Two weeks later . . .
“Hey.” There’s a knock at my door. I lift my head to see Huxley poke his head in. “Conference room in ten.”
“Got the eleven fucking memos you sent already. I’ll be there.”
“Just making sure.”
“I’m a grown-ass man, Hux. I know how to schedule my damn day.” I turn back to my computer and click through the annoying emails I’ve put off answering all morning.
When my door shuts, I heave a sigh of relief, that’s until I realize Huxley never left, but rather let himself into my office. He occupies a seat across from me and crosses one leg over the other.
“Mind telling me why you’ve been such a bastard lately?”
I press my fingers into my brow, attempting to massage the impending migraine away.
“How about you go back to your office and leave me the hell alone?”
“You see, I would do that, but we have a meeting in ten minutes and I can’t have you acting like a dick in there.”
My eyes snap up to his. “When have I ever been a dick to people in the conference room?”
“Uh, all fucking week. Not to mention, you’ve been stomping around here with a chip on your shoulder. Everyone’s aware of your mood and there have been rumblings that people are uncomfortable.”
“Oh, well, Jesus Christ, I should just slap on a happy face, then, shouldn’t I? I wouldn’t want to cause a stir in the office. Heaven forbid someone should have some fucking feelings in this place.”
“Dude,” Hux says, sitting taller in his chair now. “What the hell is going on? You’ve been like this ever since the fundraiser. Is this about Genesis?”
Of course, he’d go there because I haven’t spoken a goddamn word to anyone about that night. Neither Huxley nor Breaker saw how the old man took me out. Neither saw how I danced with Kelsey and held her so close to me that, and how, for the first time since I met her, I felt something click inside my head, that where I was, what I was doing, was actually right.
I didn’t say anything, because the night didn’t end the way I wanted it to.
There was no intention of taking her inside my house.
There wasn’t even a thought of taking her to my bedroom.
My only purpose at the end of the night was to make sure she understood how fucking beautiful she was. How I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off her and couldn’t fathom how stupid her date had been in leaving her, missing his one chance at having her. I wanted her to know that, in my eyes, her smile had outshone all the radiance of the room, and that she was easily the most captivating woman in there.
I didn’t want her to leave thinking she wasn’t valued, that she was disposable.
I meant what I said, Edwin was an idiot. An absolute fool.
Genesis is beautiful and smart. But she has nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, on Kelsey.
And I wanted to show Kelsey that. But, Kelsey didn’t take it that way.
No, she saw me as a man acting kind to have a chance at lifting her skirt.
She saw me as nothing but a man with an agenda that involved the bedroom.
She could not have been more wrong.
Insult eclipsed me.
I shut down.
And there was no coming back from it.
I’ve been a bastard ever since.
When I’ve seen her in the office, I’ve avoided her. All correspondence has been through email, and I’ve canceled two meetings with her so far, blaming some media bullshit that I made up.
“Yeah, sure, this is about Genesis,” I answer.
Huxley studies me and is about to say something when Breaker comes into the office and says, “There you are. Hux, I need your signature on a few things before the meeting.”
Eyes on me, Huxley stands and says, “This isn’t over.”
The fuck it’s not. In my eyes, this conversation is dead at this point.
I wave him away and when the door shuts, I let out a heavy breath and push back from my desk. I turn toward my window and lean back, staring out over the lines of palm trees along the streets.
I don’t think I’ve ever been in this kind of funk, one that has taken over just about every aspect of my life. Sleep evades me. Working out has become more of an escape for frustration rather than enjoyment. And my nights out with friends have turned into nights in, vibrating with anger as I pace my house, only to end up in my workout room, where I slip on a pair of boxing gloves and repeatedly punch my bag until my knuckles can’t take the abuse anymore.
Just . . . fuck, how could she think that all I wanted was to fuck her?
Am I really that much of an asshole that she’d confuse my intention with a bargain? My kindness, my compliments, in exchange for the spread of her legs?
I can be a dick.
A prick.
An absolute asshole.
But I’m not that man, the one who takes advantage of a woman who’s clearly not in the right headspace.
