Boss Next Door

by Beverly Evans

  “Just thinking about the future, I suppose,” he mumbles.

  “And what exactly does the future hold for the great Braxton Voight?”

  A wry grin touches his lips. “Glad you’re finally coming around to seeing and appreciating my greatness.”

  I roll my eyes. “I see you haven’t gotten any humbler over the last year.”

  “And here I thought you would appreciate consistency in a man.”

  I laugh softly and take a sip from my cup. There’s always been a strange energy that’s existed between Braxton and me. A sort of tension that’s always kept things a bit – strained. But we get along for the most part, even though he can sometimes be arrogant and cocky. He can at least make me laugh usually.

  But there’s more than that between us. There always has been, even though I’ve denied it to everybody now for years. It’s difficult to explain, but there’s always been an attraction between us. Braxton and I are like magnets. Except, we must be magnets with the same poles because we end up just pushing each other away. Maybe if one of us were to flip ourselves over, we’d be inexorably drawn to each other. But we’ve never managed that.

  Honestly speaking, I’m attracted to him. It’s hard not to be. He’s the archetypal tall, dark, and handsome man you see in romance novels or chick flicks. He’s six-two, with dark hair and chocolate brown eyes. Braxton is fit, with a square jawline, and a body that’s well defined with tightly corded muscle. But he’s lean rather than bulky, his body more like that of a water polo player or a swimmer rather than a football jock.

  He’s a beautiful man, and to deny that I’m physically attracted to him would be a lie. But we’re polar opposites in so many ways that I really doubt anything could work between us. I’m not saying he’s a bad guy. He’s not. I think deep down he’s got a good heart. It peeks out every now and then, but he buries it underneath so much of that macho, dude-bro bullshit that you can’t often see it.

  It’s one of the most infuriating things about him and one of the biggest reasons I can’t ever take the idea of getting together with him seriously. I don’t want to be with somebody who thinks smashing beer cans on their head is cool. And I won’t be with somebody who thinks of women simply in terms of their next conquest. I need to be with somebody with more substance. Somebody with more depth and nuance of character than that.

  “I’ll be interning out in Vegas for my dad’s firm,” he explains. “At least until I figure out what I really want to do.”

  I nod. That’s about what I expected from him.

  “So what about you?” Braxton asks. “What’s the future hold for you?”

  I shrug. “I guess I’ll be working for my dad too.”

  Braxton looks over at me, his eyebrow raised. “Seriously?”

  I nod soberly. “Yeah, dead serious.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t your master’s in Architectural Design? Kind of like what my dad’s company does?”

  “Sure is,” I confirm. “But my bachelor’s is in International Finance.”

  “And your dad works in the financial sector, yeah?”

  I nod again. “That would be correct.”

  “So why aren’t you doing something with your degree?”

  I sigh and kick at the sand beneath my feet. This has been a bone of contention between my father and I for the last year. When he realized I was serious about pursuing a career in architecture, he stepped in and told me it wasn’t going to happen. He’d told me that he was indulging me in what he was sure was just a phase, but when I graduated, I was expected to take on a substantial role in the family business.

  We fought and argued about it for weeks. Months. I told him a career in finance didn’t interest me and was not where my heart was. Every time I tried to argue the point, he simply told me that we don’t always get to do what we want in life. It’s about the smuggest, most irritating answer ever, and it only makes me resent him all the more for it.

  “Because I don’t have a choice,” I mutter.

  “We always have a choice.”

  I bite back the scathing reply that’s sitting on the tip of my tongue. I don’t need to justify myself to anybody, least of all Braxton Voight. He doesn’t have to labor under the same family expectations and obligations I struggle with on a daily basis. It’s not as easy as me just saying, “oh, gee, I don’t want to do that, and I’m just going to follow my heart instead.” If I try that, there is no way in hell my father is going to be okay with that. As much as I wish that’s the case, it’s just not. Not for me.

