“You know, maybe we should discuss what we’re going to say in the meeting,” Kelsey says as she fidgets next to me in the car.
Last night was . . . hell, I don’t even know how to describe what happened last night. If I wasn’t so irritated, I might have actually found it comical. But my irritation turned into anger as I lay in bed because for the fucking life of me, I couldn’t get the feeling of her exasperated breath blowing on my nuts. That breath was the most action I’ve received in months.
It tingled.
Felt good.
And before I knew it, I was jacking off in the shower over the goddamn fact that she breathed on my scrotum. I’m so desperate and horny that I actually liked it.
Let me tell you something, the stark realization of that—of understanding that you’re such a lonely bastard that a woman’s breath on your junk gets you horny—is incredibly unsettling and, frankly, pathetic.
And yet, there I was last night, hammering away on my dick because, if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to get any sleep.
I woke up this morning, unable to think any less of myself.
In an attempt to lift my self-esteem, I went to the gym, stared at myself in the mirror while doing bicep curls and listening to Adele—Easy on Me—and recited affirmations in my head.
You are strong.
You are handsome.
You’re not a pathetic loser who jacks off to a simple exhalation.
Once I repeated that mantra over and over in my head, I went back to my room, opened my computer, and donated ten thousand dollars to a pigeon rescue, because in all honesty, I doubt many people care about pigeons at all.
From the combination of seeing my biceps work in their pure form, Adele’s uplifting voice, my affirmations, and a solid donation . . . I felt better about myself and felt confident I could face this day head-on.
That was, until Kelsey appeared from her room wearing a skintight pencil skirt, which hits just above her calves, and a black, sleeveless turtleneck. She smelled like a goddamn angel sent from above and looked like hell on heels with her voluptuous hair in waves hanging loosely over her shoulders.
Fuck.
Me.
The memory of the exhalation—that’s what we’ll call it now—came roaring back to life, and I had to turn away to hide any impending excitement.
You are strong.
You are handsome.
You’re not a pathetic loser who jacks off to a simple exhalation.
That was on repeat the entire morning while I moved around Kelsey, grabbing coffee and a protein bar while she made herself scrambled eggs, whole wheat toast, spinach, and oddly . . . black beans. I’ve never seen anyone work so cleanly in a kitchen, nor have I seen someone set out a complete place setting—placemat included—for breakfast. It was hard not to watch.
After her breakfast spectacle, we made our way to the lobby, where a car was waiting for us, and now we’re making our way through rush-hour traffic in San Francisco.
“Did you hear me?” Kelsey asks, poking me.
I glance at where she poked me in the arm and then back at my phone.
She huffs in anger and turns toward me, swatting my phone out of my hand. It falls to the floor of the car with a clunk.
“Hey—”
With her red-painted nail, she points very closely at my face and leans in. “Listen to me, Jonathan Patrick Cane—”
“That’s not my name.”
“I don’t care if your name is Junior Pooper, you’re going to listen to me.” Don’t laugh at Junior Pooper, do not laugh. “I’m sick of you ignoring me. Let’s call last night what it was, a total miss on my end. I’ll take the blame for how things . . . panned out, but now you’re just being cruel.”
“I’m not being cruel. I just don’t have anything to say to you.”
“You always have something to say to me. Always. From the moment I freaking met you, you’ve had something to say. You’ve never stopped talking, nagging, prodding. You’re constantly in my ear chattering about utter nonsense, and now, all of a sudden, you’re going to stop? When we have to spend two weeks together?” She shakes her head. “Oh no, that’s not how this is going to work. I would rather spend two weeks in a penthouse with you constantly aggravating me with your nonsensical drivel than this silent treatment you’ve decided to try out. You might not think it’s cruel, but it is. It’s not fair to me. You won’t even let me apologize.”
“Apologize for what?” I ask.
“For my presumption the night of the gala. What I said was out of line, JP.” She rests her hand on my arm. “I’m sorry. You were right, you were being nice and I took it the wrong way. I never should’ve made that kind of assumption about you. I’m sorry.”
