by Amanda Aksel
“Mr. Allen, are you all right?” Charlene tilts her head with a hint of concern on her face.
“Yes, thank you, Charlene. I’ll take it from here.”
Sutton’s old office is equipped with everything a banking executive’s corner office typically includes, with the exception of personal touches like photos of a prized sailboat and trophy wife. A set of glossy golf clubs sits in the corner. Nice. I set my Gucci down and pick up the driver. Growing up in Florida with a father who did most of his business on the course, I learned a thing or two. Though I haven’t been on the fairway for a long time. I’d be curious to see if this new body improves my game.
I position my wider-than-yesterday hips and slowly pull the driver back. A woman behind me clears her throat, throwing my swing completely off. I whip my head around.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
Her long black hair cloaks the shoulders of her matching suit. Her expression is bleak. There’s nothing friendly or warm about her save for the bright aqua color of her glasses. She walks in, keeping her hands stationed at her sides. “I’m Nicole. I’ll be filling in as your assistant.”
I extend my hand. “I’m Richard Allen.”
She takes it. Stronger than she looks. “I know. Is there anything I can help you with?” Her tone is flat and I get the sense she couldn’t possibly care less about helping me.
“No, I’m just getting set up right now,” I say, resting the club over my shoulder. “You wanna take a swing?” I gesture toward the golf bag.
She doesn’t even hint at a smile. Not sure if she’s judgmental or annoyed. Perhaps both. “No.”
I exchange the driver for the putter. “Guess Sutton forgot his clubs.”
She sighs and folds her arms. “I’m sure he has plenty.”
“What happened to him?” I take my position and pretend to putt.
“He retired. Lives in a beachfront house in Southampton. He invited the whole firm there for a Memorial Day party last year. It was fun.” Nicole’s face seems to lighten some, but not enough to convince me that she’s capable of having fun.
I think I heard about that party when I was at Howard Brothers. But they never invited us lower-level employees to their fancy festivities in the Hamptons. We had our own celebration for the long holiday weekend. I spent the night drinking and dancing with the guys from the office, including Eric. He was dating someone at the time. Fiona. Or, as he called her on occasion, Foxy Fiona.
Ugh. I hate that name now.
And I hated her too, for no reason other than she was with Eric and I wanted to be.
There was one moment that night, just outside the bar. We were alone having a smoke, something he and I only do when we’re really drunk. That’s what we tell each other, anyway. I had caught a little chill from the breeze and he cupped his hands around my slender arms, brushing them up and down to warm me. A moment later, his face was mere inches from mine. I was sure we would’ve kissed if it weren’t for Charlie busting out of the bar, hooting and hollering like a damn frat boy.
When Eric and Foxy Fiona finally broke up a month later, I expected him to confess his love or at least ask me out. But he never did. That’s when I knew I’d imagined his attraction. Now Eric’s somewhere on this floor and it’s only a matter of time before he sees me like this. But he won’t see me. He’ll have no idea who I am. Thank goodness, I guess. Ugh. It still sucks. I frown and drag the putter back to the bag.
“Everything okay?” Nicole asks.
I look up with a half smile. “Uh, yes, um, sorry. All good. Just a lot of work to do. Can you bring me the proposal along with all the literature and data on the Ezeus IPO?”
“Sure. I’ll have Becker give you access to the shared drive.”
Crap! I forgot about technology. No company email and no access. Hopefully they don’t catch on before I figure out how to fix that.
“Thanks, but I’m a paper and pen kinda gir—guy. Can you just get me the printed copies?”
She raises her brow and nods. I’m pretty sure I catch a glimpse of her rolling her eyes before she leaves. I walk over to my own window wall. Make that two window walls. The shimmering skyscrapers of Manhattan cut through the bright blue sky, filling the space like oversized cityscape photographs. My father doesn’t even have a view this stunning.
I stand tall and take it all in, nodding slowly. “So this is really happening.”
Nicole returns carrying a banker’s box nearly filled with files. “This is everything,” she says, handing it over.
“That was fast,” I say.
Nicole cocks her head. “Did you expect me to be slow?”
“No, I just wasn’t expecting—”
“Mr. Allen, I’m very good at my job. So unless you have anything else for me to do, I’ll leave you to yours.”
This woman reminds me of myself. “No, I’m good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She leaves my office, the door slamming behind her.
At-ti-tude! But I get it. We’re sick of being questioned.
I take a seat at the solid mahogany desk and unload the files one by one. The next forty-five minutes give me a much clearer picture of the situation. Now I know exactly how I’m going to position this to Becker and Campbell. I lean back in the chair and take in a deep breath. How in the world did I go from being a woman completely on the outside to being the man in charge of this whole thing? I can’t begin to decide which change is more miraculous.
And to think, if I’d woken up as myself this morning, I still would have encountered Fairbanks’s phone call but the outcome would be completely different. Eric would have gotten the news from me, then I’d just be waiting by my phone to hear what happened. Secondhand. Maybe that’s why this is all happening, so that I’m no longer the person who waits to be called.
For once, I call the shots.
