Bossy Nights

by Liv Morris

  “I just graduated college and …” She hesitates before continuing, twisting a lock of hair. She bites down on her bottom lip, like she’s trying not to say something. “And … well, I’m here for a few days looking for a job.”

  “Bright lights, big city,” I answer, and she nods.

  My first thought is: do we have a job for her at Hammond Press? Then I realize how impossible it would be having her working there. She’d be too close and tempting.

  “Exactly. I’ve always wanted to live here, so does my best friend. If I find a position, she’s moving here too.” Her brow wrinkles slightly, her eyes expressing concern. “Well, I can’t let her down.”

  “Good luck. I’m sure you’ll find something,” I say.

  My words contain very little enthusiasm, and I feel like a complete asshole. All I’d have to do is call my HR head, and she’d wave a magic wand for Tessa, finding her a suitable job at the company. She does seem to love books. And we all need to start somewhere. My fingers itch to grab my phone, but I keep them resting at my side.

  “I have six more days to figure it out. That’s plenty of time, right?” She worries her lip, and I feel even shittier for doing nothing to help this sweet young woman. Dammit. I have to do something.

  “Give me your phone.” I hold out my open palm. She places her cell phone in my hand without a single question. Her trust should make me feel better, but it has the opposite effect, since I don’t deserve it.

  I click her phone to light up the screen, and it displays a tall handsome man with his arm around her. “Boyfriend?”

  “It’s my older brother. There’s no boyfriend,” she utters, and I try to contain a smile while entering my phone number into her cell and texting myself.

  The guys in Alabama are complete idiots. Then again, if she had a boyfriend, my worries would be over, because I’d have the best reason to stay away from her. She could never be mine. What’s troubling, though, is I’m way too happy to find out she’s single.

  I hand the phone back to her and pick up mine. “Text me your email. I’ll forward the names of a couple people looking for interns at their companies. You can drop my name, tell them I gave you their information, if you’d like.”

  I don’t know enough about her to really be a good reference, but I’ll take a gamble and consider it payback for helping me out with Don today.

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” she gushes, moving closer to me, then gently squeezes my hand. “Thanks so much.”

  She needs to quit touching me. I’m reaching the threshold of my control here.

  “You’re welcome, though I can’t guarantee anything.” I remove my hand before I wrap it around her small one.

  Needing a distraction from everything Tessa, I check my phone to see who needs something from me, because there’s always someone wanting my assistance or an answer. I can’t remember the last time I fell off the office grid like this during a workday.

  I scroll through several emails that can wait for my response until later, then I see a text from Mrs. Mackenzie wanting to know where to send Tessa’s dry-cleaned clothes. She’s asking for her address.

  Finding out where Tessa’s staying in the city isn’t smart, especially since I’m resolved to go cold turkey once she’s out of this car. But she does need her clothes back.

  I turn toward Tessa in search of the answers Mrs. Mackenzie needs, and get sidetracked by her shapely legs. I caress them with a slow gaze, then follow a curvy trail up to her eyes, imagining her without a stitch on. This time, I’m the one with the dirty thoughts.

  16

  Tessa

  The way Barclay looks at me leaves me breathless and tied in knots. My skin feels so on fire under his gaze, I want to unbutton my coat and let out some steam. But I only have on my bra and panties, so I spread the collar open wider in hopes of getting a little air on my overheated skin. Nothing helps.

  Barclay swallows. “Where are you staying in the city?” His eyes search mine.

  “The Hammond Hotel. Room six-seventeen,” I breathe. He frowns, and I have no idea why.

  “Lawrence,” Barclay calls out in a firm voice. “We need to drop Miss Holly off at the Hammond first, then my office.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lawrence replies, facing forward, his hands gripped firm on the steering wheel.

  “Mrs. Mackenzie will send your clothes to your hotel room. You can leave her coat at the front desk.”

  Like he’s checked off a task from a list, Barclay returns back to his phone and types away on the screen. And me? Well, I try to process why he just called me Miss Holly. Maybe it’s because he’s speaking to his driver.