  Although my first instinct is to light Braxton up for his presumption and the privilege he flings around so easily, I swallow it all down. I’m here to have a good time tonight, and I really don’t want to get into it with him. The die has already been cast, and there’s nothing I can do to change it.

  “Let’s just drop it,” I tell him.

  He turns to me. “Talk to me, Chloe,” he urges. “Why aren’t you going into architecture?”

  “I just – I can’t.”

  Braxton takes a long swallow of his beer and looks out at the river again. I can feel him thinking and trying to find a different way to approach the topic. Even though I’ve already told him to drop it, Braxton is going to continue pushing it. That’s just who he is. It’s who he’s always been, and probably who he’s always going to be.

  “You’re a grown woman, Chloe –”

  “Yeah, I am,” I snap. “But that doesn’t mean I can just blow my family off.”

  “So you’d rather spend the next fifty years of your life miserable, doing something you hate?” he presses. “What kind of a life is that?”

  “It’s my life, Braxton. Not yours,” I growl through gritted teeth. “And I’ll live it how I see fit.”

  He gives me a crooked grin. “Even if that means you’re not only utterly miserable but living a lie?”

  I round on him. “Who in the hell are you to judge me?”

  He holds his hands up, palms facing me in surrender at the fury in my voice. “I’m not judging you, Chloe,” he protests, clearly taken aback. “If anything, I’m judging your father for putting you in this spot.”

  I wish I had the strength and nerve to stand up to my father. I wish I could tell him that I don’t want to work for him. But I don’t have it in me. My father is a hard man. He’s ruled our family with an iron fist, and although he can be loving and kind – he always made me feel like a princess growing up – his word is law, and he tolerates no argument or dissension. What he says, goes. Period.

  “It’s just the way it is, Braxton.”

  “But why?” he presses. “Just because it’s the way it’s always been doesn’t mean it’s the way it always has to be.”

  I get to my feet suddenly and look down at Braxton, anger and frustration flowing through me. I’m definitely pissed at him for being so presumptuous, but I’m also pissed at myself for not having the stomach to stand up to my dad. I’m upset that this is the state of my life right now – him dictating how I’m going to live my life to me. I’m pissed more at myself than at Braxton and know I shouldn’t be taking it out on him, but he’s giving me every excuse to vent all my frustration.

  “Look,” he continues. “I get it; I’m working for my dad too. But I know that it’s not what I want to do forever either and –”

  “It’s not the same,” I snap. “It seems similar on the surface, but you don’t know me, and you don’t know what I’m going through.”

  His eyebrows raise in surprise. “Chloe, I just –”

  “It’s not as easy as you seem to think, Braxton,” I growl. “Not all of us live the charmed life you seem to be living.”

  And with that, I turn on my heel and walk away from him, determined not to let him ruin my entire evening. I’m here to have some fun and to enjoy the people I’ve gotten to know over the years I’ve been coming up here. After all, this is probably going to be the last summer I’m going to be spending in Hyde Park. I’m not
sure yet what my father has planned for me, but I’m reasonably certain my summers of fun with friends and parties by the river are pretty much over.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  I turn and give my friend Jenny a smile, doing my best to tamp down my temper. I glance over my shoulder, casting a pointed look back at Braxton. He’s still sitting on the log on the riverbank, his face dark and brooding as he stares out at the water.

  “Yeah, he just really gets under my skin sometimes,” I sigh.

  Jenny laughs. “I can think of something else I’d like him to get under.”

  I burst into laughter and slap her playfully on the arm. “You are impossible.”

  Jenny smiles wildly. “Like you wouldn’t do him.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’ve had plenty of opportunities and have passed every single time.”

  “Then you are nuts because that is one beautiful man.”

  I turn and look at Braxton again. He’s a beautiful man, that’s not the question. I know he’s experienced – from what I’ve heard, he’s screwed half the women in Manhattan – so on the one hand, I’m pretty sure that sex with him would be incredible. I have no trouble believing he’d know exactly how to push my buttons in exactly the right way.

