by Tijan
“So?” she asked.
“So what?” I asked, wanting her to change the subject. I turned back to the oven, taking out the lasagna the housekeeper had left. I never wanted to date my sisters’ friends. I was surprised they were still trying. My life was full to the brim.
“So will you take her out?” she asked as if I were stupid. To be fair, I was being deliberately obstructive. I just didn’t need my sisters interfering with my dating life. I was happy with things as they were.
“Looks like April may have competition,” Violet said. Scarlett shot her a look and Violet shrugged. “We’ve been talking a lot about Harper this evening. She’d definitely get Amanda’s seal of approval.”
I’d never had to concern myself with whether Amanda would like any of the women I’d been with. She’d never met any of them and that’s the way I liked it. It was simply coincidence Amanda had gotten to meet Harper.
Scarlett continued to chat on about April, which I could easily drown out. Harper was a little more difficult to bury. “April comes from a lovely family. She’s blonde, which I know you like.”
Did I like blondes? I wasn’t sure hair color was a deciding factor for me. Harper’s hair was chestnut brown, but had looked almost black in the rain. Images of her standing in the line for Serendipity flashed into my head. She’d looked gorgeous. Her cheeks pinked from running, her eyes bright blue. At one point she’d licked raindrops from her upper lip. It had only been Amanda’s presence that had stopped me from pushing her wet hair from her face, relishing her soft skin under my thumbs, and pressing my lips to hers. If it had been just the two of us, I would have dragged her back to the apartment and spent the afternoon naked and indulging myself in her instead of ice cream.
“What are you smiling about?” Violet asked me.
“I’m not smiling about anything.” I needed to shake these thoughts about Harper off. A taste of Harper was supposed to cure me. That had been my justification for fucking her the first time, the second time, and the third time. But seeing her today, relaxed, warm, and so focused on making sure Amanda was happy, had grown this buzz in my gut I had when she was around or when I thought about her. They laughed and talked together like old friends and listening to them in the changing rooms while I’d pretended to stay focused on my emails made me smile, made me feel good.
“Can I show them my dress?” Amanda asked.
“After dinner you can try it on.”
“Daddy bought me the most beautiful shoes to go with it. I’m not sure he would have, but Harper said she’d buy them if he didn’t.”
“I was always going to buy the shoes. Give me some credit. I know you can’t wear your sneakers.” Harper’s face had lit up when she’d seen the shoes. I’d wanted to ask for a pair in her size as well. Maybe I’d try to find her something similar. After all, I’d ruined her blouse.
“So I want to hear more about Harper,” Scarlett said. “How old is she? Is she pretty?”
Amanda took a spoonful of salad and stopped, thinking about the question.
“Come on, Amanda,” I said, trying to distract them away from this question. “Don’t get it all over the table.”
“My age?” Violet asked.
She nodded and dropped some salad on her plate. “I guess. Like, grown-up age. And she’s really pretty.”
They were right about that. She was very attractive.
“I’d say about twenty-five,” Scarlett said. “Gorgeous, too, and she just happens to work with Max.” I avoided Scarlett’s glances. But she was right, Harper was gorgeous. And smart. And great in bed.
“She’s one of my employees who happens to live in the building. Amanda begged her to go shopping with her. I’m sure it’s the last thing she wanted to do.”
“She enjoyed it,” Amanda said with total confidence. Because why wouldn’t a twenty-something enjoy going shopping with her boss and his kid? Harper had been exceptionally good about it. It had been nice to watch them together.
“Would she go out on a date with your dad, or is she too pretty for him?”
Amanda grinned. “Oh my God, that would be so awesome. And I know she doesn’t have a boyfriend.”
I pretended I wasn’t listening and took the salad spoons from Amanda and finished distributing the salad for everyone. Normally I’d have put an end to the conversation by now. I’d become good at deflecting around my dating life but this was slightly different. I found I liked the conversation about Harper—enjoyed Amanda’s reaction to her. And I didn’t mind them considering us as some kind of couple. Not that it would ever happen—we’d agreed it wouldn’t. It was just I didn’t mind it being a possibility in my family’s mind.