  Either way, I can’ help but worry and feel restless the closer we get to Manhattan. There’s no guarantee I’ll see Barclay again once I exit this car.

  My unease started back at Don’s when Barclay hesitated to get in the car with me. He walked by the passenger door several times, worry lines crossing his forehead and creasing at his eyes. He seemed at war with something.

  It doesn’t take a membership to Mensa to know what it is either. My virginal status spooks him. His reaction is nothing new to me.

  Guys either run for the hills when they find out, or pursue me as a selfish challenge, hoping they can add a special notch to their bedpost.

  I’ve yet to find a guy who sticks around for the right reason, or one I’d even consider the right one for me—until yesterday. One look from Barclay Hammond across the restaurant, and my body was turned on without even a touch. I was a smoldering mess last night. Today, I’m more of a hot mess, which leads me to the impossibilities of us being together.

  He’s the kind of guy who deserves his own lifestyle spread in GQ magazine. I can see the caption for his story. Meet Barclay Hammond, New York City’s Most Eligible Bachelor. They’d ask him questions about what he’s looking for in a woman. He’d say something like beautiful, accomplished, and experienced. She’d have to be someone worthy of his sophistication.

  Why would he want me, some virgin college graduate, when he could have any woman in his bed? Being around him has made me hope for the impossible. It’s time to virgin up and forget my silly fantasies. He and I just aren’t going to happen.

  I glance over at him, and he’s still on his phone, conquering the publishing world. I let out a long sigh and lean against the door. Gazing out my window, I watch the Manhattan skyline move closer. My time with him is almost up.

  Who knows how many silent minutes later, Lawrence enters the busy streets of the city, and a lump forms in my throat. I want to say something to Barclay, like, “What are you doing for the rest of your day? Any more authors you need help with?” but I don’t want to interrupt him. His brow creases in concentration, so whatever he’s working on must be important.

  “Check your phone,” he says in his usual bossy tone. I turn from the window and find him assessing me with his dark eyes.

  I do as he asks, and there are several unread texts from a phone number with a New York City area code. It has to be him.

  I open up the first text and glance over it. He’s sent me the name and email address of a human resources manager. They also work for a company on my list of potential dream employers, but the address is different than the general one I’ve sent scores of emails to. I view all the other texts, and they’re all similar. He’s been working on his phone this entire time to help me find a job, and here I thought he was just ignoring me.

  I smile up at him in sheer disbelief, and he returns mine with a sweet smirk, like it was nothing, but I know better. He’s giving me access to people who trust him, without a clue as to whether I would be hirable or not. I owe him big time.

  “I can’t believe you did this for me,” I say, nearly in tears. I’ll blame it on that stupid lump in my throat.

  I click my seatbelt off, throw it to the side, and move closer to him. Our legs touch, and I reach up to kiss him. When my lips meet his scruffy cheeks for a quick peck, he gasps and
goes still.

  Oh no, I’ve overstepped some boundary.

  As quick as possible, I scoot back over to my side of the backseat. He resumes breathing, and our eyes meet. His are as black as night.

  “I’m happy to help you, Tessa,” he says in a husky voice. His intense gaze startles me, because I can’t tell if he’s mad or ready to pounce. My needy body hopes for the latter.

  “Sir, we’re here,” his driver announces. The car comes to a stop outside Hammond Hotel, and the tension building between us dissipates.

  Barclay lowers his head and pushes a breath out between his lips. It sounds like a long sigh of relief, likely since I’m getting out of the car. I fear my kiss was probably over the top. I hope he doesn’t regret helping me.

  “I’ll get her door, Lawrence,” he says, already halfway out of the vehicle. He has my door open in a flash, his hand extended. I place my shaky one in his and exit the car with his help.

  Still clasping hands and standing on the sidewalk, I squint up at him, trying to block the midday sun. He’s beautiful from my vantage point almost a foot below him. His hard jaw is framed with perfect scruff. His black eyes shine with vigor and strength, but there’s a hint of something else behind them. Determination, maybe.

