The Heartbreaker

by Cat Carmine

  Emma and Rori exchange a look, and I roll my eyes.

  “Come on, give me a break,” I lament. “I didn’t say I couldn’t do it. It’s just a lot different than working for Mom and Dad, that’s all.”

  Which, of course, is the understatement of the year. After all, I never once fucked anyone at the flower shop. Certainly not my boss. And not least of all because my boss was my dad and ... ew. I haven’t told anyone yet about what happened with Logan the other day, not even my sisters or Lucy. Now that it’s Friday, and we’re all sitting around a little Manhattan bar called Veneer, I have the overwhelming urge to spill everything.

  I can’t, though. I know what my sisters would think — that I’m still Blake the baby, Blake the fuck-up. Blake who can’t make it in the city. Blake who can’t be trusted to behave like an adult.

  I’m not saying my sisters are judgmental. Not exactly. But they see me as the baby. The one who never grew up. Finding out I did something as stupid as banging my boss isn’t going to help my case. I want to prove to them that I’m a grown-up now. Almost as much as I want to prove it to myself.

  Which means putting everything that happened with Logan Cartwright completely and one hundred per cent behind me.

  The waitress returns with our drinks — my double martini and Rori and Emma’s wine and Lucy’s Pina colada. I take a grateful sip from the wide-rimmed glass, then grimace. Why did I pick a martini? I ordered it because I thought it sounded like something a grown-up would order. Now I look enviously at Lucy’s drink. I should have ordered something with a damn umbrella in it. You really can’t go wrong with an umbrella.

  “So, tell us everything,” Emma says, sipping her wine. The dim bar lights glint off the huge rock on her finger. “How do you like working for Logan Cartwright?”

  I grimace again, though this time it isn’t because of the drink. “It’s okay. He’s kind of ... intense, I guess. He has me running around doing all these crazy impossible errands for him, like getting him last minute theater tickets to a sold-out show.”

  “I guess that’s why he’s gone through so many assistants,” Emma muses.

  My ears perk up at that. I remember she’d said something about this once before. “Oh yeah?”

  She chuckles. “Yeah. He told us ten this year alone. That’s why I wasn’t sure about having Tyler forward your resume. I got the impression he might be a bit of a nightmare boss. Although Tyler says most of them ended up leaving because he slept with them.” She laughs at that. “So, I guess as long as you don’t sleep with him, you should be okay.”

  “Haha, yeah, right.” I pick up my glass, but the liquid inside suddenly looks incredibly unappealing. I set it back down on the table. How could I have been so stupid? Now there’s really no way I can tell them what happened. And what does this mean for my job? Is Logan going to fire me, now that I’ve slept with him? Am I just number eleven in a string of misguided assistants who made the rookie mistake of letting the boss get into her ... filing cabinet?

  “Can we get some mozzarella sticks?” I say, instead of spilling my guts onto the table.

  “Sure.”

  “And maybe some nachos?”

  Rori laughs. “Whatever you want, Blake. We’re celebrating your new job.”

  “Then can you flag the waitress down? Just order one of everything. I’m going to the bathroom.” I need a minute to catch my breath and collect my thoughts.

  Lucy jumps up. “I’ll come with you.”

  I don’t say anything, even though I want to be alone. I can’t exactly tell her that she’s not allowed to go to the bathroom. Instead, I just smile, and we both head towards the back of the bar.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, leaning in close once we’re inside.

  “Fine,” I say automatically. “Why?”

  She squints at me under the fluorescent lights. “I don’t know, you just don’t seem like yourself tonight.”

  I should lock myself in a stall and end this conversation now, but instead, I meet Lucy’s eye.

  “I did something stupid,” I blurt.

  “What?” She instantly looks concerned.

  “I slept with my boss.”

  “Oh no. Blake, you didn’t.” Her face falls.

  I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe for her to tell me that it was no big deal?

  “I know it was stupid,” I admit. “It just kind of happened. We were eating Thai food, and then he kissed me, and then the next thing I knew, I was on his desk with my skirt up around my waist.”

