Without Apology

by Aubrey Bondurant

I threw my head back with laughter and then watched as she joined in. “You’re trying not to say it again, aren’t you?”

  She removed her hand and bit her lip in the adorable way she did when she got nervous. She had a way of making the serious lighter. Of edging sunshine into my darkest places with no effort at all. Perhaps that was I sought in the glimpses I’d had with her. I missed the laughter.

  “Jesus. I didn’t realize how I throw it out there so often.”

  “Most people do.” I envied how freely she could say the words. For her, they didn’t pull up the shitstorm of emotions they did for me.

  “A lot of people don’t mean it.”

  “True. The closest I can get is saying I regret something. And I truly do regret putting Jeff’s allegation out there because I didn’t know your father had died.”

  She searched my eyes for sincerity and must’ve found it because she took my hand. The simple touch almost undid me and my resolve not to kiss her again. Consequences be damned.

  “I regret we’re not on our third date by now.”

  I grinned, thinking back to her breakdown of relationship timing. “Is that the magic number?”

  “For you, I didn’t think I’d make it past two.”

  Breath hissed between my teeth as I willed my erection to go away. I couldn’t remember a time I’d wanted a woman as much as I did her. But I respected her enough not to screw up her future. A job she’d worked hard to get was in my control and shouldn’t be tied to personal feelings.

  “Guess I probably shouldn’t have said that. I should go.”

  My mind and body warred. My brain recognized it would be best for my self-preservation if she did leave, but I didn’t want to listen to the inner voice saying so. “I don’t want you to.”

  A sigh of regret passed her lips. “I know, but you need me to. And so do I.”

  I waved off her cash. “I have this. Are you okay to drive?”

  She stood up, looking steady, but I wasn’t sure about her alcohol tolerance.

  “I’m fine. Good night, Simon.”

  “Good night, Peyton.” I wanted to kiss her on the cheek or give her a hug, but I knew if I did I’d be lost in her. Instead, I watched her walk out, already missing the warmth she’d brought me simply through conversation.

  I sat at the bar and threw back two more whiskeys. When someone took her chair, I almost got my hopes up she’d returned. Then I realized it was Emma.

  “I was hoping to see you both gone. Upstairs, to be exact.”

  “I wish, but it’s fucking impossible. As much as I’m trying to keep it professional, I don’t know how I’m supposed to remain unbiased at this point when I do interview her for the CFO position.”

  It was already a lose-lose proposition. If I promoted Peyton, then it could be argued I did so because I had a personal bias. If I didn’t, the same argument could be applied.

  Emma rolled her eyes. “It is crystal clear she’s way more qualified than Jeff. Not only is he a tosser, but he’s not nearly as good with numbers. Russ indicated he had to ask for three different versions of Jeff’s payroll data because he couldn’t format Excel correctly. Nobody but the HR girl he’s currently sleeping with likes him. And that’s a disaster waiting to happen since he’s still hitting on anything else female with a heartbeat. Do you want a CFO who hits on your assistant even while sleeping with a junior staff member?”

  I gave her a look. “So much for not having a bias against Jeff, too.”

  She laughed. “Since when haven’t I shared my opinions?”

  An idea suddenly formed.

  “What? What did you think of just now that’s putting that somewhat goofy, weirding-me-out expression on your face?”

  “Bias. I couldn’t go to Phillip to say I’d have to opt out of interviewing because of a bias towards Peyton. He’d ask why. Also, if I dropped out of interviewing CFO applicants, Tom would get adamant about an external candidate, or worse, Jeff. But if I say I have a bias regarding Jeff because of information which came to my attention and because he’d hit on you, I can recuse myself from interviewing either of them for CFO.”

  “Does that mean Tom would instead?”

  I was already off my stool, putting my card on the bar for the check. “No way. Neither of us would do them. The investment board would.”

  She raised a brow. “Phillip’s board of directors?”

