Present Day

 

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Pause.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Carlos drew his arm from beneath the warm sheets and reached for his phone, fumbling for the snooze button.

Buzz. Buzz—

Ahhhh. Silence.

It seemed like seconds after he slipped back to sleep that his cell phone buzzed again, but this time, a woman’s voice added to the noise unexpectedly with a low-toned“Ay, Dios! Cállate!”

Shocked to discover he had company, Carlos’ eyes popped open as he hit snooze again. Scrambling to remember who was in bed with him and coming up blank, he shifted slowly, turning his body to look at her. Lying on her back beside him with a tangled mess of black hair on his pillow and her face smeared with last night’s makeup was…was…hmm.

Alicia?

Felicia?

He turned away from her, rubbing his face as he sat up. Fuck. He had a vague recollection of dancing with her at Tierra last night toward the end of the fiesta. She was—his brain wasn’t firing quickly this morning—his cousin Lena’s friend? Right?

He sighed, placing a hand on her bare shoulder and shaking her gently. “Uh…you gotta go, mami. It’s morning.”

“Me voy a dormir,” she answered drowsily. I’m going back to sleep.

He shook her shoulder a little harder. “Listen, I’m sorry, but you gotta go. It’s Monday. I’ve got work. I’ve gotta shower.” She didn’t move, so he spoke a little louder. “Mira, chula, my boss is no nonsense. I can’t be late.”

“He sounds like an asshole,” she muttered into the pillow.

She, actually.

Alice.

He ground his jaw, bristling at the dirtiness of the word asshole used anywhere near her name or person.

His voice was cooler when he spoke again. “Not at all. Just expects me to be on time. So you gotta go.”

Opening her eyes and lowering the sheet to uncover perfect tan breasts with chocolate-colored nipples, she pouted. “What If I’m not ready to go yet, papi? What if I want to stay a little longer?”

His eyes rested on her tits for a only a moment before he shook his head and turned away, sweeping the covers from his naked body and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up with his back to her, stretched his arms over his head, flexed his ass, then leaned down and picked up her hot-pink panties from the floor. Looking at her over his shoulder, he threw them onto the bed beside her.

“Don’t matter what you want. I gotta shower. You gotta go. Don’t play games.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember you rushing me last night when I was sucking your cock.”

Fuck, she was crass.

He exhaled deeply.

“And I don’t remember promising you anything, mami.” Why couldn’t she just go already? He didn’t want to be un cabrón, but she was starting to get on his nerves. Grabbing her matching bra from his closet door handle, he tossed it to her, adding some steel to his voice: “Party’s over. You gotta get dressed and get out.”

Her face changed from pissy to furious in an instant as she sat up, gathering her underwear onto her lap.

“Pendejo,” she hissed, jamming her arms into her bra. She whipped her hair over her shoulder as she fastened the clasps in the back. “I’m telling Lena that you’re an asshole.”

He sighed inwardly. This was a hell of a way to start a Monday.

“Ain’t nothing she don’t already know,” he said mildly, opening the bathroom door, then turning to face her over his shoulder. “Don’t be mad. It was fun, okay?”

“Fuck you!” she cried, throwing something against the door just as he pulled it shut and locked it.

A shoe? Her purse? Could have been either. Didn’t matter. He’d touch up the paint tonight. He couldn’t waste any more time on last night’s diversions. It was already seven ten, and Alice would expect him to be seated at his desk at eight o’clock sharp, her hot coffee and a list of today’s appointments printed out and waiting on her blotter.

He took a piss, thankful to see a used condom in the toilet.

Carlos liked sex as much as any other hot-blooded twentysomething, but he didn’t especially want his cock to fall off from some sick disease, so he was always careful, no matter how much he’d had to drink.

“…de puta! You’re a motherfucking pig!” yelled Alicia or Felicia through the door, finishing off an impressive string of insults. A moment later, he heard the angry clacking of her high heels across the parquet floor of his bedroom, and a second after that, his apartment door slammed shut.

“Thank fuck.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, he flushed, then stepped over to the countertop, resting his hands on the edge of the sink and staring at himself in the mirror.

“You’re getting too old for this shit, papi,” he told his twenty-six-year-old reflection. Large gray eyes with crazy-long eyelashes in a perpetually tanned face looked back at him. Toned arms and contoured abs spoke to hours at the gym. Good-looking motherfucker. He grinned at himself, his dimples deepening as he shook his head. “But you’re a fool too.”

