by Kendall Ryan
The tomato color flooding to her cheeks is immediate. I can still tease, right?
“Great.” And just like that, she’s off to her desk and I’m alone again.
I don’t realize how much fun I’ve been having until Presley is out of sight.
I don’t usually let my guard down with women. Any therapist would have a field day dissecting that one, but to me, it’s pretty straightforward.
My train wreck of a relationship with Emilia and Lacey’s mother made it incredibly difficult to trust anyone. I recall how I felt when she first told me she was pregnant. I experienced a euphoric sensation of flying when she said they were twin girls, followed by a swift, gut-churning swoop of falling when she said she wasn’t going to keep them. I had no family left, and she was going to take away the only chance I’d have?
In all my life, I had never begged anyone before that moment. It was her choice, she insisted, which I couldn’t argue with. But I could offer her a deal.
I would fund her travels to Prague and the other hidden gems of the world she longed to discover, and she would carry my daughters. I would give her everything she ever wanted from life—a world of adventure and spontaneity. And in return, I, and my unborn daughters, would stay out of it. Within the week, the papers were signed, and custody of Emilia and Lacey was all mine. Within months, I had twin daughters, and their mother was never to be seen again.
The coffee in my mug has gone cold. How long have I been sitting here, dredging up the past? And all because of what, my attraction to some twenty-two-year-old?
It occurs to me that that was our age when Sara and I first met. That’s right. It’s muscle memory. My body is simply remembering what I felt like as a horny twenty-two-year-old. Maybe Oliver was right, and I’m overdue for some female company. But that can be easily remedied.
An email pops up on my screen, a short reminder from Beth that I have a business dinner tomorrow night. He’s an important client and potential investor in Aspen Hotels. Perfect.
Oliver loves to give me a hard time about paying for sex. He can never understand why I can’t just pick up a woman at a bar, like any other bachelor our age. The truth is that I can. That’s easy enough. But it’s not the sex I’m paying for. I’m paying for her to leave after. I don’t have time for anything more. Not while I’m busy playing daddy and running my empire.
I pick up my cell phone and dial the number by memory.
“Thank you for calling Allure, the solution to your evening’s desires. If you know your party’s direct extension—”
A few buttons later, a silky female voice answers. “Hello, Dominic.”
“Hello, Gia. How are you today?”
She chuckles in that dark, sultry way of hers. “I’m well, thank you. Reading some fascinating applications at the moment. Yourself?”
“I’m well, but I could use a companion for Friday night’s dinner plans.”
“Absolutely.” Tapping sounds come over the line as she inputs my request. “Tell me what you need.”
“Someone intelligent, classy. Someone I can show off to a longtime client and potential investor.”
“Always,” she says, practically purring. “We’ll line up a girl for you in no time at all. I don’t have to remind you of our rules . . .”
“Of course not. No sex.”
“Unless she wants it, too,” she adds with a chuckle. “But knowing your track record, she will.”
“You flatterer,” I say. Gia, the owner of Allure Agency, certainly knows how to keep her repeat customers satisfied.
“Have a lovely evening, Dom. We’ll send you the details tomorrow.”
“Good night, Gia.”
I set my phone down and lean back in my chair. I already feel better. Excited, even.
After some finishing touches on the day’s work, I’m ready to leave. I slip out through the back exit and head directly to the parking garage where my Porsche awaits. I have a small apartment that I keep in the hotel’s penthouse suite, but after the babies were born, living out of a hotel seemed much less practical, so I bought a large, four-bedroom apartment where my personal life can stay private and away from the prying eyes of my staff.
Prior to the girls’ arrival in my life, I was perfectly happy living a bachelor’s lifestyle in a hotel suite—ordering from room service and working at all hours of the day and night. Now, of course, things are different. My priorities have changed drastically.