I open the office door and poke my head out. Nicole types so wildly fast it almost sounds fake. But I know she’s legit.
“Nicole, I’m ready to see the team. Can you bring ’em in?”
Her gaze doesn’t budge from her computer screen as her fingers move effortlessly around the ergonomic keyboard. “Yes, sir.”
I duck back into my office then pop out again. Nicole is already summoning the squad.
“Is there something else?” she asks as she hangs up the phone.
“Yeah. What are your thoughts on all this?”
She scoffs. “The last time I spoke up with my opinion I was asked not to interfere in matters that are not my business.”
“Who said that?” I ask, remembering my two cents being rejected on several occasions.
She folds her arms again. “Who do you think?”
I nod. “Well, I’m not him. Do you have an opinion about this?”
“I think Monty Fuhrmann is out on this one.”
“How come?”
She glances around, then leans forward. “One of my roommates is an associate at S.G. Croft, and I know Todd Fairbanks has been talking with them for a while. Pretty sure he’ll give them the lead. But isn’t that why you’re here?”
See what happens when you shut women up? You screw yourself. “Yes, and while I’m here, feel free to interfere, okay?”
Her expression softens the tiniest bit. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Hardly five minutes later, Curtis Becker, Owen Campbell, and two others file into my office. Not a woman in the group.
Oh, wait . . . nope, that’s Nicole.
I greet my good-ole-boys club with handshakes. Owen brings the other guys forward. “Richard, this is Darren and—”
“Eric,” I say, standing face-to-face with my crush, a goofy grin covering mine.
Shit!
So Richard Allen’s a psychic now? Might as well add that to the backstory. How am I going t
o talk my way out of this one?
Eric’s forehead wrinkles in that really cute way where he’s trying to keep a straight face but can’t. “How’d you know my name?”
Um . . . because I’m totally in love with you.
I can’t speak, or let go of his hand, or breathe. I try to swallow, but my tongue is as dry as sandpaper. Can he hear my heart roaring in my chest? Can they all hear it?
“Are you okay?” he asks.
My smile morphs into something more serious. “Yes, fine. Sorry, we should get started.”
“But how . . .” Eric tries again as I let go and turn away.
“We’ve got a lot of work to do, gentlemen. Why don’t we all sit down?” Pull it together, Delia. It’s go time.
The four of them follow me to the conversational seating area in the corner of the office. My office.
“Who has a copy of the proposal?” I ask.
Eric hands me pages of printed material, flashing me a curious glance with those brilliant indigo eyes. His collared shirt with a subtle woven pattern matches the sky today. It’s hard not to ogle him when he looks so damn good.
Focus!
I shake my head and sit on the narrow leather love seat, careful not to squish my two-piece.
And I’m not talking about the suit.
Becker and Owen sit across from me in the club chairs, while Eric and Darren seem to stand guard beside them. Everyone’s quiet as I flip through the proposal again, glancing at the handwritten notes on my yellow pad. I can’t focus. Something doesn’t feel right down there. Or rather, it does. I feel a little poke coming through.
C’mon, Little Dickie. This isn’t playtime.
I scoot over, leaning my elbows on my knees to shield the little beast. I glance up. They’re still waiting.
Just don’t look at Eric. It’ll go down.
“Everything okay?” Owen asks.
“Yeah.” But it’s not. I may need to intervene. Manually. “Actually . . .” And I just go for it—like so many men before me. “That’s better.”
I look up. Becker grimaces and Owen checks his watch while their guards quickly correct their own expressions. My cheeks warm when I glance at Eric, and I smooth my hair around my ear. If he knew it was me, I never would’ve done it. They have no idea that it’s my first day with a dick. And if they did know, they’d tell me I’m doing a damn fine job.
Becker rolls his eyes. “Jesus! Are you good now?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “I’ve never gotten used to European underwear.”
Becker smacks his face and runs his hand down to his chin. He really doesn’t like me.
I clear my throat. “Now, let’s talk about why you almost lost one of the biggest deals this firm has ever seen,” I say, darting a hard stare at my little nemesis.
He folds his arms in and leans back like he’s protecting his ego. “Fine.”
“Here’s the deal. Fairbanks thinks we’re bullies. That we can’t play nice with others, and that we’re going to bulldoze this whole thing and repeat what happened the last time an IPO like this went south.”
“Sure, mistakes have been made,” Becker says in a huff, “but c’mon, this should be ours. Especially after the relationship we’ve built with Todd. We’ve learned from the past. And we know his company better than anyone. Fairbanks owes it to us. He practically promised me the spot.”
“Well, that may be true, but that promise is off the table and we’re not going to see any piece of the pie unless we tell him what he wants to hear.”
“And what does he want to hear?”
“That we’re in wherever he wants us. Wherever he needs us. We’ll take on whatever role he wants, and play with whomever he wants us to play with.”
“What!” Becker’s face turns pissed-off pink.
“Look, I know it’s not glamorous and we’re not going to make nearly as much money as we’d hoped, but I think we need to show him our prudent, humble side.”
