Hot Summer Nights: A Four Seasons Novel

by Lee, Geneva

  The waiter who had stood to the side did nothing to stop me as I stole the dish. I kinda hoped they charged Luka for it. I was out the door, foie gras in hand, before I remembered that he had driven me here. Now I was in the middle of downtown Seattle with a plate of French duck liver and a pair of shoes that were not made for walking. I decided that despite that fact I needed to get moving. If Luka had the balls to follow me out, I didn’t want him to find me standing there trying to figure out what to do next. I walked in the opposite direction of his car. It seemed like a safe bet that he would head the way we had come. He was the one wanting to take a tumble down memory lane after all. The trouble was I didn’t really know where I was. It took some maneuvering to handle the dish I’d stolen and get into my purse to dig out my phone. Before I could open the Uber app, a car pulled up to the street in front of me with the window rolled down. I glanced down quickly at my little black dress wondering if I’d accidentally dressed like a street hooker. It didn’t seem like I was advertising. Maybe it was someone looking to score some haute cuisine on the side.

  “Cassie?” A familiar voice called.

  I leaned down, which was tricky given the balancing act I was already doing, and saw the driver. Gavin’s friendly, and very welcome face, stared back at me.

  Chapter 8

  “Oh my God, I thought you were going to solicit me.”

  Why did I have to say everything I was thinking around him? It seemed like I had absolutely no filter in the presence of Gavin North. I couldn’t imagine what he thought about me. Actually, I could and none of it was good.

  But he only laughed. “You looked a little lost.”

  That was probably the nicest thing he could say, given that I was wandering around downtown Seattle holding a plate of foie gras. Since I was probably going to say whatever popped into my head, I might as well be honest with him. “I just walked out on a really bad date.” I held up the plate. “And I stole the appetizer.”

  “Is that foie gras?” Gavin asked, craning his head to see.

  “It is. Or it was—if I don’t get it out of this summer heat then it won’t be much of anything soon.” I glanced down at the delicate dish, hoping it wasn’t ruined from standing outside. I wanted to eat it along with all of my feelings about tonight. Possibly with a spoon. Definitely with a bottle of wine.

  “Tell you what, I’ll give you a ride home, if you give me a little of that.” Gavin waved me toward the car: a shiny, new Tesla.

  As far as being propositioned on a street corner, it seems like a reasonable deal and I didn’t have a better option. It would probably take 15 or 20 minutes to get an Uber down here this late on a Friday night. I got in and smiled sheepishly at him, clutching the foie gras like a French life raft. He was still dressed for work in his suit. I wondered if he had just gotten done with his meeting, but I didn’t have the guts to ask. The last thing I needed was a reminder that he had chosen Trevor to go to that meeting.

  “I’m all the way out in Bellevue if that’s okay,” I told him, trying to buckle my seat belt while holding the dish.

  Gavin leaned over the center console, so close that I could smell the almond scent of his shampoo, and did it for me. His hand slid up the strap, smoothing and tightening it over my shoulder, before brushing swiftly over the bare skin of my collarbone.

  Fireworks. It stole my breath for a moment.

  “I was headed that way anyway.” The words were thick as he turned his attention to the steering wheel and gripped it so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

  “Okay,” I said in a small voice as I struggled to regain control over my renegade faculties, all of which seemed alarmingly tuned to Gavin’s frequency.

  I wanted to ask him what he was headed to — or rather who. I kept my mouth set. Gavin checked both of his mirrors, put on his signal, and pulled back into traffic. Not only was he a perfect gentleman, he was a perfect driver. I was beginning to suspect the entire Gavin North package was almost perfect, except that girlfriend business. Still, as he began to drive me home, I wondered if I was getting more than I bargained for like a whole heap of wanting what I couldn’t have.

  “You saved my life.” I shook mist from my hair as I flipped on the hall light. It had begun to finally drizzle as soon as we reached the condo, turning the summer night into an indoors-only affair. Typical, fickle Seattle move.