  I’ll never meet a more gorgeous man. It can’t be humanly possible. I memorize his face, the touch of his hand holding mine, the way his eyes regard me. My heart aches, because, in this moment, I know it’s our goodbye. Tears start to fill my eyes, and I pray he says something, anything. Finally, he does.

  “Tessa.” My name rolls off his tongue in a slow, reverent way. He doesn’t seem mad, relieving some of my fears. I still believe he’s dismissing me. Though his voice and eyes may say differently, his guarded stance is clearly telling me goodbye. “Thanks again for all your help today.”

  He lifts my hand to his mouth and grazes my knuckles with his lips. My knees almost give way. I feel his soft touch in hidden places that ache for him. If only he’d let me in. He blinks and drops my hand, then a second later, his eyes blaze anew at me, making me wonder what he truly feels.

  “On the way back to the city, I emailed the manager at the hotel,” he says, tossing his head back toward the building behind him. “I told him to comp all your meals, even your hotel minibar while you’re here.”

  “You don’t need to do all that, really. It’s too much,” I stammer on, confused by all his goodness, yet odd aloofness. What am I missing? “You’ve done more than enough by giving me all the contacts, plus I got to meet my favorite author. I’m still pinching myself.”

  “Good luck, Tessa,” he says, straightening his perfect tie. His eyes shutter to a cooler version of himself. The heat is gone. I bite my lip as tears threaten again. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  “You too, Barclay,” I whisper. His head tilts, and for a brief second, I think he’s going to say something to me. Instead, he turns and walks back to his car.

  I stand alone on the sidewalk with a hand at my throat and watch him pull away. I wave at him like a lovesick teenager, but he doesn’t turn around in his seat. Probably for the best.

  I walk through the buzzing lobby of my hotel. Happy people and smiling faces surround me, eager to see what this city has to offer. I feel as if the best thing about Manhattan just drove away.

  Exhausted from the day’s roller coaster of emotions, I drag my feet down the hallway to my room. When I place the keycard over the lock, a green light glows, and I turn the door handle. Once inside my room, I notice a red-foil balloon shaped like a strawberry floating in the air. A long yellow ribbon connects it to a platter of chocolate-covered strawberries sitting on the desk.

  “Barclay?” I ask in the quietest whisper. My chin trembles. He remembered.

  Instead of walking over to the desk and opening the card lying next to the strawberries, I collapse onto the crisp covers of the bed and let go of the tears I’ve been holding at bay, releasing the tightness in my throat. I curl into a ball and sob.

  I’ll feel better once I cry this man out of my system. The problem is, I don’t want his help or gifts, though I appreciate all he’s done. What I truly want is him.

  17

  Barclay

  “Sir. It’s after seven.” Mrs. Mackenzie stands at my office door, wearing the same trench coat that hugged Tessa’s curves twenty-four hours ago. The cleaners returned it this afternoon, pressed and bagged. It seems Tessa was an apparition, appearing in my life to haunt me.

  “Enjoy your weekend. I’ll see you Monday,” I say, eyeing her over my computer screen. She flings the long strap of her purse over a shoulder, but doesn’t leave. There must be unfinished business. “Anything else?”

  “I wanted to follow up on the awards dinner. They’ve asked the name of your plus one.” She waits for my reply, tapping a sensible heel on the marble floor.

  I want to say it’s none of their damn business, but only because I haven’t secured a date yet. Tessa’s the one woman I’d like to bring, but happens to be the last woman I should take.

  Cold turkey, I keep silently chanting, but I’m not convincing myself. I’ve opened my phone and glanced at her saved number a hundred times since I left her on the sidewalk yesterday. I almost had Lawrence circle the car back around to the hotel. Driving away from her and ignoring the powerful connection between us was one of the hardest things I’ve done in my life. I still regret it, but what choice did I have? Our timing is off by at least ten years.

  A part of me hoped to hear from her today too, acknowledging that she’d received the chocolate-covered strawberries I had placed in her room. But she’s been silent. It’s for the best.

