by Piper Lawson
This week has gone from stellar to sucky fast.
I've tried to catch up with my other clients today, with varying degrees of effectiveness, and I put hiring for two positions on hold, but I need to make a decision on one because the candidates are waiting. I also need to talk with our landlord about retrofitting the kitchen.
The only saving grace was the article for the Vane wedding came through this morning, and it's fantastic. I sent it to Richard but haven't heard back, which killed my enthusiasm somewhat.
This will be worth it. That's the mantra I've been repeating, but it's been hard.
Maybe because personal issues are bleeding into work ones.
For a week after returning from the Vineyard, Ben and I were inseparable. It was starting to feel as if we were dating, even when no one was looking.
Especially when no one was looking.
The looks that man can give a woman from across the table should be illegal.
But since we went to see his mom, he shut down. No “thanks for going with me.” No “sorry I was a royal dick.”
It’s not that going to see his mom was a hardship, because his mom’s a sweetheart. But I thought we'd progressed past the point where he’d give me a hard time for being in his life.
He texted me last night with a picture of Jet when he was at Hunter's for poker, along with some throwaway comment.
I didn't respond.
"You sure you're okay?" Rena prods, now joined by Kendall, and I snap out of it.
I might be in a fake relationships but I can still talk to my actual friends about it. I tell them about going to visit his mom.
Kendall nods. “Logan thinks his mom walks on water, which can be a different problem. He still looks at me hard when I offer an opinion on her or their relationship."
Rena weighs in. “Guys always freak out when they realize you’re in their life.”
“I’ve been in Ben’s life a long time,” I contend.
“But not really in his life. I’m guessing Ben’s default setting is ‘no sleeping over,’ ‘no meeting the mom,’ ‘no weighing in on my work or my life.’ He’ll figure it out, realize this is a new normal.”
Or he’ll decide I’m in too far and shove me out.
I wish I could just be angry about it, but it hurts too much.
The gala’s in another week, and the Vane wedding the weekend after. This deal will be over and things can go back to the way they were.
I wish the thought of returning to who we were was more comforting. But I don't know how to go back. Repressing my feelings for him was bad enough, but starting to let them show, having him make me wonder if he might be capable of returning them…
I have other things to focus on, like the Vane wedding and keeping my business running.
His text comes in between meetings.
Ben: Lunch today, Darling?
I head back to my office, tablet under my arm as I consider before typing back.
Daisy: Can’t.
Ben: Because…?
I sink into my chair, drumming my fingers on the desk.
Daisy: Because I lost a client.
The phone rings moments later, and I answer, “I don't want to talk.”
"Since when?"
“Since we went to see your mom and you shut down.”
“So… you are mad.”
The fact that Ben is the smartest guy I know and speaking as if he’s trying to do some new kind of calculus even he hasn’t mastered has me sighing.
“I'm not mad. Mad is what happens when a kid steals another kid’s markers. We’re adults, Ben.”
“Okay. So what are you?”
“Disappointed,” I admit. “With you, and with myself for being disappointed, because… I expected better from you. You asked me to go, and I was happy to go. For you, and your mom. But you acted as if I not only overstepped, but said something awful.”
He’s quiet a long time. "I fucked up. It was easier to shut you out than admit you were right. Holt and Tris had said some things that afternoon, and I lost it—”
“You let Holt and Tris determine how we are?” I cut him off. “The Ben I know doesn’t let anyone get to him.”
I picture him pacing his office, shoving a hand through his hair before he continues. “It never used to be like this. But lately, you get to me.”
My breath sticks in my throat. Not because of the words, or the frustration in them, but the vulnerability right beneath the surface.
It’s not enough to get to him. I want to affect him in good ways, not bad ones.
I study the cut on my hand, now nearly healed. Soon it’ll be gone, and maybe the closeness I thought we had at the Vineyard will be a memory, too.
“Tell me something good,” he says at last.
I shut my eyes. “Apparently I have two free hours later this afternoon that I wouldn’t have had otherwise.”
"That is something good. Do you want to know mine?”
“Not right now,” I say honestly.
“Mkay. Later,” he promises, and hangs up before I can protest.
An hour later, while I'm seeing if there's anything I can do to get that account back, Kendall asks, “Want anything from the café? I’m about to…” She looks past me toward the elevator, eyes widening. “Hold that thought.”
I follow her gaze to see a huge spray of flowers walk in the door. Or technically it’s being carried by a delivery man. I go to meet him, taking in the overwhelming riot of lush, bright pink flowers.
“Gerbera daisies,” I murmur, instructing him to set them on the glass table in our foyer. The delivery barely fits on the tabletop.
“Eight dozen,” he confirms.
Serena and Kendall come up behind me. “What’s going on?”
I open the card and huff out a breath.
"‘You're my something good. Ben,’" Kendall reads over my shoulder.
Oh boy. It’s sweet and romantic.
And eight dozen - that can’t be for the eight years we’ve been friends, can it? It’s almost obscenely thoughtful, and not at all like Ben.
