Perfect Little Plan

by Jennifer Miller

  “Oh yeah?” He crosses his arms over his chest, “You have plans or something?”

  “Yes, actually, I do.”

  I can hear steps behind me, “Hey,” Olivia admonishes, “you left without me.”

  Turning toward her, I shrug my shoulders, “I thought maybe the two of you could use some time alone.”

  “Are we still going to go to lunch?”

  “No, you stay with Luke. Let’s catch lunch later.”

  “You sure?”

  I smile, reassuring her. “Of course.”

  “Well, I still would have wanted to say good-bye.”

  “No big deal if you hadn’t. You know I will talk to you later.”

  “I know, but still.”

  We are interrupted by Rixton, “What plans do you have?”

  Turning back to him I put my hands on my hips, “Excuse me?”

  “Well, I wanted to see if you want to go out with me tonight? I was thinking maybe for dinner, or we could grab a coffee, or something? You can choose the place.”

  I stare at him for a minute, for the life of me forgetting what it is I have to do and why I can’t go with him. I blink. Dinner. With my parents.

  “Sorry,” I say with a flip of my hair over my shoulder, “I can’t come.”

  A smile that can only be called wicked crosses his face, “Oh darlin’, we both know that’s not true.”

  Warmth spreads over my face and I have no doubt my face is as red as my hair yet again. How does he keep doing this to me? “Wh… um… we…” I am completely at a loss for words. I look at Olivia, and she is staring at Rixton with her mouth on the freaking floor.

  Completely flustered, I make my way to the door and walk out with Rixton’s laugh following me.

  RACING THROUGH THE DOOR of my condo, I quickly run to my room after turning off the security alarm, and start to remove my clothes. Dinner tonight at my parent’s house requires me to dress the part. My eyes quickly dart to the disheveled sheets that are still on my bed. I try to ignore them, but hear them calling out to me, so hurriedly strip them from the bed and dash down the hall to throw them into the washing machine. Pulling fresh sheets out of the linen closet, I make my bed, knowing I don’t really have time, but do so anyway. I don’t want my stupid impulsive decision to be staring me in the face upon my return, yet again.

  Stripping and trying to freshen up my makeup at the same time is a challenge, but one I’ve accomplished before – thank you so very much – so I finish quickly and run a brush through my hair. It’s grown out a lot and quickly catching my reflection in the mirror, realize I like it longer again. I pull on a classic black dress and pumps for dinner, add pearls and switch out bags before heading out the door.

  On the drive over to their house, my Mercedes affords me the quiet time to relax my brain and reflect again on last night. Why I can’t just let this go like I have with similar prior situations causes me an extra pause, but I quickly dismiss it. Rather, images of last night start flashing through my mind against my will and better judgment. I can almost hear his whispered moans again in my ear, and feel the brushes of his skin upon my neck. He repeatedly kissed the spot between my collarbones and then would continue nibbling the right or left side up to my neck. Each time my body would react to his touch with wanting, longing, and I even begged him for more as I met each of his thrusts with my own.

  Suddenly, it feels so hot in my car, I can barely breathe. Turning the air conditioning to a lower temperature, I try to find a song on the radio that will distract me. The first station is playing S&M by Rhianna, and I quickly turn it, the next station is playing Come & Get it by Selena Gomez, prompting me to turn it again. When I hear Justin Timberlake singing Rock Your Body, I let out a slight scream, “Really?”

  Okay so apparently the radio is a bad idea, and I need to find music other than pop to listen to. I distract myself with playing the alphabet license plate game until I finally arrive at my parents’ home. Living in Highland Park, a suburb of Chicago, their home is only a twenty minute drive from my own. After I moved into my condo, my father purchased the entire high rise it’s located in, likely to make sure my home wasn’t too far from their own. He also knew that he would be in a position to be sure everything was taken care of and there would always be abundant, excellent building security. My father goes over the top and over indulges me in everything. I’ve learned not to fight it, and just give in because it seems to make him happy, although sometimes I feel suffocated by his involvement in everything I do. I know it’s all out of love, though. He just wants the best for me.

