by Casey Diam
She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Taxi at the end of the night? Go big or go home, right? And most nights I go home, so . . .”
Surprise washed over him at her complete change from the tense woman he’d picked up only a few hours ago. Scratching his chin, he admitted, “I suddenly feel like a bad influence.”
She walked to the fridge, removed an ice cube tray from the freezer, and popped a few cubes into the metal container. Afterward, she added sweet and sour, lime juice, and vodka to the mix.
“I wasn’t always so put together.”
His interest piqued. “Oh really? What was life like before you were put together?”
“I was a bartender in college.”
“What?” Brandon grinned, visualizing Jordan in little shorts behind a bar. It didn’t seem like something she’d do, and he knew why; at some point in the night, he’d placed her on a pedestal—something he hadn’t done since Hailey.
Ice clanked in the container as she shook it, and when she poured, green liquid flowed into the four shot glasses she’d lined up on the counter.
“I lasted for about two weeks, but I did it. With a smile on my face . . . most of the time.” She held out a shot glass.
He walked to the counter and accepted it. “That sounds a bit more accurate. I’d probably drink anything you gave me, but tell me you learned enough to make this shot drinkable?”
She blushed and picked up her own glass. “Guess you’ll find out.” Inhaling, she asked, “What should we toast to?”
“Good times and memories,” Brandon replied, clinking his glass to hers before swallowing the liquid that was practically juice. He could take a million of them and not feel a thing.
“To endless nights and freedom,” Jordan said, clinking her glass to his for the next round.
“Are you sure they’re shots? I may have to hire you to be my personal bartender from now on.”
She grabbed her purse. “Don’t be silly. You couldn’t afford me.”
“Baby, I can afford anything,” Brandon countered. Did she not know who he was?
“Except the things without a price tag.” Jordan winked, twisting the key in the lock to secure her apartment. “Now, are you ready to get your ass whooped in some pool and darts?”
“Oh, bring it on. I don’t usually play with amateurs, but I’ll make an exception tonight.” He headed down the stairs in front of her.
“And here I thought you were a gentleman.” Jordan chuckled.
“Well, I am, but I’m also the king of shit talking,” he said. “Also, I’m trying really hard to pretend I’m not terrified of you falling down these stairs. You might just be pretending you’re fine. I don’t know for sure that you are.”
She didn’t reply, just hurried to sit inside the car when he opened the door for her.
He threw his jacket in the back seat and unbuttoned a few more of his shirt buttons. He could feel her gaze on him. “What? It’s only fair I get comfortable, too.”
She’d been doing it all night, and each time it sent an all-access invitation to his throbbing member.
Patience.
Control.
You promised her, he reminded himself.
“Yes, of course,” came Jordan’s timid response. As they took off, a pop song came on the radio, and she proceeded to dance in her seat.
Brandon laughed. “Are you sure it was just bartending? There was no stage, or—”
“Shut up, not funny. Great job, though, you ruined the moment. I have a feeling that’s something you’re good at.”
She folded her arms across her chest and he cackled at her pout. “You get so upset. I don’t know why, but I fucking love it.”
Brandon sat toying with his pen in class. Two days later, he was incapable of keeping the unexpected fun night he’d had with Jordan out of his mind. She intrigued him and was fun to be around, even after their rocky start. And after their night had ended in the wee hours of Sunday morning, he still hadn’t been ready to part ways with her. It was so fucking strange for him, he was beginning to question whether he was still armored. He felt her in ways he hadn’t felt a woman in a long time.
Jordan’s honey eyes and dimples came to mind, and the thought made him smile. She was so excited about staining her reputation and had an innocence he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he wanted to. And just like that, he was back to square one. Same as when he’d just laid eyes on her, he had to have her.
Saturday night hadn’t been a date, and if he did ask her out, he didn’t want her to reject him. If she got to know him better, it’s possible she would agree to a real date. They’d had fun together; that had to count for something.
“Don’t forget your homework, the discussion board, and read chapters twelve and thirteen,” the professor announced, ending the class. “I’ll see you next Monday.”
Brandon still wasn’t a big fan of school because he still sucked at it—among the reasons he’d joined the military right out of high school—but learning more about architecture would help him dominate another part of the real estate industry. Thankfully his mind thrived in business transactions, even if it didn’t on college papers and exams.
He drove to his father’s office at the airport, but once there, he paced back and forth. The secretary told him his father had been gone for two hours, and there wasn’t much to do. But his dad had a delegation problem, so Brandon stood in when asked, like he had been this afternoon; everything else he handled at his investment firm’s office.
Brandon looked at the mounted television in the office. His father kept recordings of all their company’s publicity. He picked up the remote and sat on the sofa, reminiscing about when everything had begun to fall into place. Clicking the remote, he skimmed through the videos until he found his favorite.
As he pushed play, the television broadcaster’s voice echoed in the office. “This is fascinating. No one saw this coming, but how could they? Sky Fast started with just a twenty-year-old man and his father. I spoke with Mr. Kuvat earlier today, and he said their success came from many long hours, mixed with a little luck and a lot of blessings . . .