  “I saved your shoes,” he corrected me with a laugh. He paused at the door as though waiting for an invitation. He filled the door frame, small rain droplets dusting the broad shoulders of his suit jacket.

  I beckoned him inside as I peeled my heels from my swollen feet. Asking him in was the least I could do after he’d driven me home through downtown traffic on a Friday night. There was no sign of Lillian, a small mercy since I’d sworn on my celibacy to get access to her guest room for the summer. I’d promised her no sex. No one-nightstands. I hadn’t exactly promised her no men altogether. There had to be some rational exceptions for delivery guys and maintenance workers. Men who didn’t count as men. Like Gavin, who wasn’t a man. He was my boss.

  Maybe I needed to wear a rubber band around my wrist to remind me of that very important fact.

  Sure, he wasn’t the boss I had been expecting. He had all his hair for one thing. And yes, he had surprised me more than once. Taking things in stride, cracking jokes, delivering his intern and her shoes halfway across the city. Because Gavin was a good guy who despite some rough edges took time for other people. He genuinely cared.

  About his job, I reminded myself as I eyed the wine rack in the corner. That was why he was here now. Because he saw his intern home in the rain. It was why if I offered him a glass of the Montepulciano I grabbed from Trader Joe’s, he would say no. That, and the fact that he probably preferred to drink wine that cost more than ten bucks. Because if he accepted a glass of wine, that might signal that he wanted to spend time together socially. But was offering the wine the equivalent overture? In the end, the Texan in me—the part of me cursed with carefully cultivated social graces—won out.

  “Can I get you a glass of wine?” I picked up the bottle so he could see the label in an effort at full disclosure. Cheap wine. Company intern. Gentlemanly boss. I knew what his answer would be before he opened his mouth.

  “Sure.”

  My mouth fell open like a broken mailbox, and before I could clamp it shut again, he shrugged off his suit jacket and began unfastening his cufflinks. My jaw remained unhinged even as I backed into the kitchen to look for the corkscrew. It took mental coaching, the likes I imagined Olympic athletes employed, to talk myself into turning away from him to look in the drawer. I had no idea what to expect when I turned around. What if he took his shirt off? What if he’d stripped to his birthday suit?

  It took two tries to get the cork out of the bottle and when it popped free, I felt a wave of relief. Grabbing two wine glasses, I quickly poured a safe amount of wine for each of us. There were no mental gymnastics needed to convince me to turn back around. Gavin was lounging on the sofa with his arms crossed behind his head. He’d rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie but was otherwise clothed. My heart flipped with unreasonable, if fleeting, disappointment. Later, there would be a lecture in front of the mirror. One where I reminded myself that I’d chosen the path of being single, followed by a stern tongue-lashing regarding inappropriate fantasies about my boss.

  “Sorry, it’s cheap.” I wished I could swallow it back as soon as I said it, my cheeks turning the same shade as the wine I handed him.

  “No worries.” He shrugged as if that didn’t bother him. “I remember the college days and Two-Buck Chuck.” He didn’t bother swirling it, instead he took a long drink. “Definitely better than that.”

  “This one cost ten dollars,” I said with mock smugness. I couldn’t decide where to sit. Next to him seemed wrong—like a clear signal that we were on a spontaneous date. Across the room might seem like too much space as though I was afraid he would think we were on a da
te. I opted for the opposite end of the couch, leaving three-quarters of a cushion between us.

  “I’m clearly paying you too much.” He grinned and angled his body toward mine, a dark strand falling across his forehead. Even his hair seemed to be off the clock.

  “You aren’t paying me anything,” I reminded him.

  His eyebrow arched into a question mark, and he glanced around the condo. “Heiress?”

  That made me laugh. I shook my head, incapable of imagining that as my reality. “If only. Daughter of a Texan rancher—and no. This is my best friend’s sister’s condo.”

  “Not a bad deal. She works late?”

  I swallowed back the giddiness threatening to escape at his question. “She’s a lawyer, so she works all the time.”