His smile faded as the words left his mouth, and he turned around, reached into the shower, and turned on the hot water. His prima, Lena, wasn’t going to be thrilled with him when she found out he’d dogged her friend. Her parents were surrogate parents to Carlos here in Philadelphia, and if Alicia—Felicia?—went whining to them, he’d certainly get a text later today about his behavior.

Piensa que eres un Don Juan, pero eres un pendejo sinvergüenza. (You think you’re Don Juan, but you’re a shameless idiot.)

He could hear Tia Carmen’s sharp disapproval echo in his head.

Por qué haces eso? No eres basura! (Why do you do this? You aren’t trash!)

That would come from his uncle, who was his mother’s older brother. And shit, he wouldn’t relish it, because his uncle’s opinion meant something to him. He wasn’t eager to disappoint him, nor did he want to embarrass his family in the large but surprisingly intimate community of Centro de Oro, the epicenter of the Puerto Rican population in Philly. And he knew that playing fast and loose with the daughters of their friends was something they didn’t condone.

Alicia-Felicia had put out last night, yes, but if she was Lena’s friend, she was probably a semidecent girl from a semidecent family, since Lena didn’t hang out with garbage. Which meant that Lena had probably vouched for him as her cousin. So by fucking Felicia-Alicia last night and kicking her out of his place this morning without making future plans to see her again he’d acted ungallantly.

“You need to make some changes, bro,” he muttered to himself as he squirted shampoo into his hand and rubbed it through his close-cropped, slightly kinky black hair. Tuning around, he let the water sluice down has back, carrying the suds down the drain. You gotta change your ways, papi. No comas donde cagas.

Or, in other words, Don’t shit where you eat.

Grabbing a bottle of shower gel, he squeezed some into his palm and rubbed his hands together before sliding them over the ripples of muscle on his chest, then down over his dick, which stirred to life from the attention.

“No more one-night stands,” he muttered, annoyed with himself, removing his hands from his semi to rinse his body and turn off the water. He didn’t have time to jerk off this morning, and besides, he didn’t deserve the pleasure.

He grabbed a fluffy snow-white towel from the shelf beside the toilet and wrapped it around his waist, rubbing the mirror with the side of his hand.

When he arrived in the states after graduating from the Universidad Interamericana de Puerto Rico with a degree in business administration, he’d moved directly from his parent’s house in Toa Baja to his aunt and uncle’s place in Fairhill, Philadelphia. At first he had worked odd jobs while looking for a corporate job in the city until he found a position as mail room coordinator at Story Imports.

It wasn’t a job he’d wanted. Carlos didn’t mind paying his dues, but after achieving a bachelor’s degree, he’d hoped for a better entry-level position. He couldn’t help but feel that his race had affected his prospects, consigning him to the mail room regardless of his education.

Leaving Story Imports to work for Alice was the best move he’d ever made. Though Alice Story Imports had struggled for the first year or so, after Alice’s sister Priscilla got married two years ago, she made a substantial investment of capital into the company, and everything had quickly changed.

True to her original promise, Alice had raised his salary and promoted him to office manager right away, and he’d finally started making enough money to move out of his uncle’s house and find his own place: a hip, two-story loft, about a fifteen-minute walk from Centro de Oro.

Carlos had reveled in his newfound freedom. After twenty-five years of sharing a bedroom with his brothers in Toa Baja or his cousin Enrique here in Philly? Having his own space was heaven.

And heaven sure included a lot of angels.

It was just so easy.

So goddamned easy to meet someone at a club and invite her back to his place, where they had the privacy to do whatever they wanted. No risk of his parents, grandmother, siblings, nephews, aunt, uncle, or cousins walking in. No need to drive to a secluded place, where he might get busted for indecent exposure. No need to find a cheap motel room where bed bugs were likely and romance was null.

Suddenly, he had a place of his own where he could invite anyone. And so, for about a year now, he’d whored his way through Philly, fucking whenever and whomever he pleased, without commitment, without guilt, and—most of the time—without a second thought. He was finally his own boss. And yeah, it was fun.

Except lately…it wasn’t.