“Although Daniel Kuvat’s years as an airline pilot did allow him to connect with potential investors for their startup, their client list has increased rapidly, which he believes has a lot to do with his son and partner, Brandon. Young Kuvat is quite the charmer. Have you seen him?” An enlarged picture of Brandon filled the screen. “Look at that smile, and ladies, in case you’re wondering, this twenty-seven-year-old billionaire is indeed single . . .”
Brandon paused to assess. Three years later, life was still good, but not complete. While he was thriving and growing professionally, his personal life felt stagnant. He couldn’t get past his feeling that women were ultimately all the same—or worse, that there was something that made them all the same to him. That he wasn’t worth true honesty and devotion . . .
“. . . With a reputation for great service, Sky Fast now owns one of the largest fleets of charter jet aircraft . . .”
Switching off the television, he decided to call Jordan. She at least kept him entertained and intrigued. They’d been texting, but it had been more than a day since he’d heard her voice, and he couldn’t wait any longer.
“Hello?” Jordan’s soft voice vibrated through the phone, and his cock stirred.
Damn, the effect she had on him.
“Hey, how’s it going?” he asked, walking to the window.
Nibbling on his bottom lip, he looked through the blinds at his jet sitting on the runway. It was the best investment he’d ever made. Not only did it produce income, but it held many memories for him and his friends.
“Good. How about you?” she asked.
“Good. But back to your text, you said you were planning to party Friday night?”
“Yeah. I think I’ve been low key for long enough. Thanks again for reintroducing me to what I’ve been missing. You can take all the credit this time.”
“
If anything, I should be thanking you for putting up with me,” Brandon said, taking a seat again on the sofa and raising his legs up on the coffee table.
“It’s okay. You actually weren’t so bad. How’s your mom?”
“She’s good. Already asking about you.”
Jordan chuckled. “Oh no, so is my mom. Parents. They worry too much.”
“Weird. It’s like we have more civilized conversations over the phone or through texting.”
Jordan laughed. “Maybe it’s because seeing your face makes me angry.”
“Yeah, that’s not it. You like my face.” Brandon smiled, then his eyebrows drew together. “Wait, you were joking, right?”
“Maybe. I guess we’ll find out when I see your face again.”
Jordan giggled, and Brandon imagined her dimpled cheeks.
“Is that your way of saying you want to see me again?” At the pause on the other end, he added, “Never mind then.”
“No, it’s not that. I have to go. I have another call.”
“Okay, but you should clear your schedule for this weekend,” Brandon said before hanging up.
Just then his father walked through the door and caught him smiling to himself. “What are you up to now?” Thirty-years-old, and his dad could still tell he was up to something by looking at him.
Brandon picked up the textbook he’d brought along to read. “Nothing.”
“It’s that girl, isn’t it?” His father smirked. “You like her.”
Brandon’s grin widened. “What? Since when do you care about the girls I talk to?”
“You haven’t introduced us to anyone else in years, so that could be it.”
Brandon bit his lip. “She’s a friend. But yeah, I like her.”
Just walking among the busybodies in the mall was draining, but he couldn’t let that distract him. As soon as he walked into Jordan’s store, he went straight to the counter and asked for the manager.
“Is there something I could help you with?” the woman behind the counter asked, tucking her brown hair behind her ear. Bright pink lipstick lined her lips, oval glasses covered her eyes, and a white top with a name tag on the right side of her chest said, Charlie, Assistant Manager.
“No, thank you. I need to speak to Jordan,” Brandon said, leaving no room for further questions.
“Just a moment.” The phone slipped out of her hand when she picked it up. “What’s your name?”
“Brandon.”
He smiled as Jordan appeared in a gray, body-hugging pantsuit. She wore heels again with her hair pinned up in a tight bun. He breathed in before handing her a pink rose and an envelope. She smiled—not what he’d expected after their previous encounters. Maybe she’d decided to like his face after all.
“Flowers for me this time?” she asked, gazing up at him.
“I deserve that.”
He grew nervous as she smelled the full bud. He never got nervous around women, but it seemed to be a common issue when Jordan was present. He drew in a deeper breath. In his peripheral vision, he could see the assistant manager staring at them. Since they stood a couple feet away from the counter, he lowered his voice. “I liked hanging out with you, and I was hoping you would join me again this weekend.”
“Depends. What’s in the envelope?” she asked as she lifted the white flap. “Holy! Are you serious?”
He couldn’t tell if it was a good surprise or a bad one. It was an upfront gesture, but it was only for two days, nothing too crazy.
Join me this weekend in Miami
Yes, Yes, or Yes
“I know I haven’t known you that long, but it’s not a big deal,” he said quickly. “I do it all the time, and I would like you to join me, so you can do it with me. Uh, not do it with me—I didn’t mean, like, do it, do it.” Jordan’s eyes widened, and he inhaled. “I’m going to shut up now. I promise I won’t touch you. It’s just as friends.”
Why did you make that promise? He needed to touch her, not promise to torture himself to death with blue balls.
“Are you crazy? I’ve never just taken off. I can’t. I have responsibilities. I have a business to run and a fashion show this week! A trip like this takes weeks of planning. Did you already purchase the tickets? Please don’t tell me you did.”