The outrageous display and the message should have me rolling my eyes, but I don’t hate it.
Not even a little.
“What is that?” Rena points into the middle of the arrangement.
I peer into the flower stems toward the spot she’s indicating. Jet’s attached to one of the stems in the middle of the arrangement with a piece of ribbon that matches the daisies, along with a note.
Meet the car downstairs.
I should ignore it, but I’m wondering where it all leads. I’m curious what Ben’s idea of an apology is, and what he thinks he’s apologizing for.
Since I have a couple of hours free, I grab my bag and head downstairs.
The towncar is empty when I shift into the backseat, the driver navigating to a destination he refuses to divulge until we’re there.
I step out at the curb, casting my eyes up at the fanciest spa on the Upper East Side.
“Daisy,” the smiling, slender woman at the desk greets me. “We’re all ready for you. You have half an hour to relax before your treatments.”
I follow her to a private steam room with a huge bathtub. Floating on top of the water in the tub is a blow-up doll with a picture of Henry Cavill’s face taped to its head. Its hand rests on a bottle of tequila occupying the marble shelf behind the tub.
The feeling starts low in my stomach, bubbles up to my chest.
It’s a tingling, tickling warmth, and despite the fancy surroundings I can hold in the burst of laughter that rings out.
It’s easy to forget on the worst day that we can still find humor in things.
When I’m holding my stomach, my muscles already sore from laughing, I pull out my phone and hit a contact.
“You shouldn’t have. Really.” I poke the plastic doll’s face.
“It’s supposed to be the best bathing experience in New York,” Ben responds warmly. “You like it?”
“It’s a sta
rt.”
“Tell me what you want and it’s yours. Though if it involves daisies, I might need twenty-four hours—I bought out everything in Midtown.” He exhales heavily. “I wanted to do something for you. You did something for me by going to see my mom, and I didn’t acknowledge that.”
I shake my head. “Ben, it’s not about wanting your thanks in exchange for the visit. It’s not about the transaction. I don’t do business that way, and I sure as hell don’t do relationships that way.”
He hesitates before responding. “I don’t do relationships any way.”
The truth of it rings through me.
Static on the line distracts me. “Where are you? The reception’s spotty.”
“Driving to rehab to get a few things Mom forgot before moving home. I froze you out. I didn’t like the idea that you were close enough to see something I didn’t. I'm sorry I took it out on you. I’m not used to having people in my business. But I like you in my business. I like you being my business.”
My insides are warm, and it’s not from the heat of the spa.
I care about him, so damn much.
I could wait all day to hear his laugh. A single one of his easy grins makes everything okay. The possibility that Ben has feelings for me that go beyond our chemistry, that he wants me and could actually want more, has a bubble of hope expanding in my chest.
I lift the doll out of the tub and set it on the tile nearby before perching on the edge, sticking my bare calves in the hot, soapy water, and leaning my head against the wall. “You can put your pain on me. Just don’t push me away when you do it.”
“Deal.”
I scan my surroundings, my gaze landing on the bottle. "The tequila really was unnecessary."
"I'm new to apologizing."
"You did it pretty well," I admit, and I imagine I can hear him smile.
“If I did, my girl would be sending me a picture.”
I grin. “Don’t push your luck. I wish you could fix this lost client thing just as effectively."
“Is this client you lost bigger than Vane?"
"No. You know Vane would be our biggest account."
"So why aren't you on the phone with him, darling?"
"Because you kidnapped me for your nefarious spa plan and sent me on a date with Henry Cavill.”
“Sounds terrible.”
It’s not. It’s really sweet.
I groan, rubbing my face. “I know if I call Richard, force his hand, there’s a good chance he’ll shoot me down.” That’s why I’ve been biding my time.
Ben’s low chuckle warms my stomach. "If he does, he’s not as smart as I thought he was.”
His confidence warms me more than the steam from the bath.
"You're right. I have to go."
I hang up, careful not to drop the phone in the tub, and call Richard Vane's direct line. “Richard. I hope you received the draft article this morning?"
"I did."
“And?”
“They got in the soundbites about the company. Though I would’ve hoped the couple would sound more… enthusiastic about the upcoming nuptials.”
Normally I’d do everything I could to make him comfortable. Maybe it’s hanging around with Ben that has me leveling with him. “You should speak with your son about that. He’s the one getting married.”
To my surprise, he laughs. “Perhaps I should.”
Emboldened by his response, I square my shoulders. “The reason I called is that I said I’d do this PR thing as a favor. I want to discuss an ongoing relationship with your business. My team is equipped to grow this brand for you.”
“It’s not often I find someone your age so idealistic who still gets things done. You remind me of my daughter-in-law.”
“Thank you for that. Now, I’d like to schedule a meeting to discuss your future business.”
“After the wedding.”
“Richard, you’ve acquired these properties; you need a strategy to sell them to clients. Every day you lose in planning costs you down the road. It’s summer. Couples want time to reconnect, and those without children want it on their own.”
