Daddy's Virgin

by Claire Adams

  "Well, at least you're starting to get press for this so-called new 'work' of yours," Evan said. He jangled the keys to his new sports car. "I mean, it's one step above charity luncheons and craft bazaars, but at least it's something."

  I stopped at my front door. "Would you rather I was jet-setting around the world, partying, and having the time of my life?"

  "Frankly, that would feel more normal than this," Evan said. "Anyway, Father told me to check in on you, and now you can tell him I stopped by. I have to get going if I want to make my tee time."

  I didn't bother to wave as Evan sped off in his sports car, revving the engine so the whole neighborhood would notice. My thoughts were across the bay.

  For the first few months after Hyperion was sold, I spent my time making the charity rounds, but my brother was right. There were only so many luncheons and silent auctions that I could stand. So, I started working on my own charitable outlets and finally settled on community renovations. It had started off quietly at first, but now my approach was gaining interest.

  It would only be a matter of time before Tasha noticed my efforts were sprouting in her own backyard. If she even still lived there. I had heard a few weeks back that she had moved, but no one seemed to know any other details than that. I hated Tasha's low profile even as I emulated it myself.

  She was still on my mind as I traversed my empty mansion. Upstairs there was nothing but a tailored suit hanging on the back of the master suite door. My small suitcase lay open on the long marble counter in the bathroom, and all my other measly possessions were safe in storage.

  I lifted the suit off the hook and held it up. It was the same one I wore to the yacht party. The same one that Tasha had peeled off me in her attempt to get me out of her system. I wondered for the thousandth time if it had worked for her.

  It had made things worse for me. I rehung the suit and turned on a cold shower. Just the memory of Tasha still made me sweat.

  I jumped out the shower fifteen minutes later to the incessant ringing of my phone. I grabbed the one white towel left in the house and wrapped it around my waist. "Berger, where are you?" I asked, answering the call.

  "Downstairs. What are you doing in that empty house? Get down here so we can go out and party," Berger said.

  "I'm just getting dressed. Front door's open," I said. I hung up the phone and finished drying off.

  By the time I made it downstairs, my former colleagues were playing an impromptu game of hockey with a can of caviar from my realtor's thank-you basket. I stopped the improvised puck with my foot and shot it back towards Berger.

  "There you are. We couldn't find you in this mausoleum," Berger said.

  "It's not that bad," I said.

  Berger glanced around the white marble mansion. "Not bad if you're eighty," he declared.

  The others agreed and made a string of jokes about the echoing home.

  "Are you done yet? Can we get out of here?" I grabbed my suitcase and carried it to the door. "I'm going to throw this in the trunk. I'm heading to a hotel tonight."

  "I don't blame you," Berger said. "I feel like I'm about to get interred."

  "Then let's go," I said.

  I herded the guys towards the big arched front doors, but Berger slipped around me. "Looks like you started to get a little work done on the place. Smart idea, taking down this wall."

  "Not my idea," I said.

  Berger nodded. "Seems like an Ellison touch to me. She has a great eye for sight lines and how a room should flow."

  "Yeah, Ellison's good like that. Wait, how do you know?" I asked. Our colleagues answered with a trio of juvenile cooing.

  "Stop." Berger's light smile was gone. "She's always admiring and comparing the interiors when I, ah, run into her at cocktail parties."

  It was my turn to pester my friend. "So, you 'run into' Ellison a lot, do you?" I asked.

  Before our friends could answer for him, Berger held up his hand. "We run in the same circles. It's only natural."

  "If you like charity luncheons and art openings," I said. The guys laughed.

  This time it was Berger that herded us towards the front doors. "I thought you didn't like to talk about Ellison anymore."

  "But I would like to talk about your sudden interest in my ex-girlfriend," I said.

  Berger scowled. "You're over her. You made that abundantly clear."

  I sighed. "Not to everyone."

  Rumors still circulated that Ellison and I would get married. People delighted in thinking that our distance was due to the fact we were trying to keep our exclusive wedding a secret. It was ridiculous, but I was glad to see that it bothered someone else besides me. Berger looked miserable when the guys still joked with me about it.

