by Layla Hagen
“At what time do you finish work?”
“I’ll be here at six.”
Pippa lifts one corner of her mouth in a smile. “I thought you’d work longer hours since they call you ‘the shark’ and all.”
“I try not to,” I admit. “If I don’t give myself a strict deadline, I’d end up staying way too long, and I’d barely see Julie. I usually stay up late and work after Julie goes to bed. It works in Boston most of the time. Not sure how it’ll be here since the workload is much higher.”
She nods, and that’s when I remember she was wearing red lipstick at the wedding. I admit my business instinct doesn’t help jack shit when it comes to my daughter, but I can put two and two together. Julie wants lipstick—a red one, at that—because that’s what Pippa was wearing at the wedding.
“Can I ask your advice on something?” I inquire.
“Sure.”
“Julie told me today she wants to wear lipstick.”
Pippa throws her head back, chuckling. “What did you tell her?”
“That she’s not old enough.”
“I’m guessing it didn’t go to well?”
“Which is why I’m asking for your help. She wanted a red one, like the one you wore at the wedding.”
Pippa nods in understanding. “Leave it to me. See you at six.”
I’m usually picky with the people I allow my daughter to spend time with, but I’m glad I followed my instinct when I allowed her to come here. Pippa swirls on her heels, striding to her desk with confidence and whispering something in Julie’s ear. My daughter bursts out laughing. I smile and wish I could stay longer. I have a hunch I could watch this woman smile all day, which is dangerous.
***
Pippa
Julie is lovely. She listens to my instructions and does her best to follow them. The girl is talented, and with the right training, she’ll do great.
“I’m not as talented as you are.” She props her head in her hands, sighing.
I’d love nothing better than to hug her. I’m a hugger. When I have kids of my own, I’m going to be that parent who embarrasses them by hugging them in public long after they’re old enough to drive.
“When I first started drawing, I wasn’t good. But I persisted, worked hard, and honed my skills.”
“Did anyone tell you that you weren’t good enough?” she asks in a small voice, lowering her eyes to her hands. My heart aches for her—obviously someone told her that. But she’s a kid, for God’s sake. She has plenty of time to practice.
“As a matter of fact, yes. I had a teacher at school who told me I should concentrate on math or another subject because while my art was decent, it was nothing to brag about.”
“What did you do?”
I pause for a few seconds, remembering that day. “I cried a lot and was unmotivated for weeks. Then I made a pact with myself. I’d work hard and give it my best shot, and if nothing came of it, at least I’d tried. Also, it was about that time I heard the phrase, ‘Opinions are like assholes. Everyone has one.’ I became very fond of it.”
Julie claps her hand over her mouth, giggling. “You’re not supposed to use the a-word around me.”
Oh, crap. Right, I’m not up to date with Parenting 101.
“Sorry. Will you rat me out to your dad?”
“No, it can be our little secret.” She lightens up, and she’s evidently thrilled at the idea of keeping a secret. Ah, a girl after my own heart.
“Anyway, back to our conversation. If you’re determined enough and work hard, you’ll get where you want to.”
“You really think that?” she asks hopefully.
“Yes.”
Luke takes Julie to his desk next, and I send an e-mail to my brother Logan. He is the CFO of the company and Sebastian is the CEO. Logan has taken over some of Sebastian’s responsibilities until the latter returns from his honeymoon.
Six o’clock comes all too soon, and the ping of the elevator announces Eric’s return. He strides into the office with his chin held high, as if he owns the room. The man is pure masculinity and confidence, and I start hyperventilating just by looking at him.
He’s more than eye candy because candy can be resisted. Eric Callahan is eye-cupcake. Delicious and utterly irresistible. What a lethal combo.
As he finds Julie—who’s currently at Luke’s desk—his expression lights up. The more I study his face, the more similarities I find between him and Julie. She is so taken with what Luke’s showing her on his computer she doesn’t even realize her dad is in the room.
“How was she?” Eric asks me, stopping in front of my desk.
“Great. She’s a well-behaved kid.”
His shoulders are hunched with tension, and I don’t like it. I’d rather see him the way he was at the wedding: carefree and happy. “How was your day?”
“Working with a new team is always tough.” Winking, he adds, “Have to do justice to my nickname.”
“Why do they call you ‘the shark,’ anyway?”
Flashing his teeth in a wide smile, he says, “I bite. Often.”
I have no idea why these three words cause me to bite my lip, but I only realize I’m doing it when Eric’s eyes zero in on my mouth. Jesus. I haven’t reacted to a man this way in a long time. Is there anything he can say or do that won’t set my nerves on edge? I doubt it.
“Dad,” Julie exclaims, noticing her father’s presence. “Can we stay a little longer? Luke’s showing me an awesome computer program for designing.”
“Sure.” Eric observes his daughter before turning his attention to me.
“You’d say yes to anything she asks, wouldn’t you?” I inquire.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. If it makes her happy. The things I’ve endured to see my daughter smile….” He shakes his head. “Let’s say that standing here talking to a beautiful woman is a pleasant way to spend the time while indulging Julie.”
