Ready to Fall (A Second Chance Bad Boy Next Door Romance)

by Anne Connor

  But even though I’m planning out my day and trying to forget what happened at the bar, I can’t stop thinking about Drew Anderson.

  What was his angle? He just broke up with his girlfriend. He probably went home with some gorgeous blonde after talking to me and Jess.

  I finally get to my apartment, and even though I’ve pushed any remaining thoughts of him out of my mind, I can’t shake the feeling he gave me. He is sexy, that’s a given. But he also looked at me like he knew we were surrounded by people and decided to pay attention only to me, but at the same time, strangely, like we were alone: just the two of us, no swirling nightlife around us.

  I feel my insides stir again. I change into my pajamas and rest my head on my pillow. I’m going to bed alone, but I’m more than okay with that.

  His words from the bar tumble through my mind as my fingertips slip just past the top of my panties. I close my eyes and imagine his words tumbling softly from his lips and into my ears as I slide my fingers down further. I’m already turned on, and as my middle finger traces slowly around my wet clit, I wonder if I’m really okay with going to bed alone.

  What would he have done to me if I had let him? I recall my roommate from Junior year of college telling me she had sex with a guy once in the bathroom of a bar, and I wonder if Drew’s ever done that. I’m sure he has. I pretended to be distantly amused by my roommate’s anecdote at the time, but deep inside, I wondered what it would feel like to be a girl who would say yes to that. To just take an opportunity like that if it were to present itself.

  My fingers slip past my folds and slide inside, my eyes squeezing shut. I bet Drew’s big, too. He’d have to be, with the big game he talks - right? I imagine him above me, his eyes drinking me in, his mouth consuming mine. My breaths come quicker and quicker as I move my fingers in and out and onto my clit. My body sharpens up as a wave of pleasure breaks inside me.

  My eyelids relax as my body drifts away into sleep. I still don’t know if I’m okay being alone, but I’ll have to be.

  I wake up at 7:50 the next morning without my alarm having to wake me. But as I do my morning routine and get on my computer to start jotting down notes, I find myself researching Drew Anderson instead.

  Jess was right. He certainly has it made in the money department. But I already knew that - it was obvious as soon as he stepped into my eyeline at the club. And as I look at pictures of him and his fiancee - ex-fiancee - I remember that he has it made in the looks department, too.

  A strong nose and a jawline that makes him look like a cartoon prince, and deep, saturated green eyes. But unlike his good looks, he wasn’t born with his money. As Jess explained to me last night, his father started a real estate firm in the late ‘70s, several years before Drew and Eric were born. He didn’t start out wealthy. Like a real entrepreneur, he had a series of failures and setbacks before striking it big. But when he struck big, he hit gold.

  He saved up his money and purchased a small stake in a residential building, and, trading his way up, finally wound up with holdings in the millions.

  The boys, it turned out, weren’t always exposed to all that money.

  Drew Anderson Senior started out in the city, the son of second-generation immigrants who settled in Brooklyn around the turn of the century. But Drew Senior met a woman from the Catskills, so it was farewell to the city and hello to selling houses as a broker at a small firm in a small upstate town.

  Things ended up not working out between Drew Senior and Mrs. Elizabeth Anderson, and when the couple divorced, Drew Senior moved back to the city and their two young sons ended up shuttling back and forth between the city and the country, starting around the time they started high school. The couple thought it in their boys’ best interest to have them attend high school in their mom’s rural town, and spend the summers in the city with their dad.

  And the boys excelled in high school - in everything. In sports, in academics - you name it, they could conjugate it, beat it in a cross-country race, calculate it or spell it.

  When it was time for the two brothers to go to college, the older brother, Drew, pursued a double-major in architecture and economics, and then, a year later, Eric attended college for finance.

  It was after the brothers were both done with their degrees that they went to work for their father. But not wanting to be in the shadow of one of the city’s biggest real estate moguls, they started their own firm, raising capital from investors who had faith that the two scrappy brothers from upstate New York would be able to turn a small cash investment into towers of money.

  And they succeeded. I imagine their father’s name couldn’t have hurt.

  And now, they are in the midst of a battle over the rights to some land, which both the brothers and another company believe they have the rights to.

  The picture of the brothers on their official website doesn’t really do them justice. Maybe they just look better in what seemed to be their natural habitat: surrounded by beautiful women, expensive clothes and overpriced drinks.

  And it looks like before he met Clarissa, Drew was used to having one short-term paramour after another, and there’s plenty of evidence online to prove it.

  As I scroll down a list of articles, I imagine how I’d write the headlines a little differently.

  Rich Real Estate Dude Beds Gorgeous Women all Over the City

  Cocky Schmuck Brags to Young Woman in Bar

  Young Journalist Struggles to Maintain Composure when Man Promises to Keep Her Up All Night

  Woman Turns to Pile of Goo Imagining what Sexy Guy’s Tongue Can Do

  I do a quick image search to see if there are pictures of Drew’s newly-ex-fiancee.

