CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jennings
“What exactly do you need to know and why can’t you ask her yourself?”
I’ve put in a call to my cousin Rhys. My American cousin, younger by two years. His mother is my father’s sister. She grew up in England but left when she fell for a foreign exchange student during university—and followed him home. All the way home to Connecticut. Somehow Rhys and I have always been close despite growing up on different continents. It helped that once we were old enough we spent summers together, alternating between the US and the UK each year. Looking back I suspect our parents made this deal to buy themselves a kid-free summer every other year, but the end result is that it made Rhys and I thick as thieves.
“It’s complicated,” I reply and it makes me smile. I sound like Daisy with her evasive excuses.
“What do you mean it’s complicated? Didn’t you introduce yourself? We don’t Undercover Boss the employees, Jennings. That’s policy. Senior-level employees introduce themselves whether they’re traveling on company or personal business. We don’t hoodwink the employees.”
“Hoodwink? Really, Rhys?”
“It’s a word, asshole. Stop avoiding the question.”
“I would’ve,” I tell him, “but I’d already met her. The night prior. And then things got… complicated.” There’s that word again.
There’s a brief pause while he takes that in. I hear him stop typing and imagine he’s settled back into his chair so he can focus on giving me shit.
“You British bastard. You have all the goddamned luck, don’t you? When I took Nan on a tour of the Canadian Rockies last year our guide was a fifty-year-old-man named Marvin.”
“Sorry, Rhys.” I grin even though he can’t see it. “I do have a rather lucky way with the breaks, don’t I?”
“Asshole.”
“Plus I’m older, better-looking and better at sport than you.”
“Better at sport,” he mocks. “You’re such a British wanker. Better at cricket, maybe. And you’re nowhere near as good-looking as me. Everyone knows I’m the best-looking of the cousins.”
“Everyone knows? You’ve taken a poll, have you?”
“I heard it discussed at Christmas. Uncle David’s new wife mentioned it.”
“She did not.” I snort.
“She thought it though,” he replies, undeterred. “In any case, you’re taking Nan next year too. This trip doesn’t count as a turn if you’re banging the tour guide.”
“Deal. And don’t be crass, Rhys, Daisy’s not a showgirl.”
“There’s not a showgirl in sight,” he says easily.
“Of course not.”
“And they prefer to be called entertainers.”
“There you have it. Difficult life you lead in the desert, Rhys,” I deadpan. He’s currently in Las Vegas overseeing the newest acquisition for the family business, Sutton International—the opening of a two-billion-dollar hotel and casino on the Vegas strip.
“I don’t have access to the employee files in the tour division,” he finally says. “Isn’t this the shit? Who do I need to fuck around here to get clearance?”
“Likely a relative, so you might want to reconsider that.”
“Shit. Way to ruin that fantasy, asshole.” I hear him tapping again at his keyboard before announcing that he’s sent a request to the casino’s human resources director. “She’ll either have access to all the US employment files or know who does. I’ll get the file sent over to you as soon as I have it,” he says.
“Thanks, Rhys.”
“No worries. It’s not as if we’re in the midst of hiring and training four thousand employees in time for the opening.”
“Appreciate it,” I drawl as I walk through the garden of the George Washington estate. I ditched the group once we were through the orientation area, Nan happily waving me off when I told her I had calls to make.
Rhys and I both work for the family business—the one founded by Nan’s father some sixty years past. This makes us the fourth generation of family members involved in the running of Sutton International, parent company to a hotel group, river cruise line and three brands of bus tours. Including the one I’m on right now.
We have offices on six continents and offer holidays to over two hundred destinations worldwide. Rhys is heading up the Vegas project while another cousin presides over our business in Canada. An uncle runs the river cruise division out of an office in Switzerland.
And me? I’m responsible for overseeing all of it.
“What is it you need anyway?” Rhys interrupts my thoughts. “You want her phone number? Date of birth? Home address? Because you could save all of us a lot of trouble and just ask her yourself.”
“I’m curious. I need more information.”
“That you can’t get from her.”
“That’s right.” The gravel below my feet crunches as I walk and I smile at this mini-inquisition from Rhys.
“Are you sure this girl is even interested in you?”
“She’s interested.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing is wrong with her. She’s quite lovely. Possibly a pathological liar, but lovely.” I look up to find the woman herself standing not ten feet away. She too is on her mobile and spots me the same time I spot her. She takes a half step back, keeping her eyes on me as she talks. I take a step to the left, avoiding a small child running full tilt through the garden, and adding an additional step between myself and Daisy.
“She sounds interesting,” Rhys says into my ear, amusement clear in his tone.
“Oh, she is,” I agree as Daisy and I continue to eye each other across the garden. Clearly neither of us is interested in the other overhearing their conversation. She turns and walks down a graveled path until we’re separated by a large planting bed filled with an ornate pattern of shrubbery, both of us continuing our conversations with the other in view. “She most certainly is that.”
“You like her,” Rhys says slowly, dragging the words out as if the concept is new to him.
