by Bay, Louise
“No. Not yet. Thanks for reminding me. I’m going to call Mom. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Amanda, don’t go. What—”
She hung up. Jesus, what had I done now? I wasn’t getting anything right at the moment. Things were so much easier when she lived with her mother. Up until the move, I could do no wrong. All I had to do was tickle her, crack a joke, read her a bedtime story and she thought I was amazing. Now everything I did led to an eye roll or a Daaad.
Fuck. I needed to call to Pandora. Maybe I could send Amanda over to Zurich the weekend of the dance? That way, there would be no boys, no dating and I wouldn’t have to worry about going to jail for murder. My daughter was fourteen—she wasn’t ready for the reality of the male species.
“Come in,” I barked at the loud rap on the door. Harper entered the room. I groaned. Being in the same room as her was the very last thing I needed.
“What?” I asked as she strode toward me.
“The revised Bangladesh report.” She held up some papers.
“You could have left it with Donna.”
She placed the report down on my desk with a bang. “I’m sure if I’d left it with Donna, you’d have told me I should have handed it to you directly.”
Oh. Sass. I hadn’t been expecting that. I had to bite down a grin. She was right; I was giving her a hard time. But it wasn’t personal. Okay, it was a little bit personal. She just irritated me. I prided myself on being unemotional at work. I’d always been able to separate the different areas of my life, to shut one world down while I was in another. Harper blurred the lines. During our meetings I fixated on the curve of her neck, or the pull of her sweater across her breasts. I’d be left trying to figure out her scent or imagine how her skin would feel under my fingers. I tried to shut that part of my imagination down. Over and over.
I stared at the screen of my laptop. “Well now you’re here, just leave it on my desk and I’ll try to get to it later.”
“I’ll leave your sandwich with Donna then,” she said as she turned on her heel. Was she wearing a new dress? It looked good on her, showing off her ass and the sway of her hips while being high necked and demure.
I didn’t have time to answer as she headed out and slammed the door.
Jesus, I was getting attitude everywhere I turned today. Was there a full moon? I picked up my cell and dialed Amanda. No answer.
I had a pile of papers to get through, but I wanted to get to the bottom of the situation with Amanda. If she was hoping to go to her dance with a date, we had a lot to talk about. I pulled all my things together. I’d work on the train. Leaving the office would be a double bonus—I could be with my daughter and put some distance between me and Harper. But it wasn’t a long-term solution. I couldn’t just stop coming into the office to avoid Harper. I needed a plan to keep her away from me. A way of making sure she didn’t want anything to do with me.
* * *
The journey back to Connecticut had unwound me, and I was able to focus better with every mile put between me and Harper.
“Pancakes?” Amanda asked as she skulked into the kitchen. The French doors were open and a light breeze circled around us. Despite us being anything but a traditional family, I’d always liked that this house had a traditional family feel. It had none of the sleek lines, gloss, and glamour of my New York apartment but I liked both of them, felt at home either way.
I nodded, cracking an egg into a bowl. Since she’d transitioned to solid food, Amanda and I had shared pancakes on Sunday mornings and talked. Pancakes were our thing.
“You’re home early,” she said. She’d hinted that she wanted me home on the phone, but she’d never expect it. It was nice to be able to surprise her. She understood work was important but that she always came first. In so many ways she was mature, but every now and then I’d get a reminder she was still fourteen.
I nodded again.
“Like half a day early,” she added.
“Thought I’d spend some time with my favorite lady. I sent Marion home, so we’re having pancakes.” Marion cooked for both of us on the nights I was home. Two nights a week Amanda’s two sets of grandparents fought over her. Because she’d spent so much time with them when she was little, it was almost as if she had three sets of parents, and my two sisters provided the aunt input.
Amanda hopped up onto one of the barstools at the breakfast bar, watching as I whisked up the batter.
“Speak to your mom today?” I asked. I’d learned I couldn’t just launch in and ask Amanda who she was hoping to ask her to the dance and on what basis. No, I had to wait for her to talk. Lucky for me, Amanda was a talker.
