by Cynthia Dane
When she started, it was with the promise that her skills would one day be recognized and not only would she have a regular work schedule again, but she would make a good name for herself in the local baking scene. My Instagram account was all ready to go.
So much for that. It had been two and a half years, and Leah barely made two dollars more an hour. The industry was against her, too. She watched job listings like a hawk, but had yet to see anything in Portland that she qualified for. Even the job in Eugene she applied to a year ago said she was not quite ready yet.
“You got that counter?” Gina asked on her way back from the bathroom. “Because I need to get started on those blasted cookies.”
Leah leaned against the front counter. Nobody walked by on the street. Must’ve been the downpour preventing people from hopping off the MAX and rushing in to get their donuts and drip coffee. “I dunno, might be too much excitement here today. Too bad I can’t go back and get started on my work, too. Did you see how many projects I have to do on my own this week?”
“Hey, maybe I can squeeze in some time to help you.”
“No promises though, right?”
Gina laughed. “Do I look like a fairy godmother? You’ll be lucky if I can be a fairy godmouse.”
Leah almost said something witty in return, but the bell above the front door jingled, bringing her attention back to their small storefront.
“Good morning! Welcome to Rose City…” Both Leah and Gina’s mouths dropped open when they encountered the small entourage of men in Italian suits.
Four of them, each one bigger and more imposing than the last. Black umbrellas closed and left water droplets on the white floor. Each man looked at the other before one took the lead, his posture perfect as he approached the case and studied the pastries freshly baked earlier that morning. Technically, he was the first customer of the day.
Something about that unnerved Leah. It wasn’t unusual for them to get some of Portland’s finest businessmen in there on their way to work, but these men hardly looked like they came in to buy a light breakfast and some coffee.
“If there’s one thing about Portland I love,” the man said to his comrades, “it’s the abundance of glute-free options.” He stood up and flashed the bakery employees a charming smile. “We’ll take a dozen donuts. Half gluten-free, half regular. Thank you.”
Gina opened the case and grabbed a disposable glove. “Do you need them in separate boxes, or is a standard one fine?”
“Standard is fine.”
While Gina grabbed the tongs in the case and started throwing together a box of donuts, Leah punched the order into the Square tablet and put on her best customer service smile, though she felt like this man and his squad of formidable goons studied every inch of her face and followed every curl of her hair.
“That’ll be $12.99,” Leah announced. “Do you have a frequent buyer’s card? A dozen donuts gets you three punches.” She motioned to the small stand of cards, ready for punching.
The man, who smelled frustratingly familiar, held out his hand to the man on his left. That same man dug in his satchel and pulled out a leather wallet, which soon landed in the chief’s grasp. “No,” the man in charge said, as he pulled out a black credit card and handed it to Leah for swiping. “Afraid we don’t live in the area. A colleague told us that this was the place the locals went to for donuts, so here we are.”
Gina brought forth the box of carefully selected donuts. She took her time folding in the corners while Leah likewise feigned to hurry through the transaction. We both have the same reaction. Strange. Weird. Uncomfortable. “Well, hopefully the rain isn’t deterring you from our fair city,” Leah said, handing back his card.
“I love the rain. As long as it’s not snowing, I’ll take whatever precipitation you throw my way.” He signed his name and glanced at Leah’s name tag. “Ah. You must be the talented Ms. Vaughn I’ve heard so much about.”
She contained the gasp bubbling up her throat. “Do I know you, sir?”
“No, of course not. I’ve merely heard good things about your work here.” With a snap of his fingers, the deferential assistant stepped forward and tucked the box of donuts beneath his arm. Before handing his wallet back, the man in charge pulled out a ten-dollar bill and deposited it into the tip jar. “You may not know this, Ms. Vaughn, but you’ve made quite the name for yourself in my neck of the woods. Have a good day.” He flashed a smile at both her and Gina on his way out the door. His small posse of Italian-suited gentlemen followed.