  "Besides," Berger said, perking up, "tonight is not about me and the only charitable giving that's going to happen tonight is tips. Let's go out and turn San Francisco upside down."

  I tried to stop in the door, but Berger and the guys shoved me through. Before I could protest, remind them that I didn't party for a living anymore, my suitcase was thrown into the limousine trunk and I was pushed into the plush interior. A small disco ball was already spinning inside the party vehicle and the mini-bar was wide open.

  Berger instructed the driver to take us past all the hottest clubs in town so we could scope out the scene. I sat back and tried not to see the Bay Bridge at every turn as we wound down from my neighborhood to the lower districts. Every time I saw the bridge, I had the urge to drive straight to Tasha's little town.

  "So, I've sold my house," I said. "Have we heard of any other Hyperion employees moving?"

  "Nah, but look at that," Berger said.

  I glanced out the limousine window just in time to see Stan walking in the front doors of a five-star restaurant. "The big shot himself," I said.

  Berger snorted. "Yeah, who knew that our cutthroat leader would give it all up and become the patron saint of the city?"

  It seemed to me that Stan had been influenced by Tasha as much as she had been mentored by him. I had kept tabs on my old boss in hopes of seeing mention of her, but so far she was off the radar. Stan, on the other hand, had founded one of the largest charity institutions created in recent history. He broke tradition, and it had galvanized the upper echelons of San Francisco society - where he gave, they followed.

  Tasha had to be behind it all, I knew it, but no one could tell me any details. Berger delighted in dangling rumors in front of me, only to admit that he hadn't heard anything about Tasha either.

  "Forget about our disappearing colleague," Berger said. "Tonight you promised you'd have fun."

  He hauled me out of the limousine and into the club. I kept it up for all of fifteen minutes before I slipped away and headed up to the rooftop lounge. There I had two stiff drinks before I was able to turn around and face the view.

  The Bay Bridge was glowing in a light fog. The dark waters of the bay only accentuated the bright bridge's iconic silhouette, but it didn't catch my eye. Instead, I found myself gazing off across the water to the opposite shore. The last I heard Tasha was still there, and I wished more than anything that I could see her again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tasha

  The event organizer shook my hand again. "Your foundation has contributed so much, and we're so honored you could join us. It might seem a little plain to you, but I promise you'll have a great night."

  "A little plain?" I asked. "True elegance is simplicity."

  Topher furiously typed my words into his phone. "Great quote, Ms. Nichols."

  I nodded to the organizer and walked into the banquet hall. "When are you going to remember to call me Tasha?" I asked my assistant.

  "When you're not being honored at an awards dinner," Topher said.

  I smiled at his prim tone. "Well, Ms. Nichols' image is all thanks to you, so I can't complain."

  My young assistant's ears reddened. "I'll go and find our table. You just mingle. And enjoy yourself."

&nb
sp; His reminder was serious. Even Stan had complained that all my tabloid shots looked too stern. I still wasn't used to the pomp of high society charity events, and they often made me feel stiff and awkward.

  Luckily, this was a local awards dinner hosted by and for the communities I was helping. It was a relief to see the server staff were volunteers; no white gloves in sight. I thanked the young woman who brought me a glass of wine, and she smiled. It felt good to be around real people and not in a room of people playing a role.

  Stan kept on at me about playing my role. Now that I was officially known as a billionaire, I needed to act the part. Ivy had decked me out in an entirely new wardrobe; Barbie was using her nesting instincts to decorate my new home, and Topher deferred to me like royalty. It all made me cringe, but it was a small price to pay for the work I was able to get done.

  I glanced around the room and noted a few charitable CEOs who I recognized. While two stood off to the side clearly discussing their next trip to St. Barts, one was engaged in discussion with a volunteer server. I watched as the two economically polarized people smiled and laughed. The CEO then clapped the volunteer on the shoulder. It was a genuine exchange, and as I sipped my inexpensive wine, I started to enjoy myself. Somewhere there existed a network of ultra-rich and yet low-key people, and I vowed to find them.

