Bryce: Ex-Business: An Ex-Club Romance

by Camilla Stevens

  When the elevator stops and opens, neither of us seems inclined to discontinue, even when the loud ding rings out to announce our arrival. After a moment, they close again, leaving us still in the elevator.

  Eventually, Edie pulls away and stares up at me.

  I grin, if only to keep her from returning to that frown she wore when we first entered.

  “You want to tell me why I deserve to be so lucky?”

  She scrutinizes me for a moment, and I have no idea where she’s about to go.

  “Were you the one to start calling Reggie ‘Rebound Reggie’ back in school?”

  I wasn’t expecting that, which is probably why a burst of laughter escapes my lips, pretty much acknowledging my guilt. “What can I say? I was an immature and wicked young whippersnapper back then.”

  Instead of the admonishment I expect, Edie’s face breaks out into a broad smile and she lifts up to kiss me once again.

  I don’t fight it. But my mind does swirl around with the possibilities of what led to this. Obviously, Edie had an interaction with the asshole, which would explain the quick exit and sour mood.

  Asshole.

  Knowing what I do now about what he did to her, I wish I done a lot more back then than just confront him, then attach an enjoyable little nickname to spread around. Watching the future business leaders of America snicker behind their hands each time he entered the room was priceless, all the more so once a few of them actually told him the reason why. Each hard glare he shot my way back then was like a perfectly wrapped present brightening my day.

  The elevator jerks as it begins ascending again, someone obviously having called it. Edie pulls away and rolls around to the side of me leaning against the back with a smile on her face. We ride up in silence, both of us still grinning.

  A group of three girls, obviously new Columbia freshman, enter once we arrive back on the same floor of the event.

  “My brother wouldn’t even get me a drink. And neither would my sister’s best friend who was there. You’d think they’d do it as a celebratory gesture. I mean, I’m going to their alma mater.”

  “I know, Dhara, I can’t wait until we’re old enough to drink. It’s such a pain in the ass being eighteen.”

  Edie and I look at each other at that comment.

  I grin in amusement.

  She rolls her eyes.

  “Just make sure to stay away from certain Estée Lauder parfums,” I comment. “You three might find yourselves getting kicked back to elementary school.”

  Eddie snorts out a short laugh and elbows me.

  The trio in front of us turn to give me that sneer of disdain that seems to be a patented expression for females of a certain age. I guess the Bryce charm has an age limit.

  I turn to find Edie still smiling at me with amusement.

  Then again, who needs eighteen-year-olds when you have the best gal in the world?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Edie

  Bryce and I have officially settled into a routine. Of a sort, at any rate.

  Sometimes he spends the night with me. Sometimes I spend the night with him. Being able to tiptoe six feet across the hall severely underdressed without consequences makes it easier.

  It’s been a full week now. This past weekend we were a little bit lax in going out to eat together once or twice. But we figured exploring our way outside the jurisdiction of Madison Avenue was safe enough. I can’t remember the last time I was in Brooklyn and it’s definitely changed, enough to give Manhattan a run for its money.

  The Friday after that horrible Columbia alumni event was the first Friday in a long time that I didn’t force myself through The Punishing.

  In retrospect, I’m glad I went. Despite how hard it was to finally face Reggie after all these years, made worse by the disparate trajectories of our lives, it’s certainly helped me get the hell over him. I never bought into the idea of “closure” but now I get it.

  I don’t wish him ill-will anymore, including various and quite inventive ways he could meet misfortune.

  I also haven’t moved on to some Pollyanna version of forgiveness where I wish him nothing but the best.

  I honestly just don’t give a shit about him anymore.

  Which is probably the best of all outcomes.

  It helps to wake up in the morning next to a guy who has him beat in every way possible—including one very impressive way that I know would eat Reggie up inside.

  I grin as I watch Bryce slip out of bed completely naked and walk over to pull out a pair of underwear to put on.

  “At some point, we have to stop ordering in and just go out to eat in our own damn neighborhood. The business plan is in place, so we’re ready to make this thing happen, which means going public. I say we do it sooner rather than later.” He shoots me a grin. “I want to show you off.”

  Good grief, why did I ever give this man up?

  “I eat too much when I’m with you as it is. I’m used to grabbing a handful of something at work when I can, then being too exhausted to make a decision about dinner by the time I get home. If we keep this up, I’m going to gain the equivalent of a freshman fifteen—without the benefit of having a freshman’s metabolism.”

  “Hmm,” is all Bryce says, studying me.

  “What?” I ask after a few seconds.

  “Nothing, I’m just imagining you with bigger tits and ass…thighs…hips…hell, even stomach. I like it. More to grab onto.”

  I laugh and throw a pillow at him. “Say that when I’m big enough to float in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade.”

  “And share my bounteous beauty with the world? I think not!”

  I laugh again and fall back against the headboard. Then, I suddenly remember what day it is and sit back up. “Actually, speaking of eating out, I have to meet my dad for dinner tonight. I almost forgot. We do it once a month at least. Third Monday.”

  “Ah,” he says nodding, then he devilishly raises one eyebrow. “I suppose it’s too early to meet the parents?”

