I pull them on, embarrassed. I’m not the kind of woman that has any business wearing something so sexy, so sultry, but when I look in the mirror, my breath catches in my throat.
“You look hot!” Meghan gasps.
I want to believe her. I want to believe the image I see in the mirror staring back at me, but my grandma’s words come to me, as they often do.
You’re lucky to have that brain of yours ‘cause ya ain’t got enough meat on yer bones for a man.
Meghan’s pushing me now, through one door, then a second, and now I’m in the hall.
“Knock ‘em dead!” Meghan says from her doorway, arms crossed over her chest and a smirk across her face.
CHAPTER 10
Remi isn’t wearing underwear…
Boxy Bessie makes a liar of me, and I finally walk from my building at twenty-five minutes after my text message only to trip over my own two feet directly into Tom’s arms.
“Careful now!” Tom says, catching me.
I feel my cheeks grow red as I struggle to regain my footing, Tom’s strong arms the only thing keeping me from falling.
“Oh, gosh! Wow. I’m so sorry.”
Tom’s eyeing me up and down.“No, it’s fine, but I must say, this is the quickest.”
I scrunch my brows. “Quickest what?” I ask.
“The quickest anyone has ever fallen for me.”
My eyes grow wide, my mouth forming a perfect circle. I’m completely unprepared for this kind of witty banter.
“God, look at you! You’re absolutely gorgeous!” Tom says, his eyes roving my body, his face displaying approval.
“Thank you,” I accept the compliment, one I have never received before from a man and hope to one day get again. It feels good to feel pretty, however foreign.
“My car’s coming around, fucking hall monitor threatened a ticket, which isn’t a big deal, but I didn’t want to be a dick.”
“Oh,” I say, now even more self-conscious at the amount of time it took me to get to the bottom floor.
Looking towards the street, I see a blurry haze and realize that in my hurry, I forgot to put on my glasses, but there’s no way I’m going back upstairs.
A black limousine slows, coming to a stop before my apartment complex, and Tom offers his arm up. We walk to the vehicle, the driver rushing to open the door. I thank the man as I climb in, scooting over to make room for Tom.
I have never been in a limo before, and I certainly have never been in a limo with a handsome millionaire like Tom Wellington.
“Damn, executive office already—after two years! Gabriel must have a thing for you.”
My brows raise. I am absolutely not prepared for a comment like that.
“I think it has more to do with my presentation,” I say, worrying I’ll sweat my makeup off.
“No doubt! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” His hand moves to my thigh, a gesture that startles me. I look up at him, and his smile leaves me breathless.
God damn, Tom Wellington is handsome.
“So you went to Cornell?” he asks. “At fifteen?”
I blush, not knowing if he means it as a compliment or to say that I’m a freak, as so many have.
“Yes, I was accepted in with conditions at fifteen years old. I graduated at nineteen, but to be honest, I could have graduated at seventeen if they had just let up on the freaking restrictions.”
He nods slightly, and I realize how pompous I must sound.
“Your parents must be proud,” he says.
I look down, kicking myself for allowing the conversation to go in this direction.
“Well, my mother died when I was seven. I never knew my father. My grandmother raised me.”
“Oh, jeez,” he says, burying his head in his hands.
“Oh, please don’t. I’ve had over a decade to come to terms with it.”
He looks at me with sincere eyes and says, “Well, I hope your grandmother knows she did one heck of a job. You’re something to be proud of.”
“Well, my grandmother died last Christmas. On Christmas day, actually.”
Tom is pale now, his mouth open and completely at a loss for words.
“Don’t worry, we weren’t close.”
“Weren’t close? Wasn’t she the one who raised you?”
“Technically, yes, but she never failed to remind me just how much she was giving up in the process. She was always mad at everything.”
“Jesus, I’m sorry.”
“Look, this evening didn’t start off how I had intended. Is there a do-over?”
At this, he smiles genuinely. “I think we both need one.”