  With that in mind, I scanned the room again. It was a smaller gathering, but there were still enough people to fill the banquet hall and make it a maze of clustered conversations. In my vicinity, there were discussions of best golf courses, Napa Valley vintages, and the cost of maintaining a community swimming pool. As I wound my way around a round table, I heard opinions on why Rome was the place to be, how to make a billion dollars flipping commercial real estate, and why pancake breakfasts are the best charity fundraisers.

  It was easy to remember to smile as I wove amongst the varied conversations, taking note of those in my tax bracket who still sounded like regular people. I was just about to join a discussion on using goats for median maintenance when someone bumped into me.

  "Tasha, I mean, Ms. Nichols. So nice to see you again," Rainer said.

  I was speechless and felt my bottom lip drop open like a fish's mouth. Rainer turned his back on the men he'd been talking to, a powerful duo straight from Wall Street, and focused entirely on me. I popped my mouth closed, but couldn't think of a word to say.

  "You know, I think the last time we met like this, out socially, it was on James Berger's yacht. Do you remember that party?" Rainer asked.

  I narrowed my eyes but managed to stick my smile back in place. "It's always nice to see an old co-worker. How are you?"

  Rainer smirked. "So casual. So polite. Definitely the Ms. Nichols who most people know."

  "And what is wrong with casual and polite?" I asked.

  "Is that how you would describe our meeting at that yacht party?" Rainer asked.

  I fought the urge to punch him in the shoulder. "I much prefer parties like these, don't you?"

  "Oh, look, your drink’s low. Let's get you a refill." Rainer caught my arm and gracefully escorted me across the banquet hall to a quiet corner just past the beverage table.

  A server brought over two glasses of wine and I turned to her. "Thank you. Oh, your name tag says you work in recreational aquatics—"

  Rainer took the glasses. "We were just discussing boats and boat parties."

  The volunteer smiled politely and slipped away, leaving me to face Rainer and his determined conversation alone. I took a sip of my wine and looked desperately for any other conversation to join.

  He stepped closer to me and the warmth of him mixed with his intoxicating cologne swept over me. My polite smile slipped, and I caught myself licking my lower lip.

  Rainer did not miss my reaction. He slipped an arm around my waist. From across the room, we probably looked like old, familiar co-workers surveying the room together, but I felt his fingers flex over the curve of my hip. A shot of desire singed through me and, instead of pulling away, I leaned closer. I couldn't help myself.

  "So, you'll have to tell me if that plan of yours worked or not." Rainer clinked his wine glass against mine.

  "What plan?" I asked. I couldn't pull away without making a scene.

  Rainer's fingers stroked the silk of my sundress in hot, lazy circles. "The plan to get me out of your system. I told you, it didn't work for me. Have you been faring any better?"

  I moved then but his arm encircled me and my breasts bumped against the front of his sports coat. It took a full five seconds before I managed to step back. I then counted another five before trying to respond.

  My voice was breathless. "Do you really expect me to admit anything to you?"

  Rainer laughed and luckily Topher took that as the signal that he could now approach. "It's so nice to see you two together."

  "Topher. It's like the band getting back together," Rainer said. He shook his former assistant's hand.

  "I've been meaning to thank you for recommending Topher to me. He's an excellent resource," I said.

  Rainer arched an eyebrow at me. "Yeah, well, my plan backfired because our ethical man here wouldn't funnel me any information on how you've been doing."

  "I appreciate that," I told Topher.

  Topher looked from me to Rainer with an eager expression. "Maybe I should make you late dinner reservations? I'm not sure how much food they are serving here, and there's a new tapas place not far. That would give you real time to catch up."

  I held up a hand before Rainer could agree with my assistant. "We're fine here. Thank you."

  "Mr. Maxwell has been inquiring after you," Topher admitted. "It would take the pressure off me as the middle man."