Well . . . the apology is nice. Glad to see she doesn’t believe I’m a complete asshole. But going back to the playful banter, the “nagging,” as she put it, I’m not sure I can do that. I don’t think I have it within me to control myself.
Messing around with her has been a turn-on. Even when we’re in full-on disagreement, I love seeing the spark in her eyes, the way she huffs and puffs and tries to get her point across. I love hearing her reasoning and watching as her chest gets blotchy with irritation. It’s hot.
And now that we’re close to each other, there’s no way I’ll be able to keep my hands off her. I know it. Especially after last night’s humiliating revelation.
No.
You are strong.
You are handsome.
You’re not a pathetic loser who jacks off to a simple exhalation.
“Thank you for apologizing,” I say while fishing around for my phone. Once I find it, I go back to my emails.
“Uh . . . that’s it? Nothing else?”
“What else do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know—make a joke about how I tickled your balls?”
The driver’s eyes flash to the rearview mirror quickly before focusing on the road again.
Wanting to clarify things, I lean forward and say to the driver, “She didn’t tickle my balls. She breathed on them.”
“Not on purpose!” Kelsey practically shouts as she leans forward as well, gripping the driver’s seat. “He fell on my face.”
“After she pantsed me.”
“It’s not my fault you weren’t wearing underwear. How was I supposed to know that?”
“Either way, you shouldn’t have been pulling on my shorts, unless . . . that was your plan all along. Trying to get me naked to sit on your face.” I lean back and slowly clap. “Wow, Kelsey, job well done.”
Her head whips toward me and her nostrils flare. Ahh, there they are. I missed them. “You know damn well my intention wasn’t to get you naked to sit on my face. I couldn’t imagine a more grotesque situation.”
“Didn’t seem to mind it last night,” I say, going back to my phone. She swats it out of my hand again. “Hey, stop doing that.”
“I did not enjoy your balls on my face. I specifically remember screaming and telling you to get off me.”
“Yeah, as you held me down.”
She turns back to the driver, who has remained silent this entire time. What I wouldn’t pay to be inside his head right now. “I did not hold him down. I was flustered and didn’t know what was happening. When I realized what was on my face, I got up immediately. I just want you to know I’m not the kind of girl who enjoys balls on her face.”
“Such a shame,” I say.
She growls out a frustrated noise and folds her arms over her chest as she sits back in her seat. “Why do I even bother talking to you? You’re so infuriating.”
“Beats me. You’re the one who didn’t want the silent treatment, so this is your choice.” I locate my phone and, when she goes to swat it again, I hold it close to my chest. “Nice try.”
Just then, her phone rings in her purse and she quickly brings it into view. She glances at me. “It’s Huxley.”
“Put it on speaker.”
Looking at me with murder weapons as eyes, she says, “I swear to God, JP, if you bring up the balls on the face thing with him, I’ll legit haunt you in your sleep. Do you understand me?”
“Sure,” I say, even though I wouldn’t say anything to the boys. I didn’t tell them last night what happened, didn’t think it was appropriate.
Putting on a smile—as if he can see her—she answers the phone, “Good morning, Huxley.”
Wow, what a transformation, from a she-devil to Delightful Diane. Who knew she was capable of such a metamorphosis?
“Good morning, Kelsey.”
“I have you on speakerphone so JP can hear you. We’re on our way to the meeting right now.”
“I take it you two have settled in since the activities of last night?”
“Oh my God, JP,” she says, looking at me. “You told your brother that your penis landed on my face?”
Oh, Kelsey . . .
He was not talking about that.
I can’t hold back my smile. I held it together with Junior Pooper, but this, nope, I have to smile, because she just gave herself away.
“What?” Huxley growls.
Kelsey’s eyes widen as her cheeks flush to a gorgeous shade of pink.
“I didn’t tell him anything.” I smirk. “But you just did.”