I stand from my chair, pull my suit jacket back on, and stick my phone in my pocket before heading out of my office door. On the way to the conference room, I pop into the kitchen and grab a can of water—we just started carrying water in aluminum cans, thanks to fucking Kelsey and her sustainability initiatives—and then head into the conference room. I take a seat on the left-hand side.
Just as I pop open the can, one of the chairs to the right of me swivels around and, lo and behold, Kelsey’s face comes into view.
Fuck . . .
“JP,” she says with a smile that barely reaches her eyes. I can tell a polite smile from a genuine one, and this screams I’m smiling at you because I have to, not because I want to. “I wasn’t aware you were going to be in this meeting.”
“Yeah, well, Huxley sent me eleven messages saying my attendance was required.”
“Do you have any idea what it’s about?”
“Nope,” I snap.
“Oh . . . okay.” She fidgets next to me and heat crawls up the back of my neck.
Fuck, I can smell her sweet, flowery scent that seems to follow me everywhere I go. I don’t know if it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but I swear, I smell it everywhere I go, and it’s more prevalent than ever right now.
“Did you, uh, did you see my designs for the Anderson building?”
“Yeah,” I answer.
“Did you like them?”
“Seemed like everything else you’ve turned in. Unless I’m mistaken and you used something other than bamboo storage.”
I don’t bother to look at her, but from the corner of my eye, I can see her mouth turn down in a frown.
“JP, if there’s something I did—”
“You know, I have some emails to answer,” I say, pulling out my phone and tapping away on it.
Instead of going to my inbox—because there’s no way in fuck I’m answering any emails right now—I scroll through Twitter, checking out what all the trolls have to say about the Vancouver Agitators and their recent playoff loss. Talk about a weak showing. Not sure they even decided to show up.
“I know you’re ignoring me,” she says, clearly not getting the hint.
Keeping my eyes on my phone, I say, “Kelsey, I have better things to do with my life than to ignore you. You’re not that important.”
I can feel the sting of my words as they fall off my tongue, and yet, I don’t stop them.
I don’t even bother to look at how they affect her.
I don’t need to.
I know Kelsey will take offense to such a sentence, and yet, I still said it.
Yup, really living up to that bastard persona.
Thankfully, Huxley walks in at that moment, along with Breaker and Lottie. I expect maybe a few other employees to join us, but when Huxley shuts the door and takes a seat, I realize this is it.
Just us five.
Not so sure I’m going to like this.
I swear to fuck if this is some sort of attitude intervention, I’m going to have a Hades-inspired conniption, flames and all.
“We got some news yesterday.” Huxley looks over at Lottie and my heart sinks. Holy shit, are they pregnant?
I sit a little taller in my chair.
Attempt to put on a happy face.
“Are you pregnant?” Breaker asks.
Huxley’s eyebrows knit together. “No, why would you think that?”
“Uh, the way you looked at Lottie, the fact that it’s just family in this room, and the inconspicuous meeting invite.”
All facts.
“Do you really think I would use company time to announce something like that? That would be a private affair, not something we’d do in the conference room at work.”
Huh . . . also facts.
“Plus, there will be no pregnancy for at least another year. I need a killer honeymoon and babies aren’t invited,” Lottie adds.
Well, there goes the pregnancy guess.
“Then why are we here?” I ask.
“Because, what I have to say can’t be said outside of these walls. It’s highly classified, therefore, we’re the only ones who are allowed to know at the moment.”
“Just spit it out,” I say. “Enough with the dramatics.”
Huxley shoots me a withering glare, but luckily for me, I couldn’t care less about his menacing scowl.
“We got a call from William Edison, our realtor. We won the bid for the historic Angelica Building in San Francisco.”
Oh shit . . .
Kelsey looks around for answers. “What’s the Angelica Building?”
“It’s one of the most prominent apartment buildings in San Francisco. Currently completely empty because it needs deep renovations. It was put up for sale a few months ago, but instead of simply submitting an offer, we had to submit with accompanying plans as to how we’d preserve the building during renovations,” Huxley says.
“The building is beautiful,” Breaker adds. “Sits just beyond the Bay and has panoramic views and some of the most intricate marble work I’ve ever seen.”
“So why is this a secret?” Kelsey asks.
