Why I'm Yours

by S. Moose

  My phone rings and I excuse myself, pulling out my phone, and seeing it's my mom.

  “Hi honey. Isn't today your first day?” my mom asks.

  "Yes. I feel so sick. I have no idea why I'm so nervous. I mean, ugh, this is what I've been waiting for."

  “You are going to be great, sweetheart. This woman hired you because she believes you are right for the job. She is a successful, savvy businesswoman who knows how to flawlessly run a multibillion-dollar corporation. Hiring you was an easy choice because you are equally smart and savvy yourself. You’ve got this.”

  “You’re biased,” I tell her.

  But her pep talk does give me a little boost of confidence.

  “Biased yet truthful. You are resilient, Reagan. A strong, independent woman who I am very proud to call my daughter.”

  If only she knew how weak I truly was.

  “You go in there with your head held high, and knock her socks off.”

  My mother is and always will be my biggest cheerleader. That in itself makes it that much harder to hide the truth from her day after day. Only I can’t lay that burden on her. She’d somehow twist things around and blame herself. That is something I will never let happen. That night and the events that took place are on my shoulders alone. Now, looking back, I know all the signs were there. I was just too dense and blind to see them for what they were.

  “I need to get out of my head,” I reply, doing my best to shake off that night. “I had this crazy dream that I arrived on my first day to find I knew absolutely nothing about what I should, and each time I made an attempt at any task, I screwed it up. Not just screwed it up, but completely tanked. And I didn’t make it through to lunch before Mrs. Powers took me in her office and proceeded to tell me that hiring me was the worst mistake she’d made.”

  “Now, you are just being dramatic,” my mother says with a laugh. “Yes, this is a new experience, and this job will take time for you to get the hang of. All new jobs are that way. But you, my sweet daughter, have nothing to worry about.”

  I stand outside the front entrance of Powers Financial. My head tilts back as I take in the expanding structure of the large building before me. The glass building looks pristine and powerful. It’s not just any building, but one of exquisite beauty. It stands out from the others on the busy streets of Chicago. The sleek contours and the mirrored appearance of the outer perimeter make it look dominant over the neighboring buildings.

  Even those who have exited and entered the office space seem to give off that same powerful vibe.

  I look down at my Cartier watch and nearly launch forward in a sprint. All of my hesitation and admiration of the building now leaves me with only a few minutes to spare. I hate being late. It’s rude and unprofessional. Those are two things I don’t want to appear to be in front of Miranda Powers. I hurriedly approach the doors and rush inside, stumbling a bit over the threshold as my gaze wanders.

  The outside has nothing on the absolute beauty of the inside. The marble floors are so clean and shiny, you can see your reflection in them, and the same sleek feel of the outside expands in through the doors to the inside. It’s breathtaking.

  Smoothing my skirt with my hands, I do my best to give off the same confident feel I’m surrounded with. Stern looks on the faces of those who move around with purpose have me standing a little taller as I move forward.

  The elevator door opens, and I follow the group of people inside and notice someone's going on the same floor as I am so I wait in the back and watch the numbers on the screen. Once I get off on the top floor, I walk to the reception desk and ask for Miranda Powers.

  “Good morning,” the perky brunette with pearly white teeth says. “Do you have an appointment with Mrs. Powers?”

  “Today’s my first day. My name’s Reagan Halloway.”

  “Oh! Reagan. Yes.” She looks on her computer screen and types on the keyboard before looking back at me. “I just pinged her, so she’ll be here soon. I love your outfit. Very chic and stylish. You and Mrs. Powers are going get along super well. She’s all about the fashion.”

  “Thank you. I’m a little nervous.”

  “Couldn’t even tell.”

  “Thanks,” I say again. “Should I wait over there?” I point toward the seating area.

  “Yeah, go ahead. She’s going to be a few minutes.”