Long after the door shut and the bell jingled again, the two bakers turned to one another, speaking at the same time.
“Who the hell was that?”
“Did you see the size of that one guy?”
Leah stared at the ten dollars in the tip jar. “He was loaded as fuck. That kind of tip and a black AmEx? Where was he from? New York?”
“Maybe Seattle?” Gina let out a low whistle of appreciation. “Regardless of where he’s from, I know for a fact he’s my type.”
“C’mon, Gina…”
“Now, now, hear me out. I’ve always had a thing for men who are rich and hot. There. My burden foisted upon you.”
Rolling her eyes, Leah turned the Square tablet around and glanced at the name on the top of the screen, a remnant of the last transaction.
She had to check it twice to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.
Aaron Giles.
Why did that name sound so familiar? Why had he smelled so familiar? Why… oh.
Oh.
“What’s wrong, Leah?” Gina laughed. “Don’t tell me that guy turned you straight or something. I was joking about him being so hot. He ain’t worth it! Leave him for me. Cough.”
“It’s nothing.” Leah took the ten out of the tip jar so nobody would be tempted to steal it later. Enid had a place for the big tips to hide until the end of the day. “Thought he looked familiar, that’s all.”
As soon as she stored the tip in a safe place, she pulled out her phone and texted her faraway lover.
“I want to see you soon. When are you coming back to Portland?”
The answer couldn’t come soon enough. Shit, Sloan couldn’t come soon enough. Leah played a dangerous game, hinging her relief and happiness on one woman she barely knew. Yet that was the kind of person she had become over the years. It helped that she spent most of her life waiting for one person to change everything.
Hopefully, Sloan would be a good change. And, hopefully, her business partner would have nothing to do with that change.
He had done enough already.
***
Sloan tapped her phone against her knee. Fingers curled against her bare scalp. She was on the verge of breaking the skin on her head if her assistant didn’t get back to her soon enough.
“Well?” she asked Ayla, who sat on the other side of the home office in Chicago. “Do you have some room in my schedule yet?”
“For a booty call?” Ayla grunted as she swiped more apps around her tablet. The poor spreadsheet software could barely keep up with her quick movements. “A booty call out of the state? No. I either have to cancel your board meeting on Friday afternoon, or I have to cancel your appearance at the benefit Saturday night. One will kill you professionally, and the other personally. So, unless you really don’t give a shit anymore, I’m afraid you’re SOL.”
“I’ll use the plane to…”
“Mr. Giles has the plane reserved for the next four days.”
“Fuuuuck.” Aaron had clit-blocked her again! “Remind me to buy my own plane the next time I get a big fat paycheck. I hear I get a lot of breaks on the fuel now.”
“I’ll get right on that.”
Sloan hopped up from her chair, grabbed her phone off her desk, and waved a flippant hand in her assistant’s direction. “Well! Figure it out for me. What else do I pay you for?”
“My shining, spectacular personality that outdoes yours wherever we go?”
“Stop remind
ing me of how Erica Mann extinguished my cigarette for me.”
Ayla fired some vocal fry in her boss’s direction as Sloan walked out the door, “Le-gen-dare-eeeee!” Her voice returned to normal right before Sloan could no longer hear her. “If her assistants quit, I’m going to work for her!”
I’d like to see you try. Sloan marched down the private access stairs that led from her quarters to the main floor of the penthouse. One of the cleaning maids looked up from her window washing and scrubbed harder than before. Another had never vacuumed so hard in her life. Who are they trying to impress? I don’t pay them. Not directly. Sloan was on her way to the kitchen, because she heard that the chef had it in his head to make venison for dinner, and Sloan had long decided to no longer eat baby animals. She’d get around to not eating the adult ones at some point, but hey, one step at a time!
“There you are!”
Aaron’s voice was like nails down a chalkboard. Groaning, she pivoted in her boots and faced her business partner coming out of his office by the main reception room.