  Rainer put an arm around his old assistant. "Give him a break, Ms. Nichols."

  "I think that's up to you," I said.

  Topher saw my stiff response and found himself an errand to run across the room.

  I watched him go before I turned to Rainer. "I still haven't managed to include late night wining and dining in my work schedule."

  "Why not? It makes morning meetings harder but the advantage is the relaxed perspective you get of clients," Rainer said.

  "I'm not your client," I pointed out.

  Rainer gave a frustrated sigh. "You know, it's okay to add a little excitement to your work."

  "That's the problem," I said. "I'm just not exciting enough. I know the other junior executives used to call me the Ice Queen."

  "I never once called you that. In fact, my experience was much the opposite," Rainer said.

  I scanned the room again as my cheeks reddened. The pre-awards cocktails were still being served by volunteers and we were far enough on the edges of the crowd to pass unnoticed. It was ridiculous, but I knew I couldn't have a conversation with Rainer while in work mode because he upset my composure. The one thing he seemed determined to do.

  "Let's just face facts," I said. "I was never exciting enough for you and you probably breathed a sigh of relief when you didn't have to deal with my work style anymore."

  Rainer frowned. "Face facts? Speaking of facing facts, I believe I asked you a question about how your plan worked out and you never got a chance to answer it."

  I ground my teeth. "I'm not discussing yacht parties or anything that may have happened at them."

  "May have?" Rainer shook his head. "I'm creative, but there's no way I worked up that fantasy all on my own."

  My cheeks burned with a brighter blush. "Fantasy?" I squeaked.

  Rainer leaned close to my ear. "You never think about it? Us alone in that cabin while the party and rock concert raged on without us?"

  I stepped away from him and stopped the urge to fan my hot face. "Stop," I whispered.

  "No, not until you face facts. I don't find you boring, and I never did. In fact, you are one of the most exciting, and damn frustrating, women I have ever met," Rainer said.

  My eyes widened enough to notice not only Topher, but my entire team beari
ng down on us. Within seconds, I was engulfed by questions on seating, acceptance speeches, who was to be in charge of taking the award to the office, and fifty other small details.

  "I'm sure I can handle all of this," Topher said. "Just say the word."

  I glanced up at Rainer. "I'm sorry, but it looks like I have work to do."

  "You never were good at delegating," Rainer said.

  A bubble of nervous laughter broke out of my mouth. "Can you imagine what would have happened if I delegated to one of my temporary assistants? I really can't thank you enough for recommending Topher."

  Rainer caught my hand. "Or to your fellow junior executives. How did you put up with us for so long?"

  I didn't want to let go of what appeared to be a casual handshake. None of my team noticed except for Topher whose eyes shone with approval. Then the house lights flickered and a swell of pre-recorded music caught everyone's attention.

  "If you will please find your seats, the awards ceremony will begin shortly," a nervous voice announced.

  Rainer squeezed my fingers. "I really want us to catch up, Tasha."

  The sincerity in his eyes tipped me off balance and I hung on to his hand to keep from swaying. "Your boring old stick-in-the-mud colleague?"

  "That's not how I remember you at all," Rainer said.

  His gaze was hot, but there was more to his words than just innuendo. The lights flickered again, and I shot the cheap chandelier an irritated look. "I'm sure we'll run into each other again."

  Topher piped up. "The tapas place is three blocks away, and they are holding a table for me, if you want."

  Rainer laughed and slipped his hand out of my grip to chuck his old assistant on the shoulder. "Always anticipating. Glad you're taking such good care of our Tasha."

  Topher pointed me to our table, far across the room, as Rainer turned to a nearby table. He pulled out a chair for the older woman next to him, and our eyes met.

  "Good luck," I said, reluctant to move.

  He winked and the flutters that flirty move caused followed me all the way to our far table. My head cleared as I nodded to my fellow table mates. What was I thinking flirting with Rainer Maxwell? As far as I knew, he was engaged to Ellison Ramsey and planning the pinnacle of a high-society wedding.