Boss Next Door

by Beverly Evans

  Except for my father.

  My father is the one person I’ve always backed down from and have never been able to stand up to. He’s not cruel, and he’s never been physically violent with me. He’s never threatened or abused me. And yet, I’ve been intimidated by him my entire life. I’ve always bowed to his wishes rather than stand up and assert myself. Whether it’s some misguided sense of loyalty to my family, or just to my father, he’s always had a powerful hold over me. One I have not managed to break.

  But that’s what I’ve been working on with my therapist. Being able to break the chain my father has around my neck. It’s been slow going, but I’ve made some progress. Baby steps.

  “We’re here.”

  The driver’s voice pulls me out of my musings, and when I look up, I’m surprised to see that we’re already in front of the hotel.

  “Thank you,” I say, climbing out of the back of the car.

  I head inside and take the elevator up to the forty-second floor, and when the door slides open with a chime, I step out and head down the hallway to my room. There’s a quiet beep when I slip the key card into the reader, and the green light flashes, telling me the door is unlocked. Opening the door, I step inside and flip on the lights and stop dead in my tracks.

  “What in the world?”

  I let the door swing closed behind me as I step further into the room, my eyes widening as my curiosity grows. Arrayed around my hotel room are five large vases, each of them holding a dozen long stem roses. Reaching out, I gently touch the velvety soft petals and lean down, smiling as I breathe in the light floral scent. I notice a bottle of wine sitting on the table near the glass doors that lead to the small terrace with a card propped up against it.

  Walking over, I slip the card out of the envelope, somehow unsurprised to see everything is from Braxton. The note simply says, “Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.” A faint smile touches my lips as I open the bottle of wine and pour myself a glass, then step out onto the terrace. As I take a sip, savoring the taste of the wine on my tongue, I look at the Strip way down below. From my room, I can see the lights and gaudy neon of the big casinos that line Las Vegas Boulevard. I hear the strains of Beethoven playing down below and watch as the fountains in front of the Bellagio dance in time to the music.

  My feelings about seeing Braxton again are complicated. On the one hand, I’m happy about it. We weren’t always on the same page, to be sure. It seemed like we butted heads more often than we got along. Things were often contentious between us, and we spent a lot of time sniping at one another. But there were good times, too. There were times we’d laugh long into the night. We talked about our lives, and I recall sharing things with him I never shared with anybody – except for Amber.

  When we weren’t clashing, there was a comfortable ease between us. It was all part of that push and pull, opposite sides of the magnet dynamic that existed between us back then. It still might; I don’t know. I guess I’m going to find out what time has done to our dynamic tomorrow, though.

  I lean against the railing and run my fingertips across my lips, a faint crackling of electricity surging through me as I think back on the kiss we shared our last day in Hyde Park. It had been a spontaneous thing and had filled me with a passion I’d never felt before in my life – a passion I haven’t felt for anybody since.

  I still haven’t slept with anybody. I haven’t found anybody I felt was worthy of giving myself to. But as I think about it, I’m starting to wonder if it’s because I’ve never met anybody I felt measured up to Braxton. Or maybe I’m just romanticizing his sudden reappearance in my life.

  As I finish another glass of wine, I reach for the bottle but put the cork back in it rather than pour another glass. Given the thoughts that are swirling through my head and all the romantic feelings gripping me, I’ve probably already had more than enough. I walk back inside and draw the curtains but leave the glass doors open – though it’s not the full blast of summer just yet, the air is still pretty warm. It’s the one thing I prefer about England to here – it’s a bit more temperate.

  With my heart and thoughts still swirling around like a tornado, I move about my room and get ready for bed, my emotions churning as I’m half terrified and half excited by the prospect of having dinner with Braxton tomorrow night.

  Chapter Six

  Braxton

  She steps off the elevator, and I draw in a sharp breath. She’s wearing a simple strapless blue dress with white polka dots that falls just above the knee and has a heart-shaped neckline that hugs her hips and curves deliciously. Her raven black hair cascades down her shoulders and spills over her chest, accenting her alabaster colored skin.

  Chloe crosses the lobby and stops in front of me. My eyes travel up and down her body as I soak her in from head to toe, feeling my stomach tighten and a stirring in my groin. She gives me the elevator eyes in return and judging by the sparkle I see in them and the small upward curve of her full lips, she likes what she sees too.

  I’m guessing she opted to meet me down in the lobby rather than let me come up to her room to avoid any notion of impropriety or – temptation.

  “You are absolutely stunning,” I greet her.

  “Thank you,” she replies, a flush creeping into her cheeks. “You look pretty nice yourself.”

  I look down at my charcoal gray three-piece suit, open my jacket, and do a little spin for her. It’s a lightweight material, which I’m thankful for since it’s still warm outside, but I wanted to make a good impression on her.

  “What, this old thing?” I laugh.

  She laughs, and her smile lights up her face. To me, she’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, and that smile of hers makes her even more so.

  “Thank you for the flowers and the wine,” she smiles.

  “You’re welcome. I just wanted to let you know I was thinking about you,” I respond. “Shall we go?”