“Can I help you?” Sloan said with one of her signature sighs. She needed to make sure this man knew that she did not want to entertain him. “I thought you were busy using our plane to fly around the world and bed whatever woman would have you.”
“No, no, that’s you.” Aaron was infuriatingly casual without his jacket or tie on. Rolled up sleeves, too? Who was he trying to turn on? Not Sloan. She’d rather choke than see that terrible tattoo of the Chinese character for “willful” on his arm. “I recently got back from the west coast. I’m flying out again in the morning for Miami. Sorry. Know you’re dying to get back to Portland for your rainy-day pussy.”
Sloan scoffed. I’ll not deign that with a response. “Is there something you wanted?”
“We both know what I want, Maggie.”
“Yes, and you’re never going to get it, so try again.”
His smirk punctured their awkward silence. Stop trying to intimidate me, you smegma-covered louse. “It’s about your meeting with Mann-Garrett the other day. I got the minutes from Ayla and, while I have to say you did excellent work securing those investments, I’m wondering about the missing ten minutes after the end of the meeting.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, the meeting coordinator says you spoke with Mister… excuse me, Miss Mann until 1:40 PM, but the minutes ended at 1:28. So, what in the world could you possibly have to talk about with someone like Erica Mann?”
Sloan forced her cheesiest smile. “Girl talk,” she said, imitating Ayla’s vocal fry. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Uh huh. On that note,” Aaron turned around, as if intent to go back into his office, “I got to see your newest lover in Portland this morning. I have to say, she’s not the type I thought you would go for, physically, but then I saw her in action.” He sucked his breath between his teeth. “Let me know if you two break up, Maggie. Might have to take her on for my own girlfriend.”
He closed the door to his office before she could respond. You bastard. That was his game, wasn’t it? Drop that bomb and walk off as if he didn’t know what he had done. How classic of Aaron Giles.
“You did what?” she shouted at the closed door. “Aaron, get back out here!”
Of course, he wouldn’t. That would convenience her, and he would never allow that. He was the man who once said that everything was fair in love and lust, right? Made sense that he would pull this shit whenever she exerted an ounce of independence.
“You’re one of the most unlikeable people I’ve ever met.”
Sloan ran back up to her quarters and sequestered herself in her room. Her phone was in her hand before she could calm down from the renewed fury burning in the marrow of her bones.
You know who made me so unlikeable? She brought up her chat log with Leah and typed as quickly as she could. You know who made me become the stone-cold bitch everyone thinks I am? Who I think I am?
She reread her message before sending it.
That bastard. The man I’m leaving as soon as I can.
Sloan had never been more reassured that she was doing the right thing. Soon, she would call in the favors her money bought, and she would be free. Free! A concept she had slowly been achieving for the past few years, but had never been so close to tasting.
The thing that had pushed her toward the final steps? Steps she had been putting off because it wasn’t yet “the right time?”
Leah. Meeting up with her three times had been enough to make Sloan realize she needed to cut the fucking cord and be her own woman in the business world once again.
But not before she got back at him a few more times. What good was sloughing him off unless she made her point very. Damn. Clear?
“I’m not coming to Portland this weekend,” she had texted Leah. “Instead, I’m bringing you to Chicago. I have big plans for us.” Those plans would begin with stealing the keys to a place Sloan rarely frequented those days.
Suppose she better head over there right now and make sure it was suitable for entertaining company. God only knew what had been done to it in the year since Sloan last stepped across the threshold.
Chapter 15
Leah had never flown First Class before. Not even when she and a bridal party went to Vegas for a weekend bachelorette party.
Now here I am… by myself. Alone in First Class, though? Not a bad thing at all! Especially when it came with free wine and all the leg room her short stature could want. Nothing was better than fully reclining on an airplane. Who knew it was possible?
