Bryn
Instead of taking me to reception, the number on Aaric’s card takes me straight to a direct line that I’d never had access to before. I rush on to say, “Hello. I was calling to schedule an appointment with Mr. Christos.”
“Who’s calling? And would this be the youngest or eldest?”
“Eldest. Aaric. And it’s Bryn Kelly.”
“Ah, yes, Miss Kelly. He asked me to shuffle his schedule around if you called. If you can be here at 6, I’ll get you in before he leaves the office.”
Whoa.
He did?
My heart skips a little.
“I appreciate it. Truly. Thank you!”
Noticing it’s 4:51 p.m. already, I lay out my outfit with care, do my hair, apply makeup—not a lot, but enough to make me look polished—and add my faux diamond studs from Macy’s.
“Are you still up for doing some dog runs?” I ask Sara after a brief knock on her bedroom door.
She’s watching TV, still in pajamas. On a Monday.
Rolling to her stomach with a groan, she lifts her head to shoot me an are-you-kidding look. “Anything to get me out of the apartment!”
“Okay—” I cross the room and hand her an address. “Mrs. Wellington is first. Her dog’s name is Natchez. He’s my favorite. A friendly little Husky. Take him to Washington Square Park, he likes it there. I’ll call to let her know you’re coming.”
“Yes, boss.” She leaps off the bed.
“I’m not your boss. Yet.” I wink.
“Trifle details.” She sticks her tongue out and jogs over to her small bathroom.
After a quick call to Mrs. Wellington, I head for Brooklyn.
I wring my hands the entire train ride.
Today is the day I’m going to make my pitch, and I want him to go for it.
After I step off the train and walk three blocks to my destination, I check my briefcase to make sure I have everything I need.
The warehouse is just short of huge and simple on the outside. So simple, all red brick, that I find it difficult to locate the door.
I reach out to pull open the inconspicuous door when it opens on its own and a group of three young, sharp men dressed in business suits step out. One gives me a once over, mumbles something under his breath that makes the other men cackle and slap his back.
Well. I suppose I chose the right outfit.
I step in and stare in mounting amazement. Wow!! Aaric has really done well for himself. The warehouse looks unremarkable on the outside, but the moment you step inside, the edgy, state-of-the-art interior catches you off guard.
Flat TVs line the red brick walls, industrial beams grace the ceilings, and polished cement covers the floor. Yet it is the cleanliness, the equipment, the size, the museum-like quality of every finish inside that makes me realize…never doubt again.
I follow the signs and head to the first-floor bathroom to freshen up.
“I’m telling you, not even his mother could love him. He’s fucking intolerable and I’m over this,” one employee is telling another by the sink.
“You are not over this, you just started this job.”
“He calls at 5 a.m.! He has no respect for my personal time or anyone else’s.”
“He pays you for every hour of your day, especially overtime hours. Plus that’s in our contracts—oh.”
They quiet when they spot me. I’m hurrying to make my appointment on time so I keep dabbing a cool, moist tissue down the back of my neck and between my breasts.
They leave. I quickly head to the stall to pee when I hear footsteps and the sound of the bathroom door slamming and frantic kissing follows.
I’m just about to head out to wash my hands when I realize a couple is making out near the bathroom sink.
Oh brother. I peer through the gap in the bathroom stall and can make out a pair of women’s heels digging into a partly bared male ass as he starts pounding her. He’s got a great ass. So great she seems to be enjoying digging into it with her slim, inked ankles and those heels.
“Oooooh. God yes. Did you lock the door?” the woman asks on a hushed moan.
“Of course, baby.” A gruff male response, buried in her neck.
I shut my eyes with a little bit of longing because I don’t even know how long it’s been since I had sex, then I lean my forehead on the back of the door and suppress the urge to bang myself against it. Ugh. Really?
I suffer through their entire fuck and their joint orgasm.
Minutes and minutes of sighs and groans.