  “He’d love you. Anyone who can make him laugh is a bonus. You, on the other hand, might be the one overwhelmed. Dad and Sergio are…an experience. At least let me break the news that I’m dating someone to him first. I think that will be enough of a shock for him.”

  “I suppose I have the next third Monday to look forward to then,” he says, walking over to his closet. He disappears inside.

  I stare out the window, unable to hide the smile on my face. A full month? That’s the longest I’ve been with a man since I can remember. I can’t imagine I’ll be tired of Bryce by then, but I wonder if he’ll be over me. A tiny nag at the back of my mind has danced around with the idea that this was a seven-year itch he’s finally scratched and now that the conquest is complete, I have nothing left to offer.

  Bryce’s head pops back out from his closet. “I need to stop by the store tonight. I know how much you like cookie dough ice cream but B&J—” He grins and waggles his eyebrows devilishly “—have this Bourbon Pecan Pie flavor I tried once that I think would work well with both our preferred poisons. Want to try something new?”

  It sounds heavenly. I give him an overly aggrieved sigh of resignation. “I suppose I could, for the sake of science.”

  “I’ll have you fatted up in no time my sweet pig.”

  I frown. “You really are a charmer, Bryce.”

  He grins and disappears into his closet again.

  No. There’s no way I’m tiring of him any time soon.

  “Okay, what’s going on with you?”

  Nicole is the one to pose the question at what is supposed to be an editorial board meeting. With no more news coming from Conniver confirming whether or not Contempo Woman will continue to be part of their publication holdings, I have to make sure that we continue on as normal. Though it is odd they haven’t made a follow-up statement yet. I also haven’t had any further information as to this supposed audit they are meant to be conducting.

  So far no one fr
om my editorial board has made noise about leaving, but I’m hearing whispers about the staff under them freshening up resumés, which is understandable, though disappointing.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, suddenly feeling completely exposed in my short-sleeved sweater dress, and black boots.

  Nicole looks around at the eight other people in the conference room. “Come on, we’ve all noticed, right?”

  A few heads nod and even more smiles of amusement appear.

  “The overly cheerful attitude, the dresses, which I for one wholeheartedly approve of.” Nicole looks across the table at Veronica. “You’ve known Edie the longest, sure you see it, right?”

  Veronica offers Nicole a mild smile, then gives me an empathetically apologetic look, knowing how much I’m probably hating this attention. “She does have a point. You seem almost thrilled, especially considering…well, Conniver.”

  “Are you all saying I’m happy about what’s going on with Conniver—which I must remind you, you all still know nothing about?” I say, looking around to give them all pointed looks.

  They all grumble and mumble their assent.

  “It’s a man, isn’t it?” Nicole practically squeals.

  I feel my face go hot. I still haven’t told anyone about Bryce and me, either in the personal or professional sense. He may want to shout it from the rooftops—which warms my insides as much as my face right now—but I’m still cautious about the idea.

  Maybe because I’ve been single so long, I hate to jinx it before it’s even gotten off the ground. Or maybe because it’s tied to this daunting endeavor we’re proposing. Either way, it’s silly to hold back.

  Not that I plan on saying anything right now in a room full of my editors during a business meeting. I do have some sense of professional decorum.

  “Maybe I’m just taking your advice about making myself over,” I say blithely. I continue on before Nicole can press the issue. “Now, we have a magazine to run unless I’m mistaken? I’m sure we all have work to do.”

  Most take this as their cue that the meeting is over and start collecting their belongings.

  Nicole remains long enough to give me a smug smile before rolling her eyes and leaving last.

  I stay a moment to think about that, smoothing down my skirt as I ponder it. I’ll get through dinner with Dad and Sergio tonight, telling them first.

  Then…Mom. At some point. That should be fun.

  I wonder when Bryce is telling his parents.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Bryce

  I’ve just finished having an informal session with Smith regarding themes for fashion spreads in future issues of Ideal Gentlemen—remaining mostly hands-off as always. Once back in my office I see the notification that I’ve received a few telephone messages, which is not unusual.

  Before starting anything new, I play them, if only to dismiss and mark one more thing off my list of obligations.

  It’s the last one that piques my interest:

  “Bryce, it’s Jodie from Obsessed. I heard some interesting news today. Something about a new media corporation you’re part of? And that’s not the half of it. You and I should do lunch.”

  I sit up in my chair and stare blankly at the glass wall in front of me as I replay the message.

  How the hell does she know?

  That’s obviously the first question that goes through my mind. The subsequent reel of thoughts focuses on the who, what, when, where, and why the news has spread so quickly.

  Edie was right about taking our cues from Conniver. There is no such thing as a secret in this industry.

  Jodie Armstrong is the editor-in-chief at Obsessed, a woman’s magazine that falls more on the Vogue end of the spectrum, focusing heavily on fashion. When I first started Ideal Gentlemen she was happy to take me under her magazine-publishing wing—and then to her bed. She was ten years older than me, but it didn’t ruin the appeal. She has this naturally seductive way about her that could easily entrap any man, especially one who thinks he’s getting solid business advice while between the sheets.

