by J. Saman
I laugh. “No. I definitely don’t mind. And thanks for telling me about the razor before I shredded my face with it.” I drop a kiss to the side of her head and she turns to me with a beaming smile that I can’t help but return. “Can I do anything to help?” I ask as I leave her in favor of pouring myself a glass of red wine. “And where the hell did I get wine glasses from?” I stare at the long-stemmed glass with the large round bowl at the top.
“You had nothing in your house, Kyle. I can’t exactly cook, or drink for that matter, without the essentials.”
I stare at her, with wide unblinking eyes.
“And no, you can’t help. I’m just about done. It needs an hour or so to simmer. Your furniture will be here soon.” She glances at the clock on the oven as she sets the lid on top of the chili and turns down the gas burner. “I should get going.”
“You’re not going out like that,” I wave my hand up and down over her body, “are you?”
She laughs, shaking her head like I’m crazy for even asking. “I’m not that much of an exhibitionist. No. I’ll throw on my dirty jeans and be out of your hair in a jiffy.”
I frown. She’s not staying to eat all this food with me? “Don’t you want to stay and try out your hard work?”
“Um.” She hesitates for a minute, staring at the pot of food. “Yeah, I’d like to if it’s okay. I don’t want to be in your way or anything.”
I laugh at that. “You’re not in my way, cupcake. This food smells amazing and there is way too much for me. Plus, I’m sure I could use help with the placement of all the furniture I have coming.”
“Oh, right. Let me go throw on my jeans before they get here.”
She scurries out of the kitchen, leaving me standing here. I pick up my new wooden spoon and take the lid off the chili. I dip the spoon in and bring it up to my mouth, blowing off some of the steam before tasting it. Damn, that’s really fucking good. I don’t think I’ve ever had a woman cook for me before. At least not since I graduated high school.
I like it.
I like her. In my house. With me.
Setting the spoon down on the counter, I put the lid back on just as she returns. When I catch her appearance, I can’t help the laugh that bursts out of my mouth.
“Stuff it,” she says with a self-deprecating laugh. “I know, I’m a mess.” She is.
At least her jeans are because she left my shirt on, but her pants are covered in bright red tomato splatters.
“Christ, I can’t let you wear those,” I say through the remains of my laughter. “Give me your clothes and I’ll wash them. Go find something that will fit you in my closet.”
Claire looks down as she thinks on this for a moment. “Okay, but only because they’re cold and wet and feel slimy against my skin.”
Before I can say anything else, she undoes the button on her jeans and shimmies them down her legs. For a flicker of a second, I catch a glimpse of her drool-worthy, pale pink lace panties. My mind instantly goes to an image of me ripping them off her.
“Catch,” she says as she tosses her jeans at me, my hands barely able to keep up as I’m still lost in the many dirty thoughts swirling around my mind. She skips off through my house, and before I can think too deeply on anything, I’m walking to the laundry room. I toss her jeans in and while I’m pouring the detergent in, she meets me in there with her tomato-covered purple blouse. “Add this too, please.”
“Done,” I tell her as I slam the lid shut and start it up.
I didn’t have to buy a washer or dryer. It came with the penthouse, which is nice because otherwise I’d be sending everything out to be cleaned. As I spin around to check out Claire, I notice she is only wearing my t-shirt and a pair of old ass cut-off sweatpants. She looks ridiculously hot in them.
In my clothes.
In my apartment.
Shit, I’m in trouble.
I smile at her and then she smiles back. Tension slowly begins to build as we stand here, staring at each other with the sound of the washing machine filling in the background. I knew when she left New York that things would change between us. I had hoped that they would evolve into something more. Something so much better.
Clearly, she didn’t.
But I’m living here now and so is she, and if ever there was a time for something to happen between us, it would be now. It won’t, though. I can see that all over her face. And in truth, I don’t know if I can keep up with her. I don’t think I’ve ever encountered another creature like her. She’s enticing as hell and I’d love to be inside of her, but I won’t fuck up our friendship knowing there is nothing more beyond this.