After they’re done, I peer under the stall and watch a pair of women’s heels and men’s shiny gray designer shoes leave.
I step outside, fix my hair, and exhale before I leave and hurry up the stairs onto the second floor—straight to the biggest doors I can find—and direct myself to the busy PA sitting behind a Mac computer.
“I’m here to see Mr. Christos. I’m Bryn Kelly.”
“Your appointment was at six.”
We stare at one another.
“Yes.” I widen my eyes when I realize that it’s 6:21 p.m.
“Mr. Christos hates when an appointment is late,” his assistant snaps.
“I’m here now. Do you suppose you could fit me in? I’m…an old acquaintance.”
“He’s heading out of the office. Sorry.” The phone rings. The woman looks close to a panic attack as she picks up. “Yes, Mr. Christos? Aha. Yes, I’ll bring it over. I’ll do that as well.” She hangs up and hurries to do his bidding.
“I’ll bring him that.” I take the folders she has gathered.
“You’ll get me fired.”
“Or promoted.”
I head toward the doors.
“Miss Kelly, truly—” she objects as she chases me.
I ignore her pleas and head inside to find Christos bent over his desk, signing documents.
“Thanks,” he says without looking up as he hears me come in. “And if Miss Kelly deigns herself to—”
“She’s deigned to appear, sir, and she’s truly sorry she’s late.”
His eyebrows lift for a fraction of a second. His lips part. He quickly rises to his full composure.
Our eyes hold, and his eyebrows lift a fraction more as I gape at him. Like a fool. An utter and complete fool. He’s in a black suit, no tie, his hair slicked back to reveal his hot-as-sin features.
He seems to recover quickly. But I take longer. Forcing myself to move and step deeper into his office.
There’s silence. He looks as intimidating as he looked at his place. He also looks vexed, his irritation evident as he takes me in without the barest hint of a smile.
His brows slant low over his eyes in a frown. “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, lips pursed, irritated and just a hint amused. “And you are?”
“I’m your next appointment. The wicked Miss Kelly.”
His lips curve, but he shakes it off. He glances past my shoulders, a stern look on his features. “Make sure this doesn’t happen again.” He hands the papers to his assistant, who crept up behind me while I ogled him, then he shoots me a glance. “Lips, I leave in…ten minutes. I’m wrapping up.”
Why am I licking my lips because he called me lips?
“Oh. Well then, I’ll walk you to the train,” I say, licking my lips yet again.
“Gym, you mean.”
“Exactly. I was heading there myself.”
He rakes his eyes down my body as if determining whether I work out or not. “Right.” He smiles.
I purse my lips. “I’m sorry I’m late, I was detained.”
He narrows his eyes.
“Can we do this again?” I propose. I go to the door and inhale and then walk back in.
“Hi,” I say with fake cheer, my heart pounding nervously.
He exhales in exasperation. “We might as well get this over with.” He motions for me to close the door.
“I’ve got ten minutes,” he says.
“I ask for twenty.” I shut the door.
“Ten,” he growls.
“Fifteen then.”
“Ten, little bit.” A smile tugs his mouth, and he shakes his head in bemusement.
“Okay, eleven it is,” I concede.
No longer playful, he glances nonchalantly at his watch. Taking his seat. “Nine minutes thirty now. Want to waste any more time negotiating?” His expression is unrelenting.
“Okay then! Let’s start.”
I pull out my notes, and I can’t help but take a peek at him only to find him staring at me in silence.
He appears thoughtful, and by the crease in his forehead, terribly unhappy about something.
He looks at me, pointing at the folders. “Are you going to hold those for the remaining minutes, or do you want me to look at them?”
It’s killing me, the way he smirks at me. What is he trying to do? I don’t understand.
“I’m sure I want you to have a look.” I extend my hand, but instead of taking them, he kicks out of his chair and approaches.
He nudges the folder open before me and leans over my shoulder. He points with his index finger to the first page. “House of Sass. That’s your name for it?”