“Because before the news breaks, we want our team to go in, assess, and then draw up plans on how we’re going to proceed. Once the press finds out, it’ll be very hard to get our work done in peace without restoration groups knocking at our door, telling us how to do the job.” Huxley presses his palm to the table surface. “We have two weeks before the deal is announced. I want plans drawn up and contracts made before those two weeks are up.”
“I’m sorry,” Kelsey says, glancing around the room. “How does this pertain to me?”
“We want your input on sustainability for the building. We’re already in talks with a solar panel specialist to see what our options are for energy, but when it comes to building materials and organization, we want your input as well. Which means, you’re going to San Francisco tonight to meet with Edison and the team.”
“Oh.” Kelsey blinks a few times. “Okay. Sure, not a problem.”
“And JP will be going with you.”
And there it is.
I knew that was fucking coming.
Even though I knew it was coming and I know the reasoning behind it, I still say, “Why do I need to go? I believe this is something Lottie and Kelsey can handle themselves. I’m not her babysitter.”
“Uh . . . I have a bunch of wedding planning meetings scheduled.” Lottie winces. “I don’t think I can reschedule anything. I wasn’t aware I had to go with Kelsey.”
“You aren’t required to go,” Huxley says, keeping his eyes on me. “Sustainably Organized falls under JP’s management, which means he’ll be going.” The steeliness in his voice would scare any other employee, but it washes right over me. His intimidation tactics are useless on me.
We stare each other down, the tension growing in the room, and I wait for Breaker to jump in, to say something, but when the room remains silent, I know there’s no help coming my way.
It’s pointless.
They’re going to gang up on me and then I’ll be headed to San Francisco with Kelsey, the person I most want to avoid.
But being the people pleaser that she is, Kelsey chimes in and says, “If JP is busy, I can go on my own. I’m sure I can handle this.”
“The fuck you can,” I say before I can stop myself. All eyes fall on me, perhaps shocked at my obvious anger. Shit, that was harsh. I attempt to tone it down. “There’s more to it than just walking around an office. Hate to say it, but you’re not sufficiently educated to handle this on your own. This is more like a job for Huxley, given the logistics of it.”
If looks could fucking kill, I would be six feet under right now.
But all care has left my body.
I can’t seem to scrounge up one ounce of giving a fuck.
Speaking in a clipped tone, Huxley says, “I have to be at the wedding planning meetings with Lottie.”
“You’ve had no problem flying back and forth before.”
“What do you not understand about this being your responsibility?” Huxley asks.
“I never asked for this responsibility,” I say and then motion to Breaker. “Why doesn’t he go?”
With a confused look on his face, Breaker tilts his head and asks, “Why the hell would I go when Kelsey works with you? I have no fucking clue what you guys are doing over there with the buildings and all the environmental changes happening in this office. All I know is that my water comes in an aluminum can now and I like it.” He leans close and asks, “Dude, what the fuck is going on? You love San Francisco, and this is your job, so why don’t you want to go?”
Great question.
Can’t tell him the real reason.
This conversation is already humiliating enough, and I don’t need to add to that humiliation.
Nope, I need to come up with an excuse. Something good.
Something that will require my attention in Los Angeles.
“I can’t go,” I say, as if it’s the most preposterous suggestion. “I have . . . things to do. Important things.” Christ, that’s not exactly what I was hoping to say, but then again, kind of drawing a blank here. I have no things. I basically sit on my ass waiting for my brothers to tell me what to do because that’s how much I despise this job. “Things that can’t be rescheduled.”
“What kind of things?” Breaker asks skeptically. He’s onto me.
“Important things,” I repeat.
“But what kind of important things? Give us an example.”
Huh . . .
Umm . . .
*Mentally taps chin*
What could be so important in my otherwise boring life that could prevent me from flying up to San Francisco with Kelsey?
Nothing.
Absolutely fucking nothing.
But that doesn’t prevent me from continuing the farce.
“Appointments,” I answer. Vagueness is the way to go. “The kind of appointments I don’t care to discuss in front of the ladies.”
There. That should work.
Man troubles.
It’s written in bro-code that when a man says he has an appointment he doesn’t want to discuss in front of the ladies, that it should be kept hush-hush and talked about later when feminine ears aren’t around.