  “Absolutely,” she murmurs, a shy smile creeping across her face as she looks away.

  She takes my arm, hesitantly at first, but lets me escort her through the lobby and outside to where the car is waiting. The driver holds the door open for us, and she slides into the back. I join her a moment later, and the driver shuts us in.

  “Pulling out all the stops, huh?” she grins.

  “I’m giving you the VIP experience tonight.”

  “Oh, is that so?”

  I nod. “Absolutely.”

  She sits back in her seat with a faint smile on her lips, doing her best to not look overly pleased. But I can tell she likes the idea of being treated like a princess. The car pulls away from the hotel and zips out into traffic moving as fast as he can. Which, admittedly, isn’t very fast given the number of cars and pedestrians on the road.

  Neither of us speaks for several long moments, the rear of the car filling with a quiet tension. It’s like I suddenly don’t know what to say to her or something, and I feel like an absolute moron.

  “So where are we going?” she asks, breaking the awkward silence.

  “To dinner,” I give her a grin.

  Her laughter is musical. “Shut up. You’re such an ass.”

  “I think that’s the last thing you said to me the last time we saw each other.”

  She rolls her eyes but smiles. “That should tell you something.”

  “Hey, don’t discount consistency,” I tell her. “Consistency matters.”

  She laughs. “Or something like that.”

  We head away from the craziness and unrelenting neon of the Strip. I want to take her somewhere a bit more low-key so we can actually carry on a conversation without having to shout over the ringing of the slot machines and the frenzied shouting of the drunks. After about twenty minutes, our driver pulls into the parking lot of a Japanese restaurant and sushi bar I frequent called Okata’s. The rear door opens, and I jump out, then turn around and offer Chloe my hand. She takes it, and I help her out of the car.

  “Such a gentlem
an,” she grins.

  “My mama raised me right.”

  “I have no doubt she tried her best,” Chloe laughs.

  “Wow, that was harsh.”

  “Sorry,” she squeezes my arm. “You’re right, that was mean.”

  I laugh and lead her to the restaurant, hold the door open, then follow her inside. We step into the lobby and are greeted by a young Japanese girl who smiles wide.

  “Mr. Voight, welcome back,” she says. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

  “Good evening, Janice,” I return her greeting. “Just the two of us tonight.”

  She nods, and Chloe shoots me a small grin as we follow Janice through the restaurant. Everything is done in brick and polished oak. The center of the restaurant holds a number of tables, a long sushi bar takes up nearly the entire wall to our left, a full bar takes up half the wall to our left, and a row of rice paper sliding doors separate a few private rooms from the main area – some of them large enough for eight or more people, a couple that are smaller and more intimate – line the back wall of the restaurant. Paper lanterns provide the only illumination inside, leaving the restaurant somewhat dim.

  The place is relatively packed – Okata’s has gotten pretty trendy with the locals who don’t necessarily enjoy the offerings on the Strip. I’ve only been here a couple of years, and I’ve adopted the same attitude. It’s too loud and too chaotic and makes it difficult to enjoy a quiet evening out.

  Janice slides the door to one of the small private rooms open and gives us a small bow. We step inside, and Janice slides the door closed behind us after letting us know our server will be with us shortly. I walk over and pull a chair out for Chloe. She slips into the chair, but won’t meet my eyes, just radiating an air of absolute discomfort. I walk back around and take my seat across from her. Chloe is still looking away, her cheeks flushed a bright red, and I gaze at her for a long moment.

  “I get the impression you’re not used to being treated like this on a date,” I observe. “Or at least, you’re not comfortable with it.”

  She finally raises her eyes to meet mine. “To be honest, I’m not used to it.”

  I stroke my chin. “That’s kind of sad, really.”

  “It is what it is.”

  The door slides open, and the waitress comes in to set a pot of tea down on the table between us. Chloe seems content to let that line of conversation go so I move on. For now, anyway. It piques my curiosity about her personal life, and I definitely want to see what’s going on with her.

  “Good evening, Mr. Voight,” she greets us with a smile.

  “Evening, Eva,” I respond and gesture to Chloe. “What are you drinking tonight?”

  “Cosmopolitan, please.”

  “I should have guessed,” I laugh. “I’ll take a draft Kirin, please.”

  Eva nods. “And would you care to start with an appetizer?”

  I look over at Chloe and smile. “She’ll have the salmon skin salad,” I say. “And an order of the gyoza for me.”

  “Very good,” Eva responds. “I’ll be back with your drinks in a moment.”

  She leaves the room, sliding the door closed quietly behind her. I turn to look at Chloe, who judging by the expression on her face, is slightly miffed by the fact that I ordered for her.

  “I wasn’t trying to be a chauvinist. I simply seem to remember you being crazy about salmon skin salads,” I explain. “If you’d like something else –”

  She shakes her head, and a more thoughtful expression slips across her face. “No, not at all. I still love them,” she says softly. “I’m just surprised that you remembered such a small, insignificant detail.”

  “I guess I don’t see it as small or insignificant.”