His gaze lingers on me for long seconds, and I can feel the tips of my ears heat up. Damn my ears.
Ignoring the ‘beautiful’ remark, I ask, “What did you endure? Humor me.”
“Let’s see. Once, she asked me if I’d dress up as a character from Beauty and the Beast. Turns out I had to play Belle. I rocked that costume like you wouldn’t believe it.”
It’s a good thing I’m sitting because his words liquefy my muscles. This man is eye-cupcake with a side of chocolate sauce, and if he talks about playing Belle for his daughter for one more second, my ovaries might jump him.
I try to keep from laughing, but a giggle finds its way past my lips anyway. “It’s blowing my mind that you even know who Belle is, and I can totally see you rocking a dress. Your secret is safe with me,” I assure him. “It must be hard, being a single parent.”
He clenches his jaw. “We manage. I don’t do everything on my own. My mother helps, and Julie has nannies. Still, she misses her mother daily.”
There’s a finality in his tone that clues me in not to question him further. The silence stretches for a few seconds, and then he points at the designs in front of me, asking, “Are those yours?”
“Yes.”
Rounding the corner of my desk, he stands next to me, looking at my sketches.
“I drew them this afternoon between giving Julie instructions,” I explain. “We won’t be using them for the current collection because they don’t match the direction, but I like to play around, and I can always keep them and see if they’ll fit in future collections.”
“They’re very….” He pauses as if searching for the right word. “Happy, optimistic.”
I nod. “My drawings and my mood go hand in hand.”
“This means you were happy today.” He rests a hand on my shoulder, and the touch warms me. In fact, it more than warms me. It sends tendrils of heat along my nerve endings.
“Yes. I had a lot of fun with Julie. I’m happy you allowed her to come here.”
Since my divorce, I’ve been careful around men—deemi
ng any man who doesn’t share my last name as distrustful even before he opens his mouth. But something about Eric completely disarms me. I feel at ease around him, and that scares the living shit out of me. Probably because I have a hard time believing that a man who has no qualms putting his ego aside for his daughter, dressing up as Belle, deserves to be mistrusted. Or maybe the reason is simpler—I haven’t learned my lesson yet.
“Dad, we’re done,” Julie announces.
“All right, let’s go.”
The pad of his thumb connects with my shoulder and the touch feels loaded with tension, almost intimate. When he retracts his hand, cold grips me. I walk them both to the elevator, and as the doors open, Eric says, “See you tomorrow.”
The fact that I’ll see him every day for the next two weeks sinks in. Something in his gaze tells me he’s thinking the exact same thing. The air between us is instantly charged, and I avert my gaze as Julie bids me good-bye, and they disappear in the elevator.
What have I gotten myself into?
Chapter Three
Pippa
“Hey, sis,” Alice says into the phone as I enter my apartment later.
“Hey. Do you want to drop by?”
“Are you out of food again?” Alice asks, her voice both stern and amused.
“No. Do I need a reason to invite my sister over?”
The last couple of times I asked Alice to come over, I was out of food and asked her to bring something from the restaurant she owns. I love cooking. As a kid, I helped my mother in the kitchen. Cooking daily for eleven people was a true team effort, but a lot of fun. Cooking for myself is no fun, hence why I’ve rarely done it over the past months. It makes my loneliness almost palpable.
“I guess not. So, how was the meeting with Mr. Sexy Pants today?”
“Stop calling him that,” I answer. Kicking off my heels, I open my fridge and discover I have some leftover pizza from yesterday. It’ll have to do.
“Why? You have a better name?”
“Mr. Sexy Ass, Sexy Lips?” I suggest.
“I see you’ve given this some thought.”
“Yeah, but I’m still not ready for a relationship, and neither is he.” I press the phone to my ear with one shoulder as I walk to my living room, a plate with pizza in one hand, a glass of soda in the other.
I moved into this one-bedroom apartment after my divorce. The spacious living room is decorated in warm shades of brown and cream. The L-shaped couch and the library dominate the space, and the two things are probably a reflection of me. I love few things more than curling up on the couch with a glass of wine and a steamy romance novel.
On the wall opposite the couch hangs a painting by Summer, the younger of my two sisters. The vibrant turquoise on the canvas contrasts beautifully with the rest of the room.
I love the place, but I wasn’t cut out to live by myself. I can’t get used to the quiet after growing up with eight siblings. However, moving in with one of my sisters at my age would be ridiculous.
“Who said anything about a relationship?” Alice asks. “Wham-bam, thank you, ma’am.”
“Alice!” I admonish, slumping on my couch. “I don’t do one-night stands, and you know that. You don’t do them either. Where is this coming from?”
“You need some fun, and you could do multiple one-night stands. At any rate, he’ll only be here for a couple of months. You have the perfect excuse. Then he’ll be out of your life, and you’ll solve the cobweb situation.”
I freeze in the act of taking a bite of my pizza. “Okay, stop using cobweb. My skin is starting to crawl.”
“He seems like a good guy, and they are a disappearing species.”
“Yeah, they are,” I agree with a sigh, remembering my ex. His betrayal left me with deep scars. As a lump settles in my throat and my eyes sting with unshed tears, I admit something to myself—I’m afraid I won’t find love again. Hell, I’m afraid I don’t deserve to be loved. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, refusing to cry.