Lately it felt like a drag. He didn’t feel like romancing some anonymous woman the next day. He didn’t feel like being charming and asking her out on a proper date the following weekend. He just wanted her to get out. And it’s not that it felt dirty or bad, because sex was sex, and it always felt good…but lately he wanted—fuck, what did he want?

More.

When he looked at Lena’s brother, his cousin Diego, holding his new baby with his arm around his pretty wife, Luz, something inside of Carlos clenched with longing. Family was important to him. Really important. Unlike his American counterparts, who seemed to put off fatherhood for as long as possible, Carlos had always imagined himself having two or three kids before he was thirty. Here he was, already twenty-six, and still playing the field like a cabrón.

Maybe it was time to get serious, find the right girl, and settle down. Someone to keep him in line. Someone whom he could see as the mother of his kids. Someone he wouldn’t dream of kicking out of bed because all he’d want is for her to stay.

Yeah. Stay. Forever.

A face flashed through his mind at the thought of forever and he winced, frowning at himself. The one girl—the only woman—he really wanted was so far out of his league, so far above and beyond him, he forced her face away. No point in pining for the impossible. There were plenty of nice girls he could meet through Lena or Luz. Girls who’d see him as a catch, as “forever” material.

Finishing a quick shave and patting his cheeks with aftershave, he whipped off the towel and padded back into his room naked. Choosing a crisp white dress shirt and gray suit from his closet, he got dressed, removing his St. Christopher medal, which he only wore on weekends.

Checking out his reflection in the full-length mirror, he decided he looked good enough for a Monday and started to close the closet door, then stopped.

You want more? he thought. Start acting like it.

“For starters, no more nights like last night. And no more…” He sighed, annoyed with himself as the words trailed off. Grimacing at his reflection, he closed the closet door and headed down the stairs.

…wanting what you absolutely cannot have.

***

Across town, Alice Story glanced at the timer on her bedroom treadmill, swiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. In front of her, she had CNBC on mute, the ticker tape of letters and numbers sliding smoothly, comfortingly, across the bottom of the TV screen. The world was awake and working, and Alice, who’d started her own company three years ago, was a part of it—a part that she would have been denied had she remained working for her father.

Her father, with whom she hadn’t spoken in three years. Not since the Sunday supper her sister Priscilla had hosted to announce her marriage and pregnancy.

Not that he’d reached out.

Not that she had either.

They may as well be dead to one another, and sad though it was, Alice found she could live with that.

As a child, Alice had sensed her father’s disappointment that she wasn’t a boy, and she’d worked hard to be the son he’d never had. She’d excelled in everything she tried: academics, tennis, golf, and lacrosse. She was the first violin in her prep school’s orchestra and was accepted early admission to Princeton. There were no “wild oats” sowed in college, where she kept her reputation spic and span, thus ensuring the respectability of her family’s name. She graduated Phi Beta Kappa and enrolled in the Wharton School of Business immediately, earning her MBA with honors and starting work at Story Imports the Monday after she matriculated. She accepted an associate-level position from her father, eager to start at the bottom of the corporate ladder and work her way up.

To her everlasting shame, she had still been under the illusion that if she did everything right—excelled in her grades and extracurricular activities, attended the right schools, and made her parents proud—she would one day take over the family business.

But years passed. One, then two. Then three. Then four. Her framed diplomas, on the wall of her home office, grew dusty, waiting for the chance to hang on the walls of what should be her office at Story Imports. But there was no promotion, no executive office, and the cube outside of her father’s office became her own little prison as she realized that there would never be advancement—that all her hard work would not be rewarded with more responsibility. And on the rare occasions that she’d confronted her father, his response was that he’d never promised her anything.

Alice grew brittle in that little cube, corralled and conditioned like a veal for one humiliating purpose: to marry a respectable businessman who could run Story Imports for her.

But one morning, thank God, she’d found her voice again. Thirty-year-old Alice, who’d done everything right and had nothing to show for it, stood on a desk and told her father, in no uncertain terms, to go to hell, taking back the reins of her life and setting forth to build her own future.

