Tempt Me

by S. E. Lund

  I watched while Mr. Handsome Bike Courier bent over to adjust something on his bike, his glutes straining. God, what an ass, and that cycling suit showed every very round curve of it.

  It made me ache deep inside, wanting a man in my life to fulfil my needs. While I now hated Jerkface – the sonofabitch – I did miss the sex. Even writing erotica didn't entirely make up for his absence in my life. Nothing could do that like a nice hard man.

  Like Garbo said, 'A hard man is good to find.' I needed to find one.

  Mr. Handsome Bike Courier was a candidate, though I wasn't sure my father would approve. He had expectations that I'd marry someone rich and of political benefit to him. Not that I was going to marry someone to please my father, but still. A bike courier didn't have the same level of ambition as I did, so while Mr. Hunk had everything going for him in the looks department, I wasn't sure he and I could be more than sex buddies. Which at that moment seemed like a pretty good deal, except that there was probably no way he'd even look twice at me, considering I'd caused him to fall off his bike and probably ruin his day of deliveries.

  Maybe I'd meet some cute, ambitious finance type at the local watering holes. Some MBA who didn't mind people who were nerds at heart, and who loved books as much as I did. That was the dream, anyway. As I stood alone on Fifth Avenue, my nerves finally starting to settle down after the near collision, I thought it was a real possibility, given the number of business suits walking by me.

  At that moment in my life, finding a man should have been the last thing on my mind. I had to perform and impress Sharon enough that she'd be willing to give me a paid position once the unpaid internship was finished.

  I had known I'd get to see a lot of man candy when I came to the Big Apple, and there, in all his glory, went my first real piece. I watched him through the plate glass windows of the building while he walked his bicycle to the elevator. I couldn't wait to text Steph, who loved to ogle handsome men on Pinterest with me.

  She stayed in Concord, where we both had been born and raised. She was planning on moving to Manhattan at some point, once she saved enough money. I felt like inviting her to stay with me, but there was absolutely nowhere for her to stay in the tiny studio apartment I'd rented. When she was able, though, we might share a place.

  I exhaled, deciding to walk to the crosswalk, get my coffee from the coffee shop and explore a bit more before my appointment to pick up my keys at the Airbnb in Chelsea. Despite my near-collision with a bicycle courier, I felt excited about being in Manhattan.

  For the first time since Jerkface and I split, I felt a real sense of possibility – like my new life was starting and I could put the old sad one behind me.

  Chapter Four

  Joshua

  I met my brothers outside the building on Fifth Avenue later that afternoon. David was scheduled to fly back to LA and so we wanted to get together once more before he left. I slipped on a pair of aviators and watched as all four of my brothers did the same. We were our father's sons. My dad had been a pilot in the Korean War, and each of us had also joined the service. I'd spent time in the US Army as an intelligence officer. My other brothers had joined either the Air Force, like our father, or the National Guard, like David had.

  "Come on, men," Christian said, adjusting his aviators and turning to us. "Let's go out and get drunk."

  David clapped Christian on the back. "Yeah, let's get some pussy, too, seeing as we're going to be suffering a drought of it if we have to get married just to get access to our money. What do you say about Gibson's? I have a back booth reserved for me any night of the week when I'm in town. There's some really high-quality ass that frequents the place."

  Everyone turned to me, as the big brother and now head of the family.

  "You need a drink, after your collision," David said. "How are your elbows and knees?"

  I bent my elbow, which was currently bandaged, as were both my knees. "I can hack it but honestly, a drink sounds like the perfect idea," I said, badly needing a scotch. "Gibson's it is."

  We piled into my Lexus SUV and I drove to Gibson's, a very popular club with an attached high-end restaurant in the financial district. Once there, I handed my keys to the valet and we went inside. It was early, but there was an afternoon crowd there already celebrating happy hour.