“I’m enjoying myself. That’s all.” A breeze passes through the garden, ruffling the hem of Daisy’s sundress. It’s pale yellow, ending a couple of inches above her knees. My eyes travel lower, down her tan calves to her sandal-clad feet and back up again. She’s pulling a strand of hair from her lipstick and ignoring me.
“Good. It’s about time.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I stop walking and examine a flowering ornamental tree of some sort while keeping Daisy in sight.
“Sperm mobility decreases with age. It might already be too late for you.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.
“The family line is depending on you.”
“Stop taking the piss out of me, cuz. You’re only two years younger than me and I don’t see you planning your nursery.”
“Planning my nursery?” He laughs. “This British shit never gets old and I’ve known you my whole life.”
“Yes, your American colloquialisms continue to delight me as well, Rhys.”
“I’m sure. So are you headed straight back to London after the tour or can you squeeze in a visit to Vegas?”
“I’m delivering Nan to your mother in Bethany first, then yes, back to London. I’m a bit pressed for time with everything going on at the office.”
“You’re always pressed for time,” Rhys points out. It’s true. I feel like I’m constantly on the go. I like that though, don’t I?
The company keeps me busy. Nepotism will get you in the door and, yes, it will quicken your path of promotional opportunities but you’ve still got to do the work. Earn your place. Or there’ll be no company for the next generation of children and our ten thousand worldwide employees will be without jobs.
Children I may not have at the rate my personal life is moving. And if Rhys is to be believed about my declining virility.
So no pressure. None at all. The hallway to my office is lined with photographical evidence of over fifty years in business. Fifty years of growth and acquisitions. Of success and new job creation. Of bonuses being paid and benefits increased. Of ancestors staring at me from those photographs, wordlessly imploring me not to bugger it all to hell now.
Easy.
My father skipped the family business—initially. His passion was law, so he pursued that. Had a very successful career in criminal law before making the switch to corporate law when he joined the family business. He’s the head of legal now but has his eye on retiring in the next couple of years. My cousin Mila is poised to take over that team when the time comes.
“We’ve made a lot of progress since you were last here. We’ve taken ownership of the residential floors and the director-level employees have already moved on site. I’ll set you up in a suite on property and you can see the progress in person. We’ll even watch the showgirls rehearse for the opening,” Rhys teases.
“We’ll see,” I tell him. My focus is back on the beauty across the garden.
“I’ve got to let you go. I’ve got a meeting with the city in ten minutes. But consider it, Jennings. You can bring your new friend. I’d love to meet her.”
“I bet you would. I suspect you and Daisy would get on quite well.” They both seem to enjoy giving me shit.
“You might want to tell her who you are first,” he adds.
“I might,” I agree. “I just need to figure her out first.”
“Sure, keep lying. That usually works with women.”
Fuck. I pause for a moment, thinking about what he’s said. He’s got a point, hasn’t he?
“I’m in a bit too deep, aren’t I?”
“Most definitely,” he agrees with a laugh. “Keep me updated. I’ll forward her file when I’ve got it.”
“Thanks, Rhys.”
I disconnect the call and pocket my mobile. Daisy is still in the same spot.
I did a few of these tours myself, back when I was starting out with the company, just out of university. Not in the United States of course—the guides are meant to be regional experts and local to the country. The majority of my family started out the same way—either as tour guides or in entry-level positions at one of the hotels.
So I did a six-month stint of the Glorious Britain tour and another six with the Highlights of the United Kingdom tour before I got my first position in the London office. That was more years ago than I care to recall. Rhys’s words regarding my schedule echo in my head. I’ve heard similar words from my father.
I’ve never had a reason to slow down. Not a compelling reason.
Another breeze passes through the garden, causing Daisy’s dress to billow in a way that makes her look pregnant.
My cock hardens.
Jesus Christ, am I disturbed or having some kind of normal prehistoric reaction to the idea of her with child? This is fucked. I’ve never reacted like this before to the idea of a pregnant woman. Or is it to the idea of impregnating her? Bloody hell.
Rhys is messing with my head, is all. Bloody sperm mobility; I shake my head and smile. What an arsehole. Pulling the mobile from my pocket, I thumb open the contacts until I find who I’m looking for and hit dial.
Across the garden Daisy struggles with another strand of hair in her lipstick. She pauses next to a bench and drops her trusty notebook before perching on the edge of the bench beside it. I see her gesturing with her free hand for a moment before setting the phone down face up on the bench, then she’s sliding an elastic off her wrist and gathering her long dark hair back, the movements reminding me of her on her knees before me as she gathered her hair in preparation for sucking my cock.
The memory does nothing to help with the swelling in my trousers. I wonder if I’m now conditioned to get a hard-on every time she pulls her hair into a pony and I’m unsure if that’s a blessing or a curse. A bit of both, perhaps.
“Hey, Jennings, how’s the tour?” My call has connected. It’s Priscilla in the London office.