  I pull up next to a car I don’t recognize in the driveway. Out of the car, bending to grab my purse, I feel perplexed. It’s unusual that I can even make it this far out of my car before my mom or dad are coming to greet me or at least standing in the entryway welcoming me. But there is no sign of either. Hmmm.

  When I approach the front door and reach to turn the knob, it opens and I see Mrs. B, the amazing woman that runs my parents’ home. She has been part of our family since I can remember, yet she never manages to age at all. I don’t know how she does it, but if she can figure out how to bottle it, she’d be a billionaire. “Hi, sweet pea,” she greets me.

  I give her a hug in return, “Hi, Mrs. B. You look pretty.” She has one of her favorite dresses on – blue with white flowers all over it. An apron around her hips and her hair pulled into a low bun completes her familiar appearance. She is also wearing lip gloss – a sure sign – if I hadn’t already noticed the car in the driveway – that my parents have company. “Where are they?”

  “They are already in the dining room, sugar.”

  Giving her one last squeeze, I walk toward the dining room, able to hear voices as I approach. Walking through the room’s threshold, my eyes instantly fall on my father. Seated at his usual spot at the head of the table, my mother is at his right side, and the left is vacant, a clear indication of where I am expected to sit. My eyes flick to the two men I don’t recognize. One is my father’s age and clearly a business associate. The snippets of conversation I’m catching from them clearly indicate as much. The other man looks close to my age and he’s looking at me with a small smile. I return it hesitantly and look at my father once more.

  “Pyper!” My father stands and holds his arms out to me when he finally becomes aware of my presence. I smile and easily walk into them, exchanging a strong embrace.

  “Hi, daddy.” He squeezes me once more (for good measure, as he has always said) and lets go so I can greet my mother. I lean over the back of her chair and am able only to give her a somewhat awkward hug since she’s still seated. “Hi, mom.”

  May is my step-mom but I still call her mom. My mother died when I was only five-years-old from cancer. My father married my step-mom only a couple of years after that, so my memories – perhaps other than a rare few and those I’ve contrived from pictures – are mostly of the two of them. “Hello darling, you look lovely.”

  “Thank you,” I take in my mom’s smiling face, and the love in her eyes, “so do you.”

  “Pyper,” my father puts his hand on my back to get my attention, “let me introduce you to my work associates.”

  I turn expectantly and plant a smile I really don’t feel on my face. I wish my parents had told me we were going to have company. It doesn’t make much of a difference I suppose, but still, a heads up would have been nice.

  “This is my work associate, Richard, and his son, R.J.” They each stand and offer me a hand. Ten bucks says R.J. stands for Richard Jr.

  “Hi, nice to meet you Richard,” I shake his hand firmly and turn to his son. “And R.J. Is that for Richard Jr.?”

  R.J. smirks, “You are correct.”

  “Ah, I thought so.” I knew it. Seriously, sometimes these guys are so predictable. He holds my hand a little too long and even runs his thumb across the back. Ew. I want to yank it out of his grasp, but I politely wait for him to let go before sitting down in the chair my father is ho
lding out for me.

  “I’ll let Mrs. B know we are ready for the first course,” my mother says. But before she can do so, Mrs. B comes around the corner with a tray in her arms ready to serve the salad. She places a lovely plate in front of each person before disappearing and like synchronized swimmers, we all pick up our flatware and begin eating.

  I really hate this kind of thing, but I’ve done it since I can remember and know what is required of me. I’ve been to more stuffy parties than I care to remember. My parents drilled me in appropriate manners and etiquette when I was younger so I was sure not to embarrass them. I know that they love me, I don’t doubt it for a second, but I also know what it means to be the daughter of Ted Lexington, entrepreneur, capital investor and owner of one of the top grossing mobile phone companies in the country.

  Through the salad, soup, and then finally the main course of steak, asparagus and rice pilaf, I listen to my father and Richard talk business. It’s boring as hell and I try to stay tuned in, but often wonder how my dad finds it all so fascinating while wishing this were just a one-on-one dinner with my parents. I would be happy with that. Instead, I’m counting down the minutes until I can bail.

