My barista brought me another tall Americano and scooped away the empty mug I had sitting on my preferred table, nestled in the back corner of my favorite coffee shop.
“Thanks, Anne.” I graciously took the steaming hot mug and inhaled the rich aroma before returning focus to my opened MacBook.
I didn’t like going into the office on Saturday’s if I could help it. I already clocked in seventy-hour work weeks, and I knew if I started making the “occasional” weekend visit, I’d end up living there. Still, I had the new financial reports for the end of the fiscal year to oversee, and I found the café an easy compromise when taking my work home with me.
My cell vibrated on the table, the screen lighting up with the one number I couldn’t ignore.
“Hello, Father. Are you back in town?” I pressed the phone to my ear, scanning the empty tables surrounding me.
“Just landed an hour ago. George is driving me home. Your mother has a dinner party planned. Are you attending?”
“Not tonight. I’m still digging through the financial reports. By the time I’m done, my brain will be mush, and no match for Mom’s guests.” She always invited the most eclectic group of people—from intellectuals to hippies—and keeping up with the proper conversation eidetic quickly grew exhausting.
“You could pass them off to me and then I’d have the excuse.” Dad chuckled.
“You’ve already been over them twice. You deserve the party anyway. I’m sure sorting out the east coast developments gave you one hell of a workload.”
“True. I’m eager for the day I leave this all in your capable hands.”
My heart raced, the excitement of finally running the company blooming in my chest. “Well, I’ll be happy to take it off your plate.”
“Speaking of plates, it seems you not only bought a seat at Matt Donaldson’s event but enough for an entire table as well. Were you so taken with the cause?”
I sucked in a quick breath. It’d been a week since the night that ended too soon with Rory Jackson, but the memory was fresh and piping hot in my mind.
“I was,” I replied, forcing all thoughts of Rory’s expert tongue from my mind. You’re on the phone with your father!
“Assisting those in developing countries to grow and maintain their water supply is essential for them to thrive,” I continued hurriedly. “And Donaldson had more than done his due diligence with a well-prepared business model of how our donations would be used and the return it would give each location. Couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be a part of it.”
“You have your mother’s heart and my brain,” he said. “I’m sure he appreciated your donation, but the next time you want to drop three million in the cause, perhaps give your old man a heads up?”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes.
The money didn’t make a dent in what my father had spread between numerous accounts. Being in the dark was what irked him. “Of course. I only didn’t inform you because you were out of town. And besides, I made the donation in the company’s name. It will be good for the cause and PR.”
“Smart girl. Now, about that dress…”
I face palmed myself. Damn it. I’d thought Jennifer Laningston’s fall outside the entrance of the Four Seasons would be enough to leave any shots the paparazzi had gotten of me in the trash. Father must’ve searched for it, or more likely he had my name on google alerts for whenever it hit the media. “It was a red carpet event—”
“Understood.” His tone implied there was a silent but attached to the end of the response. Cue lecture in three, two…
“Paige,” he said my name like I was fourteen again, asking to wear a halter top that had been all the rage back then. “You’re about to be named CEO of the company that has given life-blood to our family for generations. It’s successful because of what our family stands for. For our morals. We’re a good, wholesome American family, and our public appearances have to show as much.”
I’d heard the speech since I was old enough to pick out my own clothes and answer questions at press conferences. There was no need to re-lecture me on it. I was twenty-eight years old for God’s sake.
“One question from the public on the purity of our lives could lead to questioning the purity of our products,” he said, and I remained silent—as was expected of me. “Sales could drop. Thousands of our employees would be out of jobs. You know we take care of our own, and when you become C.E.O., it’s not just about your needs anymore. It’s your responsibility to ensure the stability of our employees’ positions. Some of them have been with us for over thirty years. We can’t be frivolous with our actions. We can’t be impulsive…”
My father’s voice tuned out as my mind shifted focus, hovering over the word impulsive and drawing up an image of Rory’s deep blue eyes as they peered up at me from between my thighs. A warm shiver danced up my skin, teasing me with an intense ache I wanted soothed by only one man—a man who was the absolute definition of impulsive—and one who was a major risk I wasn’t sure was worth taking.
“I only want what is best for you and the company,” Father continued, and I blinked away the thoughts pulsing red in my mind. I took another sip of my Americano instead of stopping him. I knew—and had known—every stake of taking over our company for years now.
The bell on the coffee shop’s door rang, and I about dropped the mug of hot coffee in my lap.
What in the absolute hell?
Rory Jackson walked up to the counter, a pair of dark blue jeans hugging his hips in all the right spots. A light gray t-shirt clung to his cut abs and chest, and the casual look was beyond sexy on him. Maybe even hotter than the tux and just shy of his Shark’s jersey. What is he doing here?
I watched as Anne flustered behind the counter, taking his order and trying to control the giddy-school-girl grin on her face. I was instantly transported to that night, where he had touched me more intimately than anyone had before and yet he hadn’t touched me near enough. The ache that had barely left returned with a vengeance as his smile lit up his eyes.
How could I have done that? Put out that offer, my fantasies, my body? My embarrassment was only topped by the relief that he hadn’t taken everything I’d offered. Relief, regret...whatever. Not that it mattered. He obviously wasn’t interested, and I wasn’t chasing a guy who had to be convinced to sleep with me.