“Nope. Not yet.”
I stayed silent, trying to encourage her to speak.
“Bobby Clapham invited Samantha to the dance.”
I gripped the whisk harder but kept my mouth shut. I had to hear her out.
“And I thought that Callum Ryder would ask me, but he hasn’t said anything.”
Fourteen. No one told me dating was going to start this early. Could I call Pandora and agree we would lock Amanda in her room until she turned twenty-one? I could give up work and home school her for a few years, then she could do a college correspondence course. It was an option.
“Callum Ryder, he’s in your class?” I’d never heard her talk about him. Or maybe I had and I’d just taken no notice. Because Amanda liked to talk, I tuned out large chunks of what she said. It was just too much to take in—all the friends, the squabbling, the concerns that would last five seconds. I couldn’t keep up. The stuff I did take in passed through my brain quickly, and I retained almost nothing about her friendships at school. I was beginning to realize such an approach may have been a mistake.
“Oh my God. Don’t you listen to anything I say?” she whined. “Callum moved here from San Francisco last semester. Don’t you remember me telling you?”
“Oh, right.” I nodded, trying to cover up the fact I had no idea what she was talking about. Why hadn’t we sent her to an all-girls school? “And you want him to ask you to the dance?”
A blush crept up her face and a piercing pain shot through my chest. She was too young for all this. “Maybe,” she said. “But only because he’s funny, and I saw him dance once during lunch and he seemed to be able to move in time to the music.”
“So everyone is going as couples?” I tried not to shudder as I spoke. My baby girl.
“What do you mean?” she asked, plucking a grape from the bowl of fruit on the counter.
“If Callum asked you to the dance, he’d pick you up and—”
“No, Samantha and I are going together. You said you’d drive us. You don’t remember?” She splayed her hands in front of her as if I was possibly the stupidest man ever to have lived.
“Yeah, I remember,” I lied. “But I thought you and Samantha were no longer friends?”
“Last week, Dad. Keep up.”
“Okay, explain it to me because I don’t know how these things work. So you’ll see Callum there?”
She shrugged. “I guess.”
The thudding of my pulse slowed. Maybe labelling this whole thing dating was over-dramatic. I poured the batter onto the griddle as I tried to cover my relief. “So do you have your costume yet for this dance?” I asked.
“Costume? You mean a dress? It’s not a costume party.”
I sighed. “Give me a break. Do you have a dress?”
She grinned. “I wondered if you wanted some company in the city this week? You know, we could go shopping maybe?”
“In Manhattan?” I wasn’t sure I was qualified to take her shopping for a dance. I had no idea what would be appropriate. I didn’t like Amanda in the city, and I tried to discourage her attempts to visit me when I was at the Manhattan apartment. New York was no place for a kid. There were far too many bad influences.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Don’t you like the shops around here?”
“I want something no one el
se will have.” Something in my expression must have caught her eye. “Just because I’m fourteen doesn’t mean finding the perfect dress isn’t important, if that’s what you’re thinking. Perhaps if you ever dated, you’d get it.”
Here we go. One crisis situation always overlapped with another. Amanda was always nagging me about getting a girlfriend. Or a wife. Women were exhausting. Work was easier. Or it was before Harper started.
“I want you to look pretty. Of course I understand that. I have plenty of women in my life.” With two sisters, a daughter, and Pandora, there was no lack of estrogen in my world.
“You always think about it in such a selfish way.” Amanda sighed and slipped off the stool. She began to gather plates and cutlery. Helping out in the kitchen without being asked—that was new. I was getting constant reminders about how much she was growing up, and although I was proud, it felt as if we were hurtling downhill with the brakes off. I wanted to pause for a second, enjoy the here and now for a couple of years.
“I’m being selfish by not dating?” I asked, flipping the pancakes over.
“Totally. You know how much I’ve always wanted a sister. Mom’s been married to Jason for forever and they’ve completely ignored me, so it’s up to you. I don’t understand what you’re waiting for. Don’t you want to get married?”