  My thoughts turn to Rixton and the way he embarrassed me at the club today. I can’t believe he actually made that suggestion about our night together. I’m somewhat shocked my phone didn’t ring immediately after I left the club with Olivia on the other end dying laughing, the bitch. Man, I love her.

  “Pyper?”

  Jumping a little at my father’s voice, I turn to him. “I’m sorry, what?”

  He smiles at me, “I was just telling Richard that I’m sure you would be happy to take R.J. to our country club Saturday evening while Richard and I have a business dinner that same night.” It’s useless to ask why he’s having a business meeting on a Saturday night. I know better. “R.J. doesn’t know anyone here and no doubt he would prefer an evening with you showing him the club as opposed to just being alone in a hotel room.”

  I look over at R.J. and find him looking at me expectantly, interest shining in his eyes. “Um, okay. Sure. I can do that.” Not like I can say no anyway, after being put on the spot like that. Of course, my father knows that. I look at him, my eyes clearly stating that he owes me for this. He nods his head, acknowledging my unsaid feelings so discreetly I wonder if I imagined it.

  “Sounds like fun,” R.J. says.

  Trying to look like I agree, I smile at him, “There’s a great restaurant at the club and it’s open to the public on the weekend, so it will be packed. I will make reservations for us. I hope you like Italian food? We can go there and then I can show you the club’s other amenities.”

  “Sounds perfect. Why don’t we meet there at 7:00 PM. You can drop me off, right, father?”

  “That’s fine, son. I can drop you off on my way to meet Ted.”

  The conversation returns to business once more and I’m left dreading a date with daddy’s boy. My mother catches my eye and smiles, her eyes giving me an apology. She knows how much I hate these expectant gestures. I’ll just suck it up, though. These are the duties and life of a daughter that has a successful businessman for a father. After everything he’s done for me, there is very little my father could ask of me that I would not do. He knows it though, and that’s the problem.

  Considering a man just like him is likely in my future, I suppose this is good practice. I just wish I could get my heart to be more into it though. I know it’s my destiny in my mind, but sometimes my heart has other ideas. Out of nowhere, Rixton’s face pops into my mind, and I make a face. Why does that keep happening?

  “You don’t like the asparagus, dear?” my mother asks.

  “Oh, no, mother, it’s wonderful. I think I just got a part that had a little too much seasoning.” Great Pyper, make stupid faces at dinner, what are you, twelve?

  I’m thankful when dessert is finished and I can excuse myself from the table. My father and Richard are pouring themselves after dinner drinks and my mother is joining them. I think it’s the perfect moment to make my escape.

  “Thank you for a wonderful dinner, mom and dad, but I need to get back home. I have an early morning at the spa.”

  “Oh, I wish you didn’t have to leave so soon,” my mother tells me as she takes me into her arms for a hug.

  “Me too, but we will do it again soon, okay?” Then I whisper into her ear, “Just you, me, and daddy please?” She nods her head and gives me a squeeze.

  My father hugs me too and I turn to Richard, “It was very nice to meet you, sir.”

  “You as well, dear. Take good care of my son Saturday night.”

  I smile at him and turn to R.J., “I will. I will see you then, R.J.”

  “Great,” he smiles. “See you then.”

  I walk out of the house as fast as I can and breathe a big sigh of relief as I get into my car. I pull my hair out of the restrictive bun I had it bound in and drive away quickly, eager to get home and out of these clothes.

  On the drive, my phone chimes a few times. I ignore it in an effort to stick to my no cell phone in the car rule since I don’t have my Bluetooth setting turned on. Upon arriving to the condo building, I pull into the underground garage and whip out my phone before I head to the elevator. I have a text from a number I don’t recognize.

  Unknown: Hey, Red. Give me a call.

