Sexiled: an enemies-to-lovers standalone Read online

  And I must admit, my ass looks great in this photo. I should keep this for myself.

  “So now I send it to him? What’s your plan?”

  “Unlock your phone, please.”

  I do.

  Gabe pulls up my messenger conversation with him.

  “Now. I send to Morgan.”

  He presses send on the bikini photo, and my heart double beats. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “Just wait.”

  A few seconds later, Gabe sends another message to Morgan.

  April: Hey, Beau, looking forward to tonight. When are you coming over?

  Gabe says, “We’ll mess with him. See how jealous he gets. That kind of thing. It’ll be marvelous. And then when we go to the company cocktail hour tonight, we’ll see how he reacts. Okay, now I’m going to follow-up with the mistake message and tell him, ‘sorry, my bad.’”

  I grin. “You are devious, Gabe.”

  “I know.”

  However, before we can tell him ‘Sorry, my bad,’ a text with a picture comes through, and we look at it.

  It’s Morgan from the lips down, in just briefs.

  Everything is bulging in his body.

  Chest. Abs. Biceps. Etcetera.

  Gabe’s jaw literally drops.

  My heart hammers. I try to type out a message, but my mind turns to mush. A message from Morgan comes through.

  Morgan: I’m not coming over. You are though. Coming over. And over. Thinking of me. Nice try with the old ‘accidental selfie’ trick ;)

  Gabe’s eyes widen, and my heart races.

  The thing I can’t stand the most is that he’s right.

  My body is heating.

  “He saw right through that, didn’t he?” Gabe says, then hands me my phone back.

  I shake my head. “He didn’t even flinch.”

  “Sorry. My plan backfired. My fault.”

  “It’s okay. I thought it was a solid plan, too.” I sigh. “Damn him.”

  “He’s good.”

  “This is unacceptable. We’ve got to get him back.”

  “How, though?” he asks. “I’m fresh out of ideas.”

  18

  Morgan

  I sit on my back porch Saturday night before I’m hosting the cocktail party with a nice stiff scotch.

  Nothing like looking out on the beauty of the ocean.

  If I’m going to make a stressful phone call, I like to be as relaxed as possible.

  I thought this was going to be a somewhat peaceful afternoon. After getting a sexy picture from April, I couldn’t resist playing it off like it had done nothing for me.

  I was even thinking about sitting down to a bit of sexy text banter.

  Then I get a call from my mom saying that her landlord has just issued her seven days’ notice. The issue? Her cats.

  I stare at the number I’m about to call.

  “Yello,” says a muffled voice after a couple of rings. He sounds like I’ve just caught him in the middle of something.

  I almost have to grin looking out at the shiny ocean. He has absolutely no idea what’s about to hit him.

  “Hello, my friend. Is this an okay time to talk?”

  “About what?”

  “This is Morgan Kennedy, Susan—your tenant's—son.”

  “Yeah? Whatdoyouwant?” he says in one long, lazily pronounced word.

  My blood pressure already feels like it’s rising. You know when you can tell by the sound of someone’s voice that they’re a total tool? Yeah, that’s the vibe I get.

  Still, I try to keep my calm. For her. She wouldn’t want me to go off on some poor minion.

  “I’d like to speak to the owner of her apartment, a Mr. Baker Harris.”

  “That’s me.”

  I take a deep breath, have a sip of my drink, and put on my ‘good cop’ persona. “I don’t know why but my mom really likes it in this place. Her favorite of all the places she’s stayed in through the years. She tells me she got a notice saying she has ‘two cats’ and that breaks the terms of her lease. Funny thing is, I don’t see it. So, tell me, Mr. Baker Harris, where does it say that on the lease?”

  “Don’t matter. She’s out. Thing is, I just inherited this place from my grandmother, and we’re selling the land. Speculator is coming in, going to flatten the place. Already gave the demolition company a down payment for two weeks from now, so she’s out.”