  "Thank you." I turn around and notice the beautiful abstract pieces lining across the wall. Each painting is perfectly aligned and the contemporary concept fits the appearance of the business. My phone vibrates in my purse and I reach to get it, not paying attention or hear anyone walking in my direction, when I turn around and slam into a hard wall. I try to rebalance myself and grab onto anything so I don't fall on my ass. Only I don’t grab the wall. Instead, my hands are gripping strong arms. Very strong and sexy arms. I slowly peel my face from his chest and study his upper body up to his chiseled jaw and piercing blue-gray eyes. The tailored suit fits him perfectly well, showing off his toned body and broad shoulders.

  Sweet baby Jesus.

  “What the—” he starts to say as I scramble to bring myself upright.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say in a hurried tone.

  “You need to watch where you’re going,” the man says in a gruff tone. “What the hell is the rush for anyway?”

  I’m about to give this arrogant asshole a piece of my mind when I stop. His attention isn’t on me anymore. He’s on his phone. Texting.

  So rude.

  “I don’t have time for this,” he tells me without looking up from his phone. “Watch where you’re going next time.”

  Before I’m able to say something back, he rushes off, and I turn to see him walking away.

  The receptionist looks at me and then turns to him, only to turn to me again. “Whoa.”

  I roll my eyes.

  He’s obviously someone with money, from his attitude and his custom tailored three-piece suit, which makes me wonder who the important man that I just pissed off was.

  9

  Drew

  Scrolling through my phone, I pass nearly ten contacts of potential women to help with my mood this evening. Each contact I pass has a warning label next to her name, warning me not to give them another chance.

  I need someone who understands what one night means. The idea of getting into a relationship gives me anxiety. I want things simple. It’s how I like things. I’m a man who knows what I want, and if that makes me a shallow asshole, then so be it. It works for me.

  I’m ready to give up and get reacquainted with my right palm before hot liquid hits my chest, causing me to drop my phone and the files in my hand. I let out a roar and quickly pull my wet button-down shirt from my chest. Leaning over, I flap my shirt in and out, trying to relieve the burning sensation.

  “What the fuck?” I snarl, grinding my teeth together in an attempt to hold back all the other things that I’d rather shout.

  I look up and see a nervous petite woman with long auburn hair. She’s the same woman who ran into me this morning as I stepped off the elevator. And here she is again, causing another delay in my already rushed day.

  “You!” I point at her and narrow my eyes. “This is the second time today.”

  Without thinking, I take her by the arm and bring her to my office. She tries to pull away, and when we’re in my office, she rushes to the door.

  “You can’t do this!” she yells.

  Quickly stripping out of my shirt and suit jacket, I walk over and hand both to her. “You want to continue rushing around here, slamming into people, like you own the place, fine. You can bring these to the dry cleaners on West Washington Street and have them rush it.”

  She looks at me, stunned and speechless, and I have to control my anger and temper after the conversation with my mother this morning. I take in a deep breath and try this again, only kinder this time.

  “If you would so kindly do this, I would appreciate it.”

  Before she says anythin
g, my mother knocks on my office door and comes in, looking at the both of us and then eyeing me with a cocked brow.

  “Sweetheart, why in the world are you shirtless? And, Reagan, darling, are you okay? There was so much commotion out there.”

  “I wasn’t looking where I was going and spilled your coffee on him.” Her voice is a bit shaky, and suddenly, I feel like an even bigger asshole than I do on a normal day.

  Mother narrows her eyes at me. “Andrew Oliver, put on some clothes, and send out your own dry cleaning. Reagan is my assistant, and I’d like to introduce you to her properly.” She turns to Reagan and smiles. “Reagan, this is my son, Andrew—”

  “Drew,” I correct her.

  She huffs. “Drew Powers. He’s the CFO with his cousin, Remy, whom you will meet later. Now that that’s out of the way, put down his clothes, and come with me. Busy day, dear.”

  “Okay.” Reagan looks up at me with poise. “Again, I’m sorry about spilling coffee on you. It was an honest mistake, but I’ll be sure to be more careful going forward.”