  I immediately know who the text is from. I get out of my car, stride to the elevator, and wait to arrive at my floor, all the while contemplating my response. I let myself into the condo when I reach my floor. The alarm starts beeping as I walk in, loudly telling anyone that would be home that someone has walked in the door. I’m still getting used to the thing. I’ve not had it installed all that long, just since Olivia was kidnapped and I was held at gunpoint. Funny how something as simple as a security system can bring much needed comfort and peace. I close the door, punch in the code, then lock the door. It’s quiet, and no one came running at the alarm going off, so I don’t think Luke and Olivia are here.

  Opening the refrigerator in the kitchen, I grab a bottle of water and make my way to my room. Throwing the bottle of water and my purse on the bed, I type out a reply to Rixton, then add his name and number to my contacts.

  How did you get my number? I ask, then head to my closet, unzipping my dress as I go. While changing into some yoga pants and a tank top I hear my phone chime again.

  Rixton: I told you to call me. Why are you texting?

  I roll my eyes and then type: so what? You tell me to do something and I should do it? I don’t think so.

  Rixton: Feisty. I like it.

  Me: You didn’t answer my question.

  Rixton: I have my ways.

  I growl in my throat because I know what that means.

  Me: I will kill her.

  Rixton: It’s not her fault.

  Me: Explain

  Rixton: Well, I may have held her wedding shoes hostage until she caved.

  I can’t help it. I laugh. Then I type again.

  Me: You savage! No wonder she gave it to you – a girl would do anything for those kinds of shoes.

  Rixton: Storing that information away for the future.

  Me: Whatever. What do you want?

  He doesn’t text me back right away and before I can wonder where the hell he went my phone rings. I politely answer, “What?”

  “Wow, is that how you always greet callers? Rude.”

  “No, you’re just special.” He makes an indistinguishable noise, “So what do you want? Why are you calling and texting me?”

  “Well, because darlin,’ you are the kind of girl that a man can’t get out of his head.”

  I scoff, “Stop doing that.”

  “Doing what?”

  “You purposefully make your accent harder when you try to be all sexy.”

  He pauses. “You think I’m sexy?”

  “That is not what I said.”

  “Oh, yes you did, I heard it.”

 
“I said when you try to be sexy. I didn’t say you are sexy.”

  He laughs at me, “Okay, Red, you keep telling yourself that.”

  I sigh into the phone, “If you don’t tell me the reason for this call, I’m hanging up.”

  “Maybe I just want to hear your voice,” he purrs and instantly my body reacts to the sound. Ugh, traitorous skank. Out of irritation more at myself than him, I hang up the phone. He immediately calls back. “What?”

  “Okay, fine. I was calling because I need you to do something for me.”

  I lay back against the pillows on my bed. “What could you possibly need me to do for you?”

  “Oh Red, that list is endless. Do you really want to know all the things I have on it?”

  “Rixton!”

  “Alright, alright. I need you to check your dresser drawer. The first one.”

  I sit up again, “What? Why?”

  “In the top right hand corner, underneath these amazingly skimpy red lacey thong and matching bra,” my mouth hangs open at the description of a lingerie set I own, “I need you to see if I left something there.”

  Is he serious? “Left something there? How could you possibly have left something in my drawer? And what could you have left there.”

  “Just go look.”

  I walk to my dresser and slide the drawer open. In the top right hand corner, sits the lingerie set he just described. I move the set to the side and see a black ball underneath. Picking it up, I shake it out and almost choke when I realize what I’m holding between my fingertips.

  “YOUR UNDERWEAR? WHY IN THE HELL AM I HOLDING YOUR UNDERWEAR?”

  “See? I knew I left them there!”

  “Oh my God, why in the world would you have done that? That means you went through my lingerie drawer!”

  “Oh yes, that is not something I’m soon to forget, you sexy little vixen. There are some amazing pieces in there. Will you model them for me some time?”

  I’m speechless. He went through my drawers. I don’t know if he’s crazy, or a stalker or what. “Why in the hell were you rummaging through my drawers?”

  “I don’t know why it seems to bother you, I mean hell, it’s just some underwear. I’m way more familiar with you than a pair of underwear. Don’t you remember when I-”