  “Then you’re alone most nights.” He took another sip, his mouth lingering longer on the rim. I wasn’t certain if he was savoring the wine or the information.

  Maybe I was reading into the questions, but it felt like more than friendly, small talk. Either he was casing the joint or I wasn’t the only one entertaining crossing some boss-employee boundaries. It wasn’t like it was that weird. There wasn’t much of an age difference, and he wasn’t actually paying me. Of course, I wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.

  “ That’s usually when I get to actually talk to my best friends. They’re both out of the country.” It wasn’t as if he was interested in what I did at night when I was alone, but I didn’t want him to think I sat around solo in someone else’s apartment.

  “Together?” He asked as he abandoned his now-empty wineglass on the side table. I couldn’t decide whether or not to offer him a refill. Too much alcohol and Cassie usually resulted in bad decisions. But I was sipping and in control.

  “No,” I told him as I retrieved the bottle from the kitchen and poured him another glass. It was the hospitable thing to do. “Jillian is in Scotland with her boyfriend, and Jessica is on her honeymoon.”

  “Honeymoon?” He didn’t bother to hide his surprise, setting off my own internal alarms. I’d learned to steer clear of the M-word on dates, but this wasn’t a date and it was a fact. Jessica was married. Never mind that I couldn’t wrap my head around it either.

  “Yeah, she got married a few weeks ago.” So, so weird to say that.

  “Is she…older?”

  There it was, the wild-eyed look of a man trapped by a conversation about commitment with a girl he barely knew. Since this wasn’t a date, and I was determined to keep it from heading down that path, I smirked. “We’re the same age. She married an instructor.”

  “Her instructor?” He shifted on the couch, uncrossing his legs and looking distinctly less comfortable.

  “Not currently.” I did my best to look innocent, but I could barely contain my laughter.

  “Wow.” He paused and adjusted his loosened tie.

  “He’s about your age, so it’s not like he’s ancient.”

  “Doesn’t the university frown on that?”

  “The university doesn’t really get a say in who we date. Jess wasn’t his student and he was still a PhD candidate.”

  “You left that part out,” he said accusatorially, but his eyes twinkled with his own suppressed laughter.

  Okay, so maybe I was enjoying making him squirm a little. “I enjoy pressing a person’s buttons.”

  Oh hell, I’d just said that aloud. What I’d meant and what I’d implied were on opposite ends of the spectrum. Gavin cleared his throat, pulling at the loosened tie around his neck again. My thoughts went to what he could do with that tie—what I would let him do with that tie.

  “I imagine it’s different in the corporate world,” I began, ignoring the alarm bells sounding in my head. I should stop. I shouldn’t finish the thought. I did anyway. “Dating people at work, I mean. There must be rules.”

  “Probably at some places.” He let that tidbit hang in the air without giving me any more information.

  I couldn’t help but bite. “And at Northwest Investments?”

  “Half of our staff is married to one another. I don’t care if people are hooking up if they’re doing their jobs. I mean, we do have a sexual harassment policy,” he added quickly. “So I wouldn’t recommend you walking around and catcalling people.”

  Now he really was squirming. I had brought the subject up, pushed the topic of inter-office dating, but he was still the boss. However loose the rules were, they had to be different when it came to his relationships with his employees. “Good to know.”

  “Are you thinking about dating someone from work?” If he felt the least amount of shame asking such a forward question, he didn’t show it.

  Now I was the one with ruffled feathers. I stammered, trying to come up with a response that didn’t make it obvious exactly who I was interested in. “Not really.”

  “It’s hard for a lot of us,” he said. “We don’t get out a lot. It’s just natural to date someone from the office.”

  “Is that how you met your girlfriend? At work?” Now I had really done it. I had promised myself I would stay far, far away from this topic. Instead, I practically had him filling out a dating questionnaire.

  “My girlfriend?” His confusion was obvious, which had the simultaneous effect of making me excited and sick to my stomach. I couldn’t pretend that I hadn’t been watching him now. Or that I wasn’t interested in him.

