Bossy Nights

by Liv Morris

  “Hold on.” Presley brings his cell phone up to his ear. “I suppose you heard all of this, Officer Holly?”

  Presley nods his head, looking from Tessa to me. “All right,” he says into the phone. “Officer Holly would rather speak to you, Mr. Hammond.”

  Well, shit. Presley doesn’t wait for my reply before handing me the phone. I clear my throat, feeling like a kid being brought before the principal.

  “This is Barclay Hammond,” I say as my hands begin to sweat.

  I glance down at Tessa, and her anxious expression makes me hide mine. She needs my confidence, and frankly, so do I. I give her a slight smile and watch her exhale a deep breath. Yeah, I’ve got you, babe.

  “Mr. Hammond. Miles Holly here. I understand you’re the owner of the hotel my sister is staying at. Is this correct?” His tone is commanding, and I stifle a scoff at the first question in many to come.

  “Yes. I’m the owner,” I say. No need to elaborate on specific details until I know how he plans to take this conversation.

  “Do you have a curfew for young women?” I try not to laugh at his ludicrous question, but she did mention I was just like him when I asked if she wanted to become a nun. Maybe she should’ve stayed in a convent while here.

  “No. We aren’t restrictive in the hours of our guests coming and going.”

  “Do you have a sister, Mr. Hammond?” he asks.

  Miles is damn good at his job, because his question goes right to a soft spot. I try to imagine my sister, Victoria, going to a city like Manhattan all alone at Tessa’s age—a gorgeous young woman who hasn’t seen the evil of the real world. As a police officer, Miles knows what criminals are capable of, even in a small town like Monroeville. Plus, he likely DVRs every episode of Law & Order.

  The line is silent as he awaits my answer. Sweet Tessa worries her lip and twists a strand of hair around her finger. I take a couple deep breaths.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Well, brother to brother, I need you to do me a favor. Can you do this for me, Mr. Hammond?” He pauses, and I have only one answer.

  “Of course.”

  “Her family would be indebted to you. Make sure she’s safe while she’s there. I was seconds away from booking a plane to New York before she showed up.”

  Well, dammit. I sigh. He’d have me arrested for indecency by these two officers if he knew I was kissing Tessa only moments ago, and as hard as marble with one plan on my mind.

  “Your sister seems like a bright young woman. More than capable of taking care of herself, but I will watch over her as best as I can.” I side glance toward Tessa, speaking the truth, as much for my own need as a promise to her brother.

  “Thanks again. And tell her to keep her phone turned on.”

  “Why don’t you tell her?” I hand the phone to Tessa and she mouths, “Thank you.”

  She retreats into the open door of her room, and Presley walks behind her, following his phone. The two policemen eye me with suspicion, and I feel like they’re reading my mind.

  “Well … I guess we’re done with everything here.” I give them a two-finger salute and head toward the elevator, feeling their eyes on my back as I walk away. I bet they have sisters too. Just my luck.

  Once inside my penthouse, I head straight for my bar and pour myself a drink, making it a double. I walk out onto my terrace and recline on a cushioned lounger, staring up at the few stars able to shine through the hazy city lights. The bourbon disappears after a couple swigs. I wanted to share this view with Tessa tonight. Watch her eyes light up as she took in the city’s skyline.

  I set my glass on the table next to me and run my hands through my hair. How does a thirty-seven-year-old man, after one kiss, get cockblocked by two police officers? Wait—make that three. He chases after a southern belle and somehow becomes her chaperone.

  If only Miles knew what I wanted to do to his sister.

  Something tugs at my heart—probably my conscience. It’s a terrible thing to have in this situation, where I want the very thing I promised to keep Tessa from. I’m screwed.

  My phone vibrates with an incoming text. Victoria.

  Did you get a date for tmrw night?

  Shit. I was going to ask Tessa to come to the awards dinner tonight, but worried brothers have a way of putting an end to dates.

  What are you doing up so late?

  Beatrice can’t sleep, so neither can I. You didn’t answer the ?

  I’ll get back to you in the morning.

  Okay. Night, Barc.

  Night, sis.