At first, she had turned down Sloan’s invitation to meet her in Chicago. Really! What had she been thinking? Did she really assume that Leah could drop everything in Portland and hop the next plane from PDX Saturday morning? Of course she did. Because Margaret Sloan was no stranger to going where she pleased at any time it convenience her. Must have been nice having her own plane!
Ironically, it was Karlie who encouraged her sister to go when the invitation came late Thursday afternoon. “You should go! How often will your sugar mama offer to pay for a free weekend trip to Chicago? I wish I could go! Go for me, and tell me all about it! Well, not the gross parts. Don’t tell me that.” Leah felt guilty telling her sister about the invitation, knowing that shameless, kinky lust was the only undercurrent to it, but who else could she tell? Gina and Melissa barely knew about Sloan.
Yes, telling my seventeen-year-old sister about it was clearly the mature choice. Leah lay back in her seat and enjoyed the smooth ride across half the country. The moment she agreed to go to Sloan’s playground, she received an itinerary with her name on it. Somehow, she had still been shocked at the words “First Class” on both of her tickets.
She tucked her typewriter purse in her lap and nursed her club soda as she watched a movie fresh from Hollywood. Briefly, Leah wondered what it would be like to do something as mundane as watching a movie with Sloan. What kind of movies did she like, anyway? Action? Drama? Was she an indie buff, or did she barely pay attention to what came and went in entertainment? It was the kind of thought that made Leah then wonder if she could ever have a real relationship with Margaret Sloan.
A real one. Because what they had was so fake…
She doesn’t have to spoil me all the time. We could stay in on a rainy day and watch movies, talk about ourselves, tell each other our hopes and dreams… That’s what friends did. What girlfriends, of both meanings, did. Yet Sloan had made it clear that they were lovers first, everything else second. Distant second. That’s what Leah had signed up for, and her desperate ass hadn’t seen anything wrong with it.
Leah knew it was dangerous to indulge that fantasy, but she couldn’t help herself. Car rides to the coast. Meeting each other’s families. Showing up after work with take-out.
Telling each other their innermost secrets – and the demons that ate them alive every time they closed their eyes.
Wasn’t that one of the reasons Leah was attracted t
o her forlorn lover? There’s something lurking beneath her hard exterior. Something that made her that way. Leah could relate. Except instead of turning into a hardass few people liked, Leah had grown up to become a quiet woman who didn’t know how much of herself was naturally submissive, and how much was a product of her earlier life experiences.
A therapist could probably help her with that, but that required half-decent insurance and the time and patience to search for a good one. There weren’t many, even in Portland, who could help her poor, queer, possibly traumatized soul.
Why are you thinking these poor-me thoughts? Leah finished her club soda and searched for a new movie to watch. Think about how much fun you’re going to have this weekend! Chicago! You’ve never been there before!
They arrived an hour later. Leah was one of the first off the plane, her carry-on rolling behind her and eyes searching for a sign that said VAUGHN. Her itinerary told her to look for a personal chauffer at O’Hare, so where was he?
Oh, with the throng of other people dressed in their Sunday best, each one holding signs with different names. There were two men holding signs with VAUGHN written on them, and after a few moments of confusion, they sorted out which man was to abscond with her in his car.
“I’m leaving O’Hare,” she texted Sloan. “Am I heading to your place?”
“You’re heading to one of my places. Somewhere we can be alone tonight.”
Leah glanced out the window as they entered downtown Chicago. The buildings were imposing enough to remind her of Sloan’s resolute personality. “I can’t wait to see it. I can’t wait to see you.”
“Soon. I have a thing I need to go to in the evening, but I’ll get there as soon as I can. The fridge is stocked and the TV is hooked up to satellite. Enjoy yourself. I also left some instructions for you. They’re on the bed.”
Instructions? Leah hadn’t hoped to do much exploring that evening, but she wasn’t prepared for instructions… On the other hand, it certainly gave her something to look forward to while she waited for Sloan to get back from her event.