  David walked up to the hostess station like he owned the place. The young woman behind the counter gasped, her eyes widening when she recognized him. She was pretty in an overly-made up way, with hair piled on top of her head and a tight black dress that displayed her obviously-surgically-enhanced breasts.

  "Cindy, baby," he said, and gave her a huge smile.

  "David Macintyre," she exclaimed when she saw David, her face lighting up. "It's so good to see you again. Please come in. We haven't seen you for weeks!"

  She smiled and I could tell she was a little star-struck that David was there. Hell, a lot star-struck. She glanced at the rest of us, but we weren't as notorious as David, the rock star.

  "I thought you were on tour," Cindy said.

  "Flew in for some family business," David said, and handed her a twenty-dollar bill. "Reading of the will. Can you take us to my usual booth?"

  "Oh, I'm so sorry. Of course," she said and held her hand over her heart and made a sad face. "I read about your father's passing in the paper." Then she led us through the bar to a large leather booth in the rear of the space.

  "I thought he was too ornery to die," David said, "but I guess not. Hey, wanna marry me? I need a wife, and fast, so I can inherit my money." He gave her the biggest grin I'd ever seen. When her face froze, like she was trying to decide if he was being serious, he laughed out loud. "Just kidding, babe. No one's going to own this ass any time soon. Fuck the will." Then he slid into the booth next to me. Poor Cindy looked despondent that he would joke with her like that.

  "Your waitress will be with you right away. Enjoy your evening." She gave us all a quick smile and then left us alone. I imagine she'd tell that story to her friends and they'd all ohh and ahh about being proposed to – even in a joking way – by the David Macintyre.

  "You're a heartless bastard," Christian said, shoving David. "Getting that poor young woman's hopes up and then crushing them."

  "I know, I know. I'm so mean." David grinned widely. "In her heart, she knew I was joking."

  I turned to him and shook my head in disgust. Affectionate disgust, but still disgust.

  "I hope to hell you fall madly in love with a woman and then she says, 'Just kidding.' Then you'll know how it feels."

  All my brothers turned to me, and the expressions on their faces told me I'd just fucked up royally. Michael laid a hand on my shoulder. "Hey, bro. You still hurting over Christie? You need some sweet thing to take away all that pain."

  "Fuck off," I said and shoved him, only somewhat affectionately. Then I softened and gave him a smile. "Just kidding."

  "No, you weren't," he said, his tone serious. "You need to give it time."

  "How can he afford give it time?" David asked, oblivious as usual to other people's problems. "If he wants to use some of that money, he has to get married and stay married for at least a year. It sucks ass," he said and smacked his hand onto the tabletop. "I'm not buying into Dad's man-in-a-grey-flannel-suit fantasy of marital and family bliss. I'm staying single–I'll enjoy as much pussy as I can for as long as I'm able. If Josh's smart, he will too." He turned to me. "You don't need his money. You'll make enough in stock options as CEO that you won't need it."

  "You really are a scoundrel." Michael smiled and hung his arm around David's neck. "We all need our share of a quarter billion dollars. Come on, get real. Marriage won't be so bad. You're gonna do it someday. Might as well be sooner than later."

  For the rest of the evening, we drank, toasted our father, and cursed his terms in equal measure.

  "Have another one," David said, shoving a plate with a shot glass filled with tequila, a salt shaker and some limes toward me.

  I
waved him off. "No more for me. I have an early meeting with my contractor to inspect the renovations at the building on Fifth Avenue."

  Despite the fact Michael was my contractor and would be meeting me bright and early at the building, he didn't seem quite as reluctant to get drunk as me and raised his glass.

  "You can stay sober tonight. I'll be fine tomorrow morning. To success."

  "To success," David asked, glancing between the two of us. "How's the renovation going, by the way?"

  "Great," I said. "We're getting close. I've already moved the Chronicle staff out of the old building and into the new space but renovations aren't quite done."

  "It'll be strange seeing the business operate out of a different building," David said.

  "I know, but it'll be mine, not Dad's. No disrespect, but you know what I mean. It'll be completely mine."