  And boy, are there ever. The woman looks like she hasn’t worked a day in her life. She has a slim, almost waif-like look that I would never be able to achieve, even after six months of a low-carb diet. She looks like she survives on a diet of fashion magazines and dirty martinis. She has the kind of look you hear about and only rarely see, even in the city: the girl who thinks the sidewalk is her catwalk, the girl who has a kind of old-New York glamor that can only be achieved with the biggest designer sunglasses money can buy.

  Apparently, this Clarissa person is the daughter of a generations-old commercial real estate firm with its name placard on the insides of office buildings and malls across the tri-state area.

  Her father and the Anderson brothers’ father are old friends. Imagine that: two old rich guys being friends with each other, and having their children meet, fall in love and marry.

  That’s an old tale if I’ve ever heard one.

  There aren’t just pictures of Drew and Clarissa, though. There are also pictures of Clarissa and some other guy, and it looks like they were just posted within the last few days. And these pictures don’t make the other guy look like he is her brother or just a friend.

  That’s cold. And it would certainly explain why Drew was already out on the prowl himself last night, trying to flirt and pick up a lady to spend a nice evening with.

  Haven’t we all been there? Even though I’ve never been one for a one night stand after a breakup, it’s only because I never had the courage to make myself vulnerable again so soon.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have judged him like I did.

  Drew

  “I see that you were successful in procuring the good bagels.”

  Eric sits down and opens his laptop. The sun is just coming up and starting to bleed over the tops of the buildings to the East and sneak into our large conference room. I’m already in the office, busy in the conference room, doodling on the dry-erase board.

  “And it wasn’t easy, either. I had to ask Vinny to open the store early for me,” Sarah says, leaning against one of the windows, peering outside and yawning, a cup of coffee in her hand.

  “See, that’s why we keep you around. You have good relationships with all the key players in the city.”

  “Oh, is that why?”

  “No,” I say, lifting my
head from my 3D Gothic arch sketches. “It’s because you’re a good worker and because you go above and beyond the call of duty.”

  I shoot a look at my dumb brother.

  “Well, it’s my pleasure. What else do I have to do at six on a Saturday morning?”

  “We really do appreciate you coming in. And you know you’re getting paid at double your hourly rate for coming in on a Saturday,” I say, capping the marker and tossing it down on the table.

  “I know. I wasn’t kidding about having nothing better to do this morning.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Eric peels his eyes away from his computer. “You didn’t leave some hot guy tangled up in the sheets of your bed?”

  “You know, that little comment could be construed as sexual harassment.”

  “He’s kidding! Don’t listen to him.” I sit down next to Eric at the head of the table.

  “No worries. Actually, I just left from the bar. Had a really late night last night. I haven’t even been home yet.”

  Eric and I look at each other and then at Sarah.

  “Now I’m kidding!” She goes over to the breakfast on the small table in the back of the conference room and pours herself another cup of coffee. “I’m going out to reception. The other boys should be here soon. Play nice, will you?”

  Sarah leaves the conference room and closes the door behind her. She certainly knows a lot about men and power. It’s a total power play for her to close the door - when she brings the boys from the other firm and their attorneys around once they arrive, they won't know what they’re walking into.

  One of our own attorneys, Martin O’Malley, comes through the door a few seconds later.

  “Alright, this shouldn’t take long.”

  O’Malley is an older guy, seasoned in real estate disputes. He started off handling small landlord-tenant issues after hanging a shingle on his own law practice in Brooklyn in the 1970s, but made the move to commercial and large land-use clients shortly thereafter. He’s a real old-school Brooklyn guy with a lot of heart and a slightly larger temper.

  He’s an old friend of our father’s, but I don’t like to think about that. And anyway, we’re paying him enough. It’s not like he’s doing us a favor by being here.

  “Good of you to be here so early, and on such short notice,” my brother says, rising from his seat and giving the man a hearty handshake.

  “Yes, thank you,” I add. “I know you probably have a yacht you’d rather be on right now.”

  “I see Sarah got the good bagels. And it isn’t short notice. We’ve known for weeks that something was brewing with these guys.”

  “We really appreciate your time anyway, O’Malley,” I say, sitting back down.

  “It’s not my time. It’s your time. You’re paying me! And don’t worry - we’ll bring these guys to their knees.”

  The intercom in the middle of the table lights up and Sarah’s voice comes through.

  “They’re here. They’re waiting in the small conference room. They can’t hear me.”

  “How many?”

  “Five. It’s the two main guys and three lawyers. How long do you want me to keep them in there to sweat them out?”

  “A minute. You’re the one who told us to play nice,” I saw into the intercom.

  “Got it. Need anything else?”

  “Yeah,” my brother says, leaning over the table and shouting directly at the intercom, looking at it intensely. “You can tell them to go fuck themselves. And you can tell them I said it!”

  “Sorry, can you repeat that, Eric? I want to write it down to make sure I have it right.”

  “That’s all we need, Sarah. A minute. Thanks,” I say, swatting my brother away.

  The intercom clicks off and the blinking green light fades.

  “You don’t have to yell into the the thing,” O’Malley says, getting up and fixing himself a cup of coffee.

  “I’m just a little bit on edge, okay?” my brother says. “Can you blame me?”