We make small talk the rest of the way to Deco 6, and when the limousine stops, the door is immediately opened by men in suits who assist us from the vehicle. I’m bombarded with a series of flashing lights, and the confusion makes me want to climb back into the limo, but Tom’s hand on my back disallows me from doing so.
I bring my hands up as a shield, but when the lights keep coming, I close my eyes—which proves to be a pretty stupid thing to do because in the moment my vision goes dark, my shoe connects with the curb, and down I go.
A roar of laughter erupts from the crowd.
I recover quickly, but not quick enough as I soon realize the flashing lights are cameras going off. Deco 6 is apparently a hotspot for celebrity date nights, which means the entrance is lined with tabloid photographers eager to catch a pricy photo of an A-lister.
Thankfully, photos of clumsy dates aren’t in demand.
Tom’s hands are around me, assisting me to stability.
I’m so embarrassed, I can’t even make eye contact, and instead, I scuttle to the door, trying to block the laughter from reaching my ears.
Tom’s left hand is pressed firmly to my back, his right is shielding me, and once we make it inside, he pulls me to a stop.
“Hey, are you okay?” he asks, going to one knee to inspect my booted leg.
I pull back, anxious, and nervous. “I’m fine. Really. If my kneecap shattered every time I fell, I’d be going through a lot of replacements.”
He smirks, looking up at me, and for a moment, I get an overwhelming sensation that can only be described as lust. Seeing him down on his knee makes my blood rush to all the right places. This must be what dating feels like.
“That clumsy, eh?” Tom says.
I snap from my haze. “Yes,” I reply.
I wonder if I should warn Tom and tell him that I’ve never dated before. He will no doubt think that I’m some kind of freak, and maybe I am, but I never really had the opportunity to.
When I was fifteen, a time when I should be learning to kiss, I enrolled in college. Sure, maybe a few creepy guys would have tried something, but I was assigned a ‘mentor’—Ms. Roxwell, the retired librarian. The college knew they’d be held liable if something were to happen to me, so they made sure Ms. Rockwell was watching me all day, every day. I even roomed with her. And then, when I graduated at nineteen and started grad school, well, I really had no peers at that point. I had nothing in common with incoming college freshmen who were my age, or other graduate students. So, I became a loner.
Tom’s still on his knee, his hands massaging my leg through my boot, giving me goosebumps. I find myself short of breath, caught up in a dangerously addictive feeling that I imagine could make a woman lose control. I want to lose control.
My leg lifts, almost instinctively, and Tom leans in to kiss my knee. I’m startled by my forwardness and back away. Tom, however, has the look of a starving man.
What have I done?
People are passing us, casting queer looks at Tom, who is still kneeling on the floor.
He’s so handsome—a 9 out of 10. Of course, most women would give him a 10, but for me, only one man I’ve ever met has that honor—Gabriel Icor.
Tom rises, giving me a wink, then offers his elbow. I slide my hand into place, and we continue to the elevator.
We�
�re brought to the top floor, which opens into a vast room with what appears to be floating lights. I blink, unable to see clearly because I don’t have my glasses on.
The floor lights where we walk, illuminating aquariums built into it. I have never been to a place like this before, and the sheer decadence had me on edge.
A beautiful woman approaches, tall as a goddess with honey-blonde hair cascading down her back.
“Tom Wellington, I have your table ready.”
We follow the woman to the far end of the room, which boasts a section of tables on a translucent patio. Looking down, I see the street below.
I stop before stepping onto it, scared. Tom looks over at me, clearly amused by my fear.
“If you fall, I’ll catch you,” he says. “Just like I did when you were exiting your building.”
“What about that time we exited the limo?” I ask, brows arched.
Guilt flashes in Tom’s eyes, but a wry grin soon replaces it. “Then, we’ll fall together.”
I step out onto the glass or whatever the balcony is made of, and it’s sturdy. I still don’t like it, but I’ll die of a heart attack before falling through to the street below.
