Sexiled: an enemies-to-lovers standalone Read online

  April

  “Hola, I’m April Murphy,” I tell the attendant at the front desk.

  The black-haired woman behind the counter looks at me, nods, and brings something up on the computer screen. “Ah, yes. Abril. Here for the Big Brothers Big Sisters program?”

  “Correct.”

  “Perfect. My name is Erma. We’re all ready for you. Just sign here, here, and initial here.”

  I take the pen and the clipboard and give it my signature.

  Last night when I got home, I was a bit rowdy at my host family’s late dinner, after happy hour and shopping with Gabe.

  And it wasn’t the shopping that got me riled up. There’s something about being in Morgan’s presence that sparks me from the inside.

  My host mom was talking about this orphanage the next town over from where I’m living. I drunkenly proclaimed I definitely wanted to volunteer there. She told me her cousin worked there and she could sign me up for the Saturday program. I wholeheartedly, albeit drunkenly, agreed that this was a fantastic idea. And now, here I am, with a slight hangover, but I’ve been sipping this delicious multi-fruit juice my host mom made fresh for me this morning.

  At least my drunk personality is, apparently, committed to helping kids. Hey, if that’s a deep dark secret of mine, I’ll take it.

  “Let me show you around the place,” she says as I hand her back the clipboard.

  “This is the St. Augustina Orphanage. Basically, we take in kids that are homeless and—”

  “Did you say ‘homeless kids?’” I frown.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh. Wow.” An uncomfortable pang creeps up inside me that I don’t enjoy. Homeless children wandering the streets are one of those realities that are difficult to acknowledge.

  Erma goes on, “We try to get them before they turn to drugs, alcohol, or get drawn into the street gangs. We take the ones no one else will take, and we try to find families for them. They take classes on the premises from one of our teachers. You’re here on an internship? My cousin was telling me that when she called me this morning.”

  “Yes, an internship at a business in San Juan. For ten weeks.”

  “Ten weeks is a good amount of time. If it were any less, I wouldn’t be enough. The kids tend to get attached to their big ‘siblings.’ Let me show you around.”

  She walks me around the grounds, making conversation. “Our philosophy at St. Augustina is that one-on-one relationships are the building blocks of change. Some of these children have not had many positive role models in their lives, so we try to change that.”

  I walk past one classroom, and students peer at me from their seats. Erma shows me a tree grove, the dorms where the children stay, the library, the soccer field, and the garden.

  I see a few young girls smiling, watering flowers, and some other boys with pitchforks in their hands. “We give each student their own little plot. It’s a strange thing that happens when you just give a young person some responsibility to care for another living thing, even if it’s just some plants.”

  The boys dart me curious glances as I walk by. “Do they ever get out of here? You know, just for fun or whatever?”

  “Well, there’s a minor league baseball team that plays down the road, and they love going to games. Once every couple of weeks, if we have an adult with them, we’ll take them to the games. Speaking of baseball, I’m going to give you Fernando to read with. He’s nine years old, one of our more difficult ones. He doesn’t talk a lot. We’re not sure if he has a learning disability. The only thing he really seems to love is sports. Even when he plays, he’s very quiet.”

  “Have you tested him?”

  She nods. “We do annual testing but lack the funds to really bring in the specialists we need to help some of our less verbal kids. His mom was young and passed away of a drug overdose. His father was out of work, just came by and begged us to take him in. Teachers are split. Some say he’s smart but just quiet. Others say he’s developmentally behind and he’ll never recover. How’s your Spanish?”

  “It’s good,” I say.

  “Can you read to him in Spanish?”

  “Yes, I can do that.”

  “Okay, great. He’s been in our immersive English classes for two years, too. He reads and writes and understands, but just doesn’t like to talk. Is that okay with you?”

  “Of course.”

  She calls to one of the boys with a pitchfork. “Fernando! Come on over and meet your big sister.”

  He turns, and, with a dimpled smile, runs over to me. He’s got black hair with dark brown eyes.

  “Fernando, this is Abril. She’ll be reading with you today.”

  The boy stares at me, seeming to be gathering lots of information about me. He doesn’t know if he can trust me yet. If only he knew how much I already understand him.

  “Get washed up, and she’ll start.” She runs her hand through the boy’s hair. “Go on now.”

  He leaves for the bathroom.

  “The library is right this way,” Erma points. “Show yourself in, and whatever books you take, just put them back. Pretty simple. As far as reading level, I would start with the most basic.”

  Erma walks off, and a few minutes later, Fernando comes back with clean hands and wet hair.

  “Hi, I’m Abril,” I say enthusiastically. “What’s your name?”

  He looks at Erma.

  “Go on then. Tell her your name,” she says.

  Fernando looks at me but doesn’t speak.

  “All right then. Ready to read?” I ask him in Spanish.

  He doesn’t nod yes or no or make eye contact. But when I walk to the library, he follows behind silently.

  “Okay, which book would you like to read, little guy?”

  He looks at the display of books, and I notice him staring at a biography of a baseball player called Roberto Clemente. It’s on the intermediate shelf, a little longer and more novelistic than the ‘basic’ level Erma recommended.