“Hey, wait. A minute ago you were talking about you dating and now, not only do I have to date, but I have to marry a woman and get her pregnant?” She must have been talking to my sisters. They were always pestering me to date, trying to set me up with their friends. The fact was I didn’t need help getting women. But neither Amanda nor my sisters had to hear about my sex life.
She laughed. “Don’t you ever think about it? We’re here in the big house, just the two of us, and I’ll be in college soon.”
“Are you trying to kill me today? You have a couple of years before you leave for college.” She was right; college was really just around the corner. Of course I wanted her to go, but maybe she could still live at home. I wasn’t ready to give her up entirely.
“I think it would be nice for you to have someone. And if I got a baby sister out of it? Well, then that would be even better.” She placed the plates on the breakfast bar and set the cutlery on either side.
“What’s brought this on? I haven’t had this particular lecture from you for a while, peanut.” Had this just been my sisters’ influence, or did she miss Pandora? I dished up pancakes and turned off the stove. Was I not enough for her?
She shrugged. “Dunno. Samantha’s mom was asking whether or not you were dating, and it just got me wondering.”
Samantha’s mom? Why did I think there was more behind Samantha’s recently divorced mom’s question than neighborly interest? Since Amanda had been living with me, a number of her friends’ moms seemed to find an excuse to come by. I’d never given any one of them a reason to think I was available.
“I think it would be nice if you found someone is all. And I want a baby sister.”
I dated—and by that I meant had sex, plenty of sex. But it always happened in New York. I’d never brought anyone home to Connecticut. I kept my two worlds separate. Never anything more. I had the best of both worlds—my family in Connecticut and King & Associates and my career on Wall Street. I’d never needed anything more. There were no holes in my life as far as I was concerned. Apparently Amanda disagreed.
“You wouldn’t miss our father-daughter time together? Eating pancakes, watching the game?”
“Why would we have to stop doing that? The three of us could do it together, and when Chelsea was old enough, she could have pancakes, too.”
“Chelsea?” I was confused.
“My baby sister. Or maybe Amy would be better. I like that our names would both begin with an A.”
Of course. I chuckled as Amanda grinned at me. “You’re crazy, but I love you.”
“I could find you a date if you wanted.”
“Stop it and eat your pancakes.”
“If you agree to go on a date, I won’t tell Mom you’re feeding me pancakes on a Monday night. You know she’d have a cow.” Wow, maybe a few of my negotiation skills had been passed through the genetic line.
“Tell me you’re not trying to blackmail me.” I ruffled her hair as I sat beside her at the bar. “I’ll take my chances with your mother. She knows how sometimes sugar is the only solution.”
“You’re no fun.”
“I’m your dad. I’m not supposed to be fun.”
“Please just think about taking a woman to dinner. Tinder is meant to be the place to find someone.”
Tinder? “Promise me you’re not on Tinder, or I’m taking your phone and you’re not getting it back until you hit thirty-five.”
“Dad, of course I’m not on Tinder. Are you crazy? I’m fourteen.” At last she was making sense. “Tinder’s for old people. Like you.” Amanda held the syrup high above her plate and amber stickiness trickled out.
Was Harper on Tinder? Perhaps I should try to find out. Fuck, no. Why was I thinking like that?
“Check it out, Dad. Promise me.”
“I’m promising nothing,” I replied, but I wasn’t sure how convincing I sounded.
Chapter Three
Harper
I’d been waiting to hear from Max about the Bangladesh report for three days. I’d worked my ass off all weekend so he could have it on Monday. I shouldn’t have bothered. It was Wednesday evening and he’d canceled our follow-up meeting twice. I kicked off my shoes and slumped onto my sofa. I could hear Ben, or maybe it was Jerry, calling from the freezer.