She doesn’t know. Has she really been putting up with me all this time without knowing who I am? Fuck, I like her even more now. I probably shouldn’t take my jet, now that I have her like this. I want her to like me for me, not for all the other shit.
Brandon sighed. “Do you like me?” That was one way to find out, though it wouldn’t matter if she’d already Googled him.
“I don’t know! I haven’t been sitting around thinking about my feelings.”
“Fine. Do you like hanging out with me, then?” He cocked his head, daring her to deny him the truth.
But she actually took a moment to think about it. What was wrong with this woman? He was a catch. Fuck, wasn’t he?
“Yes, maybe.”
He could work with that. “So, come hang out with me.”
She shook her head, and Brandon ran his hand through his hair. “I thought this would be easier, that you’d even be excited.”
“Why would you think that? This is so irresponsible. It hasn’t even been a week since I met you. Brandon, this is crazy.”
He sighed. “It will be fun. Think of it as making up for the good times you’ve been missing. I’m trying to help a new friend out. Give me some credit.” He gave her an enchanting smile. “My friends are going to be there, and you’ll have your own room. It’ll be an unforgettable experience. Sounds like the perfect opportunity to celebrate after your fashion show,” he said, pointing to the sign displayed behind the counter.
“Was this some way you were planning to sweep me off my feet?”
She sounded sarcastic, but this was Jordan. If he’d made this offer to any of the girls on his past or present fuck list, they would already be on their knees in front of him.
“I’ll take the rose,” she said, putting the note back in the envelope and handing it over. “But I can’t accept this.”
“Keep it. I’ll have my secretary email you the tickets.”
“Brandon—”
“Bye, Jordan.” He gave her the sexiest smile he could muster and hurried out the door before she could say anything else. Because when all else failed, who could say no to his smile?
Backstage, surrounded by stacks of folding chairs and empty clothing racks, Jordan raised her voice over the electronic music blasting through the speakers. “You’ll line up in the order Richie has assigned,” she told the ten models as they prepared for the fashion show rehearsal. “Someone will arrive any minute to talk more about the procedures on stage.”
Jordan leafed through the papers on her clipboard. “Leah, you still need to sign the waiver. See me after. Richie?”
“All right, listen up, ladies, this is the order for your lineup. Here we go,” Richie announced. “Rachael, Leah, Marie, Sandra, Nicky, Rosa, Tracy, Cassandra, Anja, and last but not least, Bobby.”
He paced in front of Jordan wearing cutoff jeans and a white graphic T-shirt covered by a black vest. The models smiled as he cast his stunning gray eyes over them. After a moment, he threw his hand up and formed a rock star symbol. “Awesome. You guys rock!”
Harry, the older man she’d been awaiting, approached in a navy blue linen shirt and black pants, sporting dyed silver hair and diamond studs in both earlobes. “Jordan, darling. Nice to see you again,” he said, kissing both of her cheeks. He turned and extended a hand to Richie. “You must be Richie. I’m Harry.”
“Okay, ladies!” Harry extended his arm and walked and talked as he escorted the models to the stage. “Please follow me out to the stage where it’s easier to demonstrate. Today I’ll be going over pacing, centering, off-centering, lighting, and cameras, among other shenanigans.”
Enthusiasm flowed through Jordan. Her very first fashion show, and the process w
as like a dream. In fact, everything was going well. In addition to being close to achieving one of the biggest goals in her life, she’d met what seemed to be a really cool guy. Ever since the night she’d spent with Brandon, she’d been walking around with a smile glued to her face.
As each of the models practiced what Harry demonstrated, she took the opportunity to scroll through old text messages from Brandon, sent the morning after their adventurous night together.
Brandon: How are you feeling?
Jordan: Good. Just a bit hungover.
Brandon: You did drink a ton. If you lived closer, I would bring you a Bloody Mary. I knew I should have cut you off.
Jordan: You did cut me off LOL.
Brandon: I meant sooner LOL.
He’d also sent a picture of her lying on a lounge chair at the bar. The picture made her cringe, but Brandon was funny and carefree, and she enjoyed his company. But the best part was him being a gentleman, adhering to his promise of not touching her—even though by the end of the night, she’d wanted him to.
“Jordan Artesian! What has gotten into you?” Richie said, catching her off-guard as she was busy grinning into her phone.
“Nothing. Just a text from a friend.”
Richie narrowed his eyes. “Uh-huh. You can’t fool me, Jordan. Who is it? Did you meet someone?”
“What? No, I didn’t. Or I did, just not in the way you think.” Jordan stared over his left shoulder. “He’s a friend.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll let it go because there are dire issues right now. I’ve been so busy trying to get everything in order that I forgot to mention—yesterday at the dance rehearsals, Tracy almost sprained her ankle,” Richie said, his eyes on the models as Harry gathered them on the runway. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is how it happened. She is as stiff as this flipping pencil, no rhythm whatsoever. I don’t know what you want to do with her. Here’s the video from the rehearsal.”
Jordan connected her Bluetooth headset to Richie’s phone. “Oh, yeah. Oh, no, poor thing.”