  Nevertheless, since he’s showing interest, I grab it. I get a basic book, too, Silvia and the Shoes, to read for him.

  We sit on a bench under a tree in the garden, and I read the first one to him. Erma was right, he’s a quiet kid. I read through the whole book, and I’m not sure if he’s listening or comprehending. But he does at least muster a smile a few times, so I hope for the best.

  I start the next book, and read it, showing him the words and asking him questions about the book that he doesn’t respond to. By the time I get through the first two chapters, our hour is up.

  “Well, Fernando. That’s all we’ve got time for today. Better go put these books back. Do you have anything you’d like to say to me?”

  A small smile pulls at his lips, and he looks at me. “Why do you talk funny?”

  My cheeks heat with some embarrassment. Okay, yeah, I do have an accent when I read in Spanish. I’m honestly just impressed with myself for getting through the text.

  “I’m from the United States,” I tell him.

  “Does everyone in the United States talk funny?” he asks.

  I smile. “Well, that’s a good question. It’s a huge country, and it’s got every sort of person you could think of.”

  He nods as we make our way to the library. I give him the books, and he puts them back on the display.

  Looking down at his loose shoelaces, and without making eye contact, he asks, “Are you coming back next week?”

  “Yes, Fernando. Yes, I am.”

  “Good. Can we read another baseball book?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you know any baseball players?”

  “Yes, actually, I do.”

  His eyes widen, and my heart flutters as my personal player comes to mind. Oh great, just what I was looking to learn more about, baseball players. Well, anything for my little brother. Looks like I'm about to become an aficianado.

  13

  Morgan

  “Fore!”

  I swing my clu
b and shoot the ball down the fairway. It’s a bright sunny day, and Luke has flown in to visit for some much-needed R & R.

  Beers, golf, and chat.

  “So do you think you’ll ever play baseball again?” Luke asks as we drive our cart together down the fairway.

  I shake my head. “It’s not something I’m even thinking about right now, man. My mindset is totally different. I’m over a year removed from baseball now.”

  “But you’re a former champion. You’re like the young Michael Jordan of baseball. He retired and his team wasn’t the same. Just like us. You saw what happened last October, we got routed by Los Angeles. We can’t win another championship without you.”

  “Sure you can, buddy. That’s what they’ve got you for. You’re their ace. Our ace.”

  Luke purses his lips and gives me a look that conveys he’s being serious. “If we’re going to make another run, we need you. You know what they say. Hitting wins the season. But you can’t win the World Series without two aces. That’s me and you.”

  “Maybe so. But my arm isn’t the same after surgery.”

  “You sure?” He squeezes my forearm. “It’s been what, almost eight, nine months? You could start throwing again soon.”

  I shake my head. “No way. My new job couldn’t be better. I’m making millions. And if Mr. Murphy is true to his word, I’ll be the youngest partner this firm has ever seen.”

  He sighs. “Shoot, man. I can’t argue with that. I’m still waiting for my big payday. I shouldn’t have locked into that two-year contract for one million.”

  I grin. “No shit. You’re worth at least two.”

  “Aww come on now. I’m the number two in Major League jersey sales this year.” Luke slaps me on the shoulder. “I’m holding out for at least twenty million a year when my contract renegotiation happens next winter.”

  “You staying focused this year?” I ask.

  “Like a laser. I’m not having another implosion like last year.”

  Luke went from being an overnight World Series star, to getting demoted to the minor leagues and missing part of the season from an injury.

  “Hey, at least since I was taking a break, I got to hit up Alpha Island one more year.”

  I stop the cart and he pauses, looking at me through his sunglasses. “How is that girl you hooked up with that night anyway? You ever talk to her again? You were pretty high on her the Sunday after when we talked.”

  I chuckle.

  I’ve kept this story to myself up until now about April’s identity as the daughter of the CEO of the company I work for. Not that Luke would ever tell a soul. I kept it to myself because I believed what we had was one special night together. It was personal, between April and me.

  But I might as well seek some counsel.

  “The girl’s name is April Murphy, and she’s engaged to some guy.”

  His jaw drops. “She slept with you when she was engaged?”

  I nod. “I know. This might sound crazy, but the night we had together was completely enchanting. I thought this one was different.”

  “After one night?”

  I shrug. “Romeo fell in love in a night. Why can’t I?”

  Luke smirks. “Yeah, I think the point of that book is actually that Romeo was insane, and love is a mental disorder. Not that you can fall in love in a night.”

  I chuckle as I get my putter out. “You’re right, I’m just kidding around.”

  Luke takes his sunglasses off. “No, you’re not. You fell for her. You can admit it to me.”

  “I fell for her and my gut completely deceived me. Which means I can never trust my gut again.”

  I putt and miss, just wide left.

  “Too strong,” I say.

  “You’ve got to compensate for the slight incline. Allow me.”

  Luke putts from his spot on the green and hits his ball right into the hole.

  I putt mine in, then pick it up.

  “And the crazy twist,” I add, “is that she’s working in my office now. Directly under me.”

