I just hoped we could get through the evening without a complete breakdown. Two drunken women in as many days were too much, even for me.
I had woken early this morning, after a rather restless night spent tossing and turning, all too aware of the woman in the room across the hall. I felt every bit the lecher as I imagined all sorts of things I wanted to be doing with and to her, despite the fact that she was completely wasted and passed out; oblivious to her surroundings. It had not been how I’d envisioned her first sleepover.
I’d known the instant she’d gotten up, hearing her soft but unmistakable footsteps cross the floor above me. Hearing her in the bathroom, I’d resisted the urge to go to her and make sure she was alright. Hangovers were a bitch, and I didn’t know her experience level at dealing with them. I avoided them for the most part, but I’d had my share in my college days, and I knew she’d probably been wishing for death right about then.
Instead, I had simply brewed some coffee and waited patiently for her to make an appearance. It had been my intent to coerce her into spending some time with me today, maybe head to Central Park, see an afternoon show, or just simply hang out. I grimaced at the thought. I didn’t just ‘hang out’, and the idea seemed laughable now, but I had surprised myself by realizing that spending time with her, doing nothing at all, was preferable to how I had actually spent my day: at the office, followed by the gym.
But she had insisted on leaving, and there was something in her tone that suggested I refrain from making the offer. Regardless that I knew she was attracted to me, she was hell bent on remaining friends.
It was frustrating. I couldn’t pretend otherwise. She seemed determined to keep me at bay, and I wasn’t used to having to exert this much effort for a woman. Any woman.
So it was with pleasure that Mom had agreed to dinner, hopefully providing me with some much needed distraction from the complex woman that occupied my thoughts. Handing my keys to the valet, I headed inside. The smells hit me instantly and my stomach rumbled in joy. Sylvain DuPont was nothing short of an artist in the culinary world, and it had been too long since I was last here.
“Nathan, it is nice to see you again. Come, your party is already seated.”
I followed Veronica as she led me to where my mother was seated. We’d had a moment, or four, a year or so ago, but things had fizzled out when her fiancé had moved back to town. I briefly wondered if they’d ever gotten married.
My steps slowed as I approached my mother’s table. She wasn’t alone. I recognized Anna Bradshaw immediately, and could only surmise that the platinum blonde boldly undressing me with her eyes was none other than her niece, Whitney. I was immediately on edge.
“Mother,” I said between clenched teeth, leaning in to kiss her cheek. She was oblivious to my upset, wine glass in hand. She was already well on her way to tipsy. Just how long had they been here before I arrived?
“Nathanial, so nice to see you. You remember Anna Bradshaw, and this is Whitney.” My mother swooped the table with her hand, as if I couldn’t tell who was who.
I nodded politely to Anna, and then turned to Whitney. She held out her perfectly manicured hand for me to shake. “Whitney, Nathan Preston. Nice to meet you.” I glared at my mother as I pulled out a chair and sat, but again, she was unaware.
Whitney Bradshaw leaned toward me once I was seated, giving me an unrestricted view of her silicone D-cups. The black cocktail dress she was wearing looked painted on, and left nothing to the imagination. “You, too. I was delighted when I heard the news you wanted me to join you for dinner tonight.”
I almost laughed. That was not how the conversation had gone with my mother. But Katherine Preston was an expert at taking in a conversation, and gleaning from it only the bits she could use to justify whatever agenda she was working toward at the time. And seeing me married off was always on her agenda.
I watched as Whitney eyed me with all the anticipation of a predator stalking its prey. She was bored and looking for a good time. I decided to play along. “Yes, well, I am just happy to see you could fit me in on such short notice.”
I signaled to the waiter. What with my mother’s hare-brained match-making schemes, and Whitney purring like a cat in heat next to me, this was going to be a long night. I needed sustenance. “Bombay, on the rocks.”
