by Kim Karr
He whirls around as if shielding me from some kind of harm that might be on the other side.
Stepping to the side, because I don’t need his protection, I look up to see Cam standing there in Makayla’s way-too-small yellow raincoat with a flashlight in his hand.
Keen’s eyes flash in amusement. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
I laugh too, but keep it to myself, knowing Makayla must have forced him to wear it to keep him protected from the rain.
Cam steps inside. “A raincoat, fucker, what does it look like?”
Keen scratches his head. “I think you left your rubber ducky at home.”
Cam’s eyes take Keen in. “Excuse me, Mr. GQ, but I think you left your sense of style in New York.”
“Yeah, well at least I have one.”
“Had. I think you frigging lost it along with your mind.” Cam’s eyes flick between Keen and me.
Along with his mind?
What does that mean?
No, I will not get drawn in.
He hurt me.
I have to remember that.
The flurry of guffaws and trading of insults volleys back and forth a few more times, and I use this time to slip out of the kitchen to grab some towels. I return just in time to see Cam flipping Keen a triumphant bird.
“Here,” I say to Keen, handing him a towel without looking at him, and then I tie a towel around myself.
Cam sets the flashlight on the counter. “I see you both got caught in the storm.”
“Yes, I wasn’t expecting it and had to move all the furniture,” I tell him.
“You should have called me. I would have helped this guy over here with my brute strength,” Cam says, lifting his arms to flex his muscles and ripping open the seams of the raincoat at the same time.
Keen rolls his eyes.
“Fuck, Makayla is going to be pissed,” Cam says, slipping it off.
Keen starts laughing again and Cam shrugs fully out of the coat, handing it to me. “Maggie, you should probably cover up a little bit more anyway before you catch cold.”
Smooth.
Real smooth, Cam.
Even Keen snickers under his breath. Or was that a snort?
Asshole.
I narrow my eyes at Cam and set it down, hiking my towel up just to make sure nothing is showing.
He shrugs. “And I guess you don’t need this, either,” he says, pointing to the flashlight.
I continue to glare at him.
“Makayla was worried you didn’t have one, but the power seems to have come back on.”
“Yes, we’re all good,” I say, and start to turn to walk away just as Cam claps his hands together.
“Well, good!” he says. “I’m glad you’re both here.”
Good?
Why good?
Looking at him, at his grin, I see that he is completely oblivious to the tension rippling in waves between Keen and me.
“Let’s sit down,” he says.
I smile at him and try not to grab a knife and cut his balls off. “How about I make coffee?” I ask instead.
“That sounds great.”
Keen is just finishing tucking the end of his towel at his waist, when he looks up at Cam. “Let’s talk later, okay? I’m just headed back to bed.”
Cam clamps his hand on Keen’s shoulder before he can step away. “Oh, no, no, no. We have a lot to do today, bro, and since you’re already up, we’re going to get started early.”
Curiosity tickles my lips, but I remain silent as I scoop coffee into the filter.
Keen and Cam start to argue again in their trading-insults fashion and I tune them out, taking the moment to calm my racing pulse. But then just as I pour the water in the pot, Cam starts yacking about showering, breakfast, getting a new phone, rock climbing, shopping, and work.
Wait! What?
Work?
Why work?
“Maggie, what do you think?” Cam asks.
Switching the coffeemaker on, I turn around. “About what exactly?”
“Showing Keen around.”
Bracing the counter with a towel wrapped around my body, I look into Cam’s gray eyes, hoping beyond hope that this has nothing to do with my job. My fairly new job that I happen to love, by the way. “Don’t you think he’d have more fun if you did that?”
Cam turns his head to the side as if trying to figure me out. “Honestly, no. I think you can do a better job than I can. You know the products better than me. Besides, I’ll be in Chicago for the next two weeks trying to close the deal to purchase Austin Mars.”
I nod, just because I know I should.
The products. Okay, so this is work related. But in what way?
What am I missing?
The wheels in my mind are spinning, and I’m trying to connect the dots. From what I know, Cam is in the process of adding about five smaller retail operations to his corporate portfolio. Once he finishes evaluating them all, he plans to roll the appropriate pieces into Simon Warren operations and sell the rest off. I also know that he wants to move retail headquarters to Irvine. I get that. It is a much shorter distance from Laguna. I’m all for it, but what does any of this have to do with Keen?
Right now the Melrose Corporate Office is a key location for Simon Warren since it is literally above the flagship store, and last I heard he hadn’t decided what to do with that. Is he closing it? Or . . . no, no, no. He’s not putting Keen there. Is he?
“Don’t you agree, Maggie?” Cam questions.
“Why exactly am I showing him around?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.
Cam is smiling so wide, I think it might be Christmas morning. He claps a hand on Keen’s shoulder again, but this time it’s more an out-of-respect gesture. “This brilliant guy right here has taken the position as head of the men’s retail division.”
Please tell me for a different company.
Not for Simon Warren.
I can’t work with him.
No way.
No how.
“Temporary head,” Keen adds, looking hesitant.
