As if she can sense me spying on her, the woman abruptly lowers her book and raises her head. Feeling like a kid caught peeking in somebody’s window, I quickly turn away, averting my gaze before I can see who she is. Though I don’t think she can see me through the tinting on my windows, just in case she can, this probably isn’t how I want to introduce myself to her – not if I want to have a chance at finding out more about this woman. I can’t think spying on her when she’s half naked like some horny teenager would boost those chances all too well.
Feeling like an idiot, I chuckle to myself and turn back to my computer. An email pops into my inbox from Curtis Greeley, marked urgent. I sigh, and with a feeling of dread, open up the email. I bite back a growl, not even getting halfway through his email before I reach the inevitable conclusion – I’m not getting a day off.
Groaning to myself, I get to my feet and head for the shower. The sooner I can get it over with, the sooner I can knock off for the day and enjoy a cold one – and maybe even get to know my new neighbor.
“Is he even kidding me with this shit?”
I push the laptop across the desk and lean back in my chair. I run my hands through my hair and try to lower my blood pressure, doing whatever I can to stave off the monster headache threatening to make my head explode. Stephen Devereaux, my good friend, and right-hand man around here, spins it around, so the screen is facing him. He looks it over and frowns.
“What in the hell is he doing with this design?” he asks.
“That is an excellent question,” I respond. “It’s nothing like what the client wants.”
“Not to mention that it’s uglier than hell,” he cracks, spinning the screen back toward me.
I look at the rendering of the building design again and shake my head. It’s utilitarian and simplistic – and has absolutely zero aesthetic appeal. I think it looks like a big concrete block dropped into the middle of the goddamn desert. I have literally no idea what he’s thinking or doing – but it’s certainly not his fucking job.
“I just spent an hour listening to him ramble on about his vision for this project, and I’m no closer to understanding it now than I was before I met with him,” I tell Stephen.
“Honestly Brax, why don’t you fire this guy?” Stephen responds. “It’s not like anybody would miss him.”
I grin because it’s true. Curtis has his friends – a couple of them anyway – but most people find him too odd to be around. Me included. Curtis can be a solid enough designer. He’s come up with some fantastic building designs over his time here. But there are other times when his designs border on the strange or avant-garde side of things. That’s fine and all when it’s something the client wants, but he has a habit of trying to convince every client to go along with it. When he gets in those moods, I’ve found that most of his designs are useless. He’s had some fans of his work, to be sure – my father among them – but I’m definitely not one of them.
“I wish I could,” I groan.
“You’re the big boss, of course you can.”
I chuckle ruefully. “But the ghost of my father continues to stand over my shoulder, watching everything I do,” I admit. “When he retired and handed over control of the entire company to me, one of his conditions was that I leave senior staff in place.”
“But Curtis isn’t senior staff.”
“No, but for whatever reason, he likes Curtis,” I respond. “And he added him to the list of untouchables.”
Stephen rolls his eyes. “Wonderful, so we’re stuck with him forever.”
“Not necessarily,” I chuckle. “I’m thinking about opening an office in maybe Canada to expand our reach a little more. If I do, I’ll transfer his ass out there.”
“Please, please, make that happen, Braxton,” he laughs. “The sooner, the better.”
“Yeah, I need to find somebody I trust to oversee the branch first,” I respond. “Somebody to oversee him. And it’s got to be somebody I trust to make good decisions.”
“Well thank Christ that rules me out,” Stephen laughs.
We laugh together for a few minutes as I try to divert my attention away from the pile of garbage that is Greeley’s initial design. I know I’m going to have to take a more active role in the design of this building, which pisses me off. I’ve got enough on my plate as it is, and I really don’t need to be taking on another project right now. Especially since it’s only because Curtis is inept. I’m most definitely going to need to speak with my father about this arrangement because this is not working for me.
As I push thoughts about Curtis Greeley out of my head, the space is suddenly filled with thoughts about the woman I saw by the pool earlier today. Recalling the way her body moved with a liquid grace, the way her muscles rippled below her flawless tawny skin, as well as the swell and curves of her body make my cock stiffen. I shift uncomfortably in my seat and clear my throat, trying to push it all away. I really don’t want to sit here with Stephen sporting a hard-on.
“Anyway, I’m not going to be able to ship him out before this project is due,” I sigh. “Which means I’m going to need to fix this fucking mess.”
“Good luck with that,” Stephen says.
“Yeah, this sucks. I’m pretty much going to have to start from square one,” I groan. “I do want to hire on a junior designer, though. If I get one in quick enough, maybe they can lend an assist. Anyway, how are things on your end?”
Stephen nods. “Going good,” he says. “My team should be wrapping up the first round of designs in the next couple of days.”
“That’s good news,” I respond. “Ahead of schedule.”
“I’m just that good,” he boasts with a laugh. “You should know that by now.”
“You’re right. I should,” I grin and then get to my feet. “Anyway, I’m going to do some of this shit at home. You’re in charge of holding down the fort.”
He snaps me a quick salute. “You got it, boss-man.”