  "I get it," David said. "Get out from under the old man's shadow. That's why I never bought into the whole family business thing. I want to be my own person. I know Dad never approved of me, but he's gone now and I have to keep living."

  "He was proud of you," Michael said, leaning over to clink glasses with David. "Dad's proud of anyone who's a success, and you most definitely are a huge success."

  "Amen to that," I said and clinked my empty glass against his. "You are the man."

  I watched the four of them drink down their shots and sighed, wishing I felt more like partying with them, but I didn't. I felt like driving to the Hampton beach house and spending a couple of weeks there, decompressing from everything, but I had a business to run. Maybe once the office renovations were finished and we'd finished getting the place set up, I would take some time in the Hamptons, but that wasn't going to happen for at least three months.

  I really hated it but I needed access to that first twenty-five million dollars and then twenty-five million every year after. If I was going to find a wife soon, I had some serious work to do and it was work to me.

  Marriage and family was the very last thing on my mind.

  Chapter Five

  Ella

  I stood in the doorway of the Airbnb short term rental, my suitcase and backpack in hand, and glanced around. The room had a single Murphy bed that, when opened, dominated the space.

  "This is it?" I turned to Liza, the woman who managed the Airbnb apartment. "This is a one bedroom?"

  Liza handed me the key with a huge grin on her face. "Welcome to Manhattan."

  "But it's a closet, not an apartment!"

  "It's a room with one bed. It's a one bed room." She shrugged like she was helpless. "Did you really think you could rent a one-bedroom apartment in Manhattan – in Chelsea – for what you're paying?"

  "It's twice what I'd pay in New Hampshire."

  "This is the Big Apple, sweetheart. Get used to it."

  I rolled my eyes, but at that moment, I had nowhere else to stay – and besides, I had already paid in advance. I couldn't afford the insane hotel costs, so until I picked up the key to my long-term rental in Chelsea next week, it was this room or nothing.

  "There's clean linen in the cupboard and there are dishes and a hotplate. No visitors after eleven. Call me if you need anything."

  "Is there even a table? I'm a writer. I need something to put my laptop on and my notes."

  "You can sit on the bed and work. This is the table," she said and folded down a piece of white-painted plywood on a hinge. "You can use this for a table or desk."

  She smiled brightly and I looked on the rickety tabletop. "Will it even hold my laptop?"

  "It's a laptop. You could use your lap."

  I exhaled and tried to let the anxiety seep out of me. I could make it work for a week. Right?

  I went to the tiny window overlooking the back alley and a row of trash cans, which were currently overflowing.

  Word to the wise: Fisheye cameras distort spatial dimensions. I knew I should have paid attention in my physics class instead of ogling Paul Desmond, the cute football player with the cleft in his chin...

  That being said, I was optimistic about life. The actual long-term apartment I'd rented had real exposed brick. It had its own bathroom. And even if it was a studio space, it was bigger than the room in the Airbnb. I hoped that the unpaid internship I would be starting would turn into a paid one by the end of six months. If it didn't, I had faith that I'd be able to find another job somewhere that did pay. The internship, paid or otherwise, had to count for something.

  Right?

  I'd just finished my BFA and was hoping to become an editor for one of the big publishers one day. But my secret desire was to write the Great American Novel at some point in my career. Or at least a romantic comedy that would rival Candace Bushnell.

  My dream was to be a successful author one day, but until then, I hoped my stint with a smaller publisher would develop my editing skills and networking in the business. At least I'd learn about the publishing industry. I might make connections that would help me later, when I was ready to try my hand at publishing.

  So, I plopped my suitcase onto the floor, and went with Liza to check out the bathroom I would be sharing. The second-floor walkup space had a shower and toilet with an old sink that had seen better days. There were three other rooms on the floor and two on the third. We all shared the same bathroom, Liza informed me. She showed me the schedule on the back of the bathroom door. Room 2C, which was mine, had the bathroom from seven thirty to eight a.m. every morning for showering. The rest of the time after nine a.m. was first come first serve. If the seven-thirty time didn't work out for me, I was to request a different time and work something out with the other tenants, get up before six to shower, or shower after eight.