  “So let me get this straight. You’re kicking my mother out of her apartment—where she’s been for five years—in order for you to sell the land.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  My skin prickles, and I feel my ‘good cop’ persona attempt blowing far away in the breeze. If I had feelings, I would feel bad for him, because to be quite honest, he doesn’t sound like the brightest crayon in the box. Clearly, he didn’t inherit his grandmother’s business acumen.

  “I have the lease in front of me—but, from what you just told me, it sounds like you’re just outright admitting to fraud.”

  He goes silent.

  I stand up from my chair and start pacing back and forth along the beach. The sand does little to soothe me.

  Mr. Two Last Names—seriously, Baker Harris—is starting a fight he’s not capable of winning.

  Yes, my mom likes this place, but there’s another reason I’m not having her move out of there.

  It’s the last place Michael used to live, summers between college. His room is still in pristine condition, untouched from the last time he left, thinking he would come back.

  My heart swelters thinking about him.

  “Yeah. Renters’ rights, you clown.” I could call him a more insulting word, but I remember what Michael would always say: It’s not enough to be right. You must also be kind.

  “You can’t just evict my mother…just because she took in an extra cat. This rule is not on the lease.”

  He scoffs. “Well, what are you gonna do? Get a lawyer? I got a good one myself.”

  I didn’t want to play this card, but he’s asking for it.

  “Do you know who you’re talking to? Do you even look at the checks when they come through? What do they say?”

  “Morgan Kennedy…” he trails off. “Wait a sec. I mean, you’re not saying you’re ‘the’ Morgan Kennedy baseball guy, are you? That’s a common sounding name. I call bullshit.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Call bullshit all you want. If you don’t rip up that eviction notice right now—you have no idea the lawyering that will be happening behind the scenes.”

  “But I already gave the demolition team their down payment.”

  “How is it my problem that you’re an idiot with a negative business I.Q.? I’ll sue your ass so hard if you do not rip up that eviction notice, you will rue the day you tried to pull this bullshit over a woman you thought couldn’t fight back.”

  “You son of a bitch. You can’t do that,” he grits back.

  I take another sip of my scotch. “You bet your ass I can. And since you apparently can’t read a lease, let me save you some reading. If you do decide to evict my mom and break the lease without due cause, a lease which ends next year, you owe her one-hundred-ten-thousand dollars.”

  He’s silent for a moment—I hear the scribble of a pencil—before he finally says, “But that’ll make me lose money in that land deal I got going on.”

  “Well, then, better cancel that fucking deal, shouldn’t you?”

  Silence on the other end.

  “Look, man, since you seem like a nice guy, I’ll give you a good deal,” I say. “You apologize to my mom, in person, and I won’t raise the issue of unlawful eviction and take you down.”

  He clears his throat. “I’ll think about it.”

  I chuckle, and man, if I do say so myself, I might sound a little like Darth Vader. “You do that. And while you’re thinking, the price just went up. Now I want you to go to the pet store and buy two bags of really nice fucking cat food and take it to her.”

&
nbsp; “You can’t be fucking serious!”

  “I am serious. Still thinking?”

  “Man, screw you,” he says, and hangs up.

  Welp.

  That’s about how I imagined that would go down, if I’m being honest.

  I sigh and look out over the vast ocean, and actually feel a little bit better.

  I pick up the phone and call my mom back.

  “Two calls in the same day? To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Mom, I called your landlord. I think your problem is going to be taken care of.”

  “Oh, Lord. You didn't go all Morgan on him, did you?”

  I smirk. You gotta love it when your mom has made your name into a verb that means something along the lines of ‘getting what you want.’

  “I may have. But, Mom, what he did is illegal. He can’t kick you out for no reason. You love your apartment now. Remember where you stayed before?”

  "Oh, honey, that place was just terrible. No, I'm not going back there."

  By the tone of her voice, I can sense her becoming more stressed just by the mention of her old place.