  “The girl who came to the office the other day. Pretty. Dark hair. Looks like a model.” I knew her name. I’d asked about her. I wasn’t about to admit that.

  “Imogen?”

  “Is that her name? You two looked cozy.” There. I had put it on the table. It was stupid to keep beating around the bush. Especially since part of me wanted him to be beating around my bush.

  Gavin leaned forward, placed his glass of wine on the coffee table, and then threw his head back and laughed. I wasn’t certain what to make of that.

  “I’m sorry. Are you gay?” It was the thing that made the most sense. If he wasn’t dating the supermodel-gorgeous woman who’d been in his office, kissing him on his cheek, then maybe I had gotten the wrong impression altogether. He did dress well.

  My question only made him laugh louder.

  “No, I’m not gay.” It took him a second to stop howling before he added, “Imogen is my sister.”

  His sister.

  Sister.

  Sister! Sister! Sister!

  I did my best to look like this was merely interesting while inside I was doing a hula dance. There had been another explanation. I just hadn’t seen it. Maybe I’d gotten too used to expecting less of men.

  “Wait, if she’s your sister then…?”

  Imogen Sound was the heiress to Sound Coffee. I didn’t know that much about the chain except that I could close my eyes, point a finger, and there would be one waiting to make me a latte—anywhere in the world. The whole brand had been built from the ground up by Richard Sound, arguably one of the most famous Seattleite’s living. He was universally beloved for his focus on his employees and his passion for his product. If Imogen was his daughter, and Gavin was her brother. “Your dad is…”

  “Richard Sound,” he confirmed with a sigh.

  “That’s incredible. I’ve read a bunch of his books.”

  Gavin’s mouth tightened into a thin smile. “He’s inspiring.”

  “You don’t get along,” I guessed.

  “No, we do actually. We have a fantastic relationship.”

  It wasn’t the answer I was expecting. I cocked my head as if a new angle might help me make sense of the conflicting information. There was definitely something that didn’t quite add up. A puzzle piece that didn’t fit. “But your last name.”

  “I use my mother’s maiden name,” he explained, slumping against the back of the couch.

  “Why?” I blurted out. I could only imagine the doors that the Sound name could open. Big ones. Revolving ones. Locked ones. It would take less time to imagine the doors it couldn’t.


  “Let me guess. You’re thinking that the Sound name would secure any business deal. It would mean guaranteed venture capital.” He rubbed his index finger on his temple. I’d hit a sore spot. “But my dad built Sound Coffee with a vision and hard work. It’s his.”

  “And you want to leave your own mark behind,” I finished for him.

  He cracked open an eyelid and studied me. “Exactly.”

  “I can’t be the first person to figure out why you made that choice.”

  “You’re the first person who didn’t act like I was stupid because of it,” he admitted.

  “What’s stupid about that? I can see the pros and the cons. Yeah, it would be easier, but as someone who hopes to achieve something in her life, I get why you want to do it yourself.”

  He stared at me like he was seeing me for the first time. His gaze burned through me, settled in my chest, and ignited a simmering ache.

  “Oh, well, your sister is very pretty,” I managed to force out, trying to head toward safer waters and hoping I didn’t spontaneously combust from the heat he was throwing my way.

  “And obviously she’s not my girlfriend,” he said with meaning.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” My voice piqued on the last word, betraying exactly why I was asking the question.

  “I’ve been a little busy with Northwest Investments for the last couple of years. I dated a few women off and on. Nothing serious. I guess I haven’t been lucky enough to meet someone in the office like half my staff.”

  The hula dancing stopped. He hadn’t been lucky enough to meet someone? Was he talking in the past tense? Did he mean currently? What did that make me? Invisible? Or simply undesirable? “I understand. I’ve been really focused on finishing my degree.”

  “So you are dating anyone then?”

  Okay, I wasn’t imagining the way he leaned closer as if he wanted to put less distance between us.