by Penny Wylder
We made a bargain. Well, I say we made it, but it was basically my father dictating the terms. He said he’d give me till the end of the summer—the actual calendar day at the end of the summer—to find a job on my own, doing whatever I wanted. If it didn’t happen, he’d draft me into service at his company. I think the phrase he used was, ‘you’ll come work for me,’ but being drafted is probably more accurate.
Now, I’ve got only one week left until the deadline, and then I get swept against my will into the high-end world of luxury real estate. That is nowhere near where I want to be. I’m grateful for the money that I’ve grown up with, but I have no interest in building a millionaire’s fourth home. I’ve been given a lot, and I would much rather try to pass what I can on to people that need it instead of serving the people who can afford more than enough.
“Thank goodness for that,” my father says, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of his favorite green tea to go with him. “I’d much rather have you learning the ropes with me. I didn’t build an empire just to leave it to no one.”
I sigh pointedly. “Dad, your empire is very impressive,” I say dutifully, “but building the fourth house of some pop star is the furthest thing from what I want.”
“Vera, you’re twenty-two,” he says, his face darkening. “You don’t know what you want. And since you don’t have a job or a house or money of your own, I would think you’d be grateful that I paid for the entirety of your education and that I’m willing to give you a place at the company. Not all fathers would be willing to do that.”
I glance over at my mother, and she nods encouragingly. I know she agrees with him, but she doesn’t want to pile any more stress onto me. I appreciate that at least, but the anger boiling up inside is too much not to let out. “You did pay for everything, and I’m very grateful for that. I’m thankful that you have allowed me to be debt free. But up till now you also let me choose. So why does everything I’ve worked for go out the window just three months after graduation?”
He doesn’t even bat an eye at my words. Nothing ever riles my father, which infuriates me even more. “Because I know this world better than you. You had your fun, and it’s good to have dreams. The things you talk about are very noble, Vera. But people don’t hire untested architects who only want to make houses for people who can’t pay. Maybe sometime down the road when you’ve got some experience in the real world you can try to change it. But right now, you’re going to work for me.”
My eyes prick with angry tears. If he was just going to stop me from going after my dreams, why did he let me follow them this far? “I still have a week,” I say.
“A week or a month, the end result is the same.” He picks up his briefcase and kisses my mother lightly before leaving. The kitchen is filled with an awkward silence now.
I pour what’s left of my milk down the drain and put the cookies back in their cubby. My mother clears her throat, but I ignore her. She’s just going to defend him.
She clears her throat again.
“Yes?”
She takes a small sip of her water. “He just wants what’s best for you.”
“Really?” I laugh, but it gets cut off by the lump in my throat. “If he wants what’s best for me, then why hasn’t he bothered to consider what I think is best?”
“Because you’re young,” she says, “and—”
“Mom,” I interrupt, “I’m young, but I’m not stupid. It’s really time you and Dad stopped treating me otherwise. I’ll be in the garden.”
I throw myself out the back door and onto the patio before she can say anything else to stop me, hating myself for acting childish but unable to take the higher road. I want to do something meaningful with my career, with my life, but most of the time it feels like I’m the only person who believes I’m capable. And what drives me craziest of all is my fear that maybe they’re right.
2
Vera
I feel like a cloud of bad energy follows as I head toward the garden to try and get some zen. I try to fight the anger building in my chest, but it’s hard. How can my father, a self-made man himself, be so brazenly against me striking out on my own? He has all the power right now, too, since I’ve been miserably unsuccessful at finding a job so far. That thought sends another pang through my chest, and more than a little panic.
The grounds of our house are huge for L.A., but I’ve managed to claim a little corner as my own. It’s a little fenced in garden with a mix of roses and wildflowers, plus a few neatly-tended rows of spices and vegetables that I give to Gregory when I can. Working outside and helping things grow has always brought me a special kind of peace and calm. I’ve never been able to replicate the simple feeling of happiness I get when I’m out here—which means it’s exactly where I should be right now.
Because I’ve been busy stressing about my interview, researching other potential employers, and prepping materials to send out to new design firms and foundations, I know my garden is going to be a mess. There will be weeds to pull and watering to do. It will be perfect.
I retrieve my gloves and tools from our utility building and head over to my fence. I painted it a bright blue when I was in my teens and it’s faded now to something sunwashed, cracked and beautiful. I push past the gate and look around, analyzing where the most desperate work is needed…except there isn’t any.
The garden is immaculate. There isn’t a weed in sight, and my flowers have been pruned. There’s fresh dirt around some of the plants and I can still see the damp places where they’ve been watered. The air huffs out of me like a blow to the stomach. The caretakers aren’t supposed to touch my garden. Whenever I’m home I make sure to tell them to let me do all the work. It’s less for them to do and stress relief for me.
After the rejection and the argument with my dad, this feels like the last straw. I missed out on taking care of my garden by what may have been just a few minutes. The loss of the work and the feeling of betrayal from someone else tending my plants, everything releases the anger I’ve been holding in. I leave my garden and head further into the grounds. The caretaker is here somewhere and I’m going to make sure they know this was a mistake: no one touches my garden but me.