“Oh, dear God,” she whispers.
“What’s going on? JP, if you fuck with her, I’m going to—”
“No, nothing happened,” Kelsey quickly says. “It was just a, uh, scramble, and then we tripped on each other, and I really mean that, not like, ‘Oops I tripped and fell on his penis, my bad.’ I swear, this was just an unfortunate incident and it was quickly rectified with screaming, yelling, and swatting. There’s no funny business between us.”
“She’s correct,” I say. “Nothing is going on, and trust me, nothing will be going on. You don’t have to worry about that.”
“Good. Kelsey, you tell me if he does try to make a move.”
I roll my eyes. I was the innocent in all of this. I didn’t ask her to strip my pants off and breathe on my scrotum . . .
Oh, hell.
Her hot breath . . . dancing across my nuts . . .
You are strong.
You are handsome.
You’re not a pathetic loser who jacks off to a simple exhalation.
“He’s been nothing but professional. Don’t worry. Just forget I even mentioned it. Anyway, we’re on our way to the meeting.”
“Good. Edison will meet with the both of you, along with our general contractor, Regis. He’s new, JP. I’ve heard mixed reviews on the man, so keep an eye on him.”
“Then why the hell did you hire him?” I ask.
“Time. Darius couldn’t squeeze us in. But Regis has done beautiful work around the city, so that’s why we hired him.”
“Has everyone signed an NDA?” I ask.
“Yes. Edison has some details to go over before you walk the property. Since he has experience in renovating historic buildings in the area, I asked him to be a voice while going through the plans. He has no problem doing that. Did you get the renovation plans that I emailed last night?”
“Yes,” I answer. “I’m assuming you sent them to Regis as well?”
“Correct,” Huxley answers. “Kelsey, I sent them to you as well. I want you to insert your input like you have for the rest of our buildings. I know this is new to you, starting from scratch, but I think it’s important to have you there to oversee our plans for sustainability. Karla also scheduled meetings for you around town with the other buildings that we own, did you see that?”
“I did. I’m assuming you want me to walk through them, speak with the office managers, and organize like I’ve been doing in Los Angeles?”
“Correct. You have a busy two weeks. Hope you’re up for it.”
“I am,” Kelsey says with excitement.
“JP, plan a meeting with the mayor. Tell him exactly what we plan on doing. He’s been wary of us coming into his city, but if he sees what we stand for, it might help for future bids. When I said we were lucky to get the Angelica Building, I wasn’t fucking lying. If done right, this could be huge for us. We’ve been involved in restoration for a few years now, but nothing of this magnitude. Mixing the old with the new could put us at the top of the game.”
“Well, I’m excited. I think it’s an awesome plan, preserving the brilliance of the old-school architecture, but also combining today’s trends to help with costs, as well as making positive changes to help our environment. It’s a worthwhile combination,” Kelsey says. “I’ve been doing research on the structure and identity of the Angelica and I already have a ton of ideas. I can’t wait to walk through them all.”
“Good. Do you two have any questions?”
“I don’t think so,” Kelsey says as she looks over at me. I just shake my head. “Seems like we’re good. Thanks for calling, Huxley.”
“Anytime. If you need anything, ask JP. That’s why he’s there, to help you out.”
“Okay, thanks.”
They exchange goodbyes and then she hangs up the phone. She crosses one leg over the other in that skintight pencil skirt, turns toward me, and says, “Hear that, JP? You’re here to help me out.”
“Your point?” I ask with a brow raised in her direction.
“Which means . . . no more ignoring me.”
“If you have something productive to say or a well-thought-out question, I’ll be more than happy to be at your service. Anything other than that . . . just move along.”
“MR. EDISON WILL BE right with you,” the receptionist says as we both take a seat on a terribly stiff couch.
Kelsey glances around, but I keep my eyes trained on my phone. “This place is . . . interesting,” Kelsey says. “Is that a chair in the shape of a hand over there?”