The intercom phone rings, which must be the doorman telling me that my new rented furniture is here. Thank Christ.
Claire tilts her head, her glowing red hair draping over her shoulder as that smile morphs into a smirk. “Show time, baby. I’m taking the reins so hold on tight.” She winks at me before skipping off, leaving me questioning how to only be friends with the woman I’m falling for.
Chapter 12
Claire
I wake up early as sin Monday morning to my phone ringing on my nightstand. It’s the annoying HR bitch that I cannot stand. Why Ryan freaking hired her, I do not know. She’s crazy. And I’m not even just saying that. The chick is flipping nuts.
I mean, it’s not even six in the morning and my phone is blowing up with her digits.
“What’s up, Bridget?” I ask in a groggy voice, rolling onto my back and closing my eyes.
“Kyle Grant is starting today and I have no paperwork on him. None.”
I sigh. She’s way too panicked for this hour.
Rolling back over onto my side, I run my hand over my face before throwing on my glasses. Without my contacts, I can’t see dick. “So why exactly are you calling me? Why don’t you just wait until he comes in and ask him?” I mean, seriously? Do I have to do everyone’s job for them?
“I called him, Claire, and I called Ryan. Both of them told me to call you.”
Of course, they did. Assholes.
“You called Ryan at this hour? Did he hang up on you?” I have to smile at that thought. Ryan does not like to get up too early.
“He wouldn’t do that. I’m the HR director,” she says indignantly, like being hung up on is beneath her. Whatever. I’m too tired to care all that much.
“I’ll give you everything I have when I come in at my normal hour,” I emphasize.
“Claire, he can’t start this morning. I have no social security number. No photo ID. I don’t even have a resume on file. I realize Ryan is the CEO of the company, but he really should have run his decision to hire a new Chief Counsel through me. My job is to hire the best candidate that will fit the company’s needs. How do I know if this Kyle person is even qualified?”
This Kyle person?
“Just because he’s Ryan’s—”
“I’m gonna stop you there, because you’re way overstepping. And if you ever say any of that bullshit to Ryan, you’ll be out on your ass,” I tell her sternly, sitting up in bed and pulling on my protective hat. No one fucks with Ryan Grant but me. And maybe Kate, but she’s his wife so it’s different. And maybe Luke too. Whatever. “Ryan built this company from nothing. It was just him and then it was just him and Luke, and then it was him and Luke and me. Get where I’m going with this? We have a couple thousand employees now. And I get you being territorial over your turf and shit, but Kyle Grant is an incredible attorney. We’re damn lucky to snag him. Even if he is Ryan’s brother.”
Silence. A silence that has me smiling.
Finally, Bridget lets out a huff of air. “Just send me his info before you come in to work.”
I stifle my laughter because this woman really has no wiggle room in her. “Well, since I’m awake now, I guess I can accommodate you.”
“I’ll expect your email shortly.” And then I get the hang up beeps.
I get her being a little pissy about it. I mean, most corporations are
run a certain way. Ryan doesn’t really play by the rules like that. He’s a hands-on guy. Luke and Ryan still write their own code and do a lot of development and brainstorming together. They don’t outsource any of that.
Sure, we have teams of people who service our software in the many companies we work with. We have tons and tons of hardware in a crazy ass server room that needs like three different verifications to access it, and only a very select few have that access. I am one of them, but that’s only because I’m me. None of the other assistants do. We employ people in marketing, sales, finance, and everything else that all the regular joe companies do.
But we’re different because we have Ryan Grant and Luke Walker, and even me. I am so much more than just a personal assistant. I am in on everything. My black-manicured fingers touch it all. And that’s more Ryan’s doing than mine.
Ryan and Luke are my family, and by extension, Kyle is now too. He’s part of our team. Our weird consort of mismatched freaks.
And I wouldn’t have us any other way.