  “Oh, God. Blake, that’s awful.”

  “I know.” Except there’s still a teeny tiny part of me that thinks it wasn’t awful at all. That thinks it was mind-blowing and life-altering and completely fucking orgasmic. But I don’t say any of that to Lucy. “I swear it’s never going to happen again.”

  At least that part is true. Whatever I may have felt about Logan in that moment, I definitely know it can’t ever happen again. No way, no how.

  “No, definitely don’t do it again. Once is a mistake, but twice is just stupid.” She tries to smile, but I can see the concern still etched in her eyes.

  “Couldn’t agree more. Don’t tell my sisters, okay? They already think I’m such a fuck-up. I really don’t need them knowing I did this. Especially not Emma.”

  At that, Lucy actually laughs. We’ve both had many conversations about how obnoxiously perfect my sister is. She’s lightened up a bit since she met her fiance, Tyler, but she’s still way too much of a goodie-two-shoes. She’d have an aneurism if she knew what I did. Not to mention that she’s the one who helped me get the job — she’ll probably feel like it’s her reputation on the line, and God forbid anyone sully that.

  “Don’t worry,” Lucy says. “Your secret is safe with me. You want to get back out there?”

  I take a deep breath. “Yes, let’s.” I slip my arm through hers. “Do you think they ordered any deep-fried pickles? I’ve got a craving for pickles like you wouldn’t believe.”

  I go into work on Monday with every intention of playing it cool with Logan. I might even straight up tell him that what happened last week is not happening again. I want him to know just how serious about this I am.

  Except I never get the chance. Logan spends the entire day out of the office. Kath says he’s in meetings, but when I check his calendar, he only has a couple of conference calls scheduled. Nothing that would keep him out of the office all day.

  I spend the evening dwelling on it, which, believe me, I realize isn’t the behavior of a girl who wants to put this firmly and one hundred percent behind her. Thankfully, by Tuesday morning, I’ve once again scrunched up my willpower and am prepared to tell him just how I feel — that last week was a mistake, that I take my job seriously and have no intention of fucking it up for an ill-advised fling.

  Except, once again, I never get the chance. Logan is nowhere to be seen. His office door is closed, the lights are off, and everything is quiet. I creep back over to Kath’s desk.

  “Where’s the boss today?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

  “Canada.”

  If I’d been drinking coffee, I would have spit it out. “Sorry, what?”

  “Northwest Territories, to be specific. Meeting with some big mining honcho. He’ll be back in a few days.”

  “Right.” You’d think he would have bothered to tell me. After all, I’m his personal assistant. Surely, that would require me at least having a basic idea of his schedule. “I guess I’ll just find something to do.”

  “I think he left you a list,” Kath says. “On your desk.”

  “Great.” I let out a huff and clomp back to my desk. Sure enough, there’s a folded piece of paper nestled on my keyboard. I don’t know why he didn’t just email me. I snatch the paper up and unfold it. For a second, I have the wild hope that it’s not just a to-do list, but an actual note, an apology for having to be away, or maybe something to say he’ll be thinking about me, that he can’t get what happened last w
eek out of his head.

  Of course, it isn’t. It’s a to-do list, plain and simple. I scan it quickly, my stomach twisting in irritation at the list of asinine tasks on there. Clean the cappuccino machine? Get the photocopier serviced? Scan all of the vendor contracts from the last six months? I actually groan out loud. I mean, I know it’s my job. And I know that it was a stupid fucking fantasy to think that he’d write anything personal here. But it still sends a lance of pain through my heart. I feel torn into a thousand pieces over what happened last week, and Logan doesn’t seem to be affected by it at all. How is that fair?

  And more importantly, how could I have been so stupid?

  I take the to-do list Logan oh-so-thoughtfully left me and study it. With a sigh, I head to the kitchen. This is my job, I remind myself. My feelings — or non-feelings — for Logan Cartwright don’t factor into it. I might as well throw myself into the list. Starting with wrestling that beast of a cappuccino machine.