“Yup,” I say without having to look up. I know exactly which chair she’s talking about. I sat in it once and it was incredibly uncomfortable. “Edison believes he has a refined palate when it comes to interior design. When in fact, he has zero taste. Wait until you see his desk. It’s one giant Rubik’s Cube.”
“That’s . . . interesting.”
“One way to put it.”
The door that I know leads into Edison’s office opens, and the balding, tubby man waddles over to us. Dressed in a pair of brown-and-orange plaid shorts and a green suit jacket, he reads more like an absolute imbecile than a serious real estate agent. But he’s completed some important business deals for us, so we keep coming back, despite his eccentricities.
When he looks up and spots me, a large smile spans across his face. “JP Cane, you old bastard. How the hell are ya?”
He also has zero decorum.
Standing along with Kelsey, I walk up to him and shake his hand. “Edison, good to see you. I see you’re still unable to match a pair of slacks with a suit jacket.”
He lets out a boisterous laugh and says, “Not all of us want to be caught up in a sea of black suits. Some of us like to be memorable.”
“Memorable, indeed,” I say with a smile, internally hating myself.
This side of me? It’s the fake, business side. It’s the reason I’m the “face” of the company, because when push comes to shove, I can slap on a smile and lay on the charm. I have . . . charisma, and it has definitely been needed to clean up Huxley’s messes caused by his inability to mask his irritation. I’m the one clients and partners want to take out, because I know how to have a conversation that’s equal parts business and fun. And yet, Kelsey thinks I’m an asshole.
Holding his hand past me, Edison says, “You must be Kelsey Gardner.”
“Hello,” Kelsey says politely while shaking his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Edison.”
“Edison is fine, dear. No need to add the mister in front of it. I’m sure JP could regale you with stories of how such a formal title would not suit me and my personality.”
“I could, but I’ll save you the embarrassment,” I say, patting him on the back.
“A kind man.” Edison gestures to his office. “Please, come in. Regis said he’d meet us at the Angelica.”
I place my hand on Kelsey’s lower back for some reason—who fucking knows why. I expect her to pull away, but when she doesn’t, I continue to guide her until we’re in his office.
And what an office it is. I’ve never seen anything like it. An interesting and bold combination of gaming and nerdery with posters of Zelda on one wall and the periodic table of elements on another. Walking into his office, you wouldn’t think a real estate agent—the top in the city, to be precise—worked here. Not that I’d expect him to have pictures of buildings lining his walls, but there’s a giant whisk—about three feet long—hanging behind his Rubik’s Cube desk. What’s with the whisk? Did he just like it and decide to hang it up? Is there sentimental value to the whisk? Did he win a whisking contest and that’s the prize?
In the sitting area, there is a set of purple armchairs and a polka-dot loveseat surrounding a coffee table fish tank . . . with no fish in it, but rather, floating eyeglasses. See what I’m talking about?
Weird-as-shit office.
I watch Kelsey as she takes in the space.
“Can I get you a drink?” Edison asks as he sits down in the chair closest to Kelsey. He watches her with delight as she continues to find new things about his office.
“I’m good,” Kelsey says after a few seconds.
“I’m good, as well,” I say.
“Edison, your office is so unique.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it,” I say, causing Edison to laugh. “More like a garage sale for misfits.”
“Hey now, you said you liked the Zelda poster,” Edison says with a pointed look.
I chuckle. “I did. The teenage boy in me was jealous when I saw it.”
“Never too old to be prancing around the forest.” Edison claps his hands together. “Okay, we should get to work, or else that brother of yours is going to have a conniption that we didn’t accomplish anything.”
“Can’t have that.” I dramatically roll my eyes.
“First thing’s first . . . Regis isn’t going to like working with Kelsey.”
Uh, that’s not what I was expecting him to say.
“Why the hell not?” I ask as I see Kelsey shift uncomfortably next to me.