We sit, and I allow Tom to order me a drink. Beautiful women with mile-high legs folded elegantly in their chairs are seated across from successful men, some young, most old.
I don’t belong here.
Before long, bread is put out, as well as an array of cheeses, and a beautifully crafted beet and goat cheese dish that looks better than it tastes.
Small talk pours from Tom, and I hear about his childhood, his boarding schools, and his studies abroad. It is a relief that I don’t have to say much, but the more he talks, the less attractive he becomes. His dazzling smile seems not for me, but for himself and all his many accomplishments.
We eat our way through six courses, each one becoming harder to pronounce and carrying a greater risk of intestinal distress than the last, until finally, there is only a lavender créme brûlée left between us. Tom is smiling at me as he scoops the first bite into a too-small spoon, then leans in to feed me.
I accept the bite as I suppose one does on dates like this. It tastes good, but not chocolate créme brûlée good. Why people are infusing fancy flowers into sugar-laden desserts is beyond me.
“So when do you move into Icor Tower?” he asks.
“Next week, I hear. That is, if I’m still around.”
“I can’t imagine you’ll get promoted only to get demoted a week later. If Gabriel promoted you, he must know you and be confident in your capabilities.”
“That’s just it—he doesn’t. You saw my presentation—that’s what the promotion was based on,” I answer truthfully.
He furrows his brows. “So you two didn’t know each other before the meeting?”
“Not at all,” I lie.
No matter what I say, it’s not going to look good. If I tell him I went to the Innovation Meeting 23.7 hours earlier than I was supposed to and ended up meeting Gabriel then, it would go against what Gabriel had coached me to say. On the other hand, saying that Gabriel promoted me to director level based off of one presentation sounds just as bad.
“Well, Gabriel certainly knew what he was doing. It’s one of the better decisions he’s made recently.”
My eyes grow round at the complement.
“I mean, yeah, it’s rash, but it was a Hail Mary pass if I ever saw one.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my stomach twisting in knots.
“Well, Gabriel’s lost a lot of confidence with the board, and with the directors. Part of me thinks he doesn’t even want to run Icor Tech. He’s never around and doesn’t want to do any of the work. He’d rather just date supermodels and go on expensive vacations.”
I look down, unsure of what to say. That certainly wasn’t the impression I got from him, but surely Tom knows him better than myself.
“Tell ya the truth, sometimes I wonder if I should be putting my resume out,” Tom says, then a startled look crosses his face. “Oh, crap. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be sitting here telling you this, especially with your promotion. Icor Tech is fine! Great even. I guess we all just have things we’d love to change if we could.”
“I guess,” I say, but now I’m anxious.
Tom scoots his chair around, so we’re no longer facing each other. His hand is now on my thigh, so high up, he’s touching the fabric of my too-short dress.
“I want you to know that if you have any questions, any worries—you can come to me. I want you to feel welcome in the boardroom, and with your fellow directors. If anyone gives you grief, tell me. I’ll set them straight.”
I feel searing heat where his hand is. My heart is beating like a war drum, and my breathing grows erratic.
Tom Wellington, who can get a last-minute reservation at Deco 6, is sitting right next to me, hand on my thigh, telling me he wants to help me—offering me his protection.
“I think I need some air,” I gasp.
Tom brings up his hands, glancing around, and I realize how silly that sounds when we’re out on the balcony.
“I mean, I think I’d like to see more of the city from this view.”
“Of course, as would I.” Tom immediately gets up, assisting me from my chair, and we walk out further onto the large patio extending over the city.
It’s beautiful and terrifying, and if only I had remembered my glasses, I might be able to see something more than a blur of lights and colors. How the platform extends out so far is a feat of architecture, and I force myself to take it in without running tolerance numbers through my head.
“I’ve never seen something like this before,” I confess.
“The Heartshires constructed it, but it’s nothing. You should see some of the buildings in China and Dubai, and maybe you will. There are lots of meetings to attend around the world. Eventually, you may be tapped to go.”