The commute is never ideal during rush hour, but I want to see my girls. In fact, I need to. All of these thoughts about sex, exes, and secret arrangements have me in need of a little emotional cleansing. And there’s nothing purer than the glowing smiles of two little girls when their daddy comes home early for the first time all week.
“You ought to spend more time with them. You’re missing too much of their childhood,” Francine said to me the night before, after I arrived past their bedtime. My nanny is in her late sixties and is never afraid to voice her opinions about my lifestyle. She had her hands on her hips, scolding me like a mother would a child.
“The more time I spend with them, the less you’re paid,” I reminded her in a stern voice, but she could tell by my smile that it was an empty threat.
I pay her a very generous salary every week, and consistently pay overtime for any extra hours she’s needed. What I don’t pay her for is unsolicited parental advice. Especially when said advice makes me feel like shit because of how spot-on it is.
“You’re lucky my kids are both out of state and my husband has passed on,” she said with a wry smile. “I’ve got nothing better to do than love those little girls.”
In the elevator, my heart constricts with emotion, ever so briefly. Even though I’ve bantered with Fran over the point of my schedule, I know she’s right.
My keys aren’t even out of the door before I hear the tap-tap-tap of little feet on the hardwood floors of my downtown luxury apartment.
“Daddy!” Lacey races down the hall in her dance slippers and barrels right into my legs. Emilia is close behind, her face red and wet with tears.
“There’s my girls,” I murmur. Kneeling on the floor with two angels in my arms, I smell their hair, feel their tiny hands grasp at my clothes. “What’s wrong, baby girl?” I say to Emilia.
“Missed you,” she whimpers, clinging to my neck.
“Missed more!” Lacey says.
“It’s not a competition, girls,” Fran calls from down the hall, hobbling toward me with her coat and purse in hand.
“Thank you,” I say. She accepts my gratitude with a wink.
“Glad you’re home early for a change,” she says in that maternal voice of hers—an influence I’ve been sorely without for so many years now. “Dinner is on the table.”
“Thank you,” I say again. I squeeze my daughters tighter against my chest, my nose buried in Lacey’s curls and my fingers tangled in Emilia’s. They’re my whole life. My everything.
“You should smile more,” Fran says as she makes her way to the door, her purse slung over her shoulder and coat already buttoned. “It’s very attractive on a young man.”
She’s right. This is the first time I’ve smiled since . . . since Presley amused me this morning. It feels like a lifetime ago.
“Say good-bye to Franny,” I whisper to the girls. They call out their good-byes, never letting go of me.
Fran chuckles as the door closes softly behind her.
“What’s for dinner?” I ask the girls.
“Noodles!” Lacey cries, extracting herself from my arms and running back toward the dining room, but Emilia refuses to let go.
That’s all right, little one. I’ll carry you.
I sure as hell never thought I’d be a father at twenty-six. I never thought I’d be a single father at all. But I am, and I vow to be a good one. The best I can possibly be.
Better than mine ever was, at least.
Inside the dining room, I help my twin toddlers into their chairs and surve
y the table. There’s a dish of buttered noodles and peas for my daughters to share, and a plate of baked fish and vegetables for me.
It’s another reason why I don’t let Francine’s meddling bother me. She really does take good care of us and I’m not sure what we’d do without her.
Chapter Four
Presley
As I enter the cozy, fragrant coffee shop, Michael waves me over to his seat in the corner. Yes, he even snagged us the super comfy armchairs. Just seeing him lifts a little of the workday’s stress off my shoulders.
He stands up to hug me and points to one of the two steaming mugs on the table. “I ordered you a dirty chai.”
“I love you.” I sigh.
He shouldn’t be using his limited funds to buy me things—heck, I’m paying his tuition, it might be my money in the first place—but after this kind of day, it’s nice to have someone remember my favorite drink. We sit down, and I take a grateful sip.
“So, how’s school?” I ask. Unable to resist teasing him, I add, “Meet any nice boys yet?”