Monday I’d gotten into the office late. I’d been shopping for shoes for Harper. It had taken me too long to make the purchase, not knowing what I was doing and why. Now I was behind and grouchy and I still wasn’t decided on whether or not I’d actually give her the shoes. Next on my schedule was to follow up on the lunch invitation to Charles Jayne as Harper had suggested.
“Max, I have Margaret Hooper, Charles Jayne’s assistant, on the line for you,” Donna squawked from my speakerphone.
“Thank you.” I cleared my throat and pulled back my shoulders. Assistants had much more power than people realized, and I was sure Margaret held considerable sway with Charles Jayne.
I picked up the receiver. “Ms. Hooper, Max King of King & Associates here.” I could tell from her response, which was soft and helpful, that she was pleased I’d called her and not just asked Donna to call on my behalf. Harper had made a good suggestion. So now that Margaret was on our side, I needed to convince her to let me take Charles to lunch.
“As you know, Mr. Jayne has asked me to come in to see him on the twenty-fourth. I don’t want to waste his time.”
“You’re right, he doesn’t have much time to do anything, so how can I help?” she asked.
“I want to make the presentation as focused and helpful as possible. Now of course this benefits me because I provide Mr. Jayne with what he most needs.”
“Indeed, Mr. King,” she replied, skepticism rising in her voice.
“Please, call me Max.”
I could hear her smile across Wall Street. “Okay, Max, what is it you want?”
“I want to create a win-win situation. If I understand what it is that Mr. Jayne is looking for then our presentation won’t be a waste of anyone’s time. He’s happy. I’m happy. If I can get lunch with Mr. Jayne—”
“The problem is he doesn’t have any lunch availability between now and the twenty-fourth. His schedule books up very quickly, unfortunately.” Her tone transitioned from friendly and open to clipped and concise. I wasn’t sure if she was being honest, or if I was being given the brush-off.
“I’d be very happy to come to the JD Stanley offices and bring lunch to Mr. Jayne, if that would help?” I suggested. “Alternatively, I’ll get a table booked at La Grenouille if that would suit him.”
“I’m sorry. If it were up to me, I’d love to find space. But I’m afraid it’s not.” That sounded like a brush-off. Otherwise she’d have said she’d let me know and checked with Charles Jayne.
“That’s such a shame.” I paused a second, considering my options. Was it worth trying to press a little more or did I risk backlash?
Maybe I should mention Harper’s name. I still wasn’t clear what the bad blood was between Harper and her father. It couldn’t just be about the fact she didn’t get offered a job when she graduated. She’d indicated things went bad between them before that.
Harper knew the reason we were going to give her a slot on the presenting team was because she was Charles Jayne’s daughter, right? So she understood to a certain extent she was being used. There’s no way I’d ordinarily have a junior researcher second chair a meeting like that. But at the same time, I’d discussed that with her, sought her approval before making any decisions.
I had to decide my next move quickly or Margaret would hang
up. Fuck it, this was war. “I’d hoped he’d enjoy seeing his daughter in a professional environment,” I said. Silence at the other end of the line nudged me to continue. “I was assuming Harper Jayne would join us for lunch. But I understand that Mr. Jayne is very busy.”
“Please hold the line, Mr. King,” she replied and her voice was quickly replaced with Vivaldi.
Had I just been the asshole Harper accused me of being? Was using her to get a lunch with Charles Jayne any worse than taking advantage of the fact Charles Jayne’s offer of a meeting was probably linked to her working here? The problem was none of us were sure whether or not I got the phone call from Charles Jayne because of Harper. Regardless, I hadn’t been the one to play that card—I hadn’t even known they were related. All I’d done was take advantage of a business opportunity. Fuck.
