Forbidden Desires

by Jenna Hartley

  He pretends to walk out the door.

  I pick up the next card since I’m closer.

  Everyone is seated around a table, so he arranges four chairs at the front of the room, and we sit.

  Enzo lowers his voice. “When are you going to move to the suburbs? The city is nowhere to raise a baby.”

  Then he moves over as though he’s the husband, and I swallow a laugh.

  “We like the city, Sam,” he says in a different voice.

  I glance at the card and see it’s my turn to be two different people. “I’m more concerned about the cleanliness of the house with the baby coming. Illness can kill a newborn.”

  I slide over and bend at the waist, pretending to use a fork as if I’m eating. “Honey, want to help me in the kitchen?” I stand, rolling my eyes at Enzo, and he flips the next card.

  When is this going to be over?

  Enzo slides out a chair and I sit in it, dread coating my stomach because of this next scene I’m going to have to act out.

  “Push, honey,” he says, and I pretend to be my sister from three weeks ago. “One more.”

  Then Enzo stands and pretends to be the dad and the wife’s dad, even putting a high pitch to his voice to be the mom. I grunt, pretending to push, and Enzo hands me a water bottle wrapped in paper towels as if it’s the baby. I side-eye him, and he shrugs.

  He goes around and does all the nice voices, hugging air to make it seem as though everyone is embracing. Then he comes to me and kneels, his fingers weaving through my hair and the other cradling the water bottle.

  “We’re parents. She’s beautiful.” He kisses the baby then my forehead like a real new dad might.

  Our gazes lock, and I’m caught up in the moment for a second. I touch his cheek, and our foreheads rest against one another’s. He stands abruptly, leaving me in the chair with the water bottle baby.

  Mr. Peterson laughs and looks at Blair.

  “Are you sure you two weren’t in theater?” She smiles. “Very unconventional but interesting to watch as well. Shows a real commitment to making this partnership between our companies work.” She gives her dad a look I can’t decipher.

  The door opens and Billy walks in with a big smile, holding up a USB stick. His button-down shirt is untucked, and he’s panting as though he just ran a marathon. “I’ve got it. I was able to retrieve the file.”

  My jaw tics and I look at Enzo for a second then roll my eyes.

  “Would you like to see much more talented actors than us?” he asks the Petersons.

  Blair shrugs. “I think I can speak for the two of us when I say we love it. It’s what we were looking for—the perfect mixture of humor, relatability, and love.”

  “So?” Enzo asks, holding up his hands.

  “Congratulations,” Blair says.

  Enzo’s gaze shoots to mine, and my head falls back in relief.

  “So no one wants to see the video?” Billy asks, disappointment clear in his voice.

  “Oh, we’ll watch it, but it’s not a deciding factor.” Mr. Peterson rises from his seat and shakes Enzo’s hand then mine. “Well done, you two. Anyone who would put themselves through that to get our account is someone we want on our team.”

  I cringe before looking at Enzo. Is that why Enzo Mancini is the man Mr. Jacobson wants to replace him? Because he’ll go above and beyond to get what he wants? As much as I shouldn’t care, it’s sexy to see a man refuse to take no for an answer.

  Chapter 10

  Enzo

  * * *

  We’re all seated at the table I asked Annie to reserve for dinner in the hopes that we’d seal this deal today. Billy decided not to join us, having some commitment with his kid tonight. Mrs. Peterson joined Mr. Peterson and Blair on the trip up from Houston, so she’s here too.

  You know who else should be here? Annie. We’ve ordered drinks and appetizers, but she’s yet to arrive.

  “I’ll be right back,” I excuse myself, thinking maybe she can’t find us in the private room in the back of the restaurant.

  Since I never got her cell phone number, I have no way of getting a hold of her. Surely, she has mine though. I think back to our previous contact and realize none of it was by cell phone. She’s always called the office line if she was out and needed to know what I wanted.

  I approach the hostess, who smiles. Her gaze floats down my body and back up to meet my eyes. Hers are screaming “take me home tonight,” but I ignore it.