  “Tell the event coordinator you weren’t able to confirm the name.” Mrs. Mackenzie tilts her head, giving me a puzzled look. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “No, sir.” She sighs, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “You did get the message from Mr. Black requesting Tessa Holly sits next him?” The slightest smile moves across her face.

  “I did,” I say, matter-of-fact, giving nothing away. “That nosy man needs to mind his own business.”

  “Good luck telling him that.” She laughs at my expense, straightening her coat belt, just like Tessa did the day before. “Good night, Mr. Hammond.”

  After Mrs. Mackenzie leaves, I scan the weekly sales figures. When the numbers blur before me, I give up for the night and shut down my computer. Preparing to leave, I grab my phone off the desk and stare at the black screen. Ignoring the voice of reason, I pull up her number and pound out a text. My finger hovers over the send button, but then I remember her cloudy blue eyes calling to me as I walked away and push send.

  Did you like the strawberries?

  I stare at the screen and wait. A minute passes, then another, until finally, it displays the bubbling dots of a possible incoming text. I hold my breath like a desperate sixteen-year-old schoolboy. Even my hands start perspiring.

  Yes. They were very juicy.

  Jesus. My mind flies into overdrive. I imagine her biting into the chocolate layer with the fruit beneath. Juice spills over her full pink lips, running down her chin. My mouth starts to water, and not for the strawberry—for her. Kill me now.

  I should just let it go, let her go, but I can’t. It does feel safer just texting. It’s not like I’m actually going to see her again. It’s completely harmless.

  What are you up to?

  At least I didn’t ask what she’s wearing, though I’d love to know.

  Getting ready for a drink date.

  Date? The word slaps me across the face, and the floor drops out from under me. Who the hell is she going out with? I fear it’s some wolf wandering the streets looking for an innocent young woman to devour. It’s how I felt about her, but I stepped away, controlled myself.

  I want to ask who she’s seeing, find out all the details, but I’m too late. I should’ve never left her alone.

  “Dammit.” My voice fills the empty office. I s
crub a hand over my face, frustrated and unsure how to respond … if at all. I decide not to text her back. Why torture myself? The sweet, beautiful woman with the blue eyes and legs for days will never be mine, no matter how much I want to possess her.

  Well, I sure as hell don’t want to spend tonight alone, especially with her out having fun. I need to blow off some steam, drink till this ache in my chest fades. There’s only one thing to do: call my best friend, Lucas. I locate his number on my contact list and press the call button, determined to forget Tessa, even as her beautiful face and beaming smile flash in my mind. The vision makes me smile too.

  “Barclay,” Lucas shouts over loud background noise. “What you doing, man?”

  “Calling you.”

  “But not Barbie.” Great. He had to mention her. “She’s been waiting for your call too.”

  “Yeah, paying for a date isn’t for me,” I confess, and regret asking Lucas in the first place. Lesson learned.

  “So, everything worked out?”

  “Not really.” I want to tell him about what happened with Tessa, but he’d probably tell me to run away, like I did, bringing me full circle to the reason I’m talking to him. “Where are you?”

  “PH-D at the Dream Hotel. You should come down and join us.”

  I hear a woman’s muffled giggle, and ask, “Us?”

  “The usual crowd. Lance and Alex from the firm, along with a few hot blondes. Whatta ya say?”

  “I don’t know.” I stand up and pace to the window. The setting sun reflects an amber color off the mirrored buildings as night starts to fall.

  “You’ve been working too hard, Barc. When was the last time you had fun, or got laid, for that matter?”

  When was it? There’s been no one since Amanda and I broke up two months ago. No wonder my nerves feel frayed.

  I have two choices, and neither one of them appeal to me. Head back to my apartment, drink too much bourbon, and jack off, like I’ve been doing for too long. The other option is meeting Lucas at the club, and I know what usually happens after a night out with him. I wake up to find a woman in my bed the next morning, but at least it isn’t empty.