  My boss, or rather The Stone Group, had a board of five directors. “Yes, they’ve done it on the executive level. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner. I can set it up so she and Jeff fly to New York later this week and have their interviews there with the board. It’s brilliant.”

  “Wait. Where are you off to?”

  “To ring Phillip.”

  She pushed the brakes. “It’s almost ten on a Friday night. I get you’re anxious, and hell, so am I, but we both know it has to wait until Monday at least. It most especially needs to wait until after the deal is closed. Otherwise, it would look strange for you to recuse yourself from interviews that might not happen.”

  Had I been thinking straight I would have come to the same, logical conclusion. “You’re right. Bollocks.”

  She patted my shoulder. “Impressive obstacle removal, mate. Glad I’m here for you to ensure there is no collateral damage. You intend to tell her?”

  I wished I could get in the car and drive over to her house now. But there was no guarantee the board would agree. “Not until next week. Can you tell her to clear her schedule for next Thursday and Friday? Hopefully, her flight will be on one of those two days.”

  “Yes. Oh, and I guess I’ll inform Jeff, too, although I’m reasonably certain his calendar is always clear.”

  I laughed for the first time, optimistic that I might have a solution for how I could buy the company, protect her job, and still get the girl.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Peyton

  Great. I’d just told the man who would interview me for the CFO position that I most likely would’ve jumped him by the second date. That was definitely not in the Acing the Interview handbook. Jesus. I’d had to leave before consuming more alcohol and lowering my inhibitions even further. I’d wanted him. Enough not to think about the consequences. At least until my brain had kicked in.

  After the twenty-minute drive back home while overanalyzing everything, I had two things which stuck with me later as I lay in bed. One, he’d confessed he’d missed me. That would’ve sounded crazy if I hadn’t missed him, too. And two, his refusal to apologize went deeper than being too prideful or rude. Something having to do with his childhood and father. I recognized, before drifting off, that he wasn’t a man who’d admit either type of thing easily.

  The remainder of the weekend, I stayed in my pajamas. My sister and her family were in Houston visiting Kevin’s brother. All I wanted to do was decompress from the busy week and spend time with Cooper. I told myself I wasn’t upset about Friday night with Simon, but the truth was never more evident that he had an effect on me.

  On Monday morning I had to force myself to get out of bed since I dreaded another day of audits.

  Upon arriving, I stopped off in my office first and caught up with Megan. Then I went upstairs to sit with Russ. He was already seated in the conference room. I looked at the wall, noting it was indeed up against Simon’s office. He could easily hear everything. Not that there was much to overhear. Lots of numbers mainly.

  Russ smiled when he saw me. “Hi, Peyton, how was your weekend?”

  “Good and yours?”

  “It was okay considering it was a working weekend.”

  “Sorry to hear it. You still think we’ll finish up by tomorrow?”

  “Yep. I think today if you take me through your deferred revenue schedule, we’ll be just about complete. Unless Tom has any follow-up questions.”

  Here was hoping not.

  Three hours later, I wasn’t so lucky. Tom came in, looking annoyed. “This deferred revenue schedule makes no sense.
Are you not capable of putting it into the financial system?”

  I instantly bristled at his condescending tone. “I can assure you it has nothing to do with my capability but rather that of the antiquated financial software. It does not handle deferred revenue. So, we keep it on a manual schedule and then upload it month by month.”

  He tsked, making me want to chuck something at his head. Luckily for him, I decided he wasn’t worth the life of my cute little wireless mouse.

  “Then how do I know if it’s correct?”

  “Same way you would if I keyed it into a system. You compare it to the letter of engagement which spells out the yearly or quarterly fee, divide by the number of months, and compare the number with those on the spreadsheet.”

  His gaze narrowed at the explanation he shouldn’t have needed from me. If he was a CPA worth his weight, he should get it. But something told me his attitude was more about criticizing me than it was about the numbers.

  “What a great exercise for you, then, Peyton. I’m sure you can spend the rest of the day doing just that.”