  Since Michael died, Mom and I have grown closer. She definitely has her good days and bad, angry days and sad, just like me. Just like any other human being.

  But I miss being back in Fort Worth where I can be there for her. She’s been floating between a couple of different jobs in the past year, and at least having her own place gives her a sense of stability. “Mom, if you do end up moving out of that place on your own terms, that’s fine. Maybe it’ll happen someday. But I won’t let you be bullied by some half-assed landlord who wants to cash in on his inheritance. I might not be there physically, but I’m there in spirit and will fight any battle you need me to.”

  She goes silent for a little while. “Thank you, honey. I’m not crying, I swear.”

  “It’s okay, Mom. You can cry. So, how’s work been at the clothing shop this week? And what are you up to tonight?”

  She tells me about work, and what else she has going on. She even mentions that some girlfriends are coming over for book club tonight. Also, a date on Sunday.

  “Ohh. A date. Do tell.”

  “That’s as much as you’re getting out of me on that front, Mister. What about you? You haven’t told me a single thing about your dating life since…well…you know who.”

  I cringe just thinking about my college ex.

  Talk about your all-time bad break-ups.

  “There’s no one to talk about,” I say, then hesitate. “Well, actually…there’s this girl and…I can’t stop thinking about her. And I work with her.”

  “Ooh, really?? No one, eh? What’s she like?”

  “Tall, smart, funny, very pretty. And also very engaged.”

  “Oh, really? What’s the guy like?”

  “Mom, I’m not going to ask. I don’t want to hear those details.”

  “Why not? Maybe you’ll learn something. If she’s a nice girl, and not a devil in an angel’s body like she whom we shall not speak of, she’s going for a good guy. You need to learn more about what that is. Why don’t you just ask her more? You can be closed off sometimes, you know.”

  I pick up my drink and take another sip of it. If anyone else was saying this, I’d probably argue with them. But she’s got a point.

  “Mom, that’s actually pretty fucking genius.”

  “Well, I’m pretty smart sometimes.”

  I smile. “It’s funny, these are the kinds of conversations I used to have with Michael. He was always the voice of reason.”

  The words are out before I can consider them. Injecting Michael’s name completely changes the vibe of the conversation, I know that. It just sort of came out.

  “I miss him,” she says.

  “Every day,” I repeat.

  A few beats of silence pass between us on the phone.

  “Well, I’m going to get going,” she says. “I’ll let you know what the landlord says. Love you, honey.”

  “Love you, Mom.”

  I hang up, and my heart feels full. I really need to do a better job of my twice weekly calls to her, I remind myself. Sometimes I get caught up in business and how this is the year for me to strike while the iron is hot since I lucked into this job at Murphy Capital, but that’s no excuse. I need to be better.

  I pull my beach chair up to the edge of the waves on the shore and sit for a few minutes.

  Intermittently, I look at the picture of April on my phone.

  What are the chances I’d randomly meet her one Saturday at a farmer’s market, then have an interview for her dad’s freaking company the next Monday?

  I think about how her dad wants me to be a good mentor. Mr. Murphy is a good guy, and I respect his wishes.

  To be honest, I’ve been a shitty boss to April so far.

  And since I did the dirty with her one night, I can’t just be a good boss to her? A friend, even?

  Mom is right. Instead of getting angry at my situation, I should start seeing how I can better myself. I thought my first college girlfriend would be the one. Clearly I still have a lot to learn. Maybe I can’t fight fire with fire.

  Maybe it’s time to raise the white flag and be civil.

  As much as I keep having very uncivil dreams involving her.

  19

  April

  “What’s the big news on campus?” I ask Alex as I FaceTime with her while putting my makeup on in the bathroom. Gabe changes his clothes in my room as we get ready for tonight.

  “It’s cold and wintery in the Midwest,” Alex says. “Shocking, I know. We’re all jealous of you.”