The first year of Alice Story Imports had been difficult, fraught with challenges, mostly financial, that her trust-fund allowance could barely cover. Her family name had helped her obtain a loan, but the interest levels were high since it was mostly unsecured—her trust wouldn’t be freely available to her for a decade. Just when she feared that she might have to throw in the towel, her sister Priscilla had announced her marriage to Shane Olson. Shane, as fed up as Alice with her father’s underhanded ways, had come to work for her, and Priscilla’s trust had provided a cash infusion that had given new life to the company—and a new name: Story Sisters Trading Ltd.

Since then? Alice had been sitting pretty. She worked hard to grown her business, but she was no longer worried about its longevity. She and Priscilla would have something solid and strong to pass on to their daughters one day, a fact that made Alice feel very proud.

Well, mostly proud.

Maybe a little wistful too.

Alice’s younger sisters Margaret and Priscilla were both mothers, and Priscilla had just had her second child, a baby boy, in June. At thirty-three, Alice had no children, no husband, not even a boyfriend. How could she? She’d spent the last four years birthing a company from nothing. She hadn’t had a moment to spare for a personal life of any kind; hell, the only human being she’d even seen with marked regularity over the past few years was her employee Carlos.

Alice felt her face soften at the thought of his huge gray eyes.

Carlos, who had followed her out the doors of Story Imports in her disastrous bid to poach her father’s staff, would never know what it had meant to Alice to be trusted with his future. To her dying day, she would hold him in such high esteem; it would be hard for another employee to ever capture her devotion as he had.

That said, however, it wasn’t like Alice had ever thought of Carlos in any capacity except as her employee. She would never consider dating someone who worked for her. No way. No how. Not in a million years. Her father had exercised unethical workplace habits, and Alice would not, under any circumstances, follow in his unsavory footsteps. Everything—Every. Little. Thing.—at SST would be kept fair, principled, and scrupulously ethical, no matter what.

Which meant that the only man she’d spent any time with over the past four years was absolutely, positively not a contender for her affection…and she definitely needed to get out more. Maybe now that SST was on firmer ground, she could start dating if she wanted to. Dating. Ugh. She couldn’t think of anything that sounded less appealing. The entire process of dating had never come easily to Alice, who’d never sustained a relationship for longer than a month or two.

But your eggs aren’t getting any younger, she thought ruefully.

And unlike some other successful businesswomen she knew, she refused to consider having a child on her own via a donor. She wanted her kids to have the loving mother and father that she and her sisters had never experienced. It was just so goddamn daunting to consider the process of getting there: meeting someone, clicking with them, establishing intimacy, falling in love, planning a wedding, and finally—years down the road—getting pregnant. It made her head spin to even consider it.

Strapped to the console on the treadmill, her mobile phone buzzed, and she looked down at the screen to see that Margaret was calling. Alice plugged in her earbuds without breaking stride and pressed answer.

“Megs?”

“Good morning!”

“Good morning,” said Alice. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to thank you for coming yesterday…and for getting the gift. I think Pris loved it.”

Over the weekend, Margaret had hosted a sisters-only “Welcome Baby” luncheon at her winery for Priscilla, who had given birth to baby Theodore the first weekend in June. For a gift, Alice, Margaret, and Jane had all chipped in and purchased an original Edgar Alwin Payne landscape of New Mexico for baby Theo’s Santa Fe–inspired nursery. At a contribution of $20,000 each, it was an extravagant gift that Alice had tracked down through Libitz Feingold Rousseau’s gallery in New York, but the look on Priscilla’s face—and her deluge of tears and shrieks—was priceless.

“She did. My ears are still ringing from all her shouting; how did the baby sleep through it?”

Margaret laughed good-naturedly. “Thanks for all the footwork—finding it and getting it here.”

“No problem. How are you feeling?”

Margaret, who had one child—Ogden—with her husband, Cameron Winslow, had announced yesterday that she was ten weeks pregnant with their second child.

“Like I want to throw up every ten minutes,” groaned Margaret.

“That’ll go away soon, won’t it?” asked Alice, her knowledge of pregnancy thin.

“By sixteen weeks, hopefully,” she said. “I’ve still got a little while of feeling cheerfully miserable.”

The pragmatic side of Alice wanted to say, Well, you’re the one who got pregnant. Suck it up. But she was trying to better calibrate her responses to her sisters lately, so she scrambled to think of something more comforting. Hmm. What is comforting? Oh. Tea. Tea is always a good idea, right?

“Maybe a cup of tea would help.”