  I shrugged. “I could, but if it’s my key entry and manual spreadsheet you’re questioning, then I wonder why you’d want the same person verifying those numbers.” I’d made an excellent point, and he knew it. Audit 101, asshole. Don’t have the person you’re checking up on also do the verification.

  His face turned red. “Fine. Russ, you’re up. End of the day, I want some comparisons.”

  Once Tom exited the room, I turned to Russ. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make more work for you.”

  He appeared a bit stunned. “No, no. You made your point, and it’s a valid one. Why does he dislike you?”

  I motioned with my finger over my lips to be quiet. “I’ve heard the walls are thin.” I spoke in a whisper. “And to answer your question, I’m guessing it’s because I stand up to him.”

  I wasn’t sure if Tom had a problem with women in general, but considering both Simon and Emma didn’t particularly care for him, I guessed he gave equal opportunity to whom he chose to act the prick.

  Emma knocked a short time later and asked for a minute. I excused myself, thankful for the break. I’d enjoyed getting to know her over drinks but wondered if she’d bring up her little setup. She surprised me by seeming to pretend it hadn’t happened.

  “The interviews will be either Thursday or Friday this week. Wanted to give you a head’s up, so you can clear your schedule.”

  A shot of nerves hit me. “Sounds good.”

  She gave me a smile of encouragement. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

  Uh-huh. Being interviewed by Simon definitely would not be fine.

  ***

  It had been a long day. And it was only Monday. After arriving home, I let Cooper out and changed out of my work clothes. I needed to go through the last half of the day’s emails, but first, I was cooking.

  One, because I loved it, and two, because I had a craving for spaghetti. I even put on some music to help me relax. It was a simple recipe. My mother’s spaghetti sauce with oregano, basil, and plenty of garlic mixed with hamburger. The sauce was simmering by the time I took the noodles off the stove to drain. Then I heard the knock.

  I wiped my hands and walked along with Cooper to the front door. Looking out the peephole, I saw Simon standing there in another suit. I wondered how many he owned as I’d yet to see him repeat any.

  As I opened the door, I noticed he appeared anxious. The sun had gone down, and it was starting to get chilly. “Hi.”

  “Hello. Do you have a minute?”

  “Sure, come in.” The fact he’d driven all the way here had me curious. It also made my heart start to gallop. I shut the door behind him and preceded him into my kitchen. I watched as he pet Cooper, who acted as if he’d missed him.

  Surveying the stove, he asked, “Are you expecting someone?”

  “No. I’m cooking dinner. You hungry?”

  His eyes met mine, locked in the way that had become familiar and caused my face to heat. His intensity was both unsettling and arousing. “Yes, but I didn’t mean to interrupt your night.”

  I broke the stare first. Looking back at the stove, I transferred the noodles back to the pan and threw in some butter. I needed to keep my hands busy if I was to act remotely casual about having him in my kitchen. “You’re not interrupting. Everything okay?”

  “Actually, it’s better than okay.”

  He took a seat on the stool across from the island, tracking my movements.

  “Not to abuse the word, but okay.”

  He chuckled as I took down two plates.

  I dished them up, sliding his plate of spaghetti in front of him along with some silverware. “Wine or beer?”

  “Beer would be fantastic.”

  I grabbed two out of the fridge, pouring them into glasses before sliding him his. The last item was the garlic bread from the oven.

  “You put all this together for yourself?”

  I slid into the other stool beside him, trying to act as if this wasn’t weird. And that I wasn’t reading anything into him coming over. “Yeah.”

  He made a little hum once he took his first bite. “God, this tastes good. So, about your interview later this week.”

  Holy abrupt subject change. I shook my head. I couldn’t do it. Not while I’d been looking forward to this meal all day. “Nope. No work talk until after eating. Frankly, I’m on overload after today. Plus, whenever either of us mentions the impending interviews or sale, we end up ruining the moment. Right now, I want to eat, drink, and definitely not talk about the job. You think you can do that?”