Coming around one of the tall hedges that gives us privacy, I see the telltale blue polo of one of our caretakers. He’s watering the flowerbeds at the edge of a fountain, and I can’t see which of our staff it is since he’s facing away from me.
“Hey!” I call out to him, but he doesn’t turn. He’s next to the fountain, so maybe he didn’t hear me. I jog over to him and tap him on the shoulder. “Hey. Are you the one who did work in the private garden?”
He turns around, and all my irritation evaporates as the words that were forming leave my mouth. In fact, every thought flies out of my head except one: That is one fucking hot gardener.
I have a hard time breathing, because I’m trying to take it all in and also make it look like I’m not staring. And not salivating. I’m not doing that, right? Tan skin, dark hair, dark eyes, and arms that are bursting out of that stupid polo the company makes them wear. If the rest of his body is like his arms…damn.
“Private garden?” he asks, confusion written all over his face.
Oh. Right. I’m supposed to be here to yell at him about the garden. “Yeah.” I say, trying to form words. “The garden that’s fenced off. No one on the staff is supposed to take care of it. It’s my garden—I do the work.” I’m finding it hard to be mad anymore, and to be honest I can’t fault what he did there. His work was flawless, and I wonder if his work in other areas is equally flawless. Wonder if he’s as good with his hands as he seems to be… I rein in my thoughts from the path they’re going down. What is wrong with me?
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know. I’m…new.”
I nod, resigned to the fact that my anger is gone and that it was misplaced to begin with. This isn’t about my garden. It’s about my dad, my job, my entire life spinning out of my control. I forc
e a smile. “It’s okay, and you did a good job. But you don’t need to do anything in there from now on. I like to do it.”
He gives me a smile in return, and I feel my pulse kick up a few solid notches. “I’m sorry for the oversight, and I’ll remember that. The plants just really looked like they wanted some attention.” I could swear his eyes stray down my body for half an instant, but maybe I imagined it.
“How bad was it?” I ask.
“It honestly wasn’t too bad. A few weeds here and there, some deadfall to trim, but nothing terrible,” he says, his eyes warm. “First time back in a while? Maybe you were away on vacation, or…?”
“I wish.” I run a hand through my hair in frustration. “I’ve actually been busy with these job interviews and stuff. It’s all I think about. And then today…” I gesture blindly toward the house, unable to put into words the conflict with my dad. Not to mention he’s a total stranger. I can’t believe I’m standing here confessing all of this. “Anyway, I was just hoping to blow off some steam,” I finish. “I’m Vera.” I hold out my hand, which he takes.
A hot jolt runs through me. His grip is firm and his hands are rough and calloused. I can feel my cheeks heating. “I’m James London,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”
I nod, reluctantly letting go of his hand. “Nice to meet you, too.”
I look back toward the house, and see someone at the patio doors. It’s been only a few minutes since I left, and I’m sure it’s my mother looking out to check on me. I imagine her seeing me talking to a caretaker and smile. There’s an opportunity here, and I’m not going to waste it. I look back at James. “Do you need any help?”
His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “You want to help me?”
“Well, I was going to work in my garden. But since I can’t…” I smile.
“Right.” He laughs a little nervously. “Well, sure. I still need to water all of the flowers here, and add some new soil. I can go grab the bags if you keep watering.”
“That I can do.” My mom will see me working with James, and I have no doubt she’ll tell my dad. Being able to look at someone this hot and piss off my parents at the same time? This is a priceless opportunity.
He hands me the hose, and I aim it at the flowers. I definitely, definitely watch him walk away and back toward the utility building. I wasn’t focused on his ass when I was about to yell at him, but now that I look…yeah. I didn’t think it was possible to be attracted to a guy’s ass. I guess this proves that theory wrong.
When James comes back out of the building, he has two bags of soil on his shoulder. The shirt they gave him doesn’t fit him well, and it keeps riding up as he walks, affording me some priceless views of his tight abs. I’m about to call up that company and say thank you. The skin I see is tan and toned, and suddenly I realize that he’s looking at me looking at him, and I’m watering the ground and not the flowers.
I look away, a flush of embarrassment rolling over my whole body.
He sets down the bags by the flowerbed I’m watering and starts to add new soil around the existing and newly planted flowers. “So, Vera.” I think I hear a smile in his voice, but maybe he talks to everyone that way. “What kind of jobs are you applying to?”
“Architecture.”
“Following in your dad’s footsteps?” It’s so unexpected that I look over at him. He says, “I know who your father is.”
“Yeah…” I clear my throat. “His line of work isn’t exactly what I’m interested in.” I move on to the next flowerbed.
“What are you interested in?”
Part of me doesn’t want to tell him, afraid that he’ll judge me just as harshly as my friends and family. But I dismiss my hesitation—he’s just trying to make conversation. “Ultimately I’d like my work to be humanitarian. Hopefully someday overseas. I probably won’t be able to do that right away, but I’d like to be part of a firm that’s at least interested in that.” I glance over at him, trying to read his reaction.