Margaret’s voice was warm. “Right. Thanks, Alice.”

Vaguely uncomfortable that she was older than Margaret yet had no solid advice to offer, she shifted gears. “Sorry Bets wasn’t there. She’s an ass.”

“You tried.”

Their sister Elizabeth had not attended the luncheon. Over the past three years, she’d become closer and closer to their father, until the two were practically joined at the hip, living together at Forrester and working together at Story Imports.

Elizabeth objected greatly to the fact that Alice, Margaret, and Priscilla had all worked for Story Imports, then quit, turning their proverbial backs on their father and supporting Alice’s competing business. Still, Elizabeth was their sister, and Alice had invited her to Priscilla’s shower via e-mail, urging her to attend. Elizabeth had politely declined, saying that celebrating Priscilla with Alice at Margaret’s vineyard would upset their father.

“Hey, Alice…” said Margaret softly, like she was backing into a conversation topic.

“Hmm?”

“Are you…I mean, I was just wondering if…well, if you’re seeing anyone?”

She frowned. “For what?”

“Um…no, I don’t mean a doctor or specialist. I mean…a man. You know…a boyfriend,” said Margaret, her voice mildly exasperated. She hurried to add, “I mean, you’ve always sort of kept your private life, well, private. But…I don’t know. Pris and I are having kids, and Jane’s dating someone on the sly. Bets is the worst flirt I ever met, so I’m positive she’s stringing some poor slob along, but you…”

“I’ve been a little busy the past couple of years.”

“I’ve noticed,” said Margaret, “but…you’ve got everything now. An amazing company that you own, a gorgeous apartment, sisters who love you, money in the bank…don’t you want someone special too? Someone to share it all with?”

“Sure,” she said, pressing the stop button on the treadmill. “Eventually.”

She picked up the remote control and switched off the TV. Her large, elegant, cream-colored bedroom was bathed in soft morning light, which streamed through French doors to gild the gold handpulls of her dresser drawers and the two lamps on either side of her king-sized bed. She stood in the golden light for a moment, considering her sister’s question, uncertain if her cheeks were hot from exercise or from the awkward turn in the conversation.

“Well…?” prompted Margaret.

“Well what?”

“Do you…I mean, are you seeing anyone?”

“No.”

A couple of times a year, she might meet a man—either via business or on her travels—with whom she connected. She didn’t sleep with most of them; Alice wasn’t easy, but when she did engage in an affair, she made every effort to be certain the liaison was discreet.

Margaret cleared her throat. “Cameron has so many friends. Would you like to, you know, be set up?”

“You mean…on a blind date?”

“It could be more casual than that!” Margaret insisted. “We could host a party…point out a few eligible bachelors…”

“A party for me to find a boyfriend?”

“Do you hate the idea?”

Strangely enough, she didn’t. It made a certain amount of sense to let her respectably married sister help her find a mate. It wasn’t very sexy or romantic, but it appealed to Alice’s pragmatic sensibilities. She just wanted to think it over before saying yes.

“It’s time for work,” she said, plucking her phone from the console and heading for the shower.

“It’s always time for work,” said Margaret softly. “What do you say? About the party?”

“I’ll get back to you.”

“You’ll think about it?” asked Margaret, a surprised lift in her voice.

“I will,” said Alice. “I have to go now. Have a good day. Try some tea.”

“Will do,” said her sister. “Bye, Alice.”

“Bye.”

She turned on the shower, took out the earbuds, laid them on her bathroom counter, and looked at her red, sweating face in the mirror.

Don’t you want someone special?

She sighed deeply at her reflection. Of course she did.

She just feared that what she wanted didn’t exist.

Someone who would respect and support her business goals but still treat her like a woman. Someone who would understand her but still challenge her. Someone she could admire for his own drive and ambition but who wouldn’t expect for her to give up her professional objectives in order to requite her personal dreams. Someone who might defy traditional gender roles and take charge of their home and care for their children. Or at least share those responsibilities with her. Neither a tyrant nor a fool, Alice wanted a teammate in every sense of the word. And though she often doubted such a man existed, she couldn’t deny that she hoped he did.

So…yes, she decided grudgingly, shrugging out of her sweaty workout clothes as she stepped into the steamy shower. She’d call Margaret later and accept her offer.

At this point, she had nothing to lose.