He hesitates. “Fine. Call my assistant and tell her we spoke. She'll set something up for next week.”
I hang up with a smile, dropping my phone over the side of the tub before glancing back at Henry.
I lean over and high-five his plastic hand. “Crushed it.”
23
I've always been an “in your face” guy. No subtlety required. But the image on my phone as I wait for the coffee maker between meetings is subtle and arresting.
Piles of bubbles, two tantalizing rises of flesh above them.
My lucky Jet in between.
Since Daisy sent it to me yesterday, it's been all I can do not to head straight for her place. But tonight is game night, so I decided I could be patient.
Still, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't checked out this picture at least once an hour.
I'd like to make it my screensaver if other people wouldn't see it too.
Hell, I'll make it wallpaper. Not on my computer, in my condo.
I'm laughing and turned on at once. I didn't know that was possible.
“One more week.”
I click off my phone and jerk my head up to see Xavier in the doorway of the breakroom. “Until?"
"The gala."
He heads for the hallway, and I fall into step with him. Xavier continues to his office and shuts the door behind me.
Perhaps he wants to tell me I’ve won.
“There was an oversight in your latest recommendation, with the code they’re claiming is proprietary,” he says instead. “The founder might have borrowed from work he did before leaving a previous employer.”
The hairs on my neck stand up. “He wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to steal from one of those companies.”
“According to you or a judge?” His jaw tics. “Weren’t you on an investor conference call with the founder?”
The one I got off early because I was… getting off. “Yes.”
“Listen, Ben, I know you have someone in your life, and I’m very glad to see that because it will make you a better person. But it doesn’t take the place of due diligence in the office.”
My gut tightens. “I understand. It won’t be an issue.”
Sure, I’ve canceled a few after-hours meetings. And taken my mom out of rehab and gotten her settled in her place, an idea I got after going to see her with Daisy earlier in the week. Still, I bet Holt would have a field day if he saw my personal credit card yesterday for the flowers, spa, and tequila.
I stalk down the hall to my brother’s office. “How am I just hearing about a possible lawsuit against this company?”
He glowers. “I got word thirty minutes ago. I told you there were issues.”
“Their asset valuations,” I clarify. “Not with whether they have the rights to the tech. Dammit, Tris. If I lose this deal—” which almost certainly would mean losing the award, “—it’ll be because of my own brother.”
I head out and he follows me. I mentally run through the things I should’ve done or could’ve done to prevent this. The paperwork my associates did on the front end.
Despite what I said, it’s not Tris’s fault. At the end of the day, the responsibility is mine.
"Where are you going?” He follows me into the stairwell, calling after me.
“Out.”
I take the stairs down, stalking out to the street, unsure of where I’m going.
I call the founder of my potential investment directly and demand an explanation.
“It’s baseless,” he assures me. “I wrote the code after I left.”
“There’s nothing you took from a server when you left. A database. Anything.”
He hesitates, and that beat of silence has my gut twisting.
“Of course not. But you know it’s hard to completely distinguish the ideas I had independently from projects I was working on at the time.”
His words don’t reassure me.
“I get that. But if there’s even a hint of an issue—if one of those companies files and you can’t get a judge to throw it out on day one—you can’t afford to pay the legal fees for a multi-year court battle.”
I hang up, realizing I’m halfway to Daisy’s office.
On impulse, I hail a cab to take me the rest of the way.
I need to see her, if only for five minutes. She’ll listen, and calm me down.
I used to get through work problems on my own, but this time is different. With Xavier getting ready to announce his successor and the awards gala next week, the stakes are higher.
When I get to Daisy’s office and head up to the second floor, I catch sight of something through the windowed panel that makes the floor under me shift.
She’s standing in the foyer, looking gorgeous and talking to another guy.
He doesn’t look like a client. He’s flirting with her. And she’s smiling at him.
I force myself to open the door, and her gaze shifts to find me. The man turns to follow her attention. He’s tall, dressed in an expensively cut suit.
I head straight for them.
“Marc,” she says, and time slows down.
Marc.
“This is Ben,” she goes on, hesitating. “A friend.”
A sickening thought occurs to me. Is she thinking of going back to Wall Street once we’ve ended our arrangement?
Her phone rings and she glances down with a smile of apology. “Excuse me,” she says to one or both of us, “I have to grab this.”
She turns for her office, shooting me a wary “behave” look.
“Ben of the flowers,” Marc says once she’s gone, nodding toward the card in the huge arrangement engulfing the table.
He might be a prick, but he’s observant. Point, Marc.
“That’s a very friendly gift.”
Passive aggressive. Minus one.
“Daisy and I are very friendly.” My tone is the same one I use when dealing with an adversary in the boardroom. “How do you know one another?”
“We met at an event. We’ve been trying to find a time to go out.”
Not were trying, like past tense. We’ve been trying, like he’s still planning on it.
