by Louise Bay
I had to decide my next move quickly or Margaret would hang up. Fuck it, this was war. “I’d hoped he’d enjoy seeing his daughter in a professional environment,” I said. Silence at the other end of the line nudged me to continue. “I was assuming Harper Jayne would join us for lunch. But I understand that Mr. Jayne is very busy.”
“Please hold the line, Mr. King,” she replied and her voice was quickly replaced with Vivaldi.
Had I just been the asshole Harper accused me of being? Was using her to get a lunch with Charles Jayne any worse than taking advantage of the fact Charles Jayne’s offer of a meeting was probably linked to her working here? The problem was none of us were sure whether or not I got the phone call from Charles Jayne because of Harper. Regardless, I hadn’t been the one to play that card—I hadn’t even known they were related. All I’d done was take advantage of a business opportunity. Fuck.
Lunch required interaction that went beyond the professional. I had no idea whether or not Harper would think lunch was no big deal, after all she’d agreed to pitch, or if she’d knee me in the balls and hand her notice in if I even suggested it.
I should have thought this whole call through more carefully in advance, maybe had Harper in the room when I spoke to Margaret. It wasn’t like me. I couldn’t tell if Harper had thrown me off my game or if it was the thought of landing JD Stanley as a client.
Maybe Margaret would come back and still say that Charles Jayne’s schedule was full. I reached inside my collar and ran my finger around the starched material. I shouldn’t have acted so rashly.
“Mr. King, I can make some time for you on Wednesday. Mr. Jayne will see you and Harper at twelve thirty at La Grenouille.”
Shit. That was the answer I wanted and the one that made me feel uncomfortable.
I hoped I’d done the right thing.
After thanking Margaret, I hung up the phone.
Maybe I didn’t have to tell Harper. Maybe I could just turn up to lunch on my own and say Harper had been caught up in the office or was sick.
But then Charles Jayne hadn’t founded a leading investment bank without the ability to smell bullshit a mile away. No. I’d have to confess to Harper what I’d done, and if she didn’t want to come to lunch, I’d have to cancel.
Jesus, why was this so fucking complicated? I’d done what I needed in order to win. If Harper and I hadn’t banged, would I be second guessing myself?
“Did you get it?” Donna asked as she burst through the door.
I nodded and leaned back in my chair. “Wednesday,” I said.
“Well, why don’t you look happier about it? Things are coming together just as you’d planned.”
I scrubbed my face with my hands. “Yeah, maybe.”
“What’s the matter with you? This is great news.” She closed the door.
Donna was right; this was what I’d been hoping for. What had been my ultimate goal just three weeks ago was now tarnished with the knowledge I’d gotten there by using Harper.
People said I was ruthless in business and that may be true, but I’d never been underhanded and I always tried to do the right thing. I wanted to be someone my daughter could admire and respect and emulate in some ways. I wanted her to be ambitious and driven. But my greatest wish was for her to grow up knowing what was important, that she became someone who understood integrity and hard work was the way to go. I didn’t want to raise a daughter who would sell her soul for a piece of corporate pie. And I’d worked hard not to be that guy. Had I just thrown that all away?
I’d always found the ethical boundaries were drawn quite distinctly on Wall Street, but today that line had become fuzzier and I wasn’t sure on which side of it I stood.
*
Instead of calling for an elevator when I got home after work, I took the stairs. Was I about to make a dick move by giving these shoes to Harper?
Quite possibly.
My shoes made clunking sounds against the metal steps, as if they were trying to call attention to my climb, which was the last thing I wanted. The white Jimmy Choo bag swung against my side. I’d spent about an hour in the Bleaker Street store before committing to the purchase that had made me late to work. I’d never a bought a woman outside of my family anything, ever. But since I’d seen the look of pure joy lighting up Harper’s face when she picked out Amanda’s shoes, I’d wanted to see that expression again. She’d been excited and bright and full of enthusiasm. And as the daughter of one of the richest men in New York, it was nice to see. She should have been used to luxury, but somehow she’d managed to make Amanda feel special.