  “I’m looking for a woman. Brunette, brown eyes, about this tall.” I hold my hand up to my shoulder. “I think she was wearing a gray blouse and a black skirt?” Unfortunately, my mind was on the presentation and not how many buttons Annie had clasped on her blouse today. Which is the way it should always be, but sadly, is not.

  The hostess’s mood sours fast. “Sorry. I haven’t seen her.”

  I scour the bar area. No way would Annie tell Mr. Jacobson she’d be here and not show. I glance out the revolving doors. There she is outside, talking on her cell phone, a grin from ear to ear.

  “Thanks.” I knock on the hostess stand then circle through the doors.

  Her back is to me, and since she doesn’t see me, I lean against the wall to eavesdrop.

  “I can’t believe it. They loved it! I’m about to walk in there and have dinner with the owner of Jacobson and Earl and Lorenzo Mancini. How did my life change so much in such a short amount of time?” She pauses and presses her finger to her ear. “I know, but… Beth…”

  Curious, I lean forward with the hope of having suddenly developed supersonic hearing so I can hear Beth’s advice over the Friday traffic in Manhattan.

  “Okay. I will. See you tomorrow.” She turns and her face falls. “Gotta go.” She presses End on her cell phone and slides it into her purse while staring at me. “Do you always listen to other people’s conversations?”

  “No, but I was searching for you. You’re late for dinner.”

  She narrows her eyes at me before moving through the revolving doors. Following her to the coat check, I watch as she passes off her spring jacket. I applaud my subconscious for remembering what she was wearing. A tight black pencil skirt shows off her amazing ass. Without saying a word to me, she weaves through tables right to the back room.

  So much for thinking she didn’t know where to find us.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she says, finding the only empty chair—which is coincidentally next to me. “A pedestrian was hit by a cab, so I was stuck in gridlock on the way over. You guys must’ve been lucky and just missed it.”

  “That’s okay, they just brought the wine,” Blair says.

  I snatch the bottle off the table and pour Annie a glass.

  “Thank you, Mr. Mancini,” she says before sipping the wine.

  “So tell us about yourself, Miss Stewart.” Mr. Peterson takes a sip of his scotch on the rocks.

  “Well.” She straightens in the chair, fiddling with her napkin on her lap. “I graduated from NYU, and I was lucky enough to secure a job with Jacobson and Earl a year after graduation. Before that, I was working a lot of odd jobs while interviewing for positions in my field. I’ve been here ever since.” She looks at Mr. Jacobson as if she’s thanking him, but I can tell he had no idea who she was nor whether he was responsible for hiring her.

  “Are you from New York originally?” Blair asks.

  She nods, sipping her wine. “For most of my life. I moved here when I was ten, from Connecticut with my father and my sister. I’m not sure I could leave now.”

  “Blair just recently moved from the city to the suburbs and it’s been an adjustment, right, honey?” Mrs. Peterson says.

  Blair sighs. “I miss the late-night restaurants, delivery from anywhere, and just the buzz of the city. But once my husband and I had our second last year, we finally threw in the towel. Between car seats and strollers and groceries, it was too difficult. But we do keep a condo in the city to sneak off to once a month. Dad and Mom like to watch the kids anyway,
right?” She smiles at her parents, and they both beam.

  Mr. Peterson pulls out his phone. “They’re the cutest grandkids to ever exist.”

  I take the phone and see a baby boy and a girl I’d put at five or six, then I pass it over to Annie.

  She looks at the picture more closely. “Now my dad might argue with you there.” She hands back the phone.

  “Oh, you have children?” Mr. Peterson asks.

  “No. My sister had a baby a few weeks ago.” She pulls out her phone, displaying a picture of her and her niece, and shows it to the Petersons.

  “Oh, what a cutie. What’s her name?” Blair asks.

  “Cecilia. You want to hear a funny story?” Annie eyes me, obviously pretty comfortable now that half of her glass of wine has been consumed.