He gives me a sour look. “This is Monty Fuhrmann. We don’t have a prudent, humble side.”
“Well, we do now.” I slam their proposal on the glass coffee table between us. “How’s it gonna look if Monty Fuhrmann isn’t even a part of the syndicate for one of the most anticipated IPOs ever? You heard it from the horse’s mouth. Let’s not sabotage our second chance with a shitty offer.”
Becker bolts up. “This is bullshit! I can’t believe he’d do this. It must be that new legal counsel of his. I knew I didn’t like her. The little bitch. This is her idea!”
“Hey, hey!” I yell. “Let’s not forget who fucked up and put us in this position in the first place. What’s the matter with you, calling his lawyer a little bitch?”
“I don’t have time for this!” Becker stomps his feet and storms out of the office. Eric and Darren move aside, keeping their eyes down.
Owen springs to his feet. “Curtis!” But the little asshole is gone. He turns to me. “Sorry, all of this really blindsided us. I’ll talk to him.”
“Please do. Is he always this hotheaded?” I ask, remembering Eric’s words—shortest fuse on the planet.
Owen shrugs. “Eh, he can be.”
I gesture in the direction of the door. “Yeah, go talk to him. I’m going to rework this proposal and I’ll send it over this afternoon.”
Owen nods and leaves my office.
“Okay, gentlemen. Thank you both for your help. I’ll let you know if I need anything from you,” I say, extending my hand.
“He is always that hotheaded,” Darren says as he shakes my hand then proceeds toward the door. Eric stays behind, eyes narrowed with his tongue peeking out of his mouth. There’s that thinking face I love so much.
“Did you need something, Eric?” My tone is sweet. A little too sweet given the circumstances. I straighten up, smoothing my tie down my chest.
“Do we know each other from somewhere?”
I pretend to really look at him, like I’m trying to remember him. Though I could never forget his face, or his smell, or those ol’ blue eyes, or . . . Delia, pay attention! I fake a cough and look away. “I don’t think so. Why? Do I look familiar?”
“I’m just trying to figure out how you knew my name,” he says.
“Because a . . .” I whirl my hands around in front of me—a failed attempt at summoning the best answer. “You’re new, and I’ve heard great things about you.”
“Really?”
I scratch my head. “Sure, sure.”
“Wait. I do know you from somewhere.” He taps his finger to his chin. “I just can’t place it.”
I shrug. “Maybe you’ve seen my doppelganger at the gym.”
Eric lets out a chuckle. “Maybe.” I love making him smile. It never gets old.
He turns to leave and my eyes follow him, getting caught on his sexy behind. Mmm.
Another poke comes through.
Uh-oh.
I hurry to shut the door behind him, pressing my back against it and taking shallow breaths. That was close. I look down at my little troublemaker, who’s fully alert like he’s just eaten an entire bag of Giggles candies. So not funny.
“You need to control yourself, man. Get it together!” I command in an angry whisper, then I lean my head back on the hard wooden door. This having-a-dick thing is gettin’ real.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Personal space and privacy are luxuries in New York. This new office is affording me both. I hit control-P on the keyboard and watch page after page of my new proposal stack up in the printer tray. My stomach grumbles such a gutsy growl it nearly rattles the corner office windows. It’s lunchtime already?
Another ferocious rumble.
Time to feed the beast. I pull my phone from the charger and dial Regina.
“Hey,” she answers. “You got your phone back. How’s the new man in Man
hattan?”
“Cute. But you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Are you kidding? This is the most incredible day of my life! Hold on, I’ll conference in Frankie.”
He answers. “Delia, is everything okay? Are you hurt? Are you coming to the hospital soon? How’s my suit?”
“Everything’s fine. Can you guys meet me for lunch?” I ask. My belly begs again. “In half an hour?”
“Sure, where?” Regina asks.
“Il Vezzo. My treat.” It’s one of the best Italian spots in the city.
“Il Vezzo? Can you afford that?” Frankie asks.
That remains to be seen. I chuckle. “Who cares? YOLO, right?”
“No one says that anymore.” I can practically see Regina sneering.
“Oh, yeah? I blame the penis.” I glance down at my pants. Since Eric left my office, Little Dickie’s been behaving himself.
“What’s going on?” Frankie asks. He sounds like he’s been worried sick all morning. Maybe a nice glass of vino will calm him down.
“I’ll tell you if you meet us for lunch.”
“Fine,” he says sharply.
“See you in thirty,” Regina says before they both hang up.
Good. Il Vezzo will totally hit the spot.
“Nicole!” I call out and grab my things. When I look up from the desk, she’s standing in front of me as if appearing from thin air. I don’t want to make the mistake of commenting on how quick she is again. “How’s your day going?”
She pauses, puzzled, like she’s never been asked this before. “Fine, sir. How is your day?”
“It’s been interesting, Nicole.” She has no clue just how interesting. “Would you mind delivering these to Campbell’s and Becker’s offices in one hour? It’s the new pitch.” I hand her two stapled packets.
“Sure.” Before turning on her heel to leave, she nods with the tiniest of smiles. I’ll take it!