  I understand Miles’ feelings about his sister. I’d want to punch a guy if he were after my innocent sister too. It’s time to admit one thing to myself: I’m not after Tessa for just sex, though I wish I were making love to her right now under this cloudless night sky.

  It’s a different kind of physical desire. More an … indescribable pull I feel toward her. Tessa isn’t a mere conquest. I want to discover what makes her her. In all my years, I’ve never experienced this feeling with any other woman. I’d always thought it was a fairy tale. Maybe I’m wrong to carry on after her, but I don’t want to miss out on the chance if I’m right.

  Leaving the terrace, I walk back inside my apartment, pick up the house phone that connects directly to the hotel lines, and press in Tessa’s room number.

  “Listen, Miles. For the millionth time, I’m sorry for putting you through—”

  “Tessa, it’s Barclay,” I interrupt her.

  “Oh thank God.” She sighs, and I imagine her collapsing on the bed. “I’m so sorry and need to thank you for everything you did tonight and also apologize for my brother’s overreaching ways. He can’t understand that I’m not fifteen.”

  “First, I have a sister too, and might have been no different. And second, you can thank me by saying yes.”

  “Yes?” she says, like it’s a question. At least she trusts me enough to utter the word.

  “Good. Now that we have that cleared up, you’re going to attend the Warwick Awards with me. Dinner begins at seven. I’ll have a car outside the hotel at six thirty. Be prompt. You’ll be attending as my plus one, on the request of Don Black. To avoid the press and photos, we aren’t officially on a date.” I pause, taking a breath. I went into CEO mode with her so easily.

  “Wow. Thanks. Of course I’ll go with you,” she replies. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever hear from you again after tonight.”

  “You think cops with guns will keep me away from you? I want you, Tessa—like I’ve never wanted a woman before.”

  “I feel the same about you. Well … but as wanting a guy, not a woman. I think I’ll quit while I’m behind.” She giggles, and the cheerful sound makes me grin like a silly teenager.

  “I promised your brother I’d watch over you, so having you near me seems like the best plan. But tomorrow night, you’ll text your family. Let them know you’re back at the hotel after the dinner. You just don’t need to mention you’re with me.”

  “Yes,” she breathes.

  “Good night, beautiful.”

  I pour one more scotch, but this time, I drink it with a smile on my face.

  27

  Tessa

  The phone blares next to me on the nightstand. My hand hits around on the wood until it connects with the offensive machine disturbing my sleep. I don’t even open my eyes as I find the receiver and bring it to my ear.

  “Hello,” I rasp. My throat feels parched—something I don’t experience often living in the humid south.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead.” It’s Barclay, and he’s way too chipper for this early in the morning. It’s like he swallowed a happy pill.

  I peek at the clock next to the phone. It’s nine, not too early, but I tossed and turned last night after my brother humiliated me. I thought my father quizzing my dates in his full-blown sheriff’s uniform with a gun holstered to his belt was bad in high school. Boy, was I wrong. Having the CEO of one of the world’s top publishing companies gr
illed by your brother was to the moon and back worse.

  “You must be a morning person,” I mumble, tossing the covers off me. I press the speaker option on the phone and pad over to the mini-bar, needing to hydrate from all the drinking last night. I pop open a bottle of water and take a gulp. It tastes like heaven.

  “And you apparently aren’t.” I feel the smile behind his words, and I grin too.

  “You’ve seen one sunrise, you’ve seen them all,” I singsong, then take another swig of water.

  “Someday, I’ll show you one to change your mind.” His voice is gravelly with a hidden meaning. I sit down on the bed by the nightstand, hug my legs to my chest, and smile.

  “All talk.” I laugh.

  “Soon, you’ll wake up in my arms with the early morning sun shining on us.” His tone is husky and full of promise.

  “I hear the weather’s supposed to be lovely tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he teases with a chuckle. “Today, I have press with Don. He seldom ventures to New York, so he’s booked with every news organization known to man. And thanks to you, Hammond is back in his good graces. I want to keep it that way.”

  “I look forward to seeing that feisty old man tonight.”

  “Since I’ll be tending to His Majesty today, I’ve made some plans for you.”