  “Aww, well, don’t be. I miss you all.”

  “We are so looking forward to the cruise in March! It will be amazing—a real party with above-freezing temperatures!”

  “Oh, they’ll be well above freezing. Don’t forget your swimsuits. Just be on your best behavior, okay? There will be clients there and stuff.”

  “Just not too much fun?” Alex winks at me through FaceTime.

  “Exactly.” I smile. “Who all is coming from the group? I have to give the boat the final guest count soon.”

  “Well, as far as I know, it will be me, DJ, Maya, Finn, Donnie, and Faith.”

  “The others?”

  “Grant is playing baseball during the spring, and Charlotte is locked into track.”

  “Gotcha. Well…you can invite Chris…or someone. They could come if they want. Obviously. I mean, it’s not going to be a free-for-all spring party because it’s for my dad’s company, but it will be a blast, nonetheless.”

  “I can’t believe he’s cool with a bunch of college kids coming to crash his official party,” Alex says.

  “Well, he knows you guys would never act too foolishly.”

  I see Alex grinning in the FaceTime. “And go and…you know, sleep with your boss, or something,” she snickers.

  “Let’s just keep that between you and me,” I say.

  Okay, when I slept with Morgan, I obviously had to tell someone. Alex, Maya, Charlotte and Faith, and Donnie know what went down, and they’ve been sworn to secrecy.

  “So, guess who came down to visit the Alpha Z House last week? And who kept ‘inquiring’ about you?” she asks.

  A chill runs down my spine. “Who would that be?”

  “Luke Rutledge. He wanted to know all about your dating history. It was a little weird, actually.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “No, of course not. I avoided the question.”

  “Huh. That’s weird. Why would he be asking about me? You don’t think Luke…”

  “Likes you? I don’t think so, as fun as he would be to date. He’s still got that girl he can’t forget about, even though I’m pretty sure they’re tragically doomed.”

  I chuckle. Luke was the senior every girl on campus wanted to date when I was a freshmen. And then he fell for a girl who no one would have ever suspected.

  I sigh, not wanting to launch into th
e Greene State gossip mill any more than I already have. “Ugh! I miss your face! But I’m happy we got to chat today. Life gets too busy sometimes.”

  “I know. We all miss you, though.”

  “By the way, did you decide which grad schools you’re going to yet?” I ask.

  “I’m applying to five—U of Chicago, Harvard, UCLA, University of Texas at Austin, and Indiana University. They all have kick-ass psychology programs. How about you?”

  Dread creeps into my stomach. Doing this internship was, for me, an idea to escape and learn.

  My dad, I think, has always pictured me taking over the family business, or at least getting involved in some way.

  The more I do in this business, the less I’m sure it’s where I want to be.

  “I’m thinking craziness right now,” I say. Leaning over one of the candles I got this week from a visit to Sandra’s shop, I say, “Maybe I’ll open up a candle shop.”

  “You are crazy. In the best way.”

  “Or…” I trail off. “What do you know about social work?”

  Alex is quiet for a moment. “You’ve never talked about social work before.”

  “I know. But I’m halfway into this internship at my dad’s company and, to be honest, I don’t get a lot out of analyzing businesses and crunching numbers. But I do love my weekly visits to the orphanage here, ya know?”

  “I’ll email my advisor and he’ll send you some stuff on the pre-social work program. I think you’d have to change your major to like, psychology, sociology, or something along those lines. I don’t know if business would work. You sure you’d really consider that? What if you have to stay on another year?”

  “It wouldn’t be the end of the world. I’d rather take an extra year and make the right decision than rush into something.”

  We exchange a few more pleasantries, and I tell her she’ll be getting an email with all of the details for the cruise in March.

  I look at the two dresses I have picked out for tonight.

  Do I go red…or black?

  Both are classy…which one is more “Puerto Rico?”

  I think about my meditations this week. I’ve been seeing red, so I take that as a sign.