“Nathanial, I was just telling Whitney about your work.” The way my mother said it, it was as if I was some great humanitarian on my way to Africa to feed the children. “He is quite the successful businessman.” This was said to Whitney, who leaned even closer to me, where I could practically see the dollar signs dancing in her eyes. “You should really tell her more,” my mother encouraged.
Mom drained the rest of her glass and began scanning the room for our waiter, hoping for a refill. My heart swelled with sadness as I watched her laugh loudly at some mundane comment made by Anna. She was undeniably drunk, yet we were all, as always, choosing to ignore it.
“Mother, I’m sure Whitney doesn’t want to be inundated with boring office chatter.” And by that I meant I had no desire to talk myself up to this woman whom I had no intention of becoming involved with.
Whitney laid her hand on my arm. “Of course I would love to hear about your work.”
I bet you would.
Eyeing the three women looking at me, wide-eyed and expectant, I figured what the hell. I launched a rather detailed and admittedly exaggerated account of my career at Elite. I may have embellished a few things here and there, but the more I talked, the more Whitney saw stars and I couldn’t help myself by egging her on. Even my own mother looked stunned when I was finished. The waiter delivered our courses and I hid my smile by turning my attention to cutting my perfectly braised salmon.
“Nathan! Bonjour! Comment allez-vous?”
I looked up to see Sylvain Dupont approaching our table. I broke into a grin at the sight of my old friend, and stood to greet him as he reached us. “Sylvain, bon de vous voir. J'ai été bien.”
“Good, good. I see you have guests,” Sylvain turned to our table with a flourish.
“Yes, you remember my mother, Katherine. And this is a family friend, Anna Bradshaw, and her niece, Whitney.” I sat back down while he greeted each woman with a kiss on the cheek.
“I trust you have enjoyed yourself, and the food?”
“Oh yes,” my mother immediately gushed. “Everything has been simply fabulous! You truly are a food god! Please say you’ll come give my chef some tips?”
My eyes slowly closed at hearing my mother’s words. A food god? Seriously?
Mom was laughing good-naturedly over what she considered her quick wit. Anna was laughing as well, but I had the feeling it was more to play along rather than from her actually finding the statement funny. Whitney couldn’t have cared less and was occupying herself with what she thought were covert brushes of her foot against my leg, unseen because of the heavy white linen tablecloth. The woman was certainly determined, I’d give her that.
Sylvain smiled politely, as I hastened to cut in and save the poor man from any further drunken nonsense from my mother. “Sylvain, it was nothing less than superb. We are actually just finishing up.” I signaled for our waiter, handing him the bill along with my AMEX. I wanted to be out of here and wasn’t going to waste precious time quibbling about who was going to pay for what. “I will come by next week, and we’ll catch up,” I promised as I stood.
He patted my back, and nodded. “Au revoir, everyone.” He moved on to another nearby table, greeting the patrons there.
“Mother, why don’t I drive you home,” I began, but she quickly cut me off.
“Nonsense, Nathanial. Ronald drove me and will be likely waiting outside. He can take me and Anna; and you can take Whitney.” She nodded once, having it all planned out. I clenched my teeth in irritation and resisted the urge to point out that Anna and Whitney were going to the same place so what sense did it make for them to take separate rides?
I desperately wanted
to deny her the satisfaction of leaving here with her handpicked debutante, but knew that would only upset her and cause a delay in departure. I’d get Whitney to her aunt’s house and leave, even if I had to push her out the passenger door as I sped away.
Whitney clutched my arm possessively as we walked outside to await my car to be brought around. I said nothing as I attempted to maintain some distance between us. Whitney Bradshaw had a voluptuous body, and was using it to her full advantage, pressing her breasts against my arm. My own body responded involuntarily, even as I swallowed my distaste for the blatant come-on.
“It’s still early, you know,” she murmured, her voice husky with undisguised desire.