  That was it.

  My internship started at nine a.m. on Wednesday. I didn't know the transit system yet, so I hoped I had enough time to get there from my little closet in Chelsea. I figured I should be able to get ready in the morning and make it to midtown Manhattan with enough time to pick up a coffee and arrive at eight forty-five.

  Before Liza left, I grabbed her arm.

  "If I was to catch a train from the nearest station, how long would it take to get to Central Park West?"

  "Depends. What time of day?"

  "Say, at eight in the morning. I should be able to get there from here in forty-five minutes, right?"

  She laughed. "You should definitely try first so you know your trains and timing. When do you start work?"

  "Wednesday. Nine a.m. sharp."

  She shrugged. "It's Monday mid-afternoon. You can try now, but it won't be precise. Better try tomorrow morning for a dry run. You should go a bit earlier tomorrow morning so you get a better sense of how long it takes. Good luck!"

  I sighed. My real apartment was a few blocks away from the Airbnb room, so the timing wouldn't be precise, but at least I'd have an idea of how long it would take to get to work.

  I thanked her and went back to my room. Or should I say, my closet.

  There was a tiny shelf at the end of the room under the window. On it was a single hotplate next to a microwave and toaster. Beneath was a tiny refrigerator.

  That was the extent of my kitchen. Whatever – it would do for the rest of the week.

  There was one floor-to-ceiling cabinet on the wall for everything – dishes, food, linens, and other personal effects.

  I sat on the Murphy bed, glad that my real apartment was much nicer. Besides, I was in Manhattan to get experience and break into the publishing industry. I had to scrimp and suffer a bit for future glory. I needed a desk, but I could use the folding table until I got my real apartment.

  The smallest of air conditioners filled the top window and a thick ugly cord trailed down the wall to one of the two electrical outlets in the entire space, but at least it was air conditioned. The summers were hot in Manhattan.

  I'd have to unplug and re-plug the toaster and microwave if I wanted the tiny refrigerator to run constantly. The other plug I could use for the tiny television, such as i
t was, and my laptop. I'd have to alternate using the plugs for my printer, which was a necessity for a writer and budding editor.

  How anyone got away with advertising this as a studio apartment was beyond me. Wasn't there some sort of law against false advertising? This was not a studio apartment. It was a bedroom. Or half a bedroom. And barely even that.

  My stomach rumbled and I checked my watch. It was now two forty-five in the afternoon. I'd arrived with my luggage from Penn Station and taken a taxi to the building in Chelsea to meet Liza and get my keys to the Airbnb room. Now I decided to go out into Manhattan and find my way around the place. Tomorrow morning, I would try out the subway system and take it to the building where I would be working, just to check out the neighborhood.

  There was a thrift store down the street and I intended to go there and see what they had on offer. I figured I'd have to be thrifty for the next six months if I wanted my small nest egg to stretch that far. I might end up getting a part-time job as a bartender, if I could find a bar close by that needed help. Luckily, bartenders could get jobs everywhere and I had some training, so I figured I was set.

  So it was that I set off to explore Manhattan after taking possession of the Airbnb room. Outside my building the street was busy with cars, and the sidewalks were crowded with pedestrians. It was a lot for someone who'd lived most of her life in Manchester, New Hampshire, where the streets were wide and the traffic much less dense. Still, there was an energy in the air that infused me and made me feel optimistic, instead of depressed because of the apartment-closet situation. I took out my cell and googled grocery stores in Chelsea, and found one a few blocks away. Score!

  After a trip to the grocery store, where I purchased fruit, some yogurt, and a couple of frozen dinners, I returned to my apartment and put my purchases away.

  Things were definitely looking up.