He groans, though he’s still smiling. “I’ve been too busy getting my ass kicked by this music theory class. Why, have you?” He wiggles his perfectly groomed eyebrows at me.
Okay, I walked into that one. “Not unless you count my new boss,” I mutter.
My devastatingly handsome new boss whose ridiculous sex appeal distracted me all damn day. It’s so unfair . . . I’ve never met a guy who lights up my body with electricity from one look, and he’s totally off-limits.
“Right, your internship started today. Tell me about that.”
“I’ve only been there one day, so really not much to tell.” I sip slowly to cover my nerves.
“You know what I mean. How do you feel about the place?”
“I feel like a blithering idiot.” I heave a deep sigh. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I can’t stop worrying I’m going to screw something up and blow it.”
“I’m sure you made a great first impression. You always do.”
“I don’t know . . .”
I stare into my chai as I stir it, imagining my career being sucked into its swirling depths. I must sound as unconvinced as I feel, because Michael pokes my upper arm.
“Hey, pay attention. I’m not just saying that because you’re my big sister. You really are the total package.”
I force a smile. “Thanks, baby bro.”
He frowns—I must sound thoroughly unconvinced—but he lets it go.
“So you said there was a reason you wanted to meet up today?” I ask.
Michael looks supremely uncomfortable. “Yeah . . . well, mostly I just wanted to hang out, but . . . I got a bill from the school a couple days ago, and there’s a bunch of extra charges they didn’t tell us about before.”
Oh, for crying out loud.
“Like what?” I set down my cup. I sense my composure’s about to be tested and don’t want to spill my drink everywhere.
“Um, like transportation, athletics, a studio fee for my conditioning class, campus fee, orientation fee . . . I forget what else. It listed like a half dozen things.”
What the hell is a campus fee? Is that the price you pay to be able to attend class on school grounds? What does tuition even pay for if all this stuff isn’t covered?
I rub my forehead to ward off the impending stress headache. I’m afraid to ask, but I have to. “How much?”
He hesitates, averting his gaze. “Nineteen hundred dollars.”
Forget spilling my chai; I might have thrown it across the room if it were still in my hand. Almost two freaking grand—when I can barely afford an extra cup of coffee a week.
I close my eyes and pull in a deep breath. “Okay.”
I’ll figure this out. I have no freaking idea how, because I already had nothing to live off of for the next three months except my meager savings. But I’ll come up with something.
You never know . . . maybe Dominic will decide you’ve failed the trial period and fire you after only two weeks.
“Y-you don’t have to pay the full amount. Some of it is optional.” Michael rushes to explain, his hands raised in placation. “Like for my choreography class, we’re putting on a performance at the end of the semester, so they’re charging us for costumes and theater time and stuff. But I can always just drop that class and—”
“No. Don’t worry, I’ll get the money.” Somehow . . .
“Okay, if you’re sure . . . thanks a million. I’ll pay you back someday.”
I catch the subtle sparkle in Michael’s eyes. He’s clearly excited about that performance, which only hardens my resolve.
I can do this. I have to.
“You don’t owe me anything,” I say, squeezing his arm. “We’re family. If we don’t look out for each other, who will?” Not our father, that’s for damn sure.
Michael’s pocket beeps and he checks his phone. “Whoops. I hate to ditch you, but the last bus back to my dorm will be here in five minutes. Love you, sis!”
“Love you, too,” I say, standing again for a good-bye hug.
Now what? I was just starting to feel better about work, but after hearing about Michael’s surprise expenses, I’m wound tighter than ever. I’m hungry, and since I’m not done with my drink yet and I’m in desperate need of something to eat, I head to the counter and order their last slice of banana bread.
“We’re mortal enemies now,” someone says from behind me.
I glance back, bewildered.
The guy in line behind me grins. “I wanted the last slice.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you want—”
“Don’t worry about it, I was just kidding. Heh . . . I guess it was a bad joke.” He points to my table, which still has all my stuff on it. “By the way, is that sticker on your laptop from Delinquent Story? I love that webcomic.”
