by Paige North
I look at him, shocked. “It was in the closet of clothes you got me.”
“I hope you don’t expect me to dress you as well,” he says. “It’s very nice, what you’re wearing, but more suited to an early evening. You need to learn the difference.”
We arrive at the restaurant, so I can’t ask him what this difference between late lunch and early dinner clothes is.
Miles
The truth is, Jordyn looks beautiful.
There’s nothing in that closet, nothing in the finest ateliers in the world that she could wear and not look good in.
Maybe I was a little hard on her when she got in the car, but I was a bit thrown seeing her in a dress that fits her so perfectly and shows off all the best parts of her already stunning body. The dress comes to her knees and has long sleeves but a low cut, and she’s wearing an elegant pair of heels—those I couldn’t help but stare at when she crossed her legs in the car on the way to the restaurant.
Frankly, if I could have my way I’d tell the driver to go take a walk while I explored Jordyn’s body some more.
Last night wasn’t enough.
Seeing her in bed this morning, knowing she was naked under all those sheets and covers, her face so peaceful, made me think that this little experiment might be harder than I thought.
Keeping my feelings at bay is key is critical. I don’t know enough about Jordyn yet, and I can’t risk letting my guard down only to have her run off with the money at the end of the month.
Best case scenario is that she’ll love this lifestyle and agree to marry me, a convenience for both of us. I don’t trust her yet, so cold is key—it’s the exterior I have to maintain.
Also, I really despise being left waiting. Being on time is crucial to my work since my schedule stays packed so tightly, with meetings back to back throughout the day.
Jordyn stays silent on the drive to the restaurant—she’s giving me cold right back since I reprimanded her. There’s not much else she needs to know about this luncheon, at least from the business side of things. I’m meeting with Randall McCrery, a possible recruit who we flew up from Atlanta with his wife, Shelley.
Tomorrow he’ll spend the day in the office getting interviewed (grilled, really) by several other senior staff members, but I want to get to know him on a more personal level to see if he’s trustworthy. I told him to bring Shelley along to keep the meeting informal and put him more at ease. When people let their guards down, they reveal their true selves.
“Just remember,” I tell Jordyn as we pull up to the restaurant, “you’re my girlfriend. We live together. It’s a serious, committed relationship. They shouldn’t ask too many questions but just remember to act like a high-society woman. Okay?”
“Fine,” she says. When I offer my hand to help her out of the car she ignores me. Great. If she’s got an attitude, this whole thing will be a bust.
I do want the lunch with Randall to go well, but I also want word to start spreading that I have a serious girlfriend. Gossip spreads in the business world just like any other, and the sooner my brothers find out I’m in the running for the company thanks to my “family-man image,” the better.
Jordyn may be pissed but she’s also beautiful. I rest my hand gently on the small of her back as we go into the restaurant, and I have this sense of pride that I’m with her…even though I’m not with her. God, anyone would be honored to be seen walking with such a beauty.
I let my hand stay on her back even as we arrive at the host stand. I can’t seem to let go. Now that we’re in public she no longer looks stiff and angry. She’s got a pleasant look at her face. I wonder if there’s an actor somewhere inside her.
“You okay?” I ask her quietly as I run my hand up and down her back.
“Yes, of course,” she says, but I know she’s still pissed because she won’t look at me. I hate that she won’t look at me.
Luckily we’re seated just before Randall and Shelley arrive. It’d be rude if I kept my own guests waiting. We do handshakes and introductions and Jordyn is pleasant and full of smiles as she greets them. She even tells Shelley that her hideous ruffled dress is pretty. This just might work after all.
“I hope your flight up was okay,” I say to them.
“Private plane? What a way to travel, Mr. Croft,” Mr. McCrery says.
“Well, we didn’t want you to have to worry about any delays in getting up here,” I say, even though I knew that plane would impress the hell out of him.
“Gorgeous,” says Shelley. “And the staff is amazing. They said Princess Diana once stayed in our room. And Brad Pitt!”
“I hope not together,” Jordyn says.
I stiffen—it’s the first words she’s really spoken, and in that split second I wonder how her little joke will go over. But Shelley guffaws and says, “No! I suppose not.”
“How are you liking New York so far?” Jordyn asks Shelley.
“It’s loud,” Shelley says. “Chaotic. We almost got run over crossing the street this morning.”
“You get used to it,” Jordyn says with a wave of her hand. “Talk to me when you see a man urinate on the sidewalk. Or a woman,” she adds with a hearty laugh.
“My goodness,” Shelley says, hand to chest. “I hope I don’t ever see that!”
“After the first time, you start seeing it all the time,” Jordyn continues to my mortification. “It’s like suddenly your eyes are trained to spot it within a two block radius. And in the summer—uh. There’s this stretch of a block on Lexington and Forty-Second Street, right at Grand Central, that reeks of urine. Really ripe in the summer. I’ve learned to head to the other side of the street when I’m over there because otherwise—”
“Yes, things do move at a fast pace here,” I say, stopping her from saying more, although it might already be too late. I give her a tight smile as I reach toward her and rub her arm, giving it a little squeeze. “It sounds like you’ve settled in nicely since you arrived earlier.”