I have to admit, I was apprehensive about Kyle being in Seattle. It’s really only because I’m wildly attracted to him. So yeah, that had me nervous about how things would go. And despite a minor moment here or there, we had a really great weekend together.
It all makes sense to me now. Why he moved out here. I couldn’t believe my ears when he told everything. I still can’t. It makes me sick to think about it. Kyle was shot at. A bullet grazed his skin. He was threatened by some creepy ass dudes who mean business. He had a leukemia scare. It was negative, thank God, but still. I don’t know how to wrap my brain around all of these things. In the year that Kyle has been a part of my life, I’ve gotten to the point where I can’t picture it without him.
Hopping out of bed, I pee, brush my teeth and jump into the shower. I guess I’m getting an early start on the day. I throw on my black leather leggings, a green wrap-around blouse, brush my hair, toss on a smattering of makeup and I’m good to go.
I check my email and sure enough, Ryan sent me everything that Bridget needs on Kyle. I’d say he was doing it to be an asshole, but I don’t think he was that methodical with his thought process. Until about eight months ago, I was the go-to girl for all this HR crap. The only reason we hired someone official was because our legal people told us we had to have an HR department otherwise we’d be breaking all kinds of laws.
That, and I think Ryan and Luke were tired of having to hire people. I was certainly tired of sorting through their crap. So, we got Bridget. And she got a lackey or two. But I don’t think Ryan really knows how to do things in the proper order, hence me getting Kyle’s crap. I forward that on to Bridget, and leave my house in under a half an hour.
It’s a beautiful day in Seattle. The ever-present morning fog is out in full swing, but the hint of the sun above tells me that it will burn off quickly. I love this city. It fits me so much better than Philly did, or St. Louis, or any of the various army bases I spent some time on before that.
The bell above the glass door jingles out an annoyingly friendly hello as I walk into my regular coffee shop. This is Seattle and coffee shops are ubiquitous here. Like cheesesteaks in Philly. Or deep dish in Chicago. There is literally a coffee shop on almost every corner.
But I like this one.
It’s small and the people who own it are this old Eastern European Jewish couple who like to tell me stories about how they escaped the Nazi’s when they were kids. It’s cool shit to hear. That, and they make the most amazing baked goods. I had never seen a Rugelach before I started coming here, but damn those cookies are good.
“Ah, you’re early, bubbelah,” Laura says to me through her Hungarian accent, a bright smile displaying her perfectly straight dentures.
Laura is four-foot-nine with short platinum blonde hair that is sprayed into submission. She goes to the beauty parlor—her words not mine—once a week to have it done. And half of the things she says or calls me, I have to Google. But I freaking love this woman.
“I am. Where’s Oscar?” I ask, looking around for the silver-haired man.
“Oy, he threw out his back last night lifting a sack of flour.” She shakes her head with her lips pursed off to the side. “When will he learn? He’s not a twenty-year-old man anymore.” She pounds her fist on the counter, making the register rattle.
“Right.” I don’t know what to say to that. “May I have my usual, please?”
“What’s her usual?” A familiar voice says from behind me.
I spin around to see Kyle standing there with a smirk on his face, wearing a fucking suit and looking like he just stepped out of the pages of GQ or British Vogue or something, because he’s got that James Bond, high-brow, I’m a sex god, thing working for him. His dark-blond hair is brushed forward and up off his forehead, and is either gelled or still damp from his shower. His face is totally clean shaven, and that damn cleft in his chin is mocking me right now because I can’t run my tongue over it. His hazel eyes are a muddy green this morning and are most definitely laughing at me.
I might have just drooled a puddle on the floor. I’m not even joking. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man look as yummy as Kyle Grant looks right now.
I hate that he goes to my coffee shop. I knew this shit would happen.
“And who’s this?” Laura asks in that grandmotherly tone that is only used to embarrass you, as she clearly thinks Kyle is my “special someone”.
“I’m Kyle Grant.” Kyle brushes past me, his charming smile smoothing out his perfect lips as he goes. He extends his hand to Laura, who simpers like a pre-teen fan girl meeting One Direction. She’s old enough to be his great-grandmother!