Lunch required interaction that went beyond the professional. I had no idea whether or not Harper would think lunch was no big deal, after all she’d agreed to pitch, or if she’d knee me in the balls and hand her notice in if I even suggested it.
I should have thought this whole call through more carefully in advance, maybe had Harper in the room when I spoke to Margaret. It wasn’t like me. I couldn’t tell if Harper had thrown me off my game or if it was the thought of landing JD Stanley as a client.
Maybe Margaret would come back and still say that Charles Jayne’s schedule was full. I reached inside my collar and ran my finger around the starched material. I shouldn’t have acted so rashly.
“Mr. King, I can make some time for you on Wednesday. Mr. Jayne will see you and Harper at twelve thirty at La Grenouille.”
Shit. That was the answer I wanted and the one that made me feel uncomfortable.
I hoped I’d done the right thing.
After thanking Margaret, I hung up the phone.
Maybe I didn’t have to tell Harper. Maybe I could just turn up to lunch on my own and say Harper had been caught up in the office or was sick.
But then Charles Jayne hadn’t founded a leading investment bank without the ability to smell bullshit a mile away. No. I’d have to confess to Harper what I’d done, and if she didn’t want to come to lunch, I’d have to cancel.
Jesus, why was this so fucking complicated? I’d done what I needed in order to win. If Harper and I hadn’t banged, would I be second guessing myself?
“Did you get it?” Donna asked as she burst through the door.
I nodded and leaned back in my chair. “Wednesday,” I said.
“Well, why don’t you look happier about it? Things are coming together just as you’d planned.”
I scrubbed my face with my hands. “Yeah, maybe.”
“What’s the matter with you? This is great news.” She closed the door.
Donna was right; this was what I’d been hoping for. What had been my ultimate goal just three weeks ago was now tarnished with the knowledge I’d gotten there by using Harper.
People said I was ruthless in business and that may be true, but I’d never been underhanded and I always tried to do the right thing. I wanted to be someone my daughter could admire and respect and emulate in some ways. I wanted her to be ambitious and driven. But my greatest wish was for her to grow up knowing what was important, that she became someone who understood integrity and hard work was the way to go. I didn’t want to raise a daughter who would sell her soul for a piece of corporate pie. And I’d worked hard not to be that guy. Had I just thrown that all away?
I’d always found the ethical boundaries were drawn quite distinctly on Wall Street, but today that line had become fuzzier and I wasn’t sure on which side of it I stood.
Instead of calling for an elevator when I got home after work, I took the stairs. Was I about to make a dick move by giving these shoes to Harper?
Quite possibly.
My shoes made clunking sounds against the metal steps, as if they were trying to call attention to my climb, which was the last thing I wanted. The white Jimmy Choo bag swung against my side. I’d spent about an hour in the Bleaker Street store before committing to the purchase that had made me late to work. I’d never a bought a woman outside of my family anything, ever. But since I’d seen the look of pure joy lighting up Harper’s face when she picked out Amanda’s shoes, I’d wanted to see that expression again. She’d been excited and bright and full of enthusiasm. And as the daughter of one of the richest men in New York, it was nice to see. She should have been used to luxury, but somehow she’d managed to make Amanda feel special.
I wanted her to feel the same way again.
The assistant at the store had been very patient with me. But I’d seen the pair I wanted as soon as I walked in. They were like an adult version of the pair I’d bought Amanda. The heel was higher and thinner and straps more intricate but they were covered in that glittery finish she and Amanda had gone wild over on Saturday.
I’d torn the buttons from her blouse so I owed her, didn’t I? Memories of revealing her full breasts when I’d ripped her blouse drifted into my head, and I tried to shake them off.
But I had more than one reason to buy her shoes. She’d found a dress for my daughter that reduced the chances of me going to jail for the murder of every fourteen-year-old boy who so much as looked at her. I had to thank her, and shoes were an appropriate gift.
