Sexiled: an enemies-to-lovers standalone Read online

  “Put it down please.”

  The annoying thing is, seeing her be all disobedient actually turns me on a little.

  And then I remember I’m not attracted to liars.

  “Wow. This is really a special ball, is it?”

  “April. Put the ball. Down.” My voice comes out more grizzled than I want. I’m showing her she’s getting to me.

  “What? You don’t like it when I touch your ball? The first time you seemed to love it.”

  I clench my jaw. “What happened to that never happening?”

  “But it did.”

  I walk around to her side of the desk. As I come closer, she backs up until she’s at the wall, trying to hold the ball up and out of my reach. This trick might work on some guys, as April is pretty tall. However, I’m six-and-a-half feet, so it’s not happening.

  Before I know it, I’ve got her pressed into the wall, and I’m forcibly taking the ball back from her hand. She’s surprisingly strong, but I pry it away from her. I can feel her breath on my neck as I do.

  “Oh, Captain,” she hums. “This is inappropriate contact.”

  My cock twitches in response, and I immediately rip myself away from this magnetic field between us.

  I back away from her with the ball in my hand. “I have one rule in this office. Don’t touch my ball.”

  She grins. “Does that apply to all the balls in the office, or just this one?”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose.

  “No.”

  “No, it doesn’t apply to all the balls in the office? I’m confused.”

  “I mean, no, I’m not doing this. Miss Murphy, like I said, I’m treating you like any other employee in the office. I’m not going to carry on talking about this at six in the morning.”

  “And by this, you mean no talking about balls?”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

  “Well, then, how about you start by giving me a real assignment instead of being the office party planner, and then maybe I can focus on something of value, you know, other than balls?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “You think the cruise we’re planning for clients isn’t a ‘real’ assignment?”

  “I finished everything for it last week. All the deposits and logistics are taken care of.”

  I stare at her with my hands on my hips, sizing her up.

  She looks extra sexy today. Hair up in a bun. Bright red lipstick. Plaid, knee-high pencil skirt, and a white blouse. Thank you, Puerto Rico, for weather so warm, even in the winter, that every day can be a skirt day. Not that I even thought about this before April arrived, but now it’s on my mind just about every day.

  “Is that what you think? I gave you a throwaway assignment?”

  “Yes. I want real work.”

  “First of all, you don’t just waltz right in and start at the highest part of the ladder.”

  “Why not?”

  I stalk toward her. “Miss Murphy, we’re dealing with billions of dollars in this firm. Do you know what it’s like to call a client and explain to them market swings of tens of millions?”

  She casts her eyes down. “No. Fine. And what’s number two?”

  “Number two. The lifeblood of Murphy Capital is the personal relationships we build with clients. The March cruise isn’t a sorority party, it’s a big fucking deal. We’re going to have clients coming in from sixteen different countries. We take care of them behind the scenes, but that’s not enough. We need them to know how special they are to us. This party is how we show them. Does it involve buying and selling and millions? No. But here’s my philosophy. If you can trust someone with the tiniest matter, you can trust them with a small matter. So can I trust you with this ‘small’ matter?”

  I flash my eyes down to her Claddagh ring as I continue stepping toward her. She’s still standing with her back against the wall.

  I stand with my body practically hugging hers, and whisper in her ear. “Once I know I can trust you in the small matters, I’ll give you the bigger ones. Is that clear?”

  She stares up at me through her black-framed glasses and nods. “I think I get it, Mr. Kennedy.”

  “You think?” I ask. “Or you get it? Don’t think, Miss Murphy. Thinking will get you in trouble.”

  Just then, I hear whistling in the office, and we both turn our heads toward the entrance.

  The door to my office swings open, and Hal Murphy’s voice booms.

  “What in the name of God is going on in here?”

  14

  April

  The hair on the back of my neck stands up at the sound of my dad’s voice.

  Here?

  Now?

  I hate to admit I’m enjoying this. I don’t want Morgan to stop pressing his body against me, but he takes a quick step back.