“Wow, really?” I say, more than a little surprised. “You’re the first person I’ve met who’s even heard of it.”
His brown eyes crinkle in the corners when he smiles at me, his messy brown hair flopping over one eye when he nods. “What did you think of the part where—actually, maybe I should invite you to sit down before I start asking questions.” He gestures to a two-person table that’s been staked out with a messenger bag on one chair.
He has a nice smile. What the heck, I could use a friend right about now. “Sure, thanks.”
He helps me move my stuff to his table. In between bites and sips, I rave about my favorite webcomic for almost twenty minutes while he nods, murmurs in agreement, and eggs me on with the occasional question.
“Plus, the art style is so nuanced. Like, Sheri’s expressions are exaggerated while Lila’s are subtle and ambiguous to show the—” I cut myself off, suddenly realizing I’m being rude. “S-sorry, I’ve just been going on and on. I haven’t even asked your name.”
He chuckles. “No worries, I was really interested in what you were saying. I’m Austin.”
“I’m Presley. So, what do you do?” I ask.
“I’m a programmer. You?”
“I actually just started a new job at Aspen today.” I polish off the last bite of my banana bread and wipe my mouth with a napkin.
Austin’s eyebrows wing up. “Wow, the massive hotel chain? I’ve heard they’re really competitive.”
“No kidding. To tell you the truth, I don’t quite feel like I belong there.”
I’m not sure why I’m saying all this. I practically just met this guy, and I’m pouring out my insecurities. But he’s such a good listener, it feels like I can tell him what’s on my mind.
“It’s probably just first-day jitters,” he says. “It’ll wear off when you get used to the people and how they do things. You seem smart, and you wouldn’t have gotten the job in the first place if they didn’t think you were good enough.”
“That’s true.” I chuckle and shake my head. “Sorry to make you play therapist.”
“You didn’t make me do anything. I said
that because I wanted to.” He smiles back, a little shy, but genuine. “Listen, I gotta run, but can I have your number? And maybe we can meet up for coffee again sometime? I mean, you do kinda owe me a slice of banana bread . . .”
I consider, but it doesn’t take much thought. He’s easy to talk to, and his candid manner is both comfortable and refreshing. He’s also cute—not like Dominic’s overpowering, slightly intimidating magnetism, but in a sweet, safe, boy-next-door kind of way. Austin is exactly what I need to get these forbidden feelings off my mind.
Pulling out my phone, I smile. “Sure, I’d like that.”
After I leave the coffee shop, all I can think about the entire way home is the bill Michael hit me with. I tried to keep my cool in front of him, but the truth is, I’m freaking out about how I’m going to do all this.
Bianca’s not home when I reach the apartment, and I remember the yoga class she takes on Monday nights. So I grab a handful of nuts that I hope will tide me over, and open my laptop to continue working on the notes I started putting together for my business proposal.
There’s nothing else I can do besides get down to work. Besides, there’s no sense in worrying about my money problems when I have a CEO to impress.
• • •
I make it through Aspen’s doors at eight o’clock sharp, and I’ve barely sat down at my desk when Jordan pokes his head into my cubicle.
“Hey . . . Parsley, right?”
“Presley.” I sigh.
“Oh shit, I’m so sorry.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “Oliver says he wants us to develop a budget proposal for the new Acapulco resort. Can you meet now? Or I can come back later . . .”
Why assign us together? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Dominic gave me my own duties, but if Aspen’s vice president wants me to do something, that’s what I’m going to do. Maybe this is intended to test how well we juggle multiple tasks or handle teamwork or something. Regardless, I’m sure it’s some kind of test, and I’ll be damn sure that I ace it.
I follow Jordan to his cubicle, where he pulls up a long email from Oliver and leaves me to read it while he finds a second chair.