As I reached her floor, I paused before opening the fire door. I could just leave them on her doorstep. I wanted her to have them more than I wanted to be the one to give them to her, to see that look of pleasure on her face. At least I hoped it would be pleasure. Buying an employee shoes wasn’t the actions of a boss—they had a touch of Vegas about them and I wasn’t sure how she’d react to that.
I needed to stop being such a pussy.
I knocked three times on her door and stretched out my hands, trying to resist the buzz in my fingers I knew would start when she appeared. It was as if I were pre-programmed to reach for her whenever I saw her.
She appeared seconds later, dressed in a Berkeley T-shirt and leggings, her hair in a high ponytail—a style I’d never seen her wear to work. She looked breathtaking.
“Hi,” she said, her mouth slightly open.
“Hi.” I held out the bag.
Her eyebrows knitted together. “What’s that?” she asked, though she didn’t take it.
“A thank you. For Saturday and . . . You know, for giving up your time last weekend.”
Her eyebrows raised and a smile twinged at the corners of her mouth. “Really?” she asked. “It was fine. You don’t need to buy me a gift.” And then she frowned.
I hadn’t expected this reaction. I’d wanted to make her smile, maybe smooth her hands through my hair and kiss me. “Okay.” I should tell her about lunch, get it out of the way. “And I have something to tell you.”
She opened the door and I followed her into her apartment, leaving the Jimmy Choos underneath her coat rack. She wasn’t even going to look at them? The door clicked shut behind us and instantly I knew I made a mistake. Suddenly I was back in Vegas. I couldn’t stop staring at her ass, wondering whether she was wearing a bra under her shirt. The buzz in my fingers grew stronger, and I had to take a deep breath to calm my rising pulse.
“You want a drink?” she asked.
“Sure, thanks.” Holding a glass would occupy my hands, stop them from wandering to the hem of her T-shirt, and skirting the smooth skin underneath.
She set two glasses on the small counter as I watched. She seemed unbothered by my presence, as if I was something other than wildly attracted to her.
She handed me a glass of lemonade and leaned against the cabinet. “So,” she said.
Her small, delicate fingers wrapped around her glass and I couldn’t help imagining how they’d feel, cooled by her drink, trailing down my chest.
“Max,” she said and I snapped my head up to look at her. “What did you have to tell me?”
Shit. I shifted my weight from one foot to both, trying to regain control. “I took your advice and
called your father’s assistant.”
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t call him my father.”
I nodded. I wanted to know why she so clearly didn’t like the man. Didn’t speak to him, but kept a dossier on his business investments. Didn’t want anything to do with him except to show him just how worthy of his attention she was. “Should we talk about this? I don’t really understand your history. And I’d like to.”
“Is talking about parents something you normally do with employees?” she asked, a frown creasing her forehead. She pushed off the counter and came toward me, clearly wanting me to move out of the way so she could leave the kitchen. Our bodies were close, the heat of her breath puffing against my shirt. I didn’t move. I liked having her close. I wanted more.
I ran my finger up her exposed neck and her lips parted, but as her eyes met mine, she pushed past me.
I turned to find her loitering by the door. “You should go,” she said, her eyes on the floor.
“I should,” I agreed. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay and peel off her T-shirt, bend her over the sofa, and slide into her. I stepped toward her and rested my hand on her hip.
“What did you have to tell me?”
Oh yes, lunch. Her presence, like some kind of fog, clouded my brain and my judgement.
She placed her hand on my arm and it drifted up to my shoulder. I had to consciously breathe.
“Max?”
Her clipped tone brought me to attention. “I called his assistant. She found a spot in his schedule.” Taking a half step closer, I smoothed my hand from her hip to the small of her back.
She raised her eyebrows as she tilted her head up to look at me. “That’s good, right?”
I nodded. “Except he seemed to be busy until I told her you’d be joining us.”
Dropping her hand from my shoulder, she took two steps to the side.
“And so you’re here. With gifts. And wandering hands.”
I took a step back, removing my hand from her warm body. “What? No.” Was that what this looked like? As if I were trying to bribe her? Seduce her into agreeing to lunch?