  “Yeah, but you always scream into the thing,” I say, letting a little smirk pull at the corners of my mouth.

  “Maybe I’m always on edge. I can’t be the cool one. You’re the cool one.”

  “Sorry if I’m preventing you from being cool.”

  The door swings open and Sarah sashays into the room, presenting the five men behind her one by one. I’m impressed that she knows each of them by name.

  “Anything else, sir?” she asks, looking squarely at me.

  “That’s all, Sarah. Please hold my calls.”

  She nods and gives me a look of confidence and assurance. Thank goodness for her. Maybe I should give her that vacation as her Christmas bonus, and even throw in the unlimited drink package.

  “Gentlemen, please sit down. This shouldn’t take very long, should it?” O’Malley sits next to Eric and gestures for the five men to take seats across from him at the table.

  “No, I don’t think it should take long. I think we can all come to an agreement today. Don’t you?”

  Eric nods and leans on one of his armrests. I can see that he’s trying to be confident and casual, but it just doesn’t work on him. He looks rehearsed and stilted.

  “Re-read your contracts. We have the right to build on the land in question. It’s ours. We purchased it six months ago.”

  “We understand your position,” the attorney for the other firm says. I know him. He’s a nice guy. His name is Ryan Lee, and he went to the same university as Eric did, and was enrolled in the law school around the same time Eric was there for finance. I met him a few times, years ago, and I knew he was working as an attorney in the city.

  “If you understand our position, then you understand that we are going to move forward with our plans,” I add to Eric’s comment.

  “Look, we don’t want this thing to drag on and on. My clients negotiated a contract with a third party, and part of the deal included the space adjacent to the lot they acquired. It’s very simple.”

  “But the third party didn’t own the land,” O’Malley says matter-of-factly, taking a sip of his coffee.

  “It is their contention that they did own it. That before you purchased it, the deal was already done for the other firm to acquire it. The money was in escrow.”

  “But the contracts weren’t signed. It wasn’t a done deal,” O’Malley says. “That’s a matter of public record.”

  “My clients are willing to compromise. For the right figure, they could be willing to drop their claim to the land, and you’ll be able to do what you want with it. It’ll be yours.”

  “It’s already ours,” I say. This would be a fucking cakewalk. They have no stake in this land. Someone on their side dropped the ball. “And that’s our firm position. Sorry, but you’re going to have to walk away.”

  The other attorney on their side, and their three principals, don’t say a word.

  Lee clears his throat.

  “We will draw up an agreement to put everyone in the best position to move forward.”

  He’s being a little aggressive. I like it.

  This is the kind of shit I live for. The kind of stuff I feed off of. The fight, the thrill.

  “You can draw up an agreement if that’s what you want to do, but there is no way we are compromising on this one. Just cancel the deal with the old owners of the land. It’s that simple. In fact, there was no deal.”

  Lee gathers his jacket and attache case and pushes himself away from the table, and the other four silent men follow suit.

  “We’ll be in touch.”

  He reaches out and shakes each of our hands and leaves with the other four men in tow.

  A few seconds after the men are gone, Eric sighs.

  “Damn. This is a little bit more complicated than I thought it would be. Lee is good.”

  “The sign of a good outcome for my client is when I barely have to say a word,” O’Malley says. “And when the other side is out quick. They didn’t even touch the bagels. It’s not complicate
d. We have this one in the bag.”

  “I agree,” I add. “This will be fucking easy. Eric, don’t get your panties in a knot.”

  “I don’t know. They’re not saying much. Lee was a little bit reticent.”

  “Go out, you two. Go to a strip club this weekend. Oh, not you, Drew. Aren’t you married by now?” O’Malley grabs a bagel from the table and takes a bite.

  “We actually just broke up. I guess she wants to be more independent.”

  I figure it would be ungentlemanly to mention that she’s fucking her ex.

  “That’s a shame. You’re still young. You’ll meet someone else. If you want to. Being a bachelor isn’t all that bad.”

  O’Malley scoops up his attache case and starts toward the door before doubling back to the breakfast spread and grabbing another bagel.

  “We’re taking that extra bagel out of your hourly billing,” Eric quips.

  “I’d love to see that. Anyway, I’ll reach out to Lee. We should do this again soon. It was nice to have such an easy meeting.”

  “I’ve got to get to my office,” Eric says, following O’Malley out the door and down the hall into the reception area. “I don’t feel right about this. I want to do some more reading on the deal. See if I can get to it from a different angle.”

  “I can’t believe you are wasting your time with this,” I say to Eric, following them out of the conference room.

  “Your brother is right,” O’Malley says, turning to face us. “Just don’t talk to their side. Let me handle everything. And take a break,” he adds, turning to Eric. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

  “That’s because I haven’t. Thanks for noticing.”

  Eric disappears down the hall and O’Malley exits toward the elevator bank.

  “So it went well, I take it?” Sarah says, catching my attention.

  She’s sitting at the reception desk with the main computer off. All she has up is a security feed of the elevator bank and the hallway outside our office area. There’s no one around. And there won’t be - everyone in the city is probably still asleep. Even the people who make it a habit to come into work on a Saturday won’t be groggily coming in for hours.