“It’s already been wonderful,” Randall says. Under my hand, Jordyn stiffens and pulls slightly away. “Everything is, truly. And we’re very excited about the show tonight. Shelley especially.”
“Yes, thank you for the tickets, Mr. Croft,” Shelley says. “When I told my girlfriends back home what we were seeing they said the show had been sold out for months. I don’t know how you managed.”
“I have my ways,” I say. “And please, call me Miles.”
Shelley blushes. “Miles. Well, thank you again. I am excited. If we can just make it there in one piece.”
“We’ve scheduled a car to take you,” I say. “They’ll be waiting outside the theater once it’s over as well. Your feet will hardly have to touch the pavement.”
“That’s good because I just don’t know how these women walk around the city in their sky-high heels,” Shelley says. To Jordyn she asks, “How do you manage? My feet would be a wreck!”
In the brief moment before she speaks, I hold my breath, wondering what she’ll say next. I can feel the tension oozing off her already, making me wonder if I’m going to regret this whole setup.
“Well, Miles here makes sure I don’t have to do too much walking,” Jordyn says, smiling adoring at me—only I can tell she’s being a bit sarcastic. “He’s such a gentleman that he’d rather carry me than make me touch the ground. Some nights he even rubs my feet. Isn’t that right, darling?” She reaches across the table for my hand. I take hers in mine. I give her a little grip that I hope says, Don’t lay it on so thick. She squeezes back with something like, Tough shit.
“Aren’t you too just adorable,” Shelley says. “How long have you been together?”
Jordyn shoots her eyes at me—we haven’t discussed the exact details of a faux romance. Thinking quickly, I say, “Quite a while now.” I don’t want to give too many details—being vague is better. But I keep Jordyn’s hand in mine because honestly, it feels good. She may have reached for me in a moment of sarcasm, but touching her gi
ves me a sense of calm.
“‘Quite a while?’” Jordyn says. She looks to Shelley and says, “Men. This one can remember the most boring data and numbers and statistics in the world, but ask him to remember our anniversary and he’s completely lost.”
I can feel my face getting red—I don’t appreciate the dig in front of the McCrery’s, but when Shelley laughs and Randall shakes his head good naturedly, I know she’s said the right thing.
“It’s true,” I admit. “I’m terrible at it.”
Jordyn leans close to me. “You don’t deserve me,” she whispers.
Once we’ve ordered, things progress nicely.
We all talk pleasantly about the cooling weather and what the dining scene is like in Atlanta. Randall admits he didn’t know vegetarian restaurants existed until a couple of years ago, and Shelley says that if she lived in New York she’d go to the theater every weekend.
Randall and I talk a little business, and it’s only then that Jordyn finally speaks again, little pleasantries to Shelley. I wouldn’t say she’s been rude during the lunch, and it’s possible that the McCrery’s didn’t notice anything, but I know that Jordyn isn’t happy, although with what I can’t be sure.
I know why I’m not happy, though.
Once we’ve said our goodbyes, me telling Randall I’ll see him at the office tomorrow and Jordyn telling Shelley to have a great time tonight at the show, they’re in their car and on their way.
“What?” I say. “What could you possibly be mad about?”
“The way you treated me?” she says as if I should know.
“Jordyn,” I begin. I feel like my head is about to explode with the effort to restrain my emotions. I can’t be seen having a fight with my very serious, very real girlfriend in public, so I take her wrist and pull her closer to the building so we’re not in the middle of the sidewalk. “A discussion on public urination isn’t exactly the way I wanted to start this lunch.”
Her mouth drops, like she’s about to argue, but nothing comes out. “When you signed on,” I say, lowering my voice, “I expected you to act sophisticated. Not common.”
I'm pretty sure that last statement was too much because I think I see tears well up in her eyes. I’m not sure because she quickly turns away.
“Common, huh,” she mutters.
“Let’s just talk about this when I get home this evening.”
“Fine,” she says, not looking at me.
“I’m going to walk. You can take the car.” I start to lean in to kiss her cheek, partly because I want to and partly to show that there are no hard feelings—I just need her to do better. But she turns for the car before I can move in. I’m still standing there as the car speeds away.
Jordyn
I’m so mad that when I get back to Miles’s apartment I have every intention of packing my things and getting the hell out of there. Maybe I will go stay with my parents after all, now that I’ve given up my spot at my apartment.
When I get to his little palace in the clouds, I check my email on my laptop and of course it’s today that I get a notice that my monthly student loan payment is due.
I look back to my bank account see all those dollars for my first payment of my month with Miles. So now I have money—the first third anyway. That’s still huge in putting a dent in my student loan. But I need more than a dent. Even with the balance after this morning’s payment from Miles, the monthly payments will crush me every month for the next ten or more years—a lifetime—until it’s all paid off.
If I can just muscle through the next month, I can be free of debt. Free of Miles, free of debt.
I remember the third-floor spa and gym. I only have to wonder for a brief moment if he—or the stylist—thought to include workout clothes in my massive closet. Of course they did, they thought of everything. There are plenty of cute little matching outfits, plus several swimsuits in case I want to use the pool. I slip on a sports bra and shorts, grab my phone, find some workout ear buds, and head upstairs.