Close to my ear, his voice is rich and deep, smooth as velvet. A rasp of intrigue laces the words.
“Yes,” I breathe.
I turn my head—catching his eyes. Or rather, his eyes catching mine.
“Hmm,” he says.
He takes the folder now and brings it to his desk. He reads for a second, then he lifts his gaze to me.
I’m so nervous I could vomit.
“It makes me feel good to make people feel good, I’m selfish,” I explain.
“You’re not selfish.” His stare is direct, eyes a deep green-gold staring into me. He moves his arm, closing the folder.
“But I’m not sure it’s got enough, bit.” He shakes his head, and his low words take a moment to register, because his gaze drifts to my mouth and I can’t think straight.
My eyes drop to his mouth too—his unsmiling, sexy mouth. His clothes are of high quality, but there’s a rawness to him that the elegant clothes cannot conceal.
It’s not just his imposing frame behind his imposing desk, but also his unreadable expression that makes me want to penetrate the deliberate blankness on his face.
I swallow. I force my eyes up and say, “It’s more. It would have my designs.”
He leans back, smiling. “I’m listening.”
Does his every move have to remind me of his sexual attractiveness?
“I’m self-taught,” I explain, pulling out a few of my drawings. My favorites. Long dresses, mini-skirts, silky blouses. “I was always into clothing at Kelly’s, but after my parents died and I had to make do, I started making my own clothes from what I had—people like them. People really like them.”
“Hmm.” He scrapes his jaw, staring at the designs then at me.
“Department stores aren’t as strong as they used to be,” he says.
“We can have a website. Make it cool like Shopbop and Revolve.”
“What will distinguish you from them?”
Silence.
He eases out of his chair. “See, you have to know these things.”
“I’m the creative mind; you’re the business mind.”
He stands upright in one fluid motion. He’s tall, at least a head taller than me, and well built. Athletic and defined as he stands before me. His hair is combed stylishly backward atop a nose that is elegant, a face that is beautiful and masculine.
“Time’s up.”
“I’m not done yet.”
“I didn’t say we were done, I said time’s up.”
He heads to the end of his office and pulls out a duffel bag.
“Christos, you know you want to help me. There’s potential here. It’s not my startup’s fault I fucked up my pitch a bit. I was flustered.”
“Flustered,” he repeats.
“By you and by the sex I had to endure before coming up here.” I glance at his shoes, then at him, as he stares at me with quiet speculation.
“Someone was having sex in the bathroom.”
“And.”
“I thought it was you.”
“Someone was having sex in my corporate bathroom?”
“Yes.” I glance at his shoes, grateful they’re black and big. Not the ones I saw earlier.
“It sure as fuck wasn’t me.”
“I know. I saw his shoes, and they’re not your shoes.”
He watches me as if I’m a little dumb. “We had an appointment at six, I was ready at six.”
Gulp.
He picks up the phone on his desk and punches a number. “Get the car ready for me.”
“Thank you for your time,” I say, but I can’t leave like this. How can I persuade him to do more for me?
He stops me at the door—as if he senses my disappointment. “I want to help you, but this is business. It’s not personal, Bryn.”
I swallow. “I know.”
Fuck. He hated it.
I’m happy for him, he’s on top of the world. Nobody deserves it more. I’m happy for him, but there’s this restless feeling inside me, one that appeared when she called him darling, one that won’t go away. You had your chance, you lost it, I tell myself. Never mind I was young and stupid, and very scared. We weren’t meant to be, maybe casual acquaintances…not more.
“I’ve busted my ass too hard to risk my neck for a vaguely conceived startup.”
“It’s not vaguely conceived.”
“You need more here.”
“I’ll have more!”
“You need to bring it.”
He motions for me to follow him, and I do. He leads us to a private elevator and punches the down arrow, and when we step inside, we face off for a moment.