  “But it’s good news about the interview.”

  I reached over and snagged his garlic bread. I might be laid-back in general, but I was dead serious about being burned out on work. Not only was it consuming my professional life lately, but it had also bled into my personal life.

  His brows shot up. “Hey. What was that about?”

  “Every time you bring up work, you forfeit something. Next time it’ll be your fork.”

  A sheepish grin tugged at his lips. “Don’t I get a warning before my punishment?”

  My lips twitched. “Mm. I suppose I can give you one second chance.”

  He swiped the bread back before I could rethink it. “Thank you. How was your weekend?”

  I rewarded him with a smile for his effort in steering away from work. “Good. I was in my PJs and did nothing.”

  His confusion almost made me burst out laughing. Clearly, he wasn’t one to lounge around in his PJs on a weekend. “What does doing nothing entail?”

  “Sleeping in, binge watching episodes of Big Bang Theory and Shark Tank. Eating cereal for dinner, then reading a good book before bed.”

  His forehead furrowed. Then he surprised me. “What kind of cereal are we talking?”

  “Frosted Flakes.”

  “Chocolate or white milk?”

  “White, but the chocolate milk sounds amazing.”

  “It is. I heard they were planning to make chocolate Frosted Flakes.”

  “Shut the front door. When?”

  Now he was fully laughing at me. It reminded me of the carefree version of Simon I’d met at the grocery store. “You’re adorable. And I don’t know. Emma told me the news since she ensures I stay supplied in chocolate milk and Frosted Flakes when I travel.”

  I loved learning this unexpected tidbit about him. “Your guilty pleasure?”

  He leaned over, reaching out with his thumb to swipe the side of my mouth and causing my breath to catch. “You could say that. You had some sauce there.”

  My eyes widened as he then sucked his thumb in between his lips. Good Lord. If this man could get this much of a reaction from me with such a simple gesture, how would he be in bed?

  Nope. Nope. Not going there. But, oh, how I wanted to. With a yearning which took me off guard. He did this to me. Whether it was because we were denying ourselves or not, I couldn’t refute the instant con
nection I had with him. The craving to find out more about what made the man tick.

  I cleared my voice, trying to find casual words. “Guess I should buy some chocolate milk.”

  “Definitely. Tell me something. Are you a drink-the-milk-after-eating-the-cereal kind of girl, or do you pour it out?”

  Why was my face heating? Maybe because it felt like a metaphor for a blow job. Desperately trying to crawl out of the gutter my mind was in, I finally answered. “Depends on how good the cereal is. If it’s Frosted Flakes, then definitely. Corn Flakes, probably not.”

  He smirked as if he could read my dirty mind. “Makes sense. You want another beer? You just drained yours.”

  I looked at the empty glass, hardly believing I’d chugged a whole beer within the last minute. “No, thanks. You want seconds?”

  He patted his stomach, making me wonder what he had under his suit.

  “No. I’m full. Thank you for dinner. I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He polished off his garlic bread before dabbing his lips with the napkin. “Now that my garlic bread is safe and—hold up—” He finished off his glass before continuing. “My beer is, too, can we talk about work for a moment?”

  I sighed but figured he’d held up his end by leaving the job alone while we ate. I busied myself by moving to the other side of the kitchen island where I began putting away the leftovers. “What about it?”

  “I’m no longer interviewing you or Jeff for the CFO position. I’m only doing the retainment interviews which, frankly, you most likely won’t need. Even if you don’t get the promotion to CFO, there’s not a chance in hell they wouldn’t want you to stay as the accounting director.”

  That got my attention. I stopped what I was doing, my gaze meeting his. “Does it mean Tom will be conducting my interview instead?”

  He shook his head. “Not a chance. It’ll be the board who interviews all of the CFO candidates.”

  “What board?”

  “My boss has a board of directors as part of his investment company. Four of them have agreed to conduct the interviews.”

  “How did you do that?”