  Thirteen

  Canada is very cold.

  Specifically, the Northwest Territories are very cold. Seriously fucking cold.

  I relish every moment of the frigid temperatures. When I’m not in meetings, I spend my time walking the quiet streets, bundled up in a parka and what my Canadian colleagues refer to as a toque. Even with down-filled gloves on, I still have to keep my hands shoved deep into my pockets.

  Even the sub-arctic climate isn’t enough to keep me from thinking of Blake.

  Every time her face pops into my mind, a rush of warmth runs through me. My blood sizzles. The cold temperatures are only enough to bring me back to something like normal. Not enough to cool me down completely.

  Blake.

  Even her name sends my heart racing.

  I force myself not to think of her while I’m here, as much as possible, focusing instead on the deal I’m supposed to be closing. A new Canadian diamond mine is opening up, and we want a direct link with Cartwright Diamonds. This could be the biggest pipeline we’ve had in years. It would mean not just a reliable inventory source for us, but closing off a potentially-viable market for the rest of the competition. That would be a huge win for us, one my board wouldn’t be able to overlook. Let’s see Ray Kellerman try to stir the pot after I seal this deal.

  And yet, instead of thinking business and strategy and how to set Cartwright a step ahead of the competition, I’m thinking about Blake. About the way she threw her head back when I thrust inside her. About the way her pussy felt, wrapped so snuggly around my cock. About the taste of her lips, her skin, the way her scent lingered on me for hours, days, afterwards.

  It’s a fucking distraction, is what it is.

  To be honest, that’s why I decided to come up here to Canada in the first place. I knew that being around the office with her would be nothing but a temptation. That if I saw her prancing around in one of those short little dresses, there’s no way I’d be able to keep from pulling her into my lap and nuzzling my dick up inside her again. I want her, again and again and again. It will never be enough. It can never be enough.

  So I had to get out of the office. I could have fired her, I suppose, but there’s a part of me that finds that idea absolutely abhorrent. I can’t fire Blake any more than I could cut off my own dick. It just isn’t a viable option.

  So, removing myself from the picture entirely seemed the easiest way to go.

  I draw the trip out as long as I can, insisting on taking individual meetings with just about every executive in the entire damn mining company. I even take a meeting with the Canadian Minister of Natural Resources. By Wednesday, they’re so anxious to do business with Cartwright Diamonds that they’re about ready to pay me for the privilege of taking their diamonds.

  Still, I would have found a way to stay even longer — maybe insisted on flying a couple folks from my legal department up here, taking a more in-depth look at the environmental impact assessment. I could have stretched out the visit. Except this is the weekend the kids are coming to stay with me, so I have to be back in the city. So on Thursday, I reluctantly board my chartered flight and head back to New York.

  Jack and Daisy arrive that night, just after six o’clock. Heather drops them off. As promised, she comes bearing an Xbox and an iPad. She also tries to shove a hundred dollar bill into my hands.

  “For pizza,” she explains.

  I roll my eyes and wave off the money. Heather is a shareholder in Cartwright Diamonds, and our father made sure she and her family were well taken care of when he died, but that’s beside the point. I refuse to take her money, especially for doing something as basic as taking care of her kids for a weekend. How much pizza could two kids eat, anyway?

  “Logan, thanks again for doing this,” she sighs, as she reluctantly stuffs the cash back into her bag. “They’ve really been looking forward to it.”

  Jack and Daisy have already wandered off to explore the penthouse. They’ve both been here a few times, though always when the whole family has been here. Neither of them has ever come to stay on their own before, and I can tell they’re both excited and a little bit anxious about the whole thing. I feel a pang of guilt that I haven’t spent more time with them.

  “My pleasure,” I assure my sister. “I’m looking forward to getting to spend some quality time with them.”

  “You’re such a good sport. It’s really a shame you never had kids.”

  I tense up immediately. This is the second time this month she’s made a similar comment. “You know that’s not the life for me.”