I gather up my things and am stuffing it all in the case for my laptop as Stephen heads out of my office. When I have it all packed up, I sling my bag over my shoulder and head down to the underground parking garage. After getting in, I fire up my car and make the fifteen minute commute home.
I pull into the driveway at the same time my neighbor is coming out of her house, heading for her car. We don’t bother acknowledging each other as I park and shut off the engine. I fling the door open and grab my bag off the passenger’s seat, not looking as I step out onto the grass strip that separates my driveway from hers. But rather than the soft give of the grass, my foot finds something – squishy.
“Son of a bitch,” I growl.
I look down and see that I’m standing in a pile of fresh, steaming dog shit. I get out of the car, muttering angrily to myself and flash a dark look over at her. She’s standing next to her car, fumbling through her purse. My blood pressure soaring, I start to wipe my shoe on the grass, doing my best to scrape the shit off.
“Did you see what your dog did over here?” I growl at her.
She arches her eyebrow and flashes me a haughty expression. “Are you really blaming my Theodore for your carelessness stepping out of your car?”
The woman’s voice drips with an arrogance and disdain that sets my fucking teeth on edge.
“Maybe if you didn’t let your dog shit all over my lawn, I wouldn’t have to be so careful stepping out of my car,” I shoot back, unable to keep my temper in check any longer.
She clucks her tongue at me. “There are literally a dozen dogs on this street. At least,” she snaps. “Any one of them could have been responsible for that mess on the grass.”
“Are you even serious right now?” I reply, barely able to keep from shouting. “Yours is the only dog in this neighborhood who shits on my lawn. Lawns, actually since you can’t seem to keep your dog out of my backyard, either.”
“That is just not true,” she gasps, sounding scandalized. “I’ll have you –”
“Save it, lady,” I snap. “We both know you’re full of shit.”
“You are a foul-mouthed cretin,” she hisses.
I narrow my eyes and glare harder at her. “Keep your dog from shitting on my lawns, lady,” I growl. “Or clean it up. Because if you don’t, we’re going to have some problems.”
“Don’t you dare threaten –”
I turn and storm off – hoping I’ve managed to clean the shit off my shoe, so I don’t track it into my house – not bothering to listen to the rest of what she has to say. It’s not worth my time because I know she’ll just keep on doing nothing to resolve the issue between us.
I slam the door behind me, the sound of it echoing through my house and probably the neighborhood as well.
Chapter Fifteen
Chloe
Even from inside, I can hear the neighbor yelling at my mom. There’s that irrational piece of me that wants to go out there and put him in check – nobody can be mean to my mom but me. But then the rational side of my mind takes over, reminding me that given the way she treats people, she probably deserves to be yelled at.
A moment later, I hear her start her car and drive off, her tires giving a small squeal on the street outside. My mother is nothing if not dramatic. But whatever, with her heading off to an art opening or whatever it is she’s doing tonight, I’m just glad to have the house to myself for a while. The quiet is a nice change of pace.
I really struggle with being harsh and judgmental towards my mother. I always have. And I know I should try to be a little more charitable when it comes to her. After all, she’s doing me a favor by letting me stay here. I’d personally rather be back in New York, but thanks to my dad, that’s obviously not an option at this point.
I get up off my bed and pull on a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt – with nothing better to do, I’d spent most of the day in my room working on my resume in my pajamas. I’ve never had to put together a resume before, and it was a frustrating and somewhat humbling experience. It made me realize just how much I took for granted in having a career path laid out for me – even if it wasn’t the one I wanted. But I never had to go through the whole resume and interview experience like almost everybody else on this planet, and now that I know I have to, I’m more than a bit nervous about it.
It wasn’t easy, and it really did take me most of the day but using examples I found online as well as advice from various blogs and articles, I think I managed to cobble a resume together that’s halfway decent. Amber told me she’s got a friend who’s a headhunter and might be able to help me, but just in case that doesn’t work out, I need a finished resume to start sending out.
It was tedious but was the only thing I could think of to do that allowed me to avoid my mom – I said I should try to be more charitable, I never said I’d successfully turned that corner in my head yet. But now that she’s gone, I feel restless and want to get out and stretch my legs. Plus, I haven’t eaten all day, and I’m starved.
Leaving my room feeling like a petulant teenager for hiding out all day, I go downstairs to make my way to the kitchen and rummage around in the refrigerator. After spooning some yogurt into a bowl, I sprinkle some granola and berries over the top, then carry the bowl out to the back patio and sit down at the table.
Even though it’s late afternoon, it’s still blazing hot outside. The sunlight sparkles off the surface of the pool almost blindingly. The cover over the patio cuts the heat slightly and provides a small bit of relief. The climate here is just so different from what I’d gotten used to over in London – it’s the equivalent of being scooped out of a cold lake and dropped into a pot of boiling water – and it’s taking me a minute to adjust. I would go back inside to sit in the air-conditioned house, but I need to get used to it. Plus, I’m enjoying the fresh air.
I spoon some of the yogurt into my mouth and chew slowly as I think about my life yet again and how I came to be in this situation. I think of my dad sitting in prison, but rather than pity, I feel a sharp stab of anger. I’m in this situation because of him. Because of his greed. The company was doing well on its own. We were making money hand over fist – legitimately. The fact that he was then running this side scheme for no other reason than because he’s a greedy asshole fills me with an anger deeper than I’ve ever felt before.