I looked down at her through hooded eyes. This woman was like the countless others that had come before her, in heat and dazzled by the Preston name. I’d danced this routine more times than I could remember, but what had for so long been my normal, suddenly seemed unacceptable. Despite my body’s increasing response, I wanted nothing more than to be rid of this woman.
I thought of Reagan, wondering what she was doing at this exact moment. The valet handed me my keys and Whitney slid along the front of my body, pressing the full length of herself against me as she placed a hand on my chest. The invitation was clear, and I asked myself why I was determined to walk away from what she was offering, all for a woman who was insistent on ignoring the attraction between us to keep her distance. Reagan and I were just friends, so it wouldn’t be like I was cheating on her.
Even to myself, the justification was weak. But as I stared down at the woman who was here, now, and was offering me unrestricted use of her body, I made a choice I knew I would hate myself for in the morning.
“Well, then. Let’s not waste any more time, shall we?”
Two hours later, Whitney rolled off me and we lay breathless. My body had found release, but my mind had remained detached. Sex had always been just sex, but I had, in the past, at least enjoyed my partners, no matter how shallow the arrangement may have been.
Tonight, it hadn’t been the blonde bouncing above me that I saw as I came; it had been Reagan. I had wanted to fling Whitney off me, disgusted with both myself and her. Despite my theory that having sex with some random hopeful couldn’t possibly be considered cheating, I felt guilty. Whitney had proved to be a talented and enthusiastic bed partner, but it hadn’t been enough to assuage that guilt.
“Want to go again?” The lazy voice was accompanied by fingernails scratching lightly across my chest.
I recoiled, and flung her arm to the side. “I need to go. The room is paid for, so feel free to stay. I had a great time.”
She seemed completely unfazed as she stretched across the bed, before settling in against the pillows. If she had taken issue with being used and tossed aside, she didn’t show it. Something told me she had used me just as much as I had her, and that her invitation for another go around had been made out of habit rather than any real desire to do so. She had gotten what she’d wanted and whether I stayed or left was of no concern to her.
I hastened to dress, and as I picked up my cell phone and keys, my heart shuddered to a halt.
Reagan: Hi :) Are you busy?
Reagan
Monday dawned, bright and sunny, and I went for an early morning run in Central Park, using the time to clear my head.
So I had texted Nathan and he hadn’t replied. It wasn’t the end of the world, right? He’d probably been busy. I had no idea what kind of things typically occupied his weekends, but I was pretty positive the man didn’t sit around at home with nothing to do. I wasn’t going to let his silence become more than what it was. I wouldn’t even mention it, I decided.
That didn’t stop me from anxiously scanning the lobby for him once I’d arrived at the office. There was no sign of him, though, and I used the rest of the day to update the J & J proposal and make some expected projections.
I later learned that Nathan had left for the Boston office early that morning. I started to wonder why he hadn’t mentioned it to me, but then discarded the thought as I told myself he didn’t owe me any explanations.
We were just friends.
Tuesday morning, I put on my game face as I rode the elevator up to Marketing. Bailey had emailed us all last night, giving us a heads up that Isaac was returning from Brazil a week early, and would be back in the office today. I hadn’t seen him since our interview, what seemed a lifetime ago. Had it really only been two weeks? While we had communicated several times via email, it wasn’t the same as actually working with him while he was physically here. That, coupled with my disastrous dinner date that I was sure Isaac had heard about, made me a little nervous.
I was bombarded the moment I stepped off the elevator by Danielle. She was carrying a stack of folders and looked harried, as if she’d been here since yesterday. “Reagan, there you are. Take these. Grand Central, now!”
I fumbled for the folders she tossed at me, having no chance to reply as she scurried off down the hall. I quickly followed and grabbed a seat just as Isaac appeared. I began stacking the folders on the table before me.
“Miss Andrews, what’s the status of the Johnson & Johnson account.” Isaac may have been asking me a question, but his tone suggested he was giving me a command.