I wanted her to feel the same way again.
The assistant at the store had been very patient with me. But I’d seen the pair I wanted as soon as I walked in. They were like an adult version of the pair I’d bought Amanda. The heel was higher and thinner and straps more intricate but they were covered in that glittery finish she and Amanda had gone wild over on Saturday.
I’d torn the buttons from her blouse so I owed her, didn’t I? Memories of revealing her full breasts when I’d ripped her blouse drifted into my head, and I tried to shake them off.
But I had more than one reason to buy her shoes. She’d found a dress for my daughter that reduced the chances of me going to jail for the murder of every fourteen-year-old boy who so much as looked at her. I had to thank her, and shoes were an appropriate gift.
As I reached her floor, I paused before opening the fire door. I could just leave them on her doorstep. I wanted her to have them more than I wanted to be the one to give them to her, to see that look of pleasure on her face. At least I hoped it would be pleasure. Buying an employee shoes wasn’t the actions of a boss—they had a touch of Vegas about them and I wasn’t sure how she’d react to that.
I needed to stop being such a pussy.
I knocked three times on her door and stretched out my hands, trying to resist the buzz in my fingers I knew would start when she appeared. It was as if I were pre-programmed to reach for her whenever I saw her.
She appeared seconds later, dressed in a Berkeley T-shirt and leggings, her hair in a high ponytail—a style I’d never seen her wear to work. She looked breathtaking.
“Hi,” she said, her mouth slightly open.
“Hi.” I held out the bag.
Her eyebrows knitted together. “What’s that?” she asked, though she didn’t take it.
“A thank you. For Saturday and … You know, for giving up your time last weekend.”
Her eyebrows raised and a smile twinged at the corners of her mouth. “Really?” she asked. “It was fine. You don’t need to buy me a gift.” And then she frowned.
I hadn’t expected this reaction. I’d wanted to make her smile, maybe smooth her hands through my hair and kiss me. “Okay.” I should tell her about lunch, get it out of the way. “And I have something to tell you.”
She opened the door and I followed her into her apartment, leaving the Jimmy Choos underneath her coat rack. She wasn’t even going to look at them? The door clicked shut behind us and instantly I knew I made a mistake. Suddenly I was back in Vegas. I couldn’t stop staring at her ass, wondering whether she was wearing a bra under her shirt. The buzz in my fingers grew stronger, and I had to take a deep breath to calm my rising pulse.
“You want a drink?” she asked.
“Sure, thanks.” Holding a glass would occupy my hands, stop them from wandering to the hem of her T-shirt, and skirting the smooth skin underneath.
She set two glasses on the small counter as I watched. She seemed unbothered by my presence, as if I was something other than wildly attracted to her.
She handed me a glass of lemonade and leaned against the cabinet. “So,” she said.
Her small, delicate fingers wrapped around her glass and I couldn’t help imagining how they’d feel, cooled by her drink, trailing down my chest.
“Max,” she said and I snapped my head up to look at her. “What did you have to tell me?”
S
hit. I shifted my weight from one foot to both, trying to regain control. “I took your advice and called your father’s assistant.”
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t call him my father.”
I nodded. I wanted to know why she so clearly didn’t like the man. Didn’t speak to him, but kept a dossier on his business investments. Didn’t want anything to do with him except to show him just how worthy of his attention she was. “Should we talk about this? I don’t really understand your history. And I’d like to.”
“Is talking about parents something you normally do with employees?” she asked, a frown creasing her forehead. She pushed off the counter and came toward me, clearly wanting me to move out of the way so she could leave the kitchen. Our bodies were close, the heat of her breath puffing against my shirt. I didn’t move. I liked having her close. I wanted more.
