by KB Winters
I replayed what he’d said about the job offer. Was that really all it was about? The job? He’d said, twice, that he was a man who got what he wanted, but why did he want me?
None of it made any sense. I sank down into the chair behind the desk and tried my best to focus on the stack of work that Roxanne had left for me to finish up before the shift was over.
Six mind numbing hours later, I finally locked up the shop and hurried home.
When I’d originally applied for the internship at New Leaf Design Studio, I’d crafted this picturesque fantasy about working with clients, batting back and forth new and exciting ideas, putting my pen to paper and sketching life into their thoughts and dreams, and then going home each day satisfied with the deep down, soul fulfilling satiety that was only found when the creative process could be fully unleashed.
Less than two days into the assignment, the reality of the job hit me over the head like a bucket of ice water—clients were a pain in the ass who never got the vision, and the designer ended up regurgitating the same tried and true designs over and over again—maybe occasionally getting to add a splash of color to a letterhead or custom set of business cards. My dreams of creating fresh and new designs that would blow my clients minds were simply that, dreams, a fairy tale.
Somewhere over the course of the last six months, I’d let myself succumb to the truth and did what I needed to get a passing mark from the shop’s owner, Terry, who apparently only felt it necessary to show up once a week to check on her small herd of interns. It was actually shocking that people still frequented the business at all.
I pushed into the entryway of the small, bungalow style home and was immediately assaulted with the echoes of a shouting match happening somewhere on the second floor. I slipped out of my black ballet flats and followed the sound of raining F-bombs.
“I made a fucking mistake! That’s it, end of story! Damn, Dad.”
Something crashed to the ground and the sound rang out about the voices, before my father exploded, “I raised you better than this, Robbie! I’ve busted my ass for far too long to have you slap me in the face like this. I’m not paying one more cent to bail you out.”
I reached the scene of WWIII and found my dad and my brother Robbie, only a little over a year older than me, squared off in the hallway. A lamp was lying on the floor with a busted bulb and there was an unzipped suitcase filled with clothes lying on its side, the contents spilling out all over the hardwoods.
“What the hell is going on up here?” I demanded, my fists going to my hips as I tried to make myself as tall as humanly possible.
Both my dad and Robbie snapped to attention, apparently so wrapped up in their screaming match that they hadn’t even noticed my arrival.
“Robbie totaled my car and expects me to pay the deductible to get it fixed,” Dad said. His face was red and his eyes were bugged out of his head. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him so unglued. And that was saying something, because with four older brothers, there had always been some level of shenanigans going on throughout our childhood. However, Phillip and Robbie had carried their trouble making ways well into their twenties.
My eyes darted away from my dad and over to Robbie, who was not at all looking sheepish at the accusation. “Well what do you expect me to do about it? You know I don’t have the cash, and I need the car to get to work.”
I pinched my eyes closed. How could a twenty four year old be going on sixteen? He’d always been a little on the immature side, and when my next oldest brother, Phillip, had been deep into the party scene, the two of them combined into some kind of super tornado of disaster. My father had nearly kicked them both out of the house on multiple occasions—which, I assumed was what was happening, judging by the tipped over suitcase laying between them—but somehow, they always talked their way back into his good graces. The truth was, Dad liked having all of us under one roof. My oldest brother, Sam, had been gone for quite a while. He was married with two kids. Then last year, Kevin had dropped the bomb that he was moving in with his girlfriend Sonya and her daughter Trina. My dad gave his blessing, but I saw the toll it took on him to say goodbye to my brothers. With each one that moved on, it probably hit him that soon he would be puttering around our childhood home all alone. I shoved the thought aside—it was too sad. He hadn’t dated anyone in ages, and as far as I knew, didn’t want to get married again, but deep down I thought it would be the best thing for him. I knew that no one would ever take my mother’s place in his heart and memory, but he needed a companion—otherwise he was going to work himself into an early grave.
“I want you out, and don’t bother dragging your sorry ass home until you have the cash to fix the car!” Dad yelled.
“And where am I supposed to stay?”
“Don’t your lowlife friends have a couch you can crash on? I would offer the backseat of the car, but apparently it’s not available!”
I stepped between them, silencing the argument for long enough to ask, “Robbie, you can’t seriously expect Dad to pay for your mistake.”
His mouth flopped open like a fish. I may be the little sister—and only female in the house—but no one ran over me.
“Dad, can you float Robbie the cash to fix the car and then he can pay you back?” I asked, turning on the sweet baby girl charm that I knew my dad couldn’t resist.
My dad looked at me and then flung his angry eyes back at Robbie. “Not this time. Robbie, you better go out to the shed and see if your bike still works or if it’s all rusted over. Lord knows you never do anything to maintain what you’ve been given.”
“But Dad—” Robbie protested.
My dad turned his back and stomped down the stairs. “End of discussion, Son.”
Robbie looked from my dad’s retreating form, to me, and then back again like a lost puppy who had just had his favorite chew toy taken away and wasn’t sure why.
“Meg, help me out.”
I rolled my eyes. “What do ya expect me to do? Geez, Robbie, what were you even doing? Speeding? Please tell me you weren’t drunk!”