  My heart drops about down to my feet, and I stare at the floor, avoiding my dad’s gaze.

  Clearing my throat, I bring my eyes up to meet my dad in the doorframe. It's unavoidable really, and the more I shy away, the more he will think something is wrong. Just act natural, April.

  “Dad, hi, I can…”

  Just then, Dad’s eyes focus on me. He’d been looking in another direction before that. He sees Morgan, too, who is now standing nonchalantly six feet away from me, pretending to check his phone.

  “Oh,” Dad says. “You’re here! Hello, Angel! I thought someone had the lights on in this office, wasting energy. I was about to flip my switch, if you know what I mean.”

  Relief pours through me that he suspects nothing—or at least is pretending to suspect nothing between me and Morgan. My cheeks can’t help but smile at the dad joke, and I rush forward to hug him.

  “Dad!” I say as he wraps me up in his arms. “What a surprise!”

  When we’re done with our hug, Morgan walks up and shakes my dad’s hand.

  “Mr. Murphy, a pleasure, as always.”

  My dad’s gaze turns steely-eyed. “And if I might ask, what the hell are you two doing in the office at this hour?”

  Morgan doesn’t flinch. “The real question is, what are you doing getting on a red-eye flight? Did you get in this morning?”

  “I got in late last night.” Dad smiles. “I thought I’d surprise my daughter.”

  My heart warms.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Murphy.” Morgan wraps around behind his desk. My dad sits in one chair and I take the other. “Coffee?”

  He points to the latte that I brought him as a show of goodwill, offering it to my dad as if he was ready for him.

  Dick.

  “No, thank you, Morgan,” my dad says. “Other than seeing my daughter, I must admit my trip has an ulterior motive. I like to drop in unannounced. Gives me a chance to see my people working without some big preparation for how ‘the big boss’ is coming.”

  “I understand totally, sir.”

  “Clearly you’re putting in the time,” Dad says. “Here so early.”

  “Thank you, sir, but I must admit. So does your daughter. April loves coming in early.”

  “She takes after her mother,” Dad says, and my heart warms once again.

  I interject. “Just trying to learn as much as I can.”

  “That’s my girl.” Dad gets a twinkle in his eye as he stares out the window into the Atlantic Ocean. “Say, you two. I’ve got an important meeting tonight with a major client. Antonia Martinez, a millionaire from Costa Rica, is coming in for dinner. I’d like both of you to come with me.”

  Morgan squints. “You want us to help you close a deal?”

  My dad grins slightly. “I will close the deal. I would like you to learn.”

  Just then, there’s a knock on the door, and Gabe pokes his head in the room.

  “Hey, what’s going on? Is there some kind of early morning pow-wow happening?”

  My dad turns to meet Gabe’s eyes, and they go wide.

  “Oh, Mr. Murphy! Hello there. I, uh, wasn’t expecting to see you here!”
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  “Who’s this?” Dad asks.

  “This is Gabe,” Morgan says. “He’s one of our analysts.”

  I want to wink at Gabe.

  Analyst, aka best shopping partner ever.

  My wardrobe after our little shopping spree is absolutely on fire.

  “So you always get here this early, too, Gabe?” my dad asks.

  Gabe clears his throat. “No, actually. My computer at home is dead so I came in early to surf the web.”

  Gabe looks at me and shrugs. He’s telling the truth. Gabe is not an early riser, typically.

  My dad examines Gabe’s face, then breaks into laughter, obviously misreading the truth for dry sarcasm.

  “That’s a riot,” Dad says, slapping his knee. “You’re coming, too.”

  “Oh? Where are we going?” Gabe asks.

  “We’ll be eating at the Rubey.”

  Gabe’s mouth drops open. “The Rubey? But you can’t get reservations there. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  “That’s where I’m staying, so I get priority. So be there after work. Six thirty, sharp.”

  Gabe looks down at his clothes. He’s wearing blue pants and a white button down today, his normal Monday look.