I cleared my throat. “The J & J account is going well. I have some reports for you,” I began shuffling through the folders, knowing these were ones Danielle had asked me to carry, not any of mine. “Um, I need to run back to my office. . .”
Isaac raised his eyebrow at me in annoyance. “Anytime you come to a meeting, I expect you to be prepared. I don’t have all day.” He motioned with his hand that I should get the reports he needed. I glanced at Bailey as Isaac turned to him and began barking orders. Gone was the carefree man who had joked with me about Nathan Preston’s ass-ets. Bailey was all business, hastily scribbling down notes and passing folders back and forth with Isaac.
Had the man not been black, I would have expected him to be related to Roger Preston. Their management style was eerily similar. I marched back to my office for the reports I’d worked on yesterday. Had I known about your damn meeting ahead of time, I’d have my reports in order, jackass.
He scanned the reports I’d prepared after I’d handed him the folder, but made no further comment. Bailey brought him up to speed on the latest developments of various projects, and then Isaac dismissed the group.
“Reagan, I need to see you.”
I stopped gathering up my things as I looked at first Isaac and then Bailey. The latter shrugged, obviously having no idea what Isaac wanted to see me about. But he was saved further contemplation as Isaac turned to him. “You, too. My office.” With that, he walked away.
We both hastened to follow. Damn, was this man always this cranky or was he simply suffering from jet lag?
“Take a seat,” he stated, as he removed his suit jacket and seated himself behind his desk.
I sat down next to Bailey, and waited with bated breath to see what this was about. Perhaps Isaac was just curious as to how his new hire had been faring while he’d been away. Certainly he had a right to check in and make sure I was everything my resume had promised I would be.
Or maybe he’d been told I was a complete drunk and therefore incapable of any rational thought or oversight.
“I received a call from Royce Johnson this morning,” he began, and my heart rate picked up speed.
I opened my mouth to begin my defense, but nothing came out. Isaac continued, unaware of my panicked state. “He and his brother are very pleased with the changes you have proposed and would like to move forward.”
I was so relieved I almost fell forward out of the chair. Bailey looked at me out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t comment. “Thank you, sir.”
Isaac stared at me over the rims of his glasses. “Yes, I must admit I wasn’t sure this whole thing was going to work with you, but it seems you have been holding your own. I’m impressed. I can only hope you d
o not become distracted along the way.” He leaned back in his chair and paused, as if he was trying to speak something to me in code.
I cleared my throat. “I assure you, sir, that I’m very focused on my work. There will not be any distractions,” I promised. As polite, although all business, as Isaac had been in our interview, I was having a hard time reconciling him to the man now sitting before me. I was getting the crazy notion he didn’t like me, yet he’d just admitted he was impressed with my ability, so perhaps I was overthinking.
I pushed the thought from my mind and shifted focus to his next words.
“Excellent.” Isaac leaned forward again and clasped his hands together as if glad he’d settled that. “That being said, I need you to meet a client in Vegas tomorrow afternoon. He’s opening another hotel and would like to completely revamp their website. He’ll also need an extensive marketing campaign to launch the opening later this summer.” He turned to Bailey. “See if you can get her on a flight tonight—will that be a problem?” He raised an eyebrow at me in question.
Vegas? As in Las Vegas, Nevada? I didn’t even try to hide my surprise. Business trips were not uncommon, but again, I was new; the low man—or woman, as it were—on the totem pole. First, dinner with the Johnsons, and now, jetting off to Vegas to hopefully impress yet another client? I couldn’t help but feel as if I was being thrown into the Atlantic, with no direction or assistance, to see if I would sink or swim. It was all happening so fast and I was more than worried I was getting in over my head.
Bailey’s eyes opened wider as he stared at me, giving me an imperceptible nod, reminding me that Isaac was awaiting an answer. “Um, yes. . .I mean . . . no. Yes, I can go and no, it’s not a problem to leave tonight.”
Great, I sounded like a babbling fool.
Made to Love Page 14