Edison crosses one leg over the other and says, “I’ve worked with him a few times. He’s a great guy, does amazing work, but when it comes to renovations, he has a certain esthetic. He likes things done his way, and sustainability isn’t in his wheelhouse.”
“Did Huxley know this when he hired him?”
“I warned him. He said you’d be able to handle it.”
“Of course he did.” I lean back on the couch, draping my arm behind Kelsey, and say, “What kind of trouble are we talking here? How much grief will this cause?”
“Enough to make you want to go back to Los Angeles.” Edison cringes.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“Hold on, it might not be that bad,” Kelsey says. “I can be quite agreeable and accommodating. I think we need to give Regis the benefit of the doubt first. He doesn’t know what my plans are and I don’t know what his plans are, so maybe we go into this blind and just see how it goes.”
Spoken like a true rookie.
REGIS STARES, unblinking.
It doesn’t take a mind reader to know exactly what he’s thinking.
He DESPISES Kelsey.
Let me paint a picture for you.
Regis Stallone, born and bred Italian, straight from New Jersey with a heavy accent and a no-bullshit attitude, is decked out in worn, paint-splattered jeans, a Henley top, construction vest, and a dented construction hat. His mustache has more character than the two assistants he brought along with him, and the tape measure that he keeps snapping up and down is his frustration meter. The more he opens it and snaps it shut, the closer and closer he’s getting to lashing out.
Kelsey, charming, yet naïve Kelsey, in her high heels, pencil skirt, and skintight top, has come in hot with design ideas that have been approved in previous buildings of ours but from the look on Regis’s face, have no business being tossed around in the Angelica. Which, according to Regis, was designed to proclaim its intricate architecture, not save the earth.
Then there’s me and Edison, standing between them, watching them volley ideas back and forth. Currently, we’re on the topic of windows.
“Do you realize how old these windows are?” Regis asks. “These are casement windows, very rare. You can’t possibly replace them.”
“But don’t you see? They can’t even swing all the way open due to building code, and because they’re original to the building, they don’t have any insulation, meaning they have zero energy efficiency.”
“You can’t possibly be proposing to remove all of them?”
Kelsey nods with gusto. “I am. I’ve already written it in my notes.”
Regis grows even more furious. “And what do you suppose you do with the windows? Toss them in a landfill? How sustainable is that?”
Ooh, he has Kelsey on that one.
“Actually,” Kelsey says while flipping her notepad around, “I was going to suggest that we refurbish them and use them throughout the building. Since they’re looking to make this into apartment buildings, you can fashion the old windows as room dividers in the individual apartments, or in the common spaces like in the laundry room. I’d never suggest we toss anything into a landfill. As a matter of fact, I believe I’ll talk to Huxley about an approval process. Nothing is tossed without our permission.”
Okay . . . okay. Point for Kelsey.
“Do you understand the cost of replacing all these windows? These casings aren’t standard size.”
“Do you understand the type of impact we’ll have if we do change them? The energy costs for the entire building? Actually, can you add installing a geothermal system for heat to your list? That will definitely cut costs on energy.”
“And where do you suppose we dig for a geothermal system? If you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of the city. Jesus Christ.” Regis then looks at me and says, “JP, a word.” He walks away and I know I’m about to be on the receiving end of a rant. Just what I fucking want.
I start to walk after him when Kelsey tugs on my hand. “When he’s done having a word, I’d like to have a word as well.”
“About what?” I ask, noticing the trend already. Middle man. Fucking perfect.
“About what he’s going to complain to you about. I need to know what he’s saying about me.”
“Paranoid much?” I ask.
“You know it’s about me.” Her eyes grow worried. “And if someone’s trying to get me fired, I’d like to know why.”
“I think you know why.” I move away from her and join Regis in the other room.
But when he starts talking—I mean yelling—I know I won’t need a second conversation with Kelsey, because given how thin these old walls are, she’ll hear everything.