  “Can I at least go home and change?”

  After work, we arrive early to the Rubey. Gabe jets back home to change into something a little more stylish, and my dad heads up to his room for a few moments.

  Morgan is in the bathroom, so I have a minute to myself.

  I see the nametag of my bartender, and it makes me smile.

  Sandra.

  I suppose it’s just a common name, but I can’t help but find meaning in that she has the same name as my newfound spiritual guide.

  I pick the jade stone out of my handbag and flip it over.

  I haven’t been doing the meditations she prescribed.

  I did, however, try to start implementing her “be on the offense and not the defense” mantra.

  Gabe helped me pick out a whole new wardrobe, and I felt utterly badass wearing it today. I had a more “take life by the horns” approach. Until Dad arrived and threw things out of whack.

  But I walked into Morgan’s office, ready for a fight today if he didn’t give me the projects I wanted to work on.

  Projects, yes. Better projects. That’s why I’m feeling off.

  Morgan makes his way back to the bar, and I think just about every head turns to check him out. It’s true that he’s taller than everyone, but the baseball on his desk drilled into me what I somehow did not realize the night I met him—he’s one of the biggest baseball celebrities around.

  I’ve never liked, or watched, baseball. I’m actually glad I met him without knowing who he was, because it would have tainted our night. Nerves would have inevitably made it impossible for us to really connect on the level that we did.

  I definitely wouldn’t have had the guts to go to his hotel, right?

  “Miss me?” He grins when he gets back to the bar.

  “Are you flirting with an employee? Because I’m going right to H.R. with a formal complaint.”

  “H.R.?” he laughs. “It’s not H.R. that I’m worried about. You just tell your dad I even flashed an eye in your direction, and he’ll have me murdered.”

  I roll my eyes. “Did he give you the whole ‘I know people’ spiel?”

  “And you don’t believe him?”

  His drink arrives, and he grabs it, then turns toward me. His eyes seem to have trouble staying fixed on my face.

  “How are my boobs looking today, boss?” I ask, accusatory.

  He clenches his jaw and brings his eyes back. “Terrific, if you must know. It’s a shame you’re…you know. You know what you are.”

  “No, I don’t. How about you enlighten me, Mr. Player. How many one-night stands have you had in your life? What notch on your belt was I?”

  He motions for me to lean toward him, like he has a secret I must know. So, I do.

  “You were one-night stand number fucking one.”

  My face goes white. His eyes feel like they’re burning a hole through me. “You seem…like you’re not lying.”

  “Why would I lie? I liked you, April.”

  “Then why didn’t you call?”

  Our gazes hang together for a few moments.

  I’m back on the football field. We’re holding hands, dancing, sharing our grief, and connecting on some deep level I didn’t know was possible.

  I feel a hand on my shoulder that snaps me out of my daydream.

  “Hey, guys!” Gabe says. “What did I miss?”

  “Just lots of witty banter,” I say. “Mr. Kennedy here is talking about how he’s going to give you a raise.”

  “Oh my gosh, really?”

  “Miss Murphy is playing one of her tricks on you,” he says. “Sorry, buddy.” They fall into a conversation. I focus on the meaning of his earlier words, well, one word, especially. Liked. As in, past tense. Why does that make me feel so sad?

  The view from our table at the top of the Rubey is spectacular. The Atlantic Ocean seems to glow in the moonlight as we look down over it.

  We sit in a rounded corner booth on the rooftop restaurant. My dad and Mrs. Martinez on the ends, me in the middle, and Gabe and Morgan on either side of me.

  “So, here’s the thing,” Mrs. Martinez says. “I have a lot of money. My husband died two years ago, and he left me one-hundred-and-fifty-million dollars. I still am not able to find the proper company to trust. Do you know why?”

  Mrs. Martinez is clearly whip smart. She stares at Gabe, as though he’s the one she’s waiting for an answer from.

  “Why, Mrs. Martinez?” Gabe asks softly.