He didn’t care who he hurt or that he could have possibly sent me to prison alongside him. All he cared about was padding his bank account. I’ve never felt so betrayed or so hurt by somebody before in my entire life. I mean, this is my father. He’s supposed to protect me. He’s never supposed to put me in a position where I could be hurt.
All my life, he preached the importance of family. He stressed how critical it was to protect the family and do everything you can for them. Jesus Christ, he made me sacrifice my entire life – give up everything I wanted to do with my life – for the sake of our family and carrying on the legacy of our name.
And yet, behind the scenes, he was working on building his own empire and betraying everything he said this family stands for. He destroyed the lives of hundreds of people who trusted him to do right by them. He shattered the trust I put in him, and although I maybe didn’t lose my life savings because of him, I feel like I lost so much more than those other people.
Playing the markets is always a gamble, and you assume a certain amount of risk. But the one thing I’ve been taught I can always count on, the one thing that I can never lose and is never a gamble, is my family. And now that’s gone. Completely gone. There’s no getting it back.
Not only have I never felt so lost and alone in my life; I also feel like I’ve lost any sense of identity I’ve ever had. The image of me that I’ve built up and clung to all these years is gone. It’s slipped out of my grasp and evaporated like a puff of smoke on a stiff breeze.
For the first time in my life, I don’t know who in the hell I am.
After finishing my yogurt, I carry the bowl back into the kitchen and rinse it out before putting it into the dishwasher. When my phone starts to ring, I quickly dry off my hands. When I look at the caller ID, I don’t recognize the number. A frown touches my lips.
My first thought is that it’s one of those jerks from the FBI calling to hassle me again. I know my dad is working on a plea agreement, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they were looking for more information to slap him with more charges. I don’t doubt they’re looking for even more leverage against him in negotiating their plea agreement.
But I know if I don’t pick up the call, they’ll just keep calling. Or worse, they’ll show up here and try to squeeze me in person. With a sigh, I punch the button and connect the call.
“Chloe Dixon,” I say wearily.
“Miss Dixon, my name is Veronica Walsh.”
She announces her name like I should know who she is. But she’s not one of the FBI jerks calling to hassle me again. In fact, I don’t know why, but I don’t get the idea she’s a federal agent at all. There’s something more – professional – about her tone. Something more businesslike.
“I’m with Monroe and Associates,” she prompts me. “Amber Fleming said you’d be expecting my call?”
Then it clicks into place. This is Amber’s friend from the headhunting agency. In other words, my only real lead on a job at the moment.
“Right, I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I wasn’t expecting your call so soon.”
“Well, I like to be on top of things. Especially when I’m doing a favor for a friend,” she says, reminding me that this is simply a courtesy she’s extending Amber.
“And I appreciate that very much,” I respond.
“Can you come in and sit down with me?”
“Absolutely,” I agree. “Just tell me when.”
“Can you be here in an hour?”
A feeling like a lead weight drops into my stomach. An hour? Is she serious? I’m about to ask to meet at a later date but remind myself that she’s doing me a favor and that I need to work with her schedule instead of e
xpecting it to be the other way around. Besides, if what Amber told me is true, this firm places people in jobs that pay very well – something I’m interested in.
“I’ll be there,” I tell her.
“Very good,” she responds. “I’ll text you the address. Do me a favor and email me your resume so I can get a head start.”
“Great. I’ll see you shortly.”
She clicks off the line without saying goodbye, leaving me standing there with a knot of something like panic roiling in my belly. A moment later, my phone chirps with her incoming text message, shaking me out of my stupor. When Amber told me she was a friend of hers, I thought she’d be more like Amber – or would at least be nice. Veronica Walsh comes across as cold and terse. I have a feeling that this is going to be an uncomfortable conversation. I’m not looking forward to it. Oh how the mighty have fallen indeed.
This is just something else I can – and will – blame my father for. I don’t like the idea of having to subjugate myself to somebody else’s will. I like the idea of having to tap dance and play nice to get on somebody’s good side even less.
But this is where I’m at. This is the hand I’ve been dealt, and I have no choice but to play it.
“Damn you, Dad,” I hiss. “Goddamn you.”
I hustle back upstairs and fire off a copy of my resume to her before I jump in the shower for a quick dip. Time is short, and I need to get ready for this.
I ride the elevator up to the fifth floor and find my way to the glass doors that bear the Monroe and Associates name and logo on them with about five minutes to spare. I usually try to be fifteen minutes early to any appointments I have, but this last-minute Chinese fire drill didn’t leave me with enough time for that.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the glass and make sure I haven’t fallen apart. I didn’t have enough time to get ready as I usually like, but I think I did okay. I don’t typically wear a lot of makeup, which made it a lot easier. Just a touch of blush, some mascara, lipstick, and I’m good to go. I wore my hair up and a black business suit with a green blouse beneath the jacket. And although it’s still bloody warm outside, black stockings and heels to finish off my outfit. All things considered; I think I’m put together pretty well.
Boss Next Door Page 12