  “Oh, you have?” I ask, hesitant.

  “You might want to write this down,” he orders. I grab the notepad and pen from the desk. “Room service will bring you breakfast in thirty minutes. From noon to three, you’ll be pampered at Spa Bellerosé on Fifth Avenue. Facial, massage. Personal yoga session. Whatever you want. I’ll have a car at your service. Just introduce yourself to the doorman.”

  “I’ve never had anything so extravagant. I can’t accept this,” I protest. My idea of a spa day is an upgraded pedicure.

  “Don’t argue. You’re already on their book,” he says, giving me a gentle reprimand—one he probably uses in the boardroom. “Then, my personal stylist, Gloria Herman, from Saks, will bring several dresses to your hotel room at four. Pick one for tonight. I told her you’d want something in pink and guessed a petite size two. Close?”

  “Yes, but …” I try to stop him, but it’s no use. He rolls on with his crazy, spoil-Tessa list. I bite back a smile, hardly believing he’s doing all of this for me.

  “A hair and makeup stylist should be there by five. Sound okay?” he asks.

  “It’s too much,” I exclaim, but have a feeling nothing I say will change his mind. I feel like a princess, and he’s ruining me for all other men.

  “One more thing.” His tone turns serious. “When I threw you over my shoulder in the lobby last night, someone took a photo of us and it did end up making Page Six of the Post.”

  “Just great,” I say, shaking my head. I bet it was the man with his camera phone.

  “I’m sorry, Tessa. But there is a bright side since they only have your backside, not your face, in the photo. The Post labeled you the ‘unknown blond woman.’ They contacted me, and I declined to give your name, of course.”

  My muscles tense as an uneasy feeling sweeps over me. Barclay stands out in a crowd, and the focus of attention follows him wherever he goes. He’s New York’s publishing prince with his dark Armani suit as his coat of armor, and anyone standing near him is a casualty of his celebrity, including this unknown girl from an unknown town in Alabama.

  “Try not to worry,” he urges me. “I need to run. I’m at CNN. They’re interviewing him for a segment. Enjoy your day, Tessa. I can’t wait to see you tonight.”

  “Thank you, Barclay,” I say as he ends the call, but it doesn’t seem to be enough for all he’s done for me. I’m blown away and can hardly process it all.

  I fall back against the bed and stretch out my limbs with a huge smile plastered on my face. A facial at a New York spa would’ve been over the top by itself, but no, I’ll be wearing a dress from Saks Fifth Avenue.

  I walked by their storefront windows after a stop at Rockefeller Center yesterday and dreamed of strolling into the store someday and buying clothes without a care to the price. And now, Barclay’s making them come to me.

  But one fact looms over my head like a dark rain cloud: I still don’t have a job. Even the two promising interviews next week aren’t a sure thing until an offer is made. In two weeks, I might be back in Monroeville working at Dairy Queen, but for today, I’m getting treated like a queen thanks to Barclay.

  I call Maggie and give her the rundown on what happened last night and the day Barclay’s planned for me.

  “He’s so into you, Tessa. Spa, clothes from Saks. Glamming you up for the night.” When Maggie runs down the list, it truly blows my mind.

  “It’s like I’m living a fairy tale. Oh, and one more thing. But you have to keep this vaulted. Promise me?” I ask. “If Miles or my parents find out …”

  “My lips are sealed. Promise,” she stresses, but doesn’t really have to. I’d trust her with anything, even something that would get my brother on a plane to bring me home.

  “I made Page Six … sort of,” I confess quietly, still in disbelief. I don’t know much about Page Six, but if it’s a big deal, Maggie will bring me up to speed.

  “What? You’re kidding me, right?” she asks, but doesn’t give me time to answer. “Wait, I’m checking online for the photo.”

  I take a deep breath and wait for her to find the photo. I haven’t seen it yet either. Once I do, it will seem too real. I’d rather not have it burned into my brain.

  “Oh my God. It’s the top story. Have you seen it?” she rushes out.

  “No,” I reply, but she doesn’t stop.