“Very well. Listen, I need you to do something for me.” I turn from Daisy as I talk, examining the windows on the stately greenhouse as I proceed to outline what I need from Priscilla. I wonder what Daisy thinks when she looks at this building. If the brick is to her liking, if she marvels at the ingenuity in design. If she’s contemplating how she’d retrofit it into condominiums or a mini-mart.
“You’re handing over the Leo project? In its entirety?” Priscilla questions when I’m done speaking. Rightfully so, because delegation isn’t my strongest suit. Or it hasn’t been.
“Yes. You’re more than ready to lead a project of this scope without me. I have complete confidence in you.” It’s true. I can’t recall a recommendation she’s made that I’ve disagreed with. She’s more than fit for the task. And it’s time I started delegating because that’s the bloody point, isn’t it? To hire and develop the best talent so they can do the job you’ve hired them for. It’s part of our corporate philosophy, one I could do a better job adhering to. Cultivating existing talent so that good employees become great and the great ones soar.
I end the call satisfied I’ve sorted that and contemplate my next move.
Then I close the distance between me and Daisy. She tilts her head to the side as I approach, still on the phone, a now-familiar look of skepticism crossing her face. I think she reserves that look for me and I find that I like it. I like that she isn’t polite with me, she’s real. What you see is what you get. Minus all the lies coming out of her mouth, that is. But I’ll figure those out soon enough. I stop in front of her and grin, my plan set.
She looks up at me, saying nothing. I assume whomever she’s speaking with is still on the line because she hasn’t taken the phone from her ear, silently appraising me while listening.
“I’ve got to go,” she says into the phone, her eyes still on mine. She listens for another moment, then if I’m not mistaken says, “You’re my cracker,” and hangs up.
“You’re supposed to be on a tour with the others.” She doesn’t seem amused with me at present, eyeing me warily while capping her pen and dropping it along with her notebook into her bag.
“Mandatory, is it?”
“Well, it’s preferred.” She crosses her legs and I’m momentarily distracted by the movement—one slim calf resting against the other, her knee visible as the sundress she’s wearing settles a few inches above. She rests against the back of the bench and bounces her foot. “So I can keep tabs on you. You’re like a cat. Always popping up when I least expect you.”
I laugh. I’m certain no one’s ever described me as such before.
“Actually, that’s not fair.” She frowns. “I like cats and they’re very rarely sneaky. They’re too lethargic to be sneaky most of the time.”
“So you don’t like me?”
“I do like you. It was a bad analogy all the way around.” She shakes her head then pauses. “Wait.” She grins and snaps her fingers. “I’ve got it. Spy!” She laughs, seemingly amused with herself. “You’re more like a spy. You’d be great undercover. Very stealthy. You should look into it.”
“I’ll give it some serious consideration.”
She leans forward on the bench and holds up her hand in the universal stop motion, as if it’s important she makes this distinction. “Don’t get me wrong. A hot spy. More James Bond than Austin Powers. It’d be sexy if I enjoyed being spied on.”
Right. Rhys’ Undercover Boss comment rings in my ear and I feel abashed for lying to her. Yet what has she got to hide? Isn’t that really the question? I know she’s lying about something. She’s a hot mess of contradictions and things that don’t add up. If I had any sense at all I’d be doing the exact opposite of what I’m about to do, but bloody feelings are the antonym of sense.
My phone buzzes with an incoming call from London. I glance at it before sending it to voicemail so I can focus on the task at hand.
“Normally I’d ask if you were free tonight, but we both already know that you are, so I’ll cut right to the chase. I’d like to take you on a date tonight.”
“A date?” The skepticism I’ve come to associate with her is back in a blink as a hint of confusion crosses her face.
“Dinner,” I clarify, as it seems she’s not comprehending. “A proper date.”
“Oh.” Her brows rise as her lips form the word and the skepticism on her face morphs into curiosity.
I wait, expecting her to say something. Something like yes, but she’s silent. I’m not sure what the hell she’s thinking about, her head tilted to the side while she stares at me and thinks. Fuck me, she’s cute. She’s stunning, really. But it’s these little moments that charm me. When she drops all pretenses, unworried about impressing me. When she scrunches her nose or rolls her eyes or makes me wait far too long for an answer.
“Eight o’clock, then?” I tell her, because fuck it, she’s going to dinner with me. I’m not taking no for an answer.
“Why?” she asks, without a hint of playing coy.
“Why?” I laugh and shake my head. What does she mean, why? I remind myself she’s a bit younger than me and wonder if dating has completely gone to hell in the decade that separates us or if this kind of a response is simply Daisy. My phone buzzes again. I don’t even look at it as I turn the ringer to silent and wonder how I’ve made it this far without the amusement of a woman requesting I justify why I want to take her on a date.
“Because we like each other and it will be fun. Because we haven’t had a proper first date and you deserve one. Because I enjoy spending time with you.”
“Okay.” She nods her head once in agreement and I think that’s settled. Then she opens her mouth again to provide a list of reasons why I shouldn’t pick her up at the door.
I really, really like her.