  “Always.” Blair sits up straighter and props her chin in her hand.

  “To prepare for the pitch, Enzo attended the birth. It wasn’t pretty. My sister was screaming at my poor brother-in-law the entire time, but”—she puts her hand on my shoulder—“he didn’t pass out or throw up, so I say that’s a win.”

  Blair laughs. “You did all that for our ad campaign?”

  I nod, my words lodged in my throat. I’m a little surprised that she threw me under the bus, but the client loves it, so her judgment was on point.

  “He did, and my family is not easy, believe me.” She pats my shoulder again then removes her hand.

  Even after her hand is back on the stem of her wine glass, I feel as though she’s still touching me. Which is weird, right?

  “Way to go above and beyond.” Mr. Jacobson beams at me, and I nod in appreciation.

  We continue talking about life and kids. Annie and I the only ones without much to add, but we contribute to the conversation where we can. When dinner has drawn to a close, the waitress hands me the bill and I discreetly hand her my company credit card.

  “We better go. We have an early flight.” Mr. Peterson stands.

  We all head to the coat check to say our goodbyes. Hands are shaken, and Mr. Jacobson pulls me aside for a moment.

  “I assume you took care of dinner?” he asks.

  “Of course. Have a great night.”

  He nods then pushes his arms through the sleeves of his coat. “Thank you, and make sure Miss Stewart gets home safe.”

  I glance at her as her hands stop mid button on her coat. I push my hands into my pockets and smile. “Of course.”

  They say their goodbyes, and the waitress returns with my credit card slip. I leave the tip, sign my name, and pass it back to her, folding the receipt into my billfold to expense.

  “Want to share a cab?” I ask Annie.

  “Oh, you’re not going my way.”

  My forehead creases. “How do you know?”

  “Trust me on this one.” She takes a few steps toward the revolving doors.

  “You heard Mr. Jacobson. I need to see you home.”

  We say goodbye to the hostess, who either has a resting bitch face or thinks I’ve scorned her in some way because it appears that Annie is my date.

  “You don’t,” Annie says when we get outside.

  The cool spring air hits us in the face, and I inhale a deep breath. The sky is dark now, but the sidewalk is still bustling with people.

  “What if something happens to you? I can’t afford to be fired right before I make partner.” I wink.

  The valet flags down a cab for us, and I tip him before opening the door for Annie.

  “It’s out of your way,” she says, her feet firmly planted as though she has no intention of getting in. When I don’t break her gaze, she rolls her eyes and gets inside, sliding across the seat to the other side.

  “Think of it as a thank you.” I wait for her to tell the taxi driver her address.

  Her shoulders fall. “Go to Inwood.” She glances at me before spitting out her address.

  The cab pulls away from the curb.

  I chuckle. “Do you think I’m going to stalk you or something?”

  “What? No.” She shakes her head. “It’s just… forget it.”

  “What?” I’m intrigued by why this is a problem for her. I shift in my seat so I’m better able to see her.

  “You probably live around here, and I live in Inwood. I’m not ashamed, I’m proud of where I live. I worked hard to buy my condo, but to you it’s Inwood.”

  I laugh. “You’re kidding, right? You think I’d think less of you because you live in Inwood?”

  “Well, I’m assuming you have a doorman on the Upper West Side.”

  I shake my head. “You assume wrong. Tribeca.”

  She appears genuinely surprised. “And here you are going out of your way to take me to Inwood.”

  “Please, I go to Brooklyn every weekend to see my parents. I’m not some snob who’s never left Manhattan.”

  She looks out the window. I can tell it’s still bothering her that I’m escorting her home, but she has nothing to worry about. I was there once. Moving out of my parents’ before I was able to crack into the ad business sucked. She thinks Inwood is bad? I shared a two-bedroom with three buddies in Flushing. With one bathroom, I might add.

  “That’s where you grew up?” she asks after a minute.

  I nod. “Born and raised. My parents are immigrants. My dad works for the city, and my mom does odd jobs at home. Caters out of our house but keep that on the down low.”