The gym is dark grays with splashes of rich red on the benches as well as yoga mats and medicine balls. I’m not much of a gym girl—I get enough exercise walking from here to there in New York, plus memberships are expensive. But I’m so keyed up that I need to release the energy. I crank up the music on my phone, put in the ear buds, and start running on a treadmill that faces a large window. It’s like I’m running toward a cliff but never flying over.
I don’t know how long I’ve been going but I am focused on nothing except the pounding of my feet and the music in my ears. I basically forget that I’m on a treadmill until Miles suddenly appears in front of me, waving his hands like he’s flagging down traffic on the West Side Highway.
I hit Stop on the treadmill and take out my ear buds, annoyed. I only realize then that I was feeling so good and loose with only the pain of running. Seeing Headmaster Miles here, no doubt ready to scold me some more, really kills the body buzz I was having.
“I’ve been trying to get your attention. You must really have that thing cranked up.” He nods to my phone. I turn off the music.
“What do you want? Although I can probably guess,” I mutter.
“What was that?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I sigh. “Look, what do you want? I’m trying to work out.”
“We have to talk about that lunch, Jordyn.”
“Fine. What about it?”
His tie is loosened, top buttons undone, and the slight dishevel of his look makes him look even sexier, and damn him for it. I realize that it’s still kind of early in the day for him to have left work, and wonder if he came home just for this.
“How do you think the lunch went?” Miles asks.
“Oh, please,” I say. Sweat is coming down my face and rolling down my back. I grab the towel from the bar of the treadmill and wipe my face. It’s bad enough being talked to like a child but to take it while dripping sweat seems to add to the humiliation. Still, I’m going to do my best not to let him get to me. “Don’t do that. Just tell me what I did wrong, and if I’m fired.”
“Fired?” He says it like that never crossed his mind, which I guess is a good thing. “You’re not fired. But Jesus, Jordyn. Have a little decorum.”
“Decorum?” I say. What a stupid word. No one normal would use such a word.
“Yes—be appropriate.”
“I know what it means, Miles. I’m not a total idiot.”
He takes a deep breath, and I love that he’s on the verge of losing his cool. I put my hands on my hips and wait, trying to act tough but really, I’m mortified. I don’t know exactly what I did wrong, but I know he made me feel stupid at that lunch, and I’m sure the McCrerys picked up on it.
“I know you’re not an idiot. I didn’t say you were,” he says. “But I really don’t think your conversation was appropriate.”
“What, the urination thing?” I say, even though I know. “Shelley loved that story. They both thought it was funny.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s okay,” he says. “Look, I need someone who shows grace and elegance at all times. Someone who doesn’t tell crass stories.”
“Fine,” I say, because I can actually see his point. I just don’t appreciate his delivery. “I’ll make sure my New York stories only include celebrity sightings and bagels from now on.”
I stare out at the view of Central Park, too humiliated to even look at him.
“Don’t mope,” he says. Miles rests his hand on the bar of the treadmill.
“I’m not moping,” I whine, and then my breath catches in my throat.
I swallow hard, because he’s looking at me right now like he wants to kiss me, wants to touch me, despite the lunch and despite the physical mess I am right now. “You looked stunning today, by the way,” he says softly.
“You said the dress was inappropriate.”
“But that’s beside the point,” he retorts. “You still looked great in it.”
“Miles, you’re making my head
spin with all of the mixed signals,” I tell him.
And then he pulls me closer and kisses me—completely and without hesitation. Having his mouth on mine again, his soft tongue caressing mine, is exactly where I want to be. Any of the tension from lunch has completely faded and this is all I want.
I press my body up against his, hoping he really doesn’t care about my sweat getting all over him and his expensive clothes. They way he tugs me closer says he doesn’t. I run my hands over the hard planes of his chest. He must spend hours in here getting his body so strong.
“God, Jordyn,” he says. “You are so fucking sexy. Do you know that?” Too embarrassed to answer, I kiss his neck, tasting the clean, musky scent of him. He grabs my wrist and holds my hand an inch away from the growing bulge in his pants. He pulls my face away from his with his other hand, forcing me to lock eyes with him. “I want you to feel how hard you get me,” he says. He moves my hand onto his dick, letting me feel him through the soft gabardine of his suit pants. My breath catches. I widen my hand in an attempt to hold the whole of the outline of his dick in my grip while Miles slowly moves my hand up and down.
“This is how much I want you,” he says. “I left a meeting early because I couldn’t sit through another one with a hard-on, thinking of you. I want to come with you, Jordyn.” He’s still stroking my hand on his dick, so hard now it seems it’s impossible that it’s a part of his body.
I can feel my face turning red from want and embarrassment from his talk—no guy has ever done this to me. Talked to me like, made me feel this hot. Miles is something entirely new, and that thrills me.
“Take off my tie and shirt,” he says as he toes off his shoes. I loosen the tie and slip it off, then unbutton his shirt, my fingers fumbling as I go. Miles stands and watches me, not touching me. How can his not touching me make so much hotter?