As the night grows darker, more lights came on, and I feel as though I’m in a fairytale. And then, a familiar feeling strikes me.
I don’t belong here. I wasn’t born into money, and I’m certainly not beautiful. I am nothing but an intruder.
“So, what does Gabe have you doing?” Tom asks.
“Oh, I’ve been familiarizing myself with various systems. I’ve spent a lot of time reading the bylaws, what directors vote on versus what the board votes on. It’s weird that so many have carried over from Maxwell’s time.”
“Yeah, he was a good guy, so I hear. Maybe once the Remaining 3 are gone, they’ll make some updates.”
The Remaining 3 is what the remaining Big 5 are now called: Lindel, Cregor, and Barry.
“Analise is forcing a new wardrobe on me, having it delivered to the Tower for when I move in. Apparently, she doesn’t want to let a single article of my current clothing through the doors.”
“Well, I don’t know, she obviously hasn’t seen you in this.” Tom’s eyes rove over my body,
“Oh, this is from Porn Star Meg,” I say without thinking.
“Porn Star Meg?” his brows lift.
“My neighbor,” I say.
“Interesting.”
A slight breeze picks up, and my borrowed dress begins to flutter. It takes me a moment to realize something that should have occurred to me during my makeover, and in true Remi Stone fashion, I blurt out, “I’m not wearing underwear!”
Tom’s now looking at me, jaw gaping, and I feel my face flushing red.
Oh my God! How was I born this stupid?
Tom finally recovers from the shock and leans towards my ear. “We can cut out of here if you’d like.”
All words fail me. I’m standing there, red as a lobster wondering why my genius brain doesn’t work. Tom now thinks I want to get laid, which is both ironic and hilarious, considering I’m a virgin.
I should run away. Definitely run away. And never come back to Icor Tech. I am in demand. I was just offered a director position from Gabriel Icor himself. I can go
to any tech company I want.
Maybe heading back to his place isn’t such a bad idea. Would having sex with a handsome, intelligent man be so bad?
I’d be lying if I said I haven’t spend countless hours wondering what sex is like. I’ve dreamed of what it would be like hundreds of times, in far too great a detail. Even if it’s no more than a one night stand, who better to have one with than Tom Wellington?
Gabriel Icor—that’s who. As hot as Tom is, Gabriel is the only 10 I’ve ever met, and I’ll likely not meet another. But who am I to complain? I’ve had zero experience, and most women never get to bed an 8, let alone a 9. Tom is more than qualified to get the job done. He’s overqualified!
I think about this for far too long, confused, wishing I had a girlfriend to talk this over with. Maybe Porn Star Meg could offer her assistance. Or Analise.
I finally say, “I didn’t mean to say that. I thought it, not realizing…you know.”
Tom’s face falls a little. He looks confused.
“Look, you did nothing wrong. I just haven’t dated much before—or at all. To be honest, I don’t even know what this is, a date or a business meeting.”
“Well, I’ll tell you one thing, I don’t bring business associates to restaurants that usually take months to get into.” He gives me a wink.
I melt just a little.
“I feel so stupid,” I say, looking out over the patio. “I don’t belong here.”
“Why? Most people either have to be really smart or really beautiful to dine at a place like this. You’re both.”
The words hit me hard, well not the smart part. It’s the word beautiful. Tom Wellington thinks I’m beautiful. I turn away, even more embarrassed than when I told him I wasn’t wearing underwear.
A hand rests on my shoulder. “It’s been a big week for you, and I imagine next week is going to be just as crazy. Why don’t I take you home—that is unless you’d like to go back to my place.”
CHAPTER 11
Gabriel is fully prepared to fall on his sword…
It’s past eight o’clock, and all I can think about is Remi and Tom dining at Deco 6. I hate the feeling in my gut, the uneasy sick sensation usually reserved for when I look at company numbers.
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