  “It’s a side view of Barclay with you draped over his shoulder. Nice ass shot by the way. She laughs, and I cringe. “It says, ‘Barclay Hammond carried a young blond woman over his shoulder through the lobby of the Hammond Hotel. This is the first time he’s been spotted with someone since his breakup with longtime girlfriend, Amanda Lake.’ First, screw Amanda. Second, I can’t believe you’re in town for a few days—and boom! You’ve already landed on New York’s most talked about gossip column. It was my goal to make that page in five years tops. I’m in awe.”

  “It’s a nightmare,” I whisper, because the fallout could be severe. “If my family finds out, they’ll never be okay with me moving here. It’s like their worst fears have come true.”

  “When you land a job next week, and I believe you will, you’re going to have to tell them about Barclay. He’s crazy for you, and there’s no way to keep news about a man like him contained. At least Miles will know who he is, right?”

  “Barclay also promised Miles he’d keep an eye out for me.”

  “Awkward, but will anyone be good enough for you in Miles’ eyes?”

  “Probably not.” I sigh. “I’ve got to run and get ready.”

  “It’s tough being you,” Maggie quips. “Send me a selfie before you leave for the dinner.”

  “Wish me luck,” I say.

  “Nah. You’ve got that in spades. I’ll wish that you get f—”

  “Goodbye, Maggie.”

  28

  Barclay

  The attendees for the Warwick Awards arrive in a steady stream. This is my first awards dinner as Hammond’s CEO, though I’ve been the prince in line to the throne for several years. I work the crowd and shake hands with rival publishers. Discuss the changing trends of our markets in the broadest of terms. Always putting a hopeful spin on what lies ahead.

  Several of them congratulate me on Don Black’s latest hit, telling me he’s a shoo-in for book of the year. I graciously tell them it’s anyone’s guess, but their knowing eyes tell me it’d be a shock if he lost.

  One thing’s for sure, every time I hear his name, I breathe a sigh of relief. He decided to stay with Hammond, and I have Tessa to thank for that.

  Knowing Tessa should be arriving soon, I excuse myself from the gathering and make my way to the lobby to gre
et her. Don’s holding court at the bar. He has a drink in one hand and an arm wrapped around a brunette, who isn’t his wife. Old flirt.

  My phone buzzes, and I answer.

  “What’s up?” Tom Rogers, a fellow colleague, and his wife pass by me. I nod and raise my free hand.

  “Sorry to bother you on the weekend, Mr. Hammond, but it’s rather urgent,” my head of marketing, Reece Young, says in a rush, though I can’t tell if it’s from excitement or concern.

  “I’m at the Warwick and it’s getting ready to start, so make it quick.”

  “There’s crazy buzz circulating on the street about the person I’ve set my sights on for millennial marketing. I need to get your okay for an out of the ordinary offer.”

  “I discussed this with Mrs. Ratner.” Usually the exacts for any offer go through my human resource director. She works as a mediator between forces. “I gave my blessing for the title of junior marketing manager and a subsidized apartment. What more do you have in mind? The candidate did just graduate from college.”

  “It’s the blog they started. It has an enviable audience in the millennial marketplace directed toward serious readers. Believe me, we need this person. Here’s what I’d like to propose. Seventy-five a year and we buy the rights to the blog with them continuing to grow it under the Hammond brand. Two other houses are looking to ask similar offers this week, but aren’t buying the blog. I say we strike first. Lay out the terms and ask for an immediate decision.”

  Peering out the lobby’s door, I spot a blonde goddess with legs for days walking up the steps. “Make the offer, but keep the blog’s buy price at twenty-five or less. If anything, it will help them pay off possible student loans. Good luck.”

  I pocket the phone, and stand in the shadows next to an interior wall, avoiding the reporters and cameras outside. They’re not allowed inside, so Tessa and I are safe past the entrance.

  My smile grows with every step she takes toward me. Her dress hits mid-thigh with a feather hem showcasing her toned legs. The color is the lightest pink, like a chilled glass of rosé. A single strap around her neck holds up the dress. I bite my lip, imagining how little it would take for her dress to fall to the ground around her stiletto heels. The thought may drive me wild during the dinner.