“An appointment you don’t want to talk about in front of the ladies?” Breaker asks. “Like . . . are you having man troubles, dude?”
God, I hate him.
Now what the fuck do I say?
If I confirm I might be having man troubles, Kelsey and Lottie will ASSUME I have man troubles, and there’s nothing troubling about my manhood. Everything is in healthy, working order.
But if I say no, then that exposes me and I’ll have to go to San Francisco.
So . . . pride or giving in?
Save my self-image or spend two weeks in agony with Kelsey?
Fuck . . . this is a hard—
Pinning me with a stare, Huxley says, “Tell me right now something is wrong with your dick or you’re going to San Francisco.”
Shit.
Nothing is wrong with my dick.
I don’t want anyone thinking there’s something wrong with my dick because, yes, I’m shallow, thank you very much.
And Huxley fucking knows it.
“That’s what I thought. You’re going.”
Fuck.
So much for being able to think on my goddamn feet.
“You leave tonight. I had Karla call ahead to the penthouse. It’s already been cleaned and stocked with food.”
The penthouse?
No fucking way.
Okay, sure, I have to go to San Francisco, but the penthouse? Has he lost his goddamn mind?
“Do you really think the penthouse is necessary? A simple hotel room will do, don’t you think?”
“What’s the penthouse?” Kelsey asks.
“Housing the company owns,” Huxley answers. “And, yes, the penthouse is necessary. You will be much more comfortable there. We’ve already set up a car service, and Karla is working on scheduling meetings with our architect and contractors. If we’re sending you up there, we want to make the most of our time. The trip will last two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” I shout. “You want us to be up there for two weeks? I thought we just had a two-week limit to turn things in.” It shouldn’t take that long.
Huxley’s jaw ticks, his frustration coming to a boiling point as his forehead starts to turn a dangerous shade of red. He’s frustrated with me, but who the fuck cares? He wants me to be sharing a penthouse with Kelsey for two weeks, the one person I don’t want to be around? Is this some sort of scheme by the engaged couple to get two singles together? When have we ever forced two employees to share the penthouse before . . . for two weeks?
Never.
In a firm voice, Huxley says, “You will be there for two weeks. I expect to receive daily reports on all decisions. And while you’re up there, make sure you set up meetings with the mayor. You’re the media relations for this company, after all, JP, the face. Don’t forget it.”
As if he’d ever let me.
Pushing away from the table, I stand abruptly and ask, “When does the plane leave?”
“Six sharp. Don’t be late.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I move past everyone, straight out of the conference room, and toward my office.
This is bullshit.
There’s no need for us to be in San Francisco for two weeks, sharing a place. It’s like he’s purposefully trying to make my life a living hell. But that’s how it’s always been—Huxley gets what he wants.
Starting this business was his idea. I jumped on board because, frankly, I didn’t have anything better to do with my life, but when responsibilities started to roll out, it was as if Breaker and Huxley just came up with jobs they wanted and gave me the leftovers. Does it look like I want to be the face of the company? The guy who talks to the media and waves his hand about and cuts ribbons?
Fuck no.
There’s no purpose behind it.
Nothing.
I don’t feel fulfilled when I go to work.
And now, this . . . I’m a fucking glorified babysitter.
I reach my office, but when I go to shut my door, I’m quickly stopped by my brothers, who apparently have been hot on my heels during my retreat.
I don’t bother arguing with them to leave me alone, because there’s no point, they won’t give me privacy. I take a seat on my couch and spread out, ready for the lecture.
Breaker shuts the door and then joins Huxley, who’s standing in front of me, hands in his pockets.
“What the actual fuck was that about?” he asks.
“Me?” I point to myself. “You don’t think you could’ve told me that in private? You know, so we could discuss it without the girls being there? Instead, you just gave me a sentencing and went on with your life.”
“Sentencing?” Huxley asks. “I fail to see how spending two weeks in a penthouse in San Francisco, one of your favorite cities, is a sentencing. I assumed you’d appreciate the break from LA.”
“Not when I have to spend it babysitting someone,” I say.