“Semantics,” Cam counters. “You’re going to love it and never want to leave.”
“Trial basis—remember, buddy,” Keen stresses.
Please tell me trial basis for Austin Mars.
Cam rolls his eyes as if not bothered by Keen’s reluctance, and then redirects his attention on me. “Anyway, Maggie, my plan is for you to introduce Keen to the company while I’m gone.”
Summoning all of my willpower to prevent me from fleeing right now, I suck in a breath and try to keep my voice even. “Okay, so you want to show him a store or two so he has a feel for men’s retail?”
As easy as it sounds, I doubt I can do that, but I can’t tell Cam that.
Cam shakes his head. “What I have in mind is a little more in-depth than that. Think of it as the first of the training sessions we’ve been talking about, except instead of you training the store department heads, you train the company head.”
The company head?
Like of what company?
Reluctance coats my brow, and I ease my words out carefully. “Okay, I can do that.”
Cam claps his hands together again. “Great. So I was thinking you could take him to the Santa Monica Distribution Center on Monday. And Jordan whispered in my ear that he is planning a little get-together to celebrate the completion of the upcoming fall line, so maybe you could both make an appearance. On Tuesday you’ll take Keen to the Melrose flagship store, and then the two of you will fly out to New York for the rest of the week to meet with your mother and attend a few of the men’s fashion shows, to give him a taste. Finally, next week you will show him the ropes at the corporate office. And then we’ll see where we need to go from there.”
Stunned.
Horrified.
Furious.
Those are just a few of the emotions I’m feeling when I look toward Keen and ask, “You’re going to be running Simon Warren?” at the same
time he asks, “You work for Simon Warren?”
“Yes.” He smirks as if he wants to shout, “And now you will have to see me and hear me because I just might be your new boss.”
“Yes!” I respond tartly to his question. I can’t even look at him or Cam.
Silence fills the room.
“I should go give this back,” I say to Cam and then grab Makayla’s raincoat and get the hell out of Dodge, leaving my freshly brewing coffee behind.
“Maggie!” Cam calls.
I look over my shoulder.
“Any questions?”
With a shake of my head, I give him a thumbs-up and then go in search of Makayla, who I hope to God is home because I am in desperate need of her calming abilities.
Have you ever hated someone so much and yet wanted to fuck him on sight? Well, that’s how I’m feeling right now, and I can’t stand it.
With what Cam has planned for me, I have a lot of practicing to do on how to ignore, fight, maybe even repel extreme sex appeal, especially considering I’ve never had to do it.
Like ever.
Keen
Ignoring a slightly misplaced foot, pushing past a nagging fear of gear failure, or ramping up the intensity to latch a small hold.
They all require mental awareness.
Most climbers know that the mental game of climbing is just as important as, if not more so than, the physical aspect. So it is no surprise when Cam pulls his Jeep into the parking lot of the Hangar 18 Indoor Rock Climbing Gym.
Peering over his shades, he removes the key from the ignition and glances over at me. “You ready to show me you can get your shit together?”
The question isn’t off the wall. The drive from Vegas to Laguna was spent with me spilling my guts about losing my job, my life, my mind, and even myself, and Cam just listening.
Not judging.
Not commenting.
Just being who he has always been—my friend.
I wanted so badly to talk about Maggie to him, but that promise we made to each other isn’t one I could break, even if I broke a million others. I get that it doesn’t really mean much; she might be with my brother right now for all I know.
Still, it’s all I have to hold onto, except for the memories of how good she felt beneath me, in my arms, and on my tongue.
And yes, I fucked up.
Fucked up big time.
The question is, can I make her see it wasn’t her? That as clichéd as it sounds, it really was me. About me, and my need to succeed. About my own disappointment. About coming down off a high I’d been on for two years and falling so hard, I didn’t know when I hit the ground.
“Well?” Cam smirks.
Snapping out of it, I open my door and look over at him with a grin. “When was the last time you climbed, or got in the ring?”
I don’t bother to wait for an answer because I already know it’s been years. Me, on the other hand, every weekend before my fall from Wall Street I was either climbing or at the boxing gym.
So who do you think is going to show whom what?
Cam might be one of those strong-shouldered dudes with a cocky smile who could definitely break your wrist arm-wrestling if he wanted to. The thing I think he has forgotten is that when I’m sober, I’m faster than him.
Always have been.
Long soul-searching talks forgotten, I’m out to show him I’m back, and boy am I back.
As soon as he turns the corner to the front of his Jeep, I grab hold of him around the neck, jerk him backward, and dig my knee right into his spine. His arms flail and he tries to roll me over his back. Not happening. I apply a little more pressure and hear him grunt.
“Who did it?” I hiss into his ear.
“Did what?” Cam gags for air.
I hold tighter as he twists. “Shot down the Knicks in the 1995 playoffs.”
There’s a twist, a useless attempt to kick my legs out from under me, and even an elbow to the gut. Yet, I still have him in my hold. “Reggie Miller, with back-to-back three-pointers,” he finally gasps.