“Laura Schwartz.” She shakes his hand firmly. “What can I get you, tatellah?”
“I believe you were serving the lady here first. But please put her coffee and whatever else she’d like on me.”
I roll my eyes. I can’t help it. I hate charming, confident, sexy men.
“For an Irish shiksa, she takes her coffee on the plain side,” Laura tells Kyle this like he’s interested in what I order. Kyle turns around to me and mouths shiksa like it’s a question. I can’t help him with that one yet. It’s new to me too. “Our Claire likes her coffee black.”
“Like my men,” I add without really thinking about it. They look over at me before just as quickly dismissing me. Clearly, they are not well versed in the movie, Airplane.
“She also likes some of my famous Danish. Cherry. To match her hair.” Laura winks at me with a goddamn knowing smile as if she’s making a match, and Kyle just laughs like he’s enchanted and buying into her routine.
I’m not amused.
I want to get in, get my coffee—and maybe that cherry Danish—and get the hell out.
I don’t care one bit if this makes me a petulant child or even a bitch. It’s just my way.
But no one is listening to me or even paying me much attention. So, I just stand here while they shoot the shit and he explains how he knows me, and that he’s now living in Seattle, and that we work together and blah, blah, freaking blah.
Laura is eating him up with a spoon before licking it clean.
Finally, she hands him a large white paper bag and a cardboard carrying tray thing that has two to-go cups in it.
“Ready?” he asks me and I can only blink at him.
Why does he have to seem so perfectly attainable? Like I’m a fool for passing on him. It’s annoying really.
“Yup. I’m ready. But no more of this buying me breakfast crap. And no more of that overly hot flirtatious smile.” He’s laughing at me now and I think Laura is enjoying the show I’m providing too since we haven’t left yet. “In fact, do not speak to me again until I’ve packed in my caffeine and required fat intake.”
He nods, handing me my coffee. Evidently, he’s a fast learner, but that damn smirk is still on his face.
“And stop smiling at me.” I think I already mentioned the smile and that only manages to m
ake him smile bigger. I take a sip of my coffee and spin around. “Later, Laura. I hope Oscar feels better.”
She yells something back to the both of us and we leave, together, stepping out in the early morning. The streets of downtown Seattle are busy. Everywhere we go, people are walking past us in the typical Monday morning rush. And about eighty percent are on their phones in one way or another.
I take a sip of my delicious, black coffee and Kyle does the same, eyeing me in his periphery. “You can share my Danish,” I mutter, feeling just a little bad about my tantrum. I’m just tired.
“Thanks. Cherry is my favorite flavor,” he says totally deadpan, so I can’t tell if he’s saying this with hidden meaning or not.
I don’t think most of my male friends are this sweet to me. It’s unnerving. I’m used to brash and sarcastic remarks. I don’t know what to do with this guy.
I roll my eyes, but find I’m laughing despite myself.
“Not much of a morning person, are you?”
“No. I’m really not. Especially not this early. I don’t mean to be a total cunt.”
He just stares me, eyebrows raised, like he’s never heard the c-word coming from a woman’s mouth.
“Do you want to ride with me to work?” I offer. “Your car won’t be ready for a week, right?”
Kyle bought a car yesterday. A sporty Range Rover. I heard it’s hot. Luke was all excited about it when I spoke to him on the phone last night.
He nods. “Yeah. Thanks. That would be great. I was going to order an Uber, but if you’re offering, I’m taking.”
“Bridget woke me this morning,” I tell him as we step around a woman standing in the middle of the sidewalk yelling into her phone.
“That crazy HR lady? Yeah, she called me too. I told her that I’d send her everything when I was off the treadmill, but apparently, that wasn’t good enough for her.”
“She’s annoying, but harmless. She wants you to pay her a visit when you get in. Just charm her the way you do everyone else and it should go smoothly.” I glance up at him just as he angles his head down to mine, and our eyes lock briefly.