“You can’t be fucking serious with this sustainable crap,” Regis starts. “This is a historic building, so you can’t strip it down and make it modern. Activists for the historic buildings in this city will have a field day with this, and I’m telling you right now, if I hadn’t signed an NDA, I’d be headed to one of their meetings to let them know the kind of asinine ideas that woman out there has.”
I put on my “face of the company” pants and gently say, “I understand your concerns about the integrity of the building, Regis. And we’re just as concerned as you are. Preserving the history within these walls is just as vital to us as it is to you. But you need to know something. Kelsey is my colleague, and I will not tolerate you talking about her like that. She deserves just as much respect as the next person you work with. In addition, she’s right. If we’re going to open this building up to the public for the first time in over thirty years, we need to do it right. We need to make sure we meet today’s needs with yesterday’s intricate designs. Compromise, man, okay?”
“There’s no possible way we can do a geothermal heating system. I’ll cave on the windows if they’re being utilized elsewhere, but the heating system can’t physically be done.”
“Okay, then maybe we can come up with another solution. I know this is our first time working together, but this isn’t Kelsey’s first time working with us. We value her opinion and ideas and I need you to do the same, or else we’ll have to find someone else who can see our vision.” I grip Regis on the shoulder. “And you won’t want to miss out on working with us, especially with the kinds of plans we have for the future. Got it?”
Regis’s mustache twitches as he nods. He’s capitulating, but I know it’s only temporary. The next two weeks will be a living nightmare when it comes to managing this man. This is why Huxley is in charge of this shit.
We move back to the living room. Kelsey is standing by herself, while Edison is off in the corner, talking quietly on the phone. When she looks up and makes eye contact with me, there’s relief in her expression. There’s no doubt she heard that entire conversation and it looks as if we’ll need to figure out how to make these walls a lot thicker.
“I think we’ve done enough talking for today,” I say. “We’ve walked the building; we’ve taken notes. How about you both write up your ideas according to Huxley’s plans, how we can get it done, and then we can reconvene sometime in the next couple of days?”
Regis sticks his pencil behind his ear and then shakes my hand. To my surprise, he does the same for Kelsey.
I might hate this goddamn job, but it sure as hell looks like I’m good at it.
THE CAR DOOR shuts behind me and Kelsey quicky swivels in her seat, gratefulness spread all over her face.
“JP, I can’t tell you how thankful I am that you stuck up for me when speaking with Regis.”
I stick my phone in my suit pocket and buckle myself in. “It was no big deal.”
She rests her hand on my thigh, drawing my attention. And because I’m a weak man, my mind goes right back to yesterday. My junk on her face . . .
Her breath . . .
Jesus Christ, man!
“It was a big deal to me, JP,” she says. “I know the last thing you probably wanted was to play the middle man between me and Regis, but I heard what you said to him and it truly meant a lot to me. I’m not sure you know how important it was that you did it.”
“Seriously, Kelsey, it was no big deal.”
“No, you need to hear this.” She pushes her hair behind her ear, exposing the column of her neck. I fight the urge to curl my fingers around her nape and bring her in closer. “You set the tone. Moving forward, hopefully, Regis will know that you honor my ideas. You established this is teamwork and not just a project run by men. I owe you, JP.”
“You owe me nothing,” I say, looking out the window now. Kelsey has been working with Cane Enterprises for several months now, and she’s proven herself to Huxley, Breaker, and me. She works hard and she’s knowledgeable, not a lofty plant hugger without specific and wise goals. Cane Enterprises has a reputation—is respected for quality—and there’s no way in hell we’d align ourselves with anything or anyone we didn’t believe saw our vision. Today wasn’t about simply “saving” Kelsey, but ensuring we have a team that works cohesively. Surely, she knows that by now.
“If it was Huxley or Breaker, they would’ve done the same exact thing. We protect our company, you’re a part of that, therefore, I protected you today. Don’t think anything of it.”
“Okay, well, for what it’s worth, thank you.”
Quietly, I say, “You’re welcome.”