  “It could have been.”

  “Heather…” I caution. She knows better than to go down this road. I don’t know why she’s pushing it.

  “I know, but I don’t understand why you never talk about it. Why you never tried to find love again. It’s been eight years, Logan.”

  And this is a conversation we’ve had at least once a year since it happened. I know she’s just looking out for me, but Heather doesn’t understand why I wouldn’t want to try again after losing Laura. Then again, she doesn’t know what it feels like to have the one person you love most in the world ripped away from you. You don’t come back from grief like that. You can’t ever really be whole again.

  And so, we have this conversation, once a year or so. And it always ends the same way — with her upset and me pissed off.

  It should end the same way this time. After all, nothing’s changed since the last time she brought it up. Laura’s still gone, and I’m still the asshole who found a way to channel his grief into fucking anything and everything in a skirt.

  Except now, I flop down onto the couch. “I don’t know, Heather. Because it’s too hard.”

  Her hand is on my shoulder, and she gives it a squeeze. “I know. But don’t you think not moving on might be just as hard, in the end?”

  Unbidden, an image of Blake comes into my mind. Blake coming into my office, wringing out her wet hair. Her make-up smeared under her bright blue eyes. Her pink dress clinging to every filthy curve.

  But Blake isn’t about me moving on. It’s just more of the same — me, fucking my hot and eager assistant. It’s what I do.

  “Maybe,” I admit. “But at this point, I guess … I just really don’t know how else to live.”

  “Well, the first step is admitting that, right?” Heather smiles. It’s warm and sympathetic, and it makes me feel stupid and helpless, two things I despise feeling.

  “Sure. Whatever.” I stand up again, stretching to my full height. “Now, I have a very special weekend to get to. No moms allowed.”

  Heather hesitates, but then she hitches up the strap of her purse. “Sure. I can take a hint. Just promise me you’ll think about it, Logan. I don’t like seeing you so ... stunted.”

  I show her out the door and then go chase down the kids, who’ve found the cinema room I had installed when I bought the place. The one I don’t think I’ve ever used more than twice in the entire time I’ve lived here.

  “This is the coolest place ever!
” my nephew gushes. His bright green eyes, so similar to Heather’s, are wide and enthusiastic. “Do you have any movies we can watch?”

  “Hmm. There’s a new documentary about Bitcoin I wanted to watch.”

  Jack wrinkles his nose and exchanges a skeptical look with Daisy.

  “No? Okay … how about samurais? Do you like samurais?”

  “Yes!” Jack cheers, but Daisy is still frowning.

  “Oh wait,” I muse. “That one has subtitles. You guys can read, right?”

  Daisy shakes her head. She’s clutching a small little stuffed lamb to her chest, and her bottom lip is starting to quiver. I run my hands through my hair. I’m not off to a great start.

  “Okay — let’s put a pin in that for now. Have you guys had dinner yet?”

  They both silently shake their heads.

  I try to smile. “Well, you’re in luck — my cook was in earlier today and left us a delicious rack of lamb. Do you like lamb?”

  “Lamb?” Daisy’s voice is barely more than a whisper. She looks down at her little stuffed sheep in horror. Fuck.

  “Um, no. Just kidding.” I scrub my hands over my jaw. I’m really on a roll here. For a hot second, I think about calling Heather and begging her to come rescue me. Clearly, I have no idea what I’m doing.

  Then I kick myself. I own a multi-national, multi-billion-dollar company. I’m known and feared in this industry, and even outside of it. Surely, I can handle two small children for a couple of nights.

  “Uncle Logan, my bum itches,” Daisy announces.

  I make a strangled noise and try to look chill. “Right.” How to put this delicately? “Inside or outside?”

  Daisy’s mouth gapes. “Outside,” she says, as if this should be obvious.

  “Okay.” I relax a hair. “Well, scratch it then.”

  She and Jack giggle. “Mom says it’s not polite to scratch your bum when other people are around.”