Releasing the vise hold I have around his neck, Cam falls to one knee on the grass, sucking in air and trying to get his breath back. When he does, he looks up at me. “Fucker.”
“You’re lucky,” I say, grinning, and then put my hand out to help him up. “I was going to ask who shot the craziest game-winning buzzer-beating shot ever, and I bet that would have taken you a lot longer to remember.”
“You know, you really are a sight for sore eyes?” I turn to see my brother leaning against the handlebars of his motorcycle, just shaking his head.
“Yeah, well you’re making my eyes sore now.”
Brooklyn joins us and the three of us laugh, the way we did whenever we all got together growing up, and then we all lock hands, ghetto-style.
Once inside, though, we get serious.
Wearing a pair of Brooklyn’s nylon cargo pants and one of his Dri-FIT T-shirts because all my shit was thrown, like literally, into the back of Cam’s Jeep, I use my hands and feet to find the holds.
I move upward at a pretty good pace considering the amount of alcohol I most likely still have left in my system. The rope tied to the harness around my waist is under the control of my belay partner, who just so happens to be Cam right now.
Hope he doesn’t let me fall if I misstep.
Nah, just kidding; he is belay certified.
He wouldn’t to that.
Would he?
As I ascend the wall, I create slack with the rope, and Cam does his job keeping it tight.
Brooklyn is on a route beside me. “You’re slow today, big brother.”
I shoot him the finger.
He laughs.
“So how’s it been living with a chick?” I ask casually, probing a little for information without making it look like I am.
His fingers tighten around the handle. “Good, man, but I have to say it’s not without its complications.”
I reach a little higher, my body going live wire. “Oh yeah, in what way?” I mentally prepare myself for what he is about to say.
He rises a little and peers down. “Ever since New Year’s she’s been really fucking moody. Always making comments about the chicks I’m hanging out with and never going out anymore. You know, I think she might have a crush on me.”
Jealousy swims in my veins. I look up, trying to keep my temperament at bay. “By the looks of things last night on that table, it’s you, little brother, that has the crush.”
“Me, hell no! That’s just the way we roll. Besides, she is not my type at all. A little too headstrong, if you know what I mean?”
It takes everything I have to not burst out laughing. And I mean everything. “Yeah, chicks are complicated,” I say straight-faced, and then turn my attention back to the climb with the biggest fucking smile on my face. Talk about wires being crossed. Neither of them actually likes the other and both think they do.
It truly is a laugh-out-loud moment.
Within minutes, Brooklyn is about three feet higher than me, the little shit is moving faster than me just to show me up.
The truth is with each movement my mind is wandering farther and farther away from the climb.
Have you ever heard the phrase “The eyes are the mirror to the soul”?
People usually say this when they can see pain, anger, or confusion in somebody else’s eyes.
But what if you see yourself in someone else’s stare?
From the moment I looked into Maggie May’s gaze on New Year’s Eve, I knew she was trouble.
That I was in trouble.
Like deep, deep trouble.
It wasn’t her name, the song, or her belief that it somehow reflects who she is, as if the song was written about her even though she hadn’t been born yet.
It wasn’t the fact that she is attractive as hell. Sure, I’m a guy, but attraction I can fight.
It was the look in her eyes—the one that matched mine.
A hunger
that is never quite satisfied.
An itch incapable of being scratched.
A need so deep, no one can ever fill it.
Ignoring it, avoiding those eyes, would have been my best course of action considering the fuck-up that my life is right now. But no, I had to agree to come to California, to take on this job on a trial basis, and without knowing I had agreed to work with her. I can’t believe who she worked for never came up in conversation those three days we talked, but then again, it was all about the sex.
Now who’s screwed?
The whole ride over here today I tried to discourage Cam. Told him I was a big boy and could learn the ropes on my own.
Maggie is anything but ready to work with me—shit, she doesn’t even want to look at me. And I get it. But Cam and his brilliant ideas.
The stubborn fucker wouldn’t back down.
As soon as I suggested I do this on my own, I had to listen to how Maggie is the best person to introduce me to the company. How she loves her job, and how well she knows men’s fashion. How smart and dedicated she is. Blah, blah, blah.
Does he not see the very basic issue here? She’s a woman and I’m a man, and nothing but trouble can come from the two of us working together, especially since she hates me.
I mean, have you ever felt a lust so strong that it threatens to topple the wall you’ve very neatly built around yourself?
If the thought isn’t pretty, the reality can only be ten times worse.
Right?
Just then my foot slips and I start to fall.
Fanfuckingtastic.
Bouncing midair, I glare down at my belay partner.
“Hey Keen,” comes Cam’s smart mouth.
“Yeah,” I bark.
“Payback is a bitch,” he says, letting me hang like a wrecking ball in the middle of the gym.
“Fucker,” I mutter.
Brooklyn peers down at me from the top of the wall. “Losing your edge, big brother?”
My head snaps in his direction. “No, little brother, not at all—I’m just warming up.”
Not even close. My edge. “Yes, my edge is something I plan on keeping for a long time. A very long time, Maggie,” I mumble to myself.
And that’s something to hold onto.