He gives me a look and an encouraging nod. “That’s a beautiful goal to have. I’m sorry you’re not having good luck.”
“How did you know that?”
He packs down some dirt. “If you were having good luck, you probably wouldn’t be home in the middle of the day or need to blow off steam.”
“Right,” I laugh. “Good point.”
“But,” he says, “You may have a promising career in over-watering flowers.”
I look down, and see there’s a puddle of water around the base of the camellia I’m watering. I quickly point the hose in a different direction. “I swear, I’m not usually bad at this.”
“Don’t worry,” James says. “I was in your garden—I’ve seen what you can do.”
I smile at him. “Good. But next time you want to go in my garden you have to ask permission.”
“I will. I think I’d like to explore it further.” He winks at me. I didn’t realize winks could be so sexy. “I promise to be careful and not deflower any of your plants.”
My mouth goes dry as I realize: he’s flirting with me. Oh. My. God. I’ve never been good at flirting, but his words have my imagination spinning and the reply is easy. “Sometimes a little deflowering is healthy.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
I feel my body heat up, and I have to move away from him. I finish watering the circle of flower beds, and then grab the second bag of soil. I join James on the ground and dive into filling the beds. It’s hot, and soon I’m sweating, my arms covered in dirt. James is sweating too, and I’m desperately trying not to imagine him without his shirt on, sweating and glorious. The work is good, and the silence comfortable. I keep sneaking glances at him out of the corner my eye because I can’t help it. I’m pretty sure he knows it too.
He pauses to get more soil from his bag and adds, “I wouldn’t have thought you were the kind of girl to get dirty.” The way his fingers form the soil around the plants has me imagining his fingers doing other things. To me.
“I—” I look over at him, and he’s closer than I realized. So close that I can see his eyes are a rich coffee brown and there are crinkles around them as he smiles. His eyes move down to my mouth, and I realize I’m thinking about him kissing me. And what I imagine is being kissed like I’ve never been kissed before, right here on the ground, his arms pulling me tightly against his hard body, and now I’m staring at him again. “I like getting dirty,” I murmur. “Dirty is good.”
His lips curl into a teasing smile. “I guess we’ll have to save that for another time, then.” He gestures to the ground. “We’re finished.”
I hadn’t even realized that we’d made it all the way around the circle. “I guess we are. What do you have left to do?”
James picks up both the bags of soil. “Clean the pool. Saved it for last.”
“Great,” I say, “I’ll see you over there.”
He laughs. “It’s kind of a one person job, though I appreciate the offer.”
I turn and give him my best flirtatious smile. “You’re going to clean the pool. I’m going to use it.”
3
James
I watch Vera walk toward the house, and I’m absolutely sure there’s a swing in her hips that wasn’t there before.
Damn, I’m in trouble.
When Mike asked me to fill in for him this week he told me the client’s daughter was hot. I’m going to kill him when I see him next, because she’s way more than hot. She’s got curves no amount of clothing is going to hide, and I’ve been half hard since the moment she ran up totally intent on ripping me a new one.
I take the bags of soil back to the utility shed, thinking about the way she let her hands get dirty. I’ve met plenty of girls like her—rich and spoiled and totally privileged. But most of them are too worried about looking good to do any kind of work. Vera surprised me, but she was still planning on busting me for working in her garden. Until she saw me.
I relive the way her eyes travelled all ov
er me, and…I have to think about anything but that in order to keep my body in control.
Then there’s the fact that she wants to be a humanitarian. It’s something else I wouldn’t have pegged her for. I like the contradictions I’m finding even though I just met her. The image of her sweating in the sun and inches away from me comes back. I was seconds away from kissing her. I would have pushed her down into the flowers. I would have kissed her breathless before slowly finding out the dimensions of each and every one of her curves. I let myself imagine everything.
I can see the way her skin will streak with dirt and sweat, her nipples hardening under my lips and teeth. I can feel the heat of her as I pull my gloves off and press my fingers into her one by one, and I can imagine the tight exquisite pleasure as I sink deep inside her.
My dick is straining painfully against my jeans, and I’m more than tempted to take care of it right here in this little garden closet.
I think about vegetables. About cute animals. About being cold. Anything to get me to cool down. I took this job for the extra money, and I don’t want to get fired for jacking off next to the tools. If I’m going to get fired, it’s going to be for a better reason than that.
It takes a few minutes, but I manage to get the raging hard-on under control. I check the time—I have a couple of hours. I have more than enough time to clean the pool and get back across town in time. If I move fast I might be able to get some work done on the Mastersons’s house before the end of the day. I make sure all the landscaping tools are put away and head over to the pool shed. It made me laugh when Mike told me they had two sheds, but these kinds of houses always have more than they need.
The pool shed is infinitely nicer—it doubles as a changing room for guests. I grab the pH kit and the chemicals and the skimmer and head back out onto the patio—holy hell.