He raked his hands through his thick, dark hair. He was a carbon copy of my mother—her dark eyes, dark, thick hair, and olive toned skin. “I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t even driving…” his words trailed off.
“You what!” I hissed. “Who was?”
“Her name is Jessica something or other.”
I rubbed a hand down my face. Other than Sam, all of my brothers had quite the reputation with the ladies. For the life of me I couldn’t understand why. Sure, they were a pack of good looking boys, but that was pretty much all there was. The three of them were rowdy, irresponsible, womanizing little boys for the most part. The fact that Kevin had finally settled down—with a single mom to boot—had sent a shock wave through the family. I had no hope for Phillip and Robbie. I pictured them “bro-ing” it up well into their forties.
“Where’s the car?” I asked, shoving aside the lecture that was rapidly bubbling up inside me.
“At the shop—I called a tow truck. Fuck, Meg, I’m not completely helpless you know.”
I laughed—high and sharp, like someone had tickled me unexpectedly. “Really?”
Robbie crossed his arms and squared off with me in the hallway. Obviously his urge to argue and fight hadn’t been satisfied with dad so all of his pent up frustration was pointed my way.
“Robbie, you’re a fuck up and you’re acting like a total douchebag to Dad because he won’t bail your twenty four year old ass out of trouble for the millionth time!” My anger surprised Robbie, and it sure as hell surprised me. Normally I was the mediator in the house, but in that moment, I’d had enough. There wasn’t one ounce of grace left in me.
His lip curled back at my indictment. “Fuck you, Meg. Just because you go to school and work and all that doesn’t mean you’re better than me—or any of us!”
I shrugged. There was no sense in arguing with him when he was like this. He wouldn’t ever lay a f
inger on me, but I didn’t need to listen to him vent. I’d had a doozy of a week and wanted to have some peace and quiet to take a long soak in the tub and pretend that nothing was bothering me.
“Whatever, Robbie. Just leave Dad alone, okay. Figure it out yourself.” I turned away and went downstairs to check on my dad. He always took it the hardest when there was drama in the house. He took any conflict as a personal failure. I was halfway down the stairs when I heard the door to Robbie’s room slam shut.
I found my dad in his makeshift office off the kitchen. It was supposed to have been a breakfast nook, but with all the bedrooms occupied, it was the only place to set up his computer and store his file cabinet. He was facing away from me, bent over something, pen in hand. I set my hand on his shoulder as I approached and looked down to see him scrawling out his signature at the bottom of a check.
“Dad…” I said, releasing my breath in a sad sigh.
The check was made out an auto body shop—for the amount of the insurance deductible.
“I have to do it, Megan. I don’t like it any more than you do, but we all need that car from time to time,” he said, putting the check inside an envelope.
I sighed. He was right. I was the only one who had their own car, a beater I’d bought with cash earned waitressing all four summers of high school. It wasn’t much, but it was mine and had gotten me out of the complicated schedule the rest of the family had in place to share Dad’s car. “Well at least don’t let Robbie use it anymore. He’s never gonna learn. Did you know he wasn’t even the one driving it?”
My dad nodded slow and sad. “Yeah.” He sighed.
I pressed a kiss to his cheek. “This isn’t your fault, Dad.”
“I know,” he replied, although his tone was far from convincing. He sounded like a man with the weight of the world on his chest.
“Daddy, what’s wrong?” I sat down and looked up at him.
He refused to meet my eyes or sit down. I tugged on his hand and with another long sigh he sank down into the chair next to me at the tiny table. “There have been rumblings of another round of layoffs at the office.”
I sucked in my bottom lip to keep from gasping out loud. My dad worked as a middle manager for a large accounting firm downtown and over the past nine months there had already been two rounds of cuts. Luckily, he’d survived both and we all thought it was in the past, but now an icy hand had wrapped around my heart at the thought that he might not be so lucky the next time around. My dad had been smart, putting money into savings over the years and building his 401K to prepare for the future, but if he was forced to use that all now, to support all of his kids, I didn’t know what would happen.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I said, hoping my voice sounded more confident than I felt.
My dad looked at me, his eyes sad with stress lines showing at the corners. “Thanks honey, I’m sure you’re right.”
“How about I whip up something for dinner?” I asked, forcing more sunshine and happiness into my tone.
“That would be great. I have to run this down to the auto body shop for the car,” he said. “It won’t take long.”
I nodded and squeezed his hand as he stood from the table.
As I cooked, my mind ran through a series of worries on auto replay—my dad’s job, finishing school, Jeanine’s tantrum at dinner the night before, my brothers, the car, and every other thought was interrupted by Grant. I still had no idea how he’d tracked me down to my internship—he’d been cagey and refused to tell me, but it didn’t really matter. The point was…he had. And although my wicked female instinct told me he was interested in more than just my brain, I had to admit that his job offer sounded more and more appealing—especially since my dad could potentially lose his.