  But on the other hand, I haven’t saved myself this long just to give my virginity away to somebody just because he’s gorgeous. I’m not a virgin because of religion or some strict sense of morality. It’s because I have a strong sense of self-worth. I’m not willing to give it up just because some people think I should. Yeah, I’m sure some people think I’m weird or prudish because I’m not out sleeping with anybody who looks good in tight jeans, but I don’t really care. I respect myself more than that.

  Oh, there have been times I’ve been sorely tempted to give in and sleep with Braxton. Believe me, I’ve thought about it. And there are some itches that not even my toys can scratch. But every time we’ve gotten close, the fact he has supposedly slept with half the women in Manhattan is one reason I’ve held back. I refuse to be just another notch on his belt.

  Like I said, I respect myself more than that.

  Braxton raises his head and looks over at me. Our eyes meet, and even from this distance, I can see the firelight glinting off those brown eyes of his and feel my breath catch in my throat. I can’t deny that Braxton has a powerful and visceral physical impact on me. I hate myself for it, but I can’t deny it.

  I turn away from him, doing my best to slow my racing pulse and calm myself down.

  “Yeah, I suppose I am nuts,” I mutter.

  Chapter Three

  Braxton

  The last few weeks of summer have gone by in a blur. It’s unbelievable that it’s already over since it feels like it just started. But here we are, all the same. It’s the last bonfire down by the river of the summer, and for some of us, it’s likely the last bonfire down by the river, period.

  “Another epic summer,” Roman declares.

  I nod and take a long pull from my beer bottle, looking at the dark shadows of the tall trees that line either side of the river silhouetted against the darker nighttime sky. We’re leaning back against a large rock on a small rise at the edge woods, overlooking the bonfire on the sand.

  “It wasn’t bad,” I note.

  “Tiffany Waters, Janelle Morton, Annie Smythe, and Kelsey Rivers – all in one summer,” Roman lists off. “I’d say that’s pretty epic.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “That’s quite a run.”

  “Damn right, it is,” he crows. “I’ve been like a pig at the trough this summer. And you – you have done nothing.”

  I scoff. “I’ve had fun this summer.”

  He grins at me. “Lindsay Farmer is barely exciting enough to qualify as fun. She’s cute but boring as hell,” he observes. “I guess I just figured with this being our last hurrah; you’d have done a little better for yourself.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” I chuckle.

  Roman laughs and takes a drink. He’s always been the ladies man of our little group. Always the one hooking up with – well, just about anybody he can smooth talk out of her panties – it’s why we call him The Closer. I sometimes wonder if he’s ever going to find somebody to settle down with or if he’s just going to spend his life bouncing from bed to bed.

  Personally, I’ve never been as fond of hooking up as some of the other guys I run with. I mean yeah, I’ve certainly had my fair share of good times, but unlike my brothers in arms, I’m not just trying to get laid constantly. Unlike my guys, I actually want something stable and secure. I want that picture-perfect marriage, and maybe even children one day – though I can’t say I’m one hundred percent certain about that last bit. Not yet anyway. But at the core of me, I’d like to come home to one woman every night. Fall asleep and wake up next to her. That’s my idea of heaven.

  Not that I’d ever tell the boys. The last thing I want or need is them on my ass about it. When you grow up in the social circles I did, there are certain expectations. People expect you to live and behave in a certain way. When you’re rich, young, and good looking, people seem to think there should be an endless line of women willing to toss their panties at you. People seem to think you’ve got the world by the balls, and no doors are closed to you.

  Yeah, I know, cry me a river, right? Poor little rich boy.

  Admittedly, much of that belief is true. And to be fair, I have indulged in my fair share of the perks of that lifestyle. But it felt so empty to me. So superficial and shallow. The parties, the women, and all the trappings of that lifestyle were nothing more than distractions, really. I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t have some good times. I enjoyed the hell out of myself, but those times were fleeting.

