Sexiled: an enemies-to-lovers standalone Page 12

  My dad’s gaze looks very concentrated as he brings his eyes to Mrs. Martinez's. “She is still with me. With us. She always will be. And that, Mrs. Martinez, is what I think about love.”

  The words land on the table, and we’re all completely silent, sipping our wine.

  Dad goes on, filling the quiet air. “My mission in this life is to spread her spirit and keep it alive. I’m sorry, this conversation should be about investing in some way, right? That’s what you came here for. Which is why we invest only in ethically sustainable companies and stocks. We have an incredible team of analysts, Gabe here. Morgan Kennedy is relatively new to the team, but I’d trust him with my daughter’s life if that tells you anything.”

  “Well, I’ll say it's clear, the company invests in people, and isn't that the truest sign of love? Investing yourself in people.”

  “I tend to believe so. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to step away for a moment.”

  My dad gets up.

  While we’re waiting for my dad to come back and eat, Mrs. Martinez asks, “Your father, is he always like this?”

  “He’s the most loyal man I know,” I say.

  She touches my forearm. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  We sink into contemplative silence.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at Morgan.

  I know he’s thinking about his brother, whom we haven’t even brought up yet.

  Even though he’s a player, I have to believe he has a heart. I want to be there for him, to comfort him. To make him somehow know that everything is alright.

  His eyes and dark smile are infectious.

  A warm, salt-tinged breeze floats in and makes a stir happen deep inside my body somewhere when my knee brushes the material of Morgan’s pants.

  My heartstrings pull, and I think about what Sandra said about going on the offensive.

  I slide my palm on top of my leg, thinking about moving it to his. Before I can work up the courage to comfort Morgan with touch, he shuffles out of the booth.

  “You know what,” Morgan says. “Excuse me for a moment. I’m going to get some air.”

  15

  Morgan

  In the bathroom, I splash some water on my face. This is outrageous. I can close all the heavy-hitting clients in the world, the guys who want me to run the numbers and talk sports with them. But when it comes to talking about love? I feel like a complete phony.

  I believed I was in love with my first fiancée, until my friends got me hard evidence that she was just with me because she thought she was riding the coattails of superstardom, all the way to a healthy payout.

  I loved my brother, I know that. No, love. But Mrs. Martinez was asking about another kind of love. The kind that chooses you.

  I exit the bathroom and sneak around to an empty spot on the rooftop, looking out over the Atlantic Ocean. I need a few moments and some fresh air to myself. I don’t smoke, but if I did, now would be a great time for a cigarette.

  I take a deep breath, and no more than two seconds later do I feel a hand on my shoulder.

  “Morgan.”

  I whirl my head around. “Mr. Murphy. How’s everything going?”

  “I’m worried.”

  “Why? You don’t think Mrs. Martinez is going to sign with us?”

  “No, I’m not worried about the negotiation. I’m worried about my daughter. She seems quiet. Not herself. Are you keeping an eye on her?”

  “Yes, sir. But not too close, of course,” I add.

  He puts his hands on the railing and looks out into the distance.

  “Before her mom died, she was a free spirit. Really took after her mom, she did. Ever since then, it’s as if she’s been holding on too close to everything around her. Even during dinner tonight, I get that feeling there’s a part of her life she’s keeping from me. It’s like I can’t get through to her in some way. In the way that Maria used to be able to interact with her. I try my best, but there’s no substitute for my wife. She really was amazing.”

  The color flushes out of my face. Luckily, it's dark outside, and the moon is brighter than my very pale complexion right now.

  He adds, “I have to wonder, if somewhere along the line there was a man who did something to her to hurt her. There was. I know for a fact there was.”

  My heart slams against my chest. I want to ask about this engagement. I mean, she should be getting married this year, if memory still serves me correctly. Something seems off, but I don’t want to pry.

  But he looks at me sideways and changes the conversation. “You’re thinking about Michael, aren’t you?”

  I nod, happy the conversation is going in a different direction. “He’s always on my mind.”

  “You’re a good man, Morgan. If it were anyone else and I walked in on them with my daughter the way I did with you and April this morning, I might…” he trails off, chuckling. “I might suspect something. But I know you’re a man of honor. You’d never keep anything from me.”

  I swallow, shaking my head.

  That night with me and April? I decided from the moment I found out she was engaged that our night was a dream. It occurred in an alternate reality.

  Never happened. And away it went, into a box, locked up, and neatly placed on a shelf with some of my other greatest memories and biggest regrets.

  “Of course not, sir.” The words don’t feel good coming out. I don’t like lying to the man.

  Somehow, I avoided this conversation—really any conversation about his daughter—for the last eight months of being his number one. Making small talk while not bringing up his daughter’s updates, what the date of her wedding was, etc. was a true feat, if you ask me.

  “You’re a true gentleman, Mr. Kennedy. How about you, how is your dating life going?”

  Christ.

  Not the subject I’d like to talk about either. Man, Mr. Murphy is throwing curveballs tonight, and it feels like I'm down in the count oh and two. Like at any minute, I'm about to strike out big with my future. One wrong answer, and I’m out.

  “Basically non-existent.”