“So, what are you gonna do?” Alice asks.
“Nothing. I’ll teach Julie the ins and outs of designing, and that’s all.”
“Damn, you’re stubborn.”
“I’ve gotta go,” I say. “I have some pizza leftovers to concentrate on, and you’re killing my buzz.”
“Fine. Just tell me you won’t be daydreaming about the ins and outs of his probably fantastic lovemaking skills.”
“I won’t,” I reply before clicking off.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
***
As I drive to work the next morning, I decide the best course of action is to minimize the number of interactions between Eric and me. Over the next two days, whenever he drops off or picks up Julie, I pretend to be busy, barely sharing words with him. The intense exchange of hot looks makes up for the lack of conversation, though. The man is impossible to ignore whenever he’s in the room. His presence is like a magnet, oozing testosterone and masculinity, drawing me to him against my better judgment.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he states on Thursday morning. I’m sitting behind my desk and Eric stands on the other side, propping himself with his fists on the wooden surface, leaning slightly forward, a naughty smile playing on his lips.
I like to read people, so I tend to overanalyze body language. His appearance now is domineering, which messes with my hormones. The curiosity in his eyes messes with my mind. I have to give it to him; he doesn’t tiptoe around. He goes straight for the target.
“Guilty as charged.” Dropping my voice to a whisper, I add, “Why have you been flirting with me?”
Eric rounds the corner of my desk until he’s next to me, invading my personal space. Then he casually leans with his ass against my desk, crossing his arms over his chest, pinning me with his gaze. “We’ve barely talked over the last few days.”
“Eye-flirting is still flirting,” I inform him, stubbornly holding his gaze. “I’ve been out of the dating scene for a while, but I can still read the signals. So, what gives? You said you were off the market at the wedding.”
Eric doesn’t hesitate. “I can’t seem to help myself around you.”
Well, what can I say to that?
“Your honesty is disarming.”
“Maybe it’s my weapon.” The words roll off his tongue so sexily it nearly takes my breath away.
“Why would you need one?” I mumble.
“To make you blush and squirm.” Leaning forward, he says, “You look delicious when you do that.”
I’m unable to hold his gaze anymore. Jesus. His words affect me too much.
“You can’t talk to me like that,” I whisper.
“Why?”
“We’re at the office.” My desk is far enough from everyone else that they can’t hear our conversation, but that doesn’t mean I can’t use them as an excuse.
“Not a good reason,” Eric answers.
“Because I don’t know how to handle it.” I swallow, my skin humming at his proximity. To my astonishment, he doesn’t utter a witty comeback, just nods.
“Fair enough. I’m leaving now and will be back at six. Will you be avoiding me when I pick up Julie?”
I chuckle. “Probably. It’s safest. I might do something silly otherwise.”
Not taking his eyes off me, Eric lowers his voice. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
***
Eric
“Let’s take a break,” Max says, punching the pause button on his treadmill. We’re at a gym downtown, letting off steam. Working out is my number one choice for putting a stressful day behind me. I keep running for fifteen more seconds before pressing pause.
“You’re not as fit as you used to be Bennett,” I tell him after I step off the treadmill. “You kicked my ass every time when we were doing laps in college.”
“I was on the polo team back then. It’s hard to keep that level of fitness.”
I met Max when I was doing my MBA. He was a junior in college,
while I was a married man with a kid. Our friendship started with me giving him shit over his weird beard phase, and him calling me old man, despite the fact that I’m only a few years older.
“Let’s hit the bench press. I don’t have much time.”
“Why are you in such a hurry?” He drinks with large gulps from his water bottle as we walk to the nearest free machines.
“I’m picking up Julie in half an hour.”
“She’s with Pippa, right?”
“Yeah. Your sister’s been great, helping Julie.”
“Cut the crap. I saw the two of you at the wedding. She’s been through enough, so don’t mess with her.”
“I’m not planning to.”
We don’t say anything more as we start with the bench press, but his warning pisses me off. The last thing I want is to mess with Pippa. I only met this woman a week ago, yet her well-being is surprisingly important for me. Maybe it’s because she’s shown so much kindness to my daughter, but she’s gotten under my skin, and I like how it feels. Against my better judgment, I find myself looking for a reason to keep seeing her after Julie’s time with her is over.
Once we’re done with the bench press, we proceed to do sit-ups. I want to close off the training session with another round on the treadmill.
“I’m gonna run another fifteen, and then I’m leaving,” I tell Max.
He shakes his head. “No more running for me today.”
“Who’s the old man now?” I toss at him.
“The birth certificate would indicate it’s still you. Afraid you can’t change that. Don’t forget what I said about my sister.”
“I would’ve expected this from your brothers, not you.” I break into a light jog on the treadmill, increasing the speed with the buttons. “You’re my friend.”
“Pippa’s my sister. Family trumps friends, sorry.” Max is grinning now. I give him a thumbs-up, concentrating on my sprint. Yeah, I know about the Bennetts’ unspoken rule. Family comes first.