  I don’t miss the sarcasm in her tone and kink my brow in her direction. It would appear my mother’s new assistant has an attitude of her own.

  “Have a great day, Andrew.”

  “Yeah.”

  I watch as her long, lean, tan legs and amazing ass walk out of my office behind my mother. That skirt hugs her body like silk, and I can imagine those legs wrapped around my waist while I senselessly fuck her.

  Damn, she’s beautiful.

  And, since she’s working for my mother, I’ll have the chance to see her and get to know her more.

  Even after she heard I was the son of her boss, she still didn’t budge or turn into putty in front of me. She challenged me with a stare I hadn’t seen often—one with dominance and composure. Usually, the moment a woman becomes aware of who I am and my family’s success, they grow weakened by the idea of what I can offer them. They shift to a pathetic form of themselves, doing whatever possible to gain my attention in an attempt to impress me.

  But not her.

  And this makes me want her.

  I grab another button-down shirt and suit jacket from my closet. I finish putting on the jacket just as Remy walks in, shaking his head and pointing his finger at me.

  “You’re in trouble.”

  “What?”

  “I saw your mom’s newest assistant, and she’s beyond sexy. Seems sweet, too.”

  I shrug, not needing Remy to know how I agree with him. “Are we still on for tonight? Do you want to go to ROOF or Allegro?”

  “ROOF sounds good. You don’t have to do this, man. I understand why you couldn’t come to Vegas. No worries.”

  I slap Remy’s shoulder as we walk out of my office to our meeting. “Nah, a night out seems fun, and Jennifer’s taking Dawson for the evening. Have to celebrate your birthday.”

  “Well, thanks, sugar. I’m assuming you’ll dine me before wining me?”

  “Anything for you.”

  The bar’s packed for a Monday night. I keep my tab open and order a bottle of vodka and whiskey for Remy’s birthday. Some of our friends agreed to meet us as we celebrate once again.

  A few women try to gain my attention, but I have Reagan on my mind. I can’t seem to stop thinking about her. The simple way she challenged me with only a stare or her pursed lips and the slight wrinkle of her brow.

  How is it that I can spend an entire evening with a woman and not remember one single detail, but less than three minutes in Reagan’s presence, and I feel as if I’ve been looking at her every day for years?

  I'm a man of detail in my professional life, but my personal life is nothing more than a quick fix before moving on. Only this girl has penetrated that rule and has me questioning my own logic.

  When I finish my drink, I get up to talk to a few people when I notice Reagan walking past us and to the bar. I watch as she’s greeted by a…well, someone not like me, and he orders for her, as if he knows her well enough to understand her likes and dislikes. Something about that doesn’t sit well with me. He’s tall and lean with glasses and an outfit I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing.

  I look around the bar, and everyone’s dressed to impress—the women in dresses or classy shorts and flashy tops and the men in slacks or khakis with a polo or button-down shirt. But her date, or whoever he is, is sporting corduroys and an awful wrinkled T-shirt. A fucking T-shirt.

  Remy notices my stare and nudges my shoulder. “Isn’t that your mother’s newest assistant?” He releases a slow whistle. “Damn, she’s looking hot tonight. Why don’t you go over and rescue her? See if she wants to join us instead?”

  Without a second thought, I nod and make my way over to her and the sad excuse for a man. When I approach behind her and place my hand on her shoulder, she turns, and her smile disappears from her face almost immediately.

  “What?”

  The fuck?

  “Hello, Reagan,” I say, trying to remain calm, even after she barked at me as if I were the Antichrist. “Nice seeing you here.” I point toward the direction I just came from. “We’re over there, celebrating Remy’s birthday, if you’d like to join.”

  She looks over my shoulder, and I can’t help but notice the black dress that plunges in the back and the black heels she has on. When she turns to face me, her addictive green eyes capture me, and I’m rendered speechless from what comes out from those full lips.