  It was one night of fun that ended a long time ago. I would say it was by mutual agreement but, while she hasn’t come on to me as strongly as she did that first night, she’s never hidden the fact that she’d be up for a replay if I was interested. Which I’ve firmly, but gently declined.

  While I’m hesitant to call her up, that bait she left dangling in my messages is too tempting not to bite. Which, I’m sure she knows.

  I sigh and pick up the phone.

  “Bryce,” she purrs on the other end before I can even greet her. “I figured you’d be calling soon. I see you got my message?”

  “I did.”

  “And would you be interested in lunch?” The way she poses it makes me wonder if it’s lunch or something else she’s after. But I’ve known her long enough to realize that syrupy voice of hers is trademark by now, used to lure in both advertisers and her next conquest alike.

  “If it means you telling me how you came across such a vicious rumor then sure.”

  She laughs in that husky way of hers. “Lucky for you, my schedule just cleared.”

  I’m sure it did.

  “Lucky me indeed,” I say in a droll voice. “So, when and where?”

  At noon, I’m in The Standard Grill, which I’m sure is no accident. It’s attached to the Standard Hotel, a notorious haunt for exhibitionists, with rooms that have floor-to-ceiling windows facing the Hudson River and the Meatpacking District. Anyone happening along the High Line or the river, especially at night, might find themselves in for a show put on by a bold couple…or individual…or hell, even an outright orgy.

  I have no intention of performing for an audience, at least not with Jodie Armstrong.

  She keeps me waiting for ten minutes beyond our scheduled meet time. When she arrives it’s completely without apology but absolutely doused with sexual intent, from the red-soled heels of her shoes to the come hither look in her dark eyes. She’s half-Persian, half-Swedish, and the combination highlights the best of both worlds on her, even into her forties. If anything, age has enhanced it.

  At any age, I’m not interested. Especially with the carrot on a stick she’s used to lure me in.

  “Bryce. Looking handsome as ever.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere. But information about this rumor you stumbled upon would be greatly appreciated.”

  “So much for the formalities,” she says with a pout that would no doubt do most men in.

  “Speaking of formalities, this place is a bit casual for you isn’t it?”

  A smile spreads her lips. “All the better to get comfortable.”

  “Or perhaps loosen lips?” I hint.

  “My lips don’t need lubrication, Bryce.”

  A thin smile spreads my mouth. “Before we get too comfortable, perhaps a table first. Preferably in a quiet, secluded corner.” I look around at the casual front space that’s already packed with a lunchtime crowd.

  “You’re definitely speaking my language now,” she says, showing enough teeth to make me think of a cougar.

  If she thinks I’m getting a room with her for the sake of privacy…well, I’d probably still take the bait. But I’d definitely limit it to talking.

  “But not to worry. I’ve called ahead and we have a very quiet table inside,” she says nodding toward the more formal indoor space with a quieter vibe of dark tones and leather booths.

  A man comes out to greet her with all the pomp and circumstance afforded the editor-in-chief of Obsessed magazine. It pays to be the queen.

  I follow the two of them as he dotingly leads Jodie further into a quiet booth for the two of us. She keeps him waiting there while she peruses the cocktail menu, eventually landing on something called Blissful Thinking, making damn sure to bat her eyes at me as she orders.

  “I’ll just have a beer. Any IPA you have.” I note the subtle hint of distaste in his face but he masks it well.

  When
he’s finally gone, rattling off our drink orders to some minion, I focus my attention on Jodie.

  “I meant what I said about you looking good,” she says, giving me a smile that can only be interpreted one way.

  I lean in and give her as sympathetic a look as I can muster. “Listen, Jodie, whatever is going on in that head of yours, it ain’t gonna happen. You look great, there’s no denying that, but I’m not interested.”

  She lowers her lids, giving me an assessing, yet cool look. “Point taken, Bryce.”

  “Good, now, let’s get to why I’m here.”

  She sticks her lower lip out with petulance. “It’s lunch, we should at least have some pleasantries, no?”

  I force my impatience away. “Okay, what would you like to discuss?”

  That’s enough to soften the frown.

  More flies with honey, I remind myself.

  “Since you’re obviously off topic, how are your parents?”

  That’s a surprise ice breaker. As disinclined as I am to travel down this road, it’s better than the alternative of her continuing to come on to me.

  “My parents?” I echo with slight impatience. “Fine, I guess. My dad? You’d have to ask him. I don’t really keep in touch. My mother is doing well.”

  “That’s good to hear. You know, she and my parents were very friendly back in the day. She was quite wild once upon a time. That was before settling down with your father, who eventually became a bore of man—no offense.”

  “None taken,” I say dismissively, and quite honestly.

  “But then, that was the eighties!” she proclaims, waving a hand in the air. “I was just a little girl of course, but one hears things.”

  “Well, I’m sure she’d appreciate you joining her for tea and chit chat. But I didn’t come to reminisce about the Reagan era,” I say, feeling even more impatient.

  Jodie purses her lips with irritation.