I ran my finger up her exposed neck and her lips parted, but as her eyes met mine, she pushed past me.
I turned to find her loitering by the door. “You should go,” she said, her eyes on the floor.
“I should,” I agreed. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay and peel off her T-shirt, bend her over the sofa, and slide into her. I stepped toward her and rested my hand on her hip.
“What did you have to tell me?”
Oh yes, lunch. Her presence, like some kind of fog, clouded my brain and my judgement.
She placed her hand on my arm and it drifted up to my shoulder. I had to consciously breathe.
“Max?”
Her clipped tone brought me to attention. “I called his assistant. She found a spot in his schedule.” Taking a half step closer, I smoothed my hand from her hip to the small of her back.
She raised her eyebrows as she tilted her head up to look at me. “That’s good, right?”
I nodded. “Except he seemed to be busy until I told her you’d be joining us.”
Dropping her hand from my shoulder, she took two steps to the side.
“And so you’re here. With gifts. And wandering hands.”
I took a step back, removing my hand from her warm body. “What? No.” Was that what this looked like? As if I were trying to bribe her? Seduce her into agreeing to lunch?
“Jesus, I know you think I’m an asshole. But, no.”
She shrugged. Didn’t she believe me? Fuck. This was why lines were better when they were clearly drawn—when business was business and fucking was fucking. I shouldn’t have come here.
“Don’t come to lunch.” I reached for the door. “The shoes weren’t anything to do with work. I bought them before my call with your father.” And my desire for her was nothing to do with Charles Jayne. She conjured that up all by herself.
Jesus, I should never have bought the shoes. Should never have come here. I stepped out of her apartment
“Max,” she said and I didn’t respond, letting the door shut behind me.
Chapter Eleven
Harper
I stood by Donna’s desk, shoulders back, ready for war.
It was eleven fifty. We needed to leave now if we were sure to be in Midtown on time for lunch with my father, but Max wasn’t in his office.
I hadn’t spoken to Max since he left my apartment. I’d expected Donna to send me a meeting request or to be summoned into Max’s office and told that me going to lunch with my father and Max was for the good of the team. The thing was I was happy to do it. Okay, not happy, but I was prepared to lunch with my father. I wanted to be seen on the winning team. Lunch could only help my goal if it meant we were more likely to be successful in our pitch.
I wore a navy dress, just above the knee with a scoop neck, and a matching, collarless jacket I’d had tailored to nip in at the waist. It was my lucky interview suit—and as close to Prada as I could afford.
“Donna, I need to leave,” Max said as he swept past me and into his office. Donna followed him and set the file she was carrying down on her desk.
Max appeared in his doorway. “Harper,” he said, fiddling with the collar on his navy jacket. I wanted to step forward and smooth my fingers over the fabric. He looked good. He always looked good.
“Are you ready?” I asked.
He just nodded and we headed to the elevators.
“Good luck,” Donna called after us.
We stood, silently waiting for the elevators, surrounded by employees of King & Associates.
I should also thank him for the shoes. He probably thought I’d been ungrateful but that wasn’t it. The present had taken me off guard and brought back memories of the extravagant gifts my father used to send me as a child to try to make up for the fact he’d forgotten my birthday or hadn’t turned up to visit me when he said he would.
Perhaps it was unwrapping the beautiful Jimmy Choo’s that changed my mind but as I thought about it, it occurred to me perhaps Max just didn’t get how his timing had sucked. The gift had been a thank you rather than a bribe. He probably hadn’t realized he’d looked as if he was trying to manipulate me with gifts and come-ons. With that realization came an understanding of some of his odd behavior on Saturday. I realized that for whatever reason, he was a little bit awkward with me. That clearly didn’t stop him trying to seduce me or fucking me as though it was his job. But outside of the seduction and the sex, he wasn’t so confident, so practiced.
As Max and I settled into the cab, which sped off uptown, we started to speak at the same time.
“I wanted to say sorry,” I said.