  “Eventually, you’re going to have to either make a move or let her go,” Roman states.

  “What are you talking about?”

  A wry grin touches his lips. “Chloe,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And you’re just about out of time.”

  “Give me a break,” I laugh.

  “What? You leave for Manhattan tomorrow, right?”

  “In the morning.”

  Roman takes a long swallow of his beer. “And yet, here you are. All alone instead of knee-deep in panties,” he notes.

  I turn and give him a grin. “It bears noting that your ass is sitting up here with me rather than being knee-deep in panties yourself.”

  “That’s by choice,” he grins. “Somebody needs to sit up here and babysit your morose ass.”

  I look pointedly at the crowd of scantily-clad women down by the river, dancing around the bonfire, everybody growing wilder – and more naked – as they get more and more wasted.

  I laugh. “I don’t need a babysitter, man. Seriously, go have fun. Go belly up to the trough and end your summer with a bang.”

  He joins my laughter. “I see what you did there. Clever boy,” he says, pointing to the bonfire. “Now come on, let’s get down there and make some bad decisions.”

  “Go for it, man,” I urge him. “Go indulge.”

  Roman looks over at me for a long moment. “What is it between you two anyway?”

  “Me and Chloe?”

  He scoffs. “No, you and Santa Claus,” he fires back. “Yes, you and Chloe. Don’t be an asshole.”

  I chuckle. “I don’t know, man,” I admit. “There really isn’t anything between us.”

  “So why are you all hung up on her then?”

  “I’m not.”

  “I call bullshit,” he laughs. “You walk around all mopey and depressed and shit. But whenever she shows up, I can practically see the cartoon hearts floating over your head. You’re like a lovesick puppy.”

  “I’m the one calling bullshit now,” I laugh.

  Roman holds my gaze. “You may be able to pull that shit over on other people, but you forget who you’re talking to,” he tells me.

  The smile on my face is rueful because I know there’s some nugget of truth
in his words. Maybe more than just a nugget. I’ve tried to get something started with Chloe – more than a few times. Every time, though, she’s rebuffed me. Rejection isn’t something I’m used to, and I never know quite how to handle it – other than to keep working at the problem until I get my way. And I usually always get my way.

  But not with Chloe. I’ve tried coming at her from a thousand different angles, and she’s turned me down a thousand different ways. I’m sure in my place, most guys would have given up and slunk away, tails tucked between their legs. It’s weird because even as she has refused me time and time again, I could tell that she was waiting for something… different. Maybe that’s why I kept trying all sorts of different angles.

  Roman is right though. I’m just about out of time, and in all the summers I’ve spent here chasing her, I’ve made zero headway. Oh, there have been times when I’ve thought I was making some inroads with her. Every now and then, I almost let myself believe it could happen. But every single time, it all came crashing down around me, and I always ended up back at square one with her.

  It’s frustrating as hell, but in a strange, masochistic sort of way, it’s been – exciting. The chase is always fun, but there’s something more here between us, and I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who feels it. When I look into her eyes, I see a yearning in them. It’s like she can feel what I feel and recognizes it like I do, but she’s holding herself back. She refuses to let herself give in to it, no matter how hard I push and press her.

  I only wish I had more time to play this out. But the summer’s over, and all of us – me, Chloe, the rest of the boys – we’re all scattering to the four corners of the Earth, and I doubt our paths are ever going to cross again. It’s a thought I’ve tried to push away and not focus on simply because it bums me out to consider. The likelihood that I will never see Chloe again after tonight feels like a swift kick in the balls.

  She’s unlike anybody I’ve ever met before. I know I’ve only had portions of summers with her for a while now, but she’s gotten deep under my skin, and no matter how hard I try to excise her, those feelings grow back every single time. And the more time I spend with her, the deeper she seems to burrow.