The space is confined—and his scent is everywhere. It reminds me of my childhood, of the younger version of me. Having him standing so near in such a closed space makes him impossible to ignore. He’s in front of me, behind me, above me, and below me, all at once.
There’s an odd little tug from his body to mine, as if there’s a force trying to lure me closer to him, a magnetism in him that’s primal and animalistic. He’s standing close and yet instead of feeling invaded, like I should, I am achingly aware of how many inches still separate us. How many inches still stand between me and his large, hard, warm body, a wall of muscle and elegance before me.
I try to ignore it. I’m not after him to get laid. I had my chance—I said no.
I ball up the yearning and try to pretend he’s not as magnetic as he is. Try to pretend he’s just a wall. Or basically an ATM. The only ATM that can finance my baby.
But no.
He’s more than that.
Among the most memorable—he was the guy who gave me his jacket one awful, awful day when I got my period early and stained my stupid shorts. People were snickering. I didn’t know why. One of my friends told me. I wanted to cry. Christos took off his jacket and handed it to me silently. He didn’t snicker like everyone else. I tied it around my waist, hurried to my car, and drove home in tears.
I could never give him his jacket back. It would have been too embarrassing for him to think it had gotten stained with my period blood. Guys are funny about those things.
So I bought him a new jacket. Leather, the best. He was lean, but he had broad shoulders, so I bought him a medium. It wouldn’t fit him now. It cost me a fortune. The one he’s wearing now would cost ten times as much.
But it didn’t matter. He was different then.
His dad was gone and his mom was sick, so he never seemed quite as young as his age said he should be. He always acted older. More worldly, maybe even a little more jaded.
I could probably play the crying card with him and bend him to my will, but I won’t because that’s cheating. And because if it fails, I’ll be terribly embarrassed.
“I never invest my money without knowing exactly what I’m buying and who I’m doing business with. I need you to develop this idea more. I’ll tell you about my vetting process if we move forward,” he tells me.
“I don’t want to leave without a yes.”
“You don’t get a yes on the first appointment. You get a maybe, if you’re lucky you get vetted by me.”
“It’s technically our second appointment. I’m feeling lucky.”
He releases a pleasant, low laugh that rumbles up his chest.
“Christos, you just said you want to help me. Do you like my idea?”
“No, I didn’t say that. I’m open to the idea, but what I like is your fiery passion for it.” He lifts his brows meaningfully.
His grin is irresistibly devastating, and I find myself grinning back.
Something crackles in the air as our gazes hold—something electric and warm, something that comes with knowing someone as more than a stranger. A friend even. A once, long ago, possible love interest.
“I’ll work on my pitch to give it some clarity,” I say.
His eyes roam over my face until they lock back on mine, neither of us smiling anymore. “Good. Call my office when you’re ready.”
He steps out, and I see that his blonde is waiting for him outside. My heart skids to a stop. Christos doesn’t miss my reaction. His eyes shadow speculatively, then he gives me a ghost of a smile and a brief nod, slings his bag behind his shoulder, and walks away.
I smile at his girlfriend. She glares. My smile wavers and I look away, too tempted to look back at him but forcing myself to stare ahead and focus on business.
On the train to Nolita, I try to find the perfect song to reflect how angry I am at myself for fucking up my meeting. And also for feeling…well, the pang I felt when he left for his couples workout with his girl.
I can’t deny there’s a restless feeling inside me that appears every time I remember he’s with her, the same one I felt when she called him darling that first time. It won’t go away.
I shut my eyes and try to suppress the memory of his sexy mouth smiling as he cornered me at a party Cole hosted years ago. “You look like a guy who thinks he’s going to kiss me,” I teased him. I always teased him with that line. My heart was banging so hard I couldn’t think or hardly see straight as he approached…
But he never got his chance. I never let him, always stealing away when we were alone because he made me nervous.
I sensed he was dangerous to me. I sense he still is.
So I should be glad he’s taken. In fact, I’m glad he’s taken. It’ll totally ensure I always stay focused on business.