  She smiles at me. Maybe a little of my history will convince her that I’m not judging her.

  “What about you? Where does Beth and your dad live?”

  She turns to face me. “Beth and Sam are in Soho, and my dad lives in Midtown.”

  “Why did you guys move to the city from Connecticut?”

  “My dad is an attorney and he would commute, but then my mom decided the last thing she wanted to be was a mother, so she left. My dad moved us to Midtown because otherwise he’d never see us.”

  “How did you like growing up in Midtown?”

  She rolls her eyes. “It wasn’t Connecticut. Ever have those memories where you think maybe you’re making it more than it was? I think those years in Connecticut were happier for me than anyone else in the family. My dad much prefers living in the city. But Manhattan is home now. I’m used to it. It’d be hard to go back.”

  “It’s weird how you think you’ll never get used to something at first, but then it becomes your new normal and you can’t imagine how it could be any different.”

  She nods. “Oh, this is me.” She leans forward to tell the taxi driver.

  How on Earth did we get to Inwood in so quickly?

  She digs into her purse. “Here.”

  I raise my hands. “I’m not taking your money.”

  “Please. Come on, Mr. Mancini.”

  Even I notice how weird that sounds coming from her mouth now that our working relationship has turned into more of a tenuous friendship. “Enzo.”

  “If I call you Enzo, can I pay my share?” She bats her eyes a few times.

  I twist my lips, thinking about it. The taxi driver huffs, annoyed that we’re holding him up. “Sure.”

  “Please, Enzo?” she says, stressing both words.

  The sound of her voice saying my name like that spurs images of her naked on my bed, begging me to fuck her. Her back arched, her delectable tits prominently on display with her legs spread. I shift in my seat to hide my growing hard-on.

  She drops the forty dollars onto my lap and opens the door, leaving before I come back to myself. I lift the forty off my half chub, concocting a plan to get this back to her without her knowing it.

  Her voice rings in my head one more time. Please, Enzo?

  I might as well admit defeat. Tonight my dreams will be filled with me, Annie Stewart, and the word please.

  Chapter 11

  Annie

  * * *

  Monday morning, I walk into work, not sure what to expect. Friday night, I had dinner with Mr. Jacobson and the huge client we l
anded, then Enzo Mancini shared a taxi home with me even though it was way out of his way.

  I’m not seated at my desk for more than a minute before my phone rings.

  “Good morning Mr. Mancini,” I answer.

  “Enzo.”

  “Okay.”

  “Let’s practice. Repeat after me. Good morning, Enzo.” He puts a lilt in his voice that makes me smile.

  “Good morning, Lorenzo.” I turn on my computer and turn my back to his office door, hoping to hide my smile.

  He huffs. “Try that again.”

  “What’s wrong with Lorenzo? It’s your proper name, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but it’s generally only used when I do something bad. Did I do something bad, Miss Stewart?”

  His voice is full of innuendo, and a rocket from nowhere shoots right between my thighs. The ache grows the more his words repeat in my head. Bad. Miss Stewart. Bad.

  I snap back to reality when I see his dry cleaning slip on my desk. “Totally inappropriate.”

  “Noted. But it’s Enzo, and we’re going to get very little work done until you call me that.”

  “Noted,” I mimic his answer. My other line rings. “Shelby’s calling me.”

  “Go.”

  He hangs up, and I switch over. “Good morning, Shelby.”

  “Good morning. We need to meet in Mr. Mancini’s office in ten minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  She hangs up, and Jake looks at me with wide eyes. I pick up my phone and dial his extension.

  “We landed the Coddle account, so I think I’ll hear today what’s going to happen with my position in the company.”

  His mouth hangs ajar until I laugh. “That’s awesome. Congratulations! You’re going to let me follow you down the golden path, right?”

  “Just hop on my colorful train.”

  It’s good to have a coworker who cheers for you to win instead of fail. Jake started right after me, but close enough that we’re in a gray area regarding which one of us will move up the ranks first.