  “Really? You don’t ever head out on the town?”

  I shake my head. “I’m taking a break from dating. Had my heart broken one too many times.”

  His gaze turns steely. “You ever fall in love, Morgan?”

  I swallow. “I thought it was love at the time. But it wasn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Wasn’t reciprocated. For love to work, you both have to want it just as much as the other.”

  “That was the hardest thing I ever did. Confess to Mrs. Murphy—Maria—that I loved her. I don’t talk much about this, but we caused quite the scandal.”

  “Did you now?”

  “Oh, yes. The heads of two big firms getting married and merging? They thought we were just pulling off a strategic marriage. Oh, no, my boy. She was it for me.”

  He looks at the ring on his left finger.

  “To be honest, I still wish she could come back. It was painful at first. I didn’t think I’d make it through.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, the memories of her are like a smooth breeze. I’m grateful for every day I had with her. And I’m thankful the love we shared granted us a beautiful daughter.” He smiles, and his cheeks wrinkle. “Yes, she’s a warm, gentle wind in my sails. Kind of like the one we’re feeling right now. Anyway, I’ll leave you alone. I didn’t mean to talk your ear off.”

  “Thanks.”

  I look up at the stars and I know Michael’s staring down.

  I can’t help but wonder, what would Michael do if he were me?

  The night everything happened with April, I thought he had sent me an angel. April started talking about the whole ‘eight months after a person passes away’ timeline thing.

  Now I know the truth. That girl is nothing but a whole lot of trouble.

  I heave a sigh, resting my forearms on the balcony.

  Just then, I hear a voice. r />
  “It’s hard to sit there with a straight face for all that talk going on with Mrs. Martinez about love when we know what we did together, isn’t it?”

  I glance to my right and see April looking out at the same dark, watery abyss that I am.

  “What the hell does a guy have to do to get a minute of quiet here?” I mutter.

  “Oh, I can go,” April answers.

  She spins to leave, and I grab her wrist.

  “Stay. I'm sorry, that came out antagonistic. I'm a bit on edge. How are you enjoying this love conversation?”

  She raises her eyebrows. “Oh, I just love having it at the same table with the guy who took my virginity and then never called me,” she seethes.

  My eyes widen. “I what? Took…your v-card?”

  I examine her face for a trace of a lie. There’s no way this is true.

  “Yes. You did. Not that it matters.” She shrugs. “I’d been…well, let’s just say I rounded first, second and third, plenty of times.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Yeah, my fiancé and I only got to third base.”

  My insides light on fire through teeth I try not to clench too hard.

  You couldn’t have brought up the fiancé, you know, before we got together? I think.

  “Wait, now hold up,” I say. “First is kissing. Second is…”

  “You don’t know the bases? Aren’t you a baseball player?”

  “Look, sometimes people have different “bases.” So, second is…”

  “Fingering and hand jobs, obviously,” she cuts in.

  “You give hand jobs? No guy actually enjoys those.”

  “To be honest, no. I don’t. My oral skills are where I—oh, hello, Mrs. Martinez!”

  April turns toward Mrs. Martinez, who has sneaked up behind us, and smiles.

  “Quite the night out,” Mrs. Martinez says.

  Jesus. Is everyone and their mother coming out to the balcony right now? I just want to get some damn air.

  “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Mrs. Martinez asks. She must notice the tension between us.

  “Of course not,” I say, relieved for the chance to exit. “And you know what? I’m going to leave you two ladies alone.”

  I head back to the table.

  I can’t get a moment to myself. But that’s okay. I didn’t sign up for this job so I could slack off.

  On the way back, I pull out the picture of my mom from my wallet for a moment to remind me why I’m doing this.

  I slide into our booth and I notice a strange silence over the table.

  “Morgan,” Mr. Murphy says. “You okay?”

  “Fine, sir. Just needed an extra second to collect my thoughts.”

  He looks at Gabe, then at me. “You two keep a watch on April, you hear? You’re my guys on the ground. If anything happens to her, I’m looking at you two. Especially you, Mr. Bossman,” he says, looking directly at me. “Until I come back for the cruise in March, I expect you to keep track of her. She’s off tonight. Did you both notice that?”

  “I wonder why?” Gabe says, his voice laced with sarcasm.

  Wait a second. Does Gabe know? Did April tell him?

  “She’s spending her first term away from her friends, away from you. In the long run, it’ll be good for her,” I say.

  “You’re right. You’re goddamn right, Kennedy. Probably just the stress of being young. Searching for independence.”

  “Right. It’s a good stress. And I’ll keep an eye on her. That’s a promise.”

  “Kennedy, you’re a damn good man. Because if anything happened to her, well, she’s all I have in this world. I know I’ve got to let her go and make her own choices. Her own mistakes. But goddamn, if it’s hard to let her go like that.”

  The women come back, and April slides into the middle of the booth again between me and Gabe.

  This girl just might be off her rocker. Is she telling the truth about me taking her virginity? And low-key explaining that she didn’t “seem” like a virgin because she was good and broken-in from her fiancé fingering her?

  What a night.

  Our entrees arrive.