“Thank you for coming,” he said.
We turned toward each other and he gave a small smile.
“The shoes were beautiful,” I said.
He looked away. “It was inappropriate. I shouldn’t have.” He dragged his hand through his hair and I gazed at his long fingers, knowing just how they felt all over my body.
“It was a really nice thing to do.”
“You just seemed to like the ones Amanda got on Saturday.”
I grinned. They were a higher, sparklier, sexier take on his daughter’s.
“And I know I take up too much of your time already. Giving up your weekend was—”
“No big deal.” I couldn’t exactly admit I’d assumed he was disinterested in his daughter and had wanted to save her from his apathy. I couldn’t have been more wrong. He clearly loved Amanda and she him. The King of Wall Street had a secret identity in Connecticut as a single father and family man.
We’d first touched, kissed, fucked when I’d only known him as a career driven, ruthless, arrogant egomaniac. And somehow, his life outside work made him all the more attractive. And I knew I had to fight it.
“And thank you for coming today. I assumed you weren’t going to join me,” he said.
I’d kind of admired the fact he hadn’t asked me to come to lunch again, hadn’t tried to pressure me. But he didn’t need to. I wanted to be here. “I told you. I want this as much as you. Just for different reasons.”
“Have you never gotten along with your father—sorry, Charles Jayne?”
I took a breath. I didn’t want to talk about this. Not now. Not ever.
I shrugged, and he didn’t push me to say anything more. We just sat, the windows rolled down, the hoots and hollers of New York sucking away the silence between us. It should have been awkward. I was sure if we hadn’t fucked, I would have tried to make polite conversation, maybe even tried to impress the boss. Somehow all that seemed redundant now. Ridiculous even.
The restaurant was busy with chatter and I slid into the red velvet seat. We were the first to arrive at the booth, which was a relief. I had some time to compose myself. I’d not been to La Grenouille in years, not since the last time I’d seen my father. This place hadn’t changed at all.
“This is very …” Max looked around the restaurant, his forehead crumpled and his lips tight. I was pretty sure Max was a Four Seasons guy, the type to appreciate and prefer cool and modern. The décor at La Grenouille was old-fashioned. The wallpaper was gold and cream and the crystal
chandeliers gave out a yellow light that descended like a heavy blanket. The rest of New York was celebrating twenty-first century America while we were here, pretending we were in nineteenth century France.
I had to stifle a giggle. “Have you never been here before?” I asked.
“No.” He frowned. “And now I know why.” He shook out his napkin and put it in his lap. “Everyone is so old. And everything is so very—” Before Max could finish his thought, the host approached with my father, who had arrived right on time.
Max stood up but my father greeted me first. “Harper, how are you?” he asked as I leaned forward, accepting his kiss on my cheek. No doubt the order of greeting was more about him trying to make sure Max felt as unimportant as possible, though I couldn’t imagine Max giving a shit. In fact, having seen him with his daughter, he probably thought it would be odd any other way.
“And you must be Max King,” my father said, stepping back and holding out his hand, which Max took.
He’d aged since I’d last seen him. He was still handsome, but his hair had more salt mixed with the pepper, and the dark shadows beneath his eyes were new. He was still handsome though, and I wondered whether it had been his looks that had seduced my mother and all those other women, or the money, or the power?
“So, Harper,” my father said, taking a menu from the waiter. “You’re working at King & Associates.”
I glanced across at Max, then back to my father. “Yes. For about three months now.”
He nodded and set his menu down but he didn’t reply. The silence felt awkward, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to know anything about him, so what was the point in asking a question? I was pretty sure if I said anything it would come out pointed and a little bitchy because that’s how I felt.
“We’re delighted to have her on board.” Max filled the silence.
My father raised his eyebrows. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
What, had he forgotten we didn’t speak? He occasionally tried to give me money through his lawyers, and I routinely refused. That was the extent of our relationship.
