine. It’s kind of thrilling. And while I know I shouldn’t, I have this terrible need to push his buttons.
He has a chair positioned across from his desk chair, and I place my hands on the tall back of it, leaning over just enough for him to get the picture. Him, all larger than life and domineering, giving into his base desire to plant a firm, open-palmed spank on my ass. He used to love doing that when I disobeyed him.
Almost as much as I loved submitting to him.
I watch as Logan’s hands ball into fists. He lets out a deep sigh.
He’s having trouble resisting, I can tell. It makes me smile.
“Get back downstairs and wait for Ms. O’Dell to train you on the phones,” he says through clenched teeth. “I already regret this, Ms. Lawrence. Don’t make me fire you on your first day.”
“Fine," I say with a nod. There's no use pouting or arguing. Logan isn't fun-mad, he's mad-mad, and I've upset him. Tail between my legs, I head back downstairs to the reception desk. Logan has already picked up his call by the time I get there.
As promised, I meet a woman named Grace O'Dell who takes me through greeting visitors and answering the phones. It's a rather simple job that I'm sure will prove mind-numbing after a few months, but I'm happy to do it. The salary is competitive, and the benefits are great.
If only I can take advantage of them without letting Logan and Tyler know about Oliver.
My mother would come to relieve Patty at around five, so I decide to stay at the office to do some data entry. It’s a simple task, but I’m enjoying focusing on something that isn’t feeding, pumping, or cleaning up a messy diaper. I feel like a businesswoman again, multitasking and dealing with professionals. God, I’ve been out of this world for so long, I’ve forgotten how much I’ve missed it.
Before I know it, it’s almost eight in the evening. It’s dark outside.
My mother calls to tell me that she has to leave as soon as possible. She and her friends have plans.
“Damn,” I tell her, “It’s going to take me at least an hour to get home.”
“Can’t you take a cab?” she asks.
“Too expensive,” I tell her. It’ll be almost a hundred bucks to take a cab all the way there.
“I’ll spot you this one time,” she says, a little miffed.
“No,” I say, firmly, “I’m not taking your money.”
"Well then, should I call and cancel with the Rodriguez's?” she asks.
“I…”
Just then, the elevator dings and a man steps out. He’s tall and muscular, but wiry, wearing a dark blue suit. He has brown hair that’s styled to look messy and a playful grin that I’d know anywhere.
Tyler.
When he sees me, he stops dead in his tracks.
“Ivy,” he says, looking like he’s seen a ghost. But while Logan is clearly pissed and having difficulty with my being around again, Tyler seems… strangely calm. Then again, Tyler is a lot less serious and tends to let things roll off his back more freely.
“Hi Tyler,” I say, “Err… Mr. Pearson. I got read Logan’s riot act about the last name thing around here.” Then again, he called me Ivy.
“Tyler is fine,” he says with a chuckle. “How are you?”
That's a loaded question. "Fine. The first day, you know?"
“I do.”
“Doesn’t help that Logan’s treating me like I’m three-day-old dog shit under his shoe,” I add.
Tyler cocks his head. "Can you blame him?" he asks, the boyish grin fading into a pursed-lipped grimace. "I mean, after all, that the three of us went through…"
“You seem okay, though,” I point out.
He sighs and shakes his head. “It took me forever to fall out of love with you, Ivy,” he says, looking down at the ground. “It’d be hell to try and do it again. Logan’s still going through it. I don’t know if he’ll ever get there.”
I don’t know what part of that thought is more difficult to process. Logan’s still in love with me? Or You’re not in love with me anymore. The first sentiment makes me happy, despite how much is probably eats at Logan.
But Tyler telling me that he’s no longer in love with me makes me feel a pang of… something. Straight through my solar plexus.
Loss, I think.
“Ivy? Ivy, are you still there?" I hear my mother say. She's still on the phone, and she's probably screaming.
“Yeah, mom, I’m here.”
“Should I cancel or not?”
“Don't cancel," I tell her, knowing how much she'll love lording my horribly irresponsible nature over me if I keep her waiting. "I'll be home soon." We hang up, and I figure I'll just have to swallow the cost of the very expensive cab ride.
“You okay?” Tyler asks.
“Yeah,” I tell him, “I have to get home.”
“Where are you living these days?”
“Brighton Beach,” I answer. There’s no point in lying to him. My address is on my paperwork.
“You’re taking the train?” he asks, “That’s a pretty long trip.”
“I’m cabbing it tonight,” I say with a frown, “Have to get back as soon as possible.”
“I have a car,” he says, “If you can wait five minutes, I’ll drive you.”
I look at Tyler like he's the oasis in the middle of my dessert.
“Oh my God, thank you,” I gush.
“What’s the rush?” he asks.
“I just… my mom has an emergency, and I have to get home," I lie. I notice Tyler's wince. He and Logan met my mother once when we were all together. Needless to say, they didn't have the best time. But it might serve my interests now. Tyler won't try to come in.
“Wait right here, and I'll bring the car around."
I gather my purse and my new copy of the company handbook and wait at the front entrance. Suddenly, a sleek black Ferrari pulls up, and
the window rolls down. I find myself smiling. Of course, Tyler would buy himself a ridiculously flashy sports car. The damn thing screams Tyler.
And, of course, he looks so damn good driving it.
“Hop in,” he says.
I let myself in the passenger side and cross my legs.
“Nice ride,” I tell him, “Assisting the boss must be a pretty good gig.”
He stops smiling. “You know I’m more than just an assistant.”
“I know. I was just teasing you.” And I was. While Tyler’s official title includes the word ‘assistant,’ he basically keeps an entire billion-dollar company running like clockwork. If not for Tyler keeping everything and everyone organized, this company would have imploded. He’s invaluable to Logan. He’s his right hand. They live together out of necessity as well as comfort.
“You better be, receptionist,” he says with a scoff.
“Low blow, Tyler,” I snap, not sure if he was trying to insult me or if he was just teasing. Either way, it wasn’t funny.
One look at my face and he knows I’m not joking around.
“Sorry,” he says.
I say nothing.
“Ivy,” he says after a few minutes of silence, “What happened?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, even though I know he wants the answer to one of a few very complicated questions.
“Your company?” he asks, “You were doing so well. You were doing everything right. You were making millions. Now you’re a receptionist. What happened?”
I let out a long sigh. That’s a rough one, but, believe it or not, it’s not the most difficult question Tyler could have asked.
“The short version is that I trusted the wrong people to make some pretty important decisions and they were wrong. If I were around more, I could have foreseen the problem and stopped it, but…”
“But?” he asks.
“I was taking some time off. I was… ill.”
It’s not a lie. I’d been very ill. My pregnancy was incredibly complicated and difficult, and I was on strict bedrest for the last four months. When I wasn’t lying in bed, I was in and out of doctor’s offices. The months of inactivity had made me terribly depressed and lethargic. And when I wasn’t busy letting my brain turn to mush, I was in dire panic. What if something happened to my baby? Or to me? I’d never felt so helpless.