By the time the chicken and potatoes were in the oven, I had a minute to spare before starting to prep veggies for a salad. I fished my phone out of my back pocket and stared at the screen. Was I really going to do it? I peeked around the corner. My dad still wasn’t back, and Robbie was seemingly barricaded in his room. I had no idea where Phillip was, but I hoped he was at work and not getting into trouble. Lord knew we’d had enough of that for one day.
I crossed the kitchen to find my purse where I’d tossed it down after getting home from work. I retrieved the glossy, black business card that had Grant Alexander Christiansen engraved across it in big, bold silver lettering. It was an impressive card—fitting to Grant himself. I ran my thumb over the letters, feeling the soft edges where they pressed into the thick paper. I was stalling. I knew it—anyone watching me would’ve known it.
“Okay, time to pull up the big girl panties,” I murmured to myself.
I dialed the number, stashed the card in my pocket, and waited—eyes shut—as the call rang.
“This is Grant,” a velvet smooth voice laced with authority answered on the fourth ring.
My heart bottomed out somewhere in the pit of my stomach and my eyes popped open. “This is Megan. Megan Louise. Sinclair? From the—”
“Hello, Megan,” he replied in the same, silky tone.
Holy shit—just the sound of him purring my name like a tiger was getting me hot and tingly. I’d need to change my panties—big girl panties—and we hadn’t even said anything yet.
“Hi. Listen, I’ve done some thinking, and I’ve decided that I’m interested—” I paused slightly, before hurrying to add, “—in the job.”
I thought I heard a soft laugh. “Excellent. Come down to my office tomorrow. I’ll have the paperwork drawn up by then and we can go over all the details.”
Something about the way he said details sent shivers up my spine. I grabbed onto the counter to steady myself. “Sure, yes. That works. Thank you.”
I hung up before either of us could say anything else. Mostly because I didn’t trust myself. With the whirlwind of events over the past few days, I was particularly vulnerable and didn’t trust myself not to say something incredibly stupid. Hopefully my new office was in a corner far away from Grant’s because whenever he was in my proximity—or even just in my imagination—I tended to lose track of everything else at an alarming rate.
Chapter Seven — Grant
I had no idea what had caused Megan’s sudden change of heart, but whatever it was, I couldn’t have been more thankful. I hung up the phone and leaned back in my leather chair, still staring at the phone like I couldn’t believe it. After the conversation with her in the coffee shop, I’d faltered slightly in my confidence that she’d accept the job. She’d pretty much made it clear that she wasn’t interested in Timeless Timepieces, a job, and most certainly not in me, which was puzzling. I’d rarely met a woman who didn’t want me. In my experience, any woman who didn’t want me was either taken or not interested in men in general—although, there had been a few over the years who had made an exception, which always led to an unforgettable encounter.
I shook my head slightly. None of that mattered anymore, something had worked and starting tomorrow she would be in the office, and I could set to work figuring out what made Megan Louise Sinclair tick—and even better—what made her scream.
I adjusted myself under cover of my desk. Just thinking about all the things I wanted to do to her—and make her do to me—had me rock solid. She was a woman out of a fantasy; her dark hair, jade green eyes, full, pouting lips, fair skin, sensual curves, and then there was whatever secrets she was hiding. I had no idea what they were, but I was determined to find out. Megan was the kind of girl who was full of mystery, and I would be the one to unravel each and every one of them.
Before I let myself get too far gone in fantasy land, I called over to HR to let them know we would have a new addition. There was the paperwork and benefits package that would need to be completed in time. I wanted Megan in the marketing department, but she’d made it clear that wasn’t what she wanted. That was why I’d offered her a position with customer relations. It would be her job to get her fingers on the pulse of what customers wante
d, and that would naturally meld with marketing, because it would be her job to brief the marketing department on customer and potential customer feedback. Once she got into the conference room with that pack of morons, there was no way she’d be able to contain her true thoughts and ideas. She was a fire cracker and wouldn’t be satisfied with doing half the job.
It would all work out perfectly, and in the meantime while she was whipping the Shock Watches campaign into shape, I could figure out what I wanted to do with her.
* * * *
“Mr. Christiansen, a Megan Sinclair is here to see you,” Cara announced over the phone the next morning at ten am.
A rush of excitement surged through me. I’d been up half the night running through different scenarios of how I wanted our initial meeting to go. Most of them had ended with Megan naked, sprawled across my desk, begging for more—but in reality, I knew it would be best to keep the first day as professional as possible. This was a long game, not a one night stand. “Send her in.”
I sat down at my desk, straightened my tie, and glimpsed at my hair in the reflection from my computer monitor. I was fussing with the sides that were a little more grown out than I usually liked—my regular barber was on vacation and his fill in hadn’t been up to par—when the door opened with a whoosh and Megan took three tentative steps inside. For a moment she looked around, her face frozen in some kind of wonderment. which was understandable. My office was larger than most apartments and divided into three areas—my desk took up one third of the space, a massive sprawling oak piece that had been commissioned by my grandfather after his first line of watches sold out, then there was a partial wall which had a conference table, bookshelves, and a kitchenette, and beyond that was a gas fireplace with two massive leather wing backs and a wet bar—which had been my own personal stamp on the place.