  “Because no one can answer my question appropriately. Just one question. It’s very easy. But no one can answer it.”

  “What’s the question?” I ask.

  Our appetizers arrive, fried calamari, and a cheese and meat plate.

  “More wine?” the server asks.

  “That’s the question.” Morgan winks. “And the answer is of course, yes.”

  Everyone chuckles, and we order another bottle as our server distributes it to everyone at the table.

  “No, that’s not the question.” Mrs. Martinez smiles, swirling her glass. “The question is…” She takes a swig of her drink, then looks right at my dad. “What do you know about love, Mr. Murphy?”

  My body tingles. With the theme of romance entered into the conversation, I find my hand slipping from my own thigh under the table, accidentally brushing Morgan's thigh.

  He shoots me an angry, unforgiving look, and I pull it back, my heart pounding.

  Mrs. Martinez goes on, “I have all the money in the world. This is more money than I could ever spend in one-hundred lifetimes. Yet it does not make me happy. I do not wake up every day with a smile on my face. Instead, I wake up wondering if there is a way I can have my husband back. There is no way to replace a truly loving man. I am almost fifty. It’s harder all the time to find love.”

  “With respect, Mrs. Martinez, you’re quite gorgeous,” I interject. “I can’t see you lacking suitors.”

  “Why, thank you, you young thing. And I don’t. My point is that all the major investment companies have come to me with the idea that I could give them money and they’d make me more money. But what I really want to know is, how will they turn my money into love? So, I ask you again, what do you know about love?”

  The table goes silent.

  Clearly this is not the question we were expecting to have one of our top client’s business hinging on.

  My dad smiles. “How about we let the youngsters take a stab at that first?”

  Gabe jumps in. Now I see why my dad brought him along, I think. He’s a nice wild card to have at the table with a client like Mrs. Martinez. “I fall in love just about every time I meet another man. I suppose that’s why my heart is so full of holes.”

  Mrs. Martinez laughs. “Oh, you’ll catch the moon someday. Yo
u’re a cutie pie. April?”

  I stare into my glass. “I don’t know if that kind of love you’re talking about exists. I think it does. I want to believe it does. There was a time I thought I believed in it. But then I realized that it was a false love.” I glance at Morgan, and he glares back at me.

  “I was in love once,” Morgan says. “But I gave my love to the wrong person. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that love is scarce, and you’ve got to protect it. I love my mom, and that’s it.”

  “And you, Mr. Murphy?”

  My dad puts his wineglass down and looks whimsically off into the sea. A few beats pass.

  “Mr. Murphy?” she repeats.

  He turns toward us again, and there’s a sharpness I haven’t seen in his eyes for a long time.

  He clears his throat and begins in a low voice. “The year was 1986. I knew I was in love with my wife the moment I saw her. Curly brown hair. Freckles. I didn’t know what her name was, but I knew she needed to be mine. Unfortunately, she also owned the second biggest capital firm in Chicago. I didn’t know it at the time. I walked into her firm and, thinking she was the secretary I asked her if I could see the boss. Her reply? ‘I am the boss.’ I felt horrible, and it took me three full months of asking to get her to even go on a date with me.”

  “You persisted all that time? Why?”

  “I knew she was mine. I felt it on a very deep level. More than words can describe. I knew we were meant to be together. Finally, she succumbed to my charm and we got married. We also merged our two companies. Everything. She risked it all, and so did I. The love between us was true. And I never looked back.”

  Dad takes a sip of his wine and smiles at me.

  “Where is she now?” Mrs. Martinez asks. “Does she still work in the company as well?”

  My dad turns pale and looks over at me.

  “My mom died seven years ago,” I say. “Cancer took her from us.”

  Mrs. Martinez’s eyes water. So do mine, and Gabe’s. Even my dad’s.

  Morgan looks stoic and distant.

  “Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to bring up such a painful memory. You wear the ring, so I assumed she was still with you. My apologies.”