  I sigh and look over at April as she starts to eat.

  She’s either just innocent and awkward, or totally conniving and manipulative. I mean, come on. Those oversized black glasses. The schoolgirl cuteness she has going on with her pencil skirt and white blouse…I have to assume she very much knows what she’s doing.

  “Morgan, would you pass the hot sauce?” she asks.

  Mr. Murphy’s ear’s perk up.

  “You call him Morgan?” he asks.

  “I mean, Mr. Kennedy.”

  “I’ve become a little informal in the Puerto Rico office,” I add, covering for April as I hand her the hot sauce. Her hand brushes mine, and a tingle of electricity jolts down my spine.

  “Interesting,” Mr. Murphy says. “If you’re the top dog in the office, I’d suggest a more formal approach.” He looks at me, then April, then his plate of spaghetti Bolognese. “But I guess that’s just me. I’m old school.”

  I feel my body tighten up, and for some reason, the words the energy reader said to me pop in my head.

  Closed-off energies.

  Well, when was the last time I felt truly open?

  I blow out a frustrated sigh and think back on today.

  The best part was when April busted into my office unannounced.

  Maybe she’s a little crazy, sure. And maybe she’s engaged. But she also lights my fire.

  I still try to compute how she seems to be messing with me. Is she making up stories about her being a virgin?

  That’s just too unlikely. What was I, born yesterday?

  There’s just no way any man in his right mind would believe that after how we kicked things off.

  The fucked-up thing is, no matter what I think of her moral decisions, and despite the bad karma of sleeping with a woman engaged to someone else, I still can’t stop obsessing over that night.

  16

  April

  The week marches on and by Friday I’m finally getting the hang of my routine.

  I’d never thought of a wardrobe as a weapon, and it’s not like I’ve become some office seducer or something. As much as I love the fact that at Greene State I don’t have to wear more than a hoodie and jeans to fit in, there’s something nice about having a killer dress or pants suit on when I step outside the door.

  I used to shop with my mom. It's been a while since I've gone actual shopping, like for fun. How could I go without her, it was our thing? Gabe keeps everything so light and upbeat, which really took my mind off missing my mom, and I just focused on enjoying shopping in the moment. I think that's also why I am feeling so good right now. I feel braver in some way.

  Along with the visit from my dad which lifted my spirits, I’ve been meditating and focusing on the door that opens to my beautiful future.

  So all in all, my confidence is brimming this week.

  Friday afternoon rolls around, and Gabe and I already have Saturday plans to meet up at this beachside bar he told me about. That is, after I drag him to be a big brother at the orphanage with me in the morning.

  On Friday at exactly three p.m., I kick back at my desk and do a little whirl around in my chair.

  Of course, I do that right as Morgan walks through the door, looking as grumpy as he’s been all week.

  “Hello there, Miss Murphy. Having a fun day, are we?”

  “I did one office chair twirl to celebrate. Come on. Lighten up.”

  “I need to see you in my office.”

  “Seriously? Just because I did the twirl?”

  He doesn’t say anything. I heave a sigh and follow his trail of cranky into his office.

  He sits in his desk chair and points to the chair in front of his desk.

  “Have a seat, Miss Murphy.”

  I frown. “Am I in trouble or something?”

  “How’s everything going this week?”

  Typical.
The man never gives me a straight answer to a question. It drives me bonkers, almost as much as his build in that charcoal gray suit does.

  “It’s fine. I felt productive,” I respond.

  “Good. Everyone treating you all right?”

  “Yes. Except for my boss. He’s a bit of a pill.”

  “Miss Murphy, I’m taking extra time out of my day to ask you how things are going. Your father wants me to keep an eye on you. He wants me to mentor you.”

  “You, mentor me?” I cover my mouth theatrically.

  He leans back in his chair. “Yes. So did you finish the research—”

  “On the subprime loan market? I emailed it to you last week. They’re a load of crap which we definitely don’t want to be investing in.” I bait him with a sarcastic smile. “Unless you like investing in crap.”

  “Oh.” He clears his throat. “I must have missed that email. What about the email I sent you about the—”

  “Finkelstein Gold Corp Investment?”

  “Yes. How did you know I was going to say that?”

  “Well, despite the way you ghosted me,” I say, “we do share an energy wavelength of some sort. And I also emailed you about that. We should absolutely pull out of that investment. Basically, they want to destroy an entire rainforest in Colombia based on the rumor that there might be some gold. We want no part of that investment if we’re the ethical investors we claim to be.”

  Morgan straightens his tie and taps his pen on the paper on his desk.

  “Final question. Where are we at with the cruise?”

  “Finished. And I sent out all of the invitations.”

  Morgan narrows his eyes, then flashes them to me. His look sends prickles down my neck.

  “There’s no way.”

  “The e-invitations, right? I sent them all out.”

  He frowns. “But not the real, paper invitations? I haven’t seen those come across my desk.”

  “Oh, I uh, didn’t know that was a thing. Paper, handwritten invitations? Aren’t we going green and everything?”

  He lets out a frustrated sigh. “When you think about your wedding, what kind of invitations would you want to send out? E-Invitations? Or regular ones?”