  “Not interested,” she says without even the smallest indication of a smile. “Good-bye, Andrew.”

  I’m not a man who begs for a woman’s attention. Nor do I allow rejection to sting. But hearing her so easily dismiss me isn’t sitting well. I give her a tight smile and ignore whoever this chump is before walking back to the party I’m throwing for Remy, doing my very best to appear unaffected by her attitude.

  Lynly, a woman I occasionally see, walks over to me, sliding her hand down my arm and pressing her body against me. She’s whispering in my ear, but I’m not paying attention. I’m watching Reagan at the bar, playing with her glass that holds some fruity pink drink. I don’t think she’s taken a drink since it was placed in front of her. My gaze swallows her, taking her all in, and I’m dying to know what she feels like beneath my palms.

  “Need anything, Drew?”

  Lynly is a sexy, confident, and successful woman. I’ve enjoyed being friendly with her since we met a few months ago. Our relationship has yet to take an intimate turn, though I know she’d be up for it if I extended the offer. She hasn’t ever hidden her interest in me. She’s a caring woman, and she asks about Dawson whenever we’re together. Right now, I should be turned on from her breasts in my face and her hot body begging to be touched, but I feel nothing.

  “I’m staying at the Omni while my apartment is being remodeled. I’d love the company if you’re able to come over.”

  I hear the suggestion in her voice and push it away.

  “Some other time perhaps.”

  “Oh.” Lynly’s hand moves away from my arm, and she gives me a smile before joining a group of women near where I’m standing.

  A few hours pass before Reagan gets up from the barstool and grabs her handbag before making her way toward the exit. I excuse myself from Remy and another friend of ours and follow her out of the bar and into the busy Chicago streets.

  “Reagan! Wait up,” I holler.

  She pauses near the street and quickly whips around, her long hair spreading through the air. An annoyed expression plays on her face, and I stop walking a few inches from her. I wonder about her mood and what I did to cause her to be so cold.

  “Why don’t you come back and hang out with us? I’ll get you a drink, and we can talk.”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “But you’re at a bar.”

  “And?” she says in annoyance. “Andrew, just because someone’s at a bar doesn’t mean they drink. Maybe they like the atmosphere, the music, the chaotic rumble of people interacting around them.”
<
br />   “Please call me Drew,” I insist as I did earlier. “All of my friends do.”

  “Well”—she smirks—“we aren’t friends, Andrew,” she repeats. “I’m your mother’s assistant, and we’re coworkers. There’s nothing further between us.”

  I hold my hands up in defense. “Okay, okay. I didn’t mean to assume. But come back inside, so we can talk. There’s no harm in that. I’d like to get to know you more.”

  She rolls her eyes, and I don’t miss the icy tone when she says, “No. No, thank you. You men are all the same. Thinking you can come on to a woman and throw some cheesy lines or suggestions. Then, boom, they immediately drop their panties for you.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Not interested,” she states as she lifts her hand in the air, signaling for a cab. “Never will be interested. Have a good night.”

  Before I can respond, she walks away toward the awaiting cab and doesn’t look back.

  My interest in Reagan Halloway has heightened immensely.

  10

  Reagan

  I'm pretty sure everyone near me can hear the frantic beating of my heart. Being that close to Andrew Powers is mind blowing. And of course I had to hurry away from him and be a total bitch.

  It's what I have to do to protect myself.

  My body’s trembling with uneasiness as I move farther away in hopes that I’m able to control my anxiety. On the outside, I’m a coldhearted bitch, but on the inside, my body is on hyperdrive, and I can’t calm down.

  Do I believe that Andrew would hurt me? No, of course not, but I need to always be in control. I have to be the one calling the shots. If things go any other way, my world tilts, and I feel unstable. Instability’s something I can’t function with.

  As soon as I'm outside, I rush to an awaiting cab and get inside. When I close the door, I immediately push down the lock just for safe measure.