“It’s not babysitting,” Breaker says. “You’d be helping Kelsey and taking on one of our most prestigious renovation projects. This is fucking huge, man.”
“Not to mention, we’re working with a new set of contractors in San Francisco because that’s who was available. They know how much we’re worth and they know the importance of the project. We don’t need them taking advantage of Kelsey, who isn’t experienced in this at all.”
“You don’t think she can stand up for herself?” I ask. “Because I have it on very good authority that she knows how to put a man in his place.”
She’s only done it half a dozen times with me.
“It’s not that she can’t handle herself,” Huxley says. “Because if she’s anything like her sister, then I know there’s a solid fighting spirit in her. But this is about headlining the process as an owner, making sure things are done the way we want them, and assisting Kelsey with her initiatives. We have one shot at impressing the historic societies in a city we love. If we can make good on this building, think of all the other buildings we could help with.”
“If it’s that important, then you fucking do it.”
Huxley’s jaw tightens even more. “You know I can’t. I have commitments with Lottie, and even though this company means everything to me, she means more. You’re the one who represents Cane Enterprises, you’re the one who works directly with Kelsey, and unless you can give me a specific—and I mean very specific—reason why you can’t go up there tonight, then you’re leaving in four hours.”
I look away because fuck . . . I’m frustrated.
Because I don’t have a good reason other than Kelsey hurt my man feelings and I haven’t been able to get over it.
Because I don’t want to be around her.
Because . . . shit, because I think I like her, and I don’t know how to navigate those feelings, feelings I’ve been suppressing for quite some time. And because she wants absolutely nothing to do with me, it makes navigating those feelings that much more difficult. She thinks of me as a player, a man who seeks his own pleasure, nothing more.
Spending two weeks with her in the penthouse is going to be absolute torture.
I’ll be surrounded by her heady scent, subjected to her nighttime wear, forced to share meals . . . It’ll be like having a live-in girlfriend without the girlfriend part.
But I have no excuse.
No out.
So, might as well stop fighting it and go fucking pack.
“Well, then, I guess I’m leaving in four hours.” In silence, with their eyes watching my every move, I shoot up from the couch and make sure I have everything I need before walking past my brothers and out of my office, straight to the elevator where . . . of course, Lottie and Kelsey are talking.
Great.
I stand a good five feet away, but their conversation is loud enough for me to hear.
“—I’m sure it won’t be that bad, as there are two large rooms, separated by a living area and kitchenette. So, don’t worry. Hey, remember the time we went to San Francisco with Mom?” Lottie asks. “She took us to that dim sum restaurant and we ate so much that the owners took a picture of us because they’d never seen two girls consume as much food as we did.”
Kelsey asks, “What was it called again? Dim Sum Star?”
Jesus, how long does it take for an elevator to get here? And clearly, Kelsey’s not happy with the plan to share the penthouse with me either. Don’t worry, Kelsey, I know how you feel about me.
Lottie nods. “Yup. It was so good. And, of course, the Ghirardelli store. You have to go. Oh, and hey, kind of convenient that Derek will be up there, right?”
Derek?
Now my ears are turned in their direction. Who the hell is Derek?
“Oh yeah, you’re right. This trip already sounds better.”
“Want me to text Ellie and see if he’ll meet you for dinner? I mean, it’s kind of perfect that the timing’s matched up.”
Ellie . . . there’s only one Ellie I know and that’s Dave Toney’s Ellie. Dave Toney is one of our business partners. Ellie and Lottie have grown close. Which means . . . Derek must be Derek Toney, Dave’s younger brother.
Is Lottie trying to fix Kelsey up with Derek?
“Might be nice to have something to do at night,” Kelsey says.
Well, Jesus fuck, I’ll be there. It’s not like you’re going to be banished to an island all alone.
Then again, why would she consider me a decent companion? The obnoxious asshole.
“I’ll set it up,” Lottie says. “Ellie was telling me that Derek is a total foodie. I’ll bet he takes you somewhere that will blow your mind.”
“Which means I need to pack some dresses for a date or two,” Kelsey says with excitement.
Fucking . . . great.
Just what I need, to stay in the penthouse for two weeks while Kelsey goes out on dates with Derek.
This is going to be a fucking fantastic trip.