“Knock it off, guys,” I yelled. I couldn’t spend the evening eating. No. I’d be productive—take advantage of the gym in the basement. That would take my mind off the asshole who was my boss. He’d strode past me in the corridor earlier in the day and totally ignored me. Okay, maybe my report could have been better, but giving me the silent treatment didn’t seem like the professional thing to do. I had to keep reminding myself he wasn’t the man I’d thought he would be and that still didn’t mean I couldn’t get a lot out of working for King & Associates.
I changed into my workout gear, grabbed a bottle of water, and headed downstairs. A gym in the building was more than I could have hoped for when I started looking for somewhere in Manhattan, and I’d not had a chance to visit yet. Work might not be good, but home was a cocoon from anything bad. I could relax—focus on the big picture.
Thirty minutes on the elliptical would clear my head and stop me trying to think up ways to physically hurt Max King.
As I entered the gym, I noticed there were three men already there—one using the free weights, one on a bike, the other on a rower. And apart from the muted sounds of CNN coming from a TV fixed on the wall in the corner, it was quiet. I checked out the rest of the space. No mirrors, so I didn’t have to look at any part of me wobbling while I moved. Perfect. It was as if I’d invented the place myself.
Moving toward an empty elliptical, I avoided the blatant stare of the guy using the weights. I dropped my water bottle into the holder on the machine just behind the man on the bike—he had an amazing ass—hopped on, and tried to find a program that wouldn’t kill me. Just what I needed to stop me from thinking about the office—a hard workout and a nice view.
I found a program on the machine that I knew would be tough, but I wanted to be focused on something other than what a disappointment King & Associates was turning out to be. I needed to be able to tune out when I wasn’t in the office or I’d send myself crazy. My first day on the job, my jaw ached from smiling so much. I’d finally achieved my dream, and I’d done it all on my own. It felt as though I’d arrived on the first step of a bright future—where the beginning of all my plans converged. I’d been beside myself with excitement. But the sheen had worn off pretty quickly, sometime in the first week when I was introduced to Max and he’d barely looked up from his desk to say hello.
The guy on the bike gasped and sat up,
circling his shoulders, then tilting his head one way and the other as he continued to peddle. He had a nice broad back, and jet-black hair drenched in sweat. He was going to need a serious shower. If he was the guy I’d heard having sex in the penthouse, I’d be happy to keep him company.
“You live in the building?”
I jumped when the guy who’d been using the free weights draped his arm over my machine. I hadn’t seen him head over. He was short, overbuilt, and so tan I wanted to ask him whether or not he’d lost a bet. He looked as if he belonged on the Jersey shore rather than downtown Manhattan. I nodded, hoping the fact I didn’t speak would put him off.
“You have a nice ass, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Really? He held up his hands when I shot him a look to kill. “No need to be snotty. I just like a nice ass.”
I fixed my stare to my machine’s panel, wanting to punch the guy.
“I think you better move on,” a man said from behind Jersey Shore.
“Hey,” Jersey Shore replied. “I was giving the girl a compliment.”
I kept my head down, not wanting to attract any more attention.
“Her loss, right?” my rescuer replied. I recognized that voice. My brain tried to work out if it was a famous person.
Jersey Shore moved away, and I glanced up with a smile. “Thank—”
It was like someone was trying to take a dump over my entire life.
Max-fucking-King stood right in front of me.
Kill. Me. Now.
The guy I’d come down here to escape was standing right in the middle of my gym in my apartment building. I glanced around. Jersey Shore had left, and the rower was still going. Max King was Nice Ass Guy. Life was just not fair.
My limbs stopped working and I half tripped, half stepped off the elliptical, stumbling into the wall behind the machines. Really? The hits just kept on coming.
“Are you okay?”
I peeled myself off the drywall as he moved toward me.
I nodded, unsure what I’d say if I actually managed to form words. How was this possible? My apartment was supposed to be my sanctuary from this man’s assholey behavior in the office. Now I had to worry about running into him in the corridors of my apartment building while I was drunk or not wearing makeup. Not that it mattered if he saw me without makeup or in my sweats; it would just be another reason for him to think less of me.