  She opens her mouth to reply but closes it again. There’s an inscrutable yet considering expression on her face as she looks at me. The truth is, I still think about her almost every day. I remember everything from the way she smelled to the feel of her lips against mine the night we shared that one kiss. And I’ve often wondered if she remembers it or has thought about me at all over the last couple of years.

  The silence between us is thick and stretches out for a couple of long, uncomfortable moments. There’s so much I want to say to her, so many thoughts and feelings I want to express – things I’ve had no choice but to keep buried the last couple of years. But instinctively, I know this isn’t the right time for it. And I can tell by the look on her face that it might not necessarily be welcome anyway.

  Eva returns with our drinks and appetizers, pricking a hole in that balloon of tension between us and thankfully, letting all the air out. We place our orders for dinner, and Eva departs with a smile, shutting the door behind her.

  “This is amazing,” Chloe says as she dives into her salad.

  I pop one of the gyoza into my mouth and nod as I chew. I remember she had a passion for good sushi, so I figured she’d enjoy it – and perhaps score me a few points in the process.

  “So I heard you were in London for a while,” I start.

  She nods. “Still there,” she says and takes a drink. “In fact, I have to head back there. I’m only in Vegas on holiday to celebrate my friend’s birthday.”

  I take a drink of my beer and set the glass back down gently. “So is that like a permanent thing?”

  Chloe gives me a shrug. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I’m sure my dad will eventually bring me back to the States, but I don’t know when.”

  I let out a small breath, the disappointment washing over me like a wave. Back when I first learned she’d gone to London, there was some small part of me resigned to the fact that I’d never see her again. So when I saw her on the street last night, I let myself hope that maybe she was back. I figured she would probably be stuck in New York at her father’s company but at least she’d be a relatively short plane ride away.

  I hoped we’d finally have a chance to explore whatever this thing is between us. Finding out she’s heading back to England feels like a kick in the balls.

  “What about you?” she redirects the conversation. “You find you want to stay in Sin City?”

  “My dad’s western territories HQ is out here,” I answer. “I’m stuck here for a while.”

  “Going back to New York?”

  I shrug. “At some point, probably,” I tell her. “But I kind of like it out here.”

  “Really?” she groans. “It’s so damn hot.”

  “You get used to it,” I laugh. “Besides, it’s not like New York doesn’t get brutally hot. And at least out here, it’s a dry heat.”

  She laughs. “I thought only old people said that.”

  We laugh together, and the atmosphere in the room is suddenly lighter. The conversation flows a lot more freely, and it starts to feel like old times again – at least, old times when things were good between us.

  “So do you have anybody waiting for you back in London?” I ask.

  I know I’m broaching a sensitive subject but can’t help myself. I have to know. I mean, I don’t know what I’ll do with that bit of information – it’s not like we can have a successful relationship with her in England – but I just can’t stop myself from asking.

  “There’s a lot of people waiting for me back in London,” she smirks. “The division I’m heading up can’t seem to function when I’m not there.”

  I chuckle softly. “Smart ass.”

  “I’m told it’s one of my better qualities.”

  “It’s certainly not an unattractive quality,” I reply.

  Our gazes meet, and even though her cheeks are turning a deep shade of red, I can see a yearning in her eyes that makes my heart lurch. It’s a yearning that’s familiar to me because it’s the same one that’s in mine. But I can see that she’s holding herself back the same way she did back in the day – which makes me wonder if she’s still a virgin. But that’s a topic I’m not even close to being smooth enough to bring up.

  “To answer your question – no,
I’m not seeing anybody,” she informs me. “I’m more focused on my career and learning everything I need to know to eventually take over than anything else right now.”

  I nod, feeling a stab of glee over the fact that she’s not with anybody. I know it’s ridiculous – we live in two separate countries, for fuck’s sake. But even in spite of the fact that we’re as geographically challenged as we are, I’m relieved. Somewhere in my mind, I feel a tiny glimmer of hope that maybe we would be able to make it work out. Even if she is in another country.

  “And what about you? Seeing anybody special?” she asks. “Or are you just spreading yourself all over, like usual?”

  I chuckle. “You make my life sound so sordid and tawdry.”

  She gives me a mischievous smirk. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

  “Ouch,” I laugh. “That wasn’t nice.”

  I hate that she thinks I have such a terrible reputation. I know I haven’t done a whole lot to discourage it, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy having it thrown in my face. Especially not by her. For a thousand reasons, Chloe’s opinion of me matters. And knowing she’s got such a poor opinion of me bothers me.

  “Sorry,” she grins. “But when did you get to be such a sensitive Sally?”

  The rest of our evening is filled with good food and better conversation. There’s a sense of comfort developing between us. It’s even better and stronger than it was during the time we spent together during those summer breaks in Hyde Park. By the time we get back into the car to head back to her hotel, I’m feeling closer to her than I ever have before. I don’t know how much of it is the booze we’ve consumed tonight, but there’s an openness we’ve shared over the last few hours that we’ve never had, not even on the best of those carefree summer days.

  “Well, I had a great time tonight,” she says. “Thank you for everything.”

  We’re standing outside of her hotel, neither of us seeming to want the evening to end.