  Luke had just taken a swig of his beer and spits it out. “Come again?”

  “Yeah. She’s doing her junior year internship for Greene State at her dad’s company. So I’ve got to see her every day. All I can think about is…never mind. I need to stop thinking about this. We’ve both decided to put it behind us.”

  We get into the cart and head to the next tee-off spot. “That must be difficult as hell.” Luke puts his hand on my shoulder. “How was she?”

  “Amazing. Hot. She’s got these nipples that are perfect for biting.” I stop myself. “Bro, I need to stop thinking about her. I have horrible judgment when it comes to women.”

  “You fucked up with that first one,” Luke observes.

  Yes, it’s true. I messed up royally, getting engaged to someone when I was in college who ended up being a bona fide gold digger. Luckily, I got out of it mostly unscathed.

  “Let’s never talk of the gold digger again. But you’re right, I did it again with April. Not only did she sleep with me when she was engaged, she’s the boss’s daughter. If Mr. Murphy ever found out that I slept with her in the first place, not only would I lose my job, but he might actually hire a hitman to dust me off.”

  “Bro, you’re off in la-la land. He wouldn’t do that. He’s a professional with millions…billions? Of dollars.”

  “You meet shady people in this business. Bottom line is, I’m not sleeping with her. I’m not even looking at her again. I’m just going to treat her like anyone in the office.”

  “Oh yeah? What was she wearing on Friday?”

  “This cute flowy dress and…dammit. I am checking her out, aren’t I?”

  Luke cracks up as we pull up in our cart to the next hole. “You didn’t even hesitate. You remembered exactly what she was wearing. Well, good luck with that. May the force be with you.”

  I sigh. “I don’t get it. I get propositions from fans regularly, and I have absolutely no interest in them. But I can’t stop thinking about her.”

  “What exactly did you guys do that night?”

  “Everything you can imagine—we did it.”

  “Even back door stuff?”

  “Okay, maybe not everything. Let’s just say I had scratches on my back for a week after.”

  “You guys got wild.” He squints. “You ever think maybe that’s because she was technically a one-night stand?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Well, on a one-night stand, some guys and gals feel more free to express themselves, since they don’t have to deal with the consequences. Just putting that out there.”

  He sets his golf ball on the tee and I waggle my eyebrows as he lines up his shot.

  “Enough about me,” I say. “Let’s talk about you. How’s your girl?”

  “Pssh. What girl?” he says, positioning his hands on the club.

  “You know who I’m talking about. Sky. Where is she again? Uruguay? When does she get back to the United States?”

  He swings, and his shot is clearly way off. “Fore!” he yells, then turns to me. “Skylar’s got a boyfriend. I’m happy for her.”

  “Are you really?”

  “Yes, man. That’s what real love is about. It’s not about possession. You want someone to be happy whether you’re with them or not.” He sets up a new tee and puts a ball on it. “Now, if you’ll please shut up, I’m taking a mulligan on this tee-off since you were talking during my first.”

  I arrive to work early, feeling refreshed after spending the weekend with Luke. He’s off to tour the island by himself now, and I’m back focused on my number-one priority and the reason Mr. Murphy hired me in the first place: reeling in athletes with five-million dollars or more net worth who want a high return on their investment in the stock market from someone they trust.

  Five a.m. in Puerto Rico is a perfect time to call some soccer players in Europe I’m trying to lock down as clients.

  After getting up to date o
n the day’s market activity and current events, I call up a few and schmooze them. The game for me is simple: relate to them as a fellow sports superstar, shoot the shit about how their training and seasons are going, and then go in for the soft sell about how we’re a personalized hedge fund with terrific returns. Mr. Murphy has beat the market almost every year for the past twenty, including breaking even in the down years. Most people don’t realize that even with investing, it’s more about the relationships you form with clients than the product. When they hear I have a B.A. in Economics from the famed Greene State U, that’s just the icing on the cake.

  After landing a couple of new clients, I lean back in my chair, put my feet up on my desk, and watch the sun start to rise.

  No one else normally arrives to the office before eight a.m., so I’ll have a couple more distraction-free hours to get work done still.

  Just then, I hear my door creaking open.

  To my surprise, April appears in the door.

  “Oh. You’re here already,” she says. “I thought I beat you.”

  I chuckle. “You should know by now that doesn’t happen.”

  “What time did you get here? It’s barely six.”

  “Better question, why are you coming into my office when you think I’m not here?”

  “I brought you some coffee. A peace offering.”

  Her heels clomp on the floor as she comes into my office and over to my desk.

  I pull my feet off the desk as she sets a cup of coffee down.

  “I did some thinking this weekend. There’s no need for us to get all adversarial,” she says.

  “No, there isn’t. How is the party planning going, by the way?”

  “I don’t know, how is getting here early and kicking your feet up on the desk to pretend your extra important going?”

  Her eyes zoom in on the baseball I have in a golden holder on my desk.

  “What’s this?” she asks, picking it up.

  “That is the ball I threw the last out with to win the World Series two years ago.”

  She tosses it up and catches it.

  “Is it important?”

  She throws it up again, spins her body around, and catches it.