Sexiled: an enemies-to-lovers standalone Read online

  I move closer to the fence and give her a polite tap on the shoulder. “Hi, do you know Morgan from somewhere? Just a fan?”

  She giggles. “Well, you could say I’m a fan. I used to be his number one fan, as a matter of fact.”

  “Oh?” I size the woman up. She’s petite, cute, killer body with black hair. In a horrible flashback, I’m brought back to the morning I found Matt with that girl.

  Dammit. That’s twice in one day. I was enjoying not thinking about him.

  “Oh, you guys used to date?”

  She laughs. “Are you one of his groupies? Did you come all the way down here just to stalk him?”

  “No, not a groupie,” I say, then flinch. “You two know each other?”

  She chuckles out loud. “You might say that. My name is Erin Yonkers. I used to work in the front office for the Washington Nationals when he played for them.”

  Erin Yonkers.

  The name gives me chills.

  See, after Morgan didn’t call me back, my friends and I went on a bit of an Instagram investigation spree.

  There was only one woman who had ever shown up or been tagged on his Instagram, and it was years ago. But sure as heck, her name was Erin Yonkers.

  “I’m April. Oh, so you worked with him.”

  She shrugs. “We had a thing for a little while. Nothing serious. Why am I telling you this? You could work for TMZ. Who are you, anyway?”

  “I guess I am just a fan,” I shrink away from her, suddenly. For some reason I don’t want to offer her added personal information. I keep staring at her, searching for a flaw, but I can’t find one. “So what are you doing here now?

  “Now I’m working for Seattle, and I’m down here with them scouting Puerto Rican prospects for the team. What a coincidence, seems like the legend himself has decided to step onto the field. It’s not uncommon for stars to do rehab in these winter leagues. Weird, though, last he told me he was working for a hedge fund.”

  The older man next to her chimes in. “Yeah, same hedge fund I might invest millions in.”

  I could use this for a place to connect and make conversation, but something about her is off-putting to me, so I decide to keep quiet.

  Morgan throws another pitch, and she turns to the older man next to her. “Did you clock that one?” she asks.

  “Yeah. Ninety-seven miles per hour on that fastball. Holy smokes. We’re literally witnessing a living legend right now who could be making a comeback.” The man furrows his brow at the woman. “You think he’d actually play again?”

  “If I know him, he can’t stay away from the game for too long,” Erin says.

  “Don’t say a word about this to anyone,” the man says. “Just check with the Nationals and see if they still own the rights to his contract. If he ends up coming back, we could get him for a bargain.”

  After he comes off the mound, he goes into the stands on the other side, and a line has formed for him to sign autographs.

  “Thanks for chatting,” Erin says. “What did you say your name was again?”

  I shrug my shoulders down. “It’s April,” I repeat.

  I think about how carefree I seemed earlier today, so much so that I even joked with him about the fantasy I had.

  And still need to tell him about.

  Operation U.B.M.O.D.

  You Bend Me Over Desk.

  I shake it off, but something doesn’t feel quite right.

  Who am I, coming up with plans like these? Even saying them out loud as acronyms, expressing my desires, that’s a far cry from who I know myself to be.

  I should have known it wouldn’t be this easy with a man like Morgan.

  Then again…we all have our pasts.

  I think about the coincidences that have happened today. I wonder if I’m going overboard with Morgan, searching for some feeling, something that might not be there.

  What exactly am I searching for, though?

  I walk in the direction of where Morgan is signing autographs and lean against a chain fence while I wait and watch him. He's mesmerizing when he’s on the mound, and to then see him take the time to sign autographs and snap selfies with hopeful children is almost too much for my heart to handle.

  The world needs more men like Morgan Kennedy. The game, the fame, it doesn't change who he is and how he treats people. I have to push away the thoughts of what Erin was saying to me. Her implications are unrecognizable from the man I'm seeing right now.

  He signs his last ball, smiles genuinely at the fans, and turns my way. I can feel every beat of heat between us as he strides toward me.

  "I missed our date. I'm sorry. I went for a walk and got, uh, caught up,” he says.

  He doesn't know I don't care about the date, and even if I did for a moment, after seeing this light coming from him, sun bouncing off his skin, sweat shining across his brow, and that little kid-in-a-candy-store smile, probably the happiest I've ever seen him. Seeing that, is worth ten-million dinner dates.

  "Obviously. Yeah, I'll take a rain check, if you're offering,” I answer.

  "Let me get cleaned up, and we can make up for lost time, and then grab something to eat."

  “Your place or mine tonight?”

  26

  April

  The rest of the month flies by, and a fun month it is.

  Morgan’s place or mine turns out to be the running game we play.

  At work, I don’t talk about seeing him on the baseball field.

  Or the things we do in his bed—or mine—later after work.

  Although the way he was on the mound throwing, I’m honestly surprised some viral video hasn’t made the rounds on social media.

  Not to mention the way he was wound up afterward. I almost want to take a rest from him for a couple of days.

  Almost.

  Either way, Morgan is booked minute to minute, and ends up spending the next weekend out of town on business.

  So over the next couple of days, I throw myself into my internship, also known as independent study in party planning.

  Okay, fine, I get it. Relationships with clients are important. And this cruise is going to be fun.

  After running into Erin at the field, unfortunately the ghost of Matt is etching its way back into me.

  I know it’s in his past.

  But thanks to Matt, whenever someone doesn’t have the time to get back to me, I assume the worst.

  I look at the text I sent him Monday night that he still hasn’t replied to:

  April: Let me know when I can see you in your office about Operation U.B.M.O.D. We kinda forgot about that, didn’t we?

  At the end of the day on a Wednesday in March, my brain is about fried. I’ve been spending time emailing with my advisor back on the Greene State campus about the drafts of my independent study thesis, which is on the environmental impact of financial markets on global deforestation.

  I look at the picture I’ve put up on my desk of me and my mom from our very last trip together, and I think about the trip we never took for my birthday that year because she was too sick.

  We were supposed to go camping in Puerto Rico in the El Yunque National Forest. I was on a kick that year about how no one cared enough about the tropical rainforests, and I was begging her to take me to Central America or even Brazil, where some of the largest virgin, old-growth forests are. She said no, it’s too far and it’s out of the country. We can only go somewhere in the United States.

  So I pulled a fast one on her and suggested Puerto Rico, which is technically a commonwealth of the United States. We wouldn’t even need passports to travel.

  “How can I say no to that?” she said.

  Then she fell ill and we never got to go.

  I space in to see Morgan flying past my desk to some meeting with a client, not an uncommon sight with him lately.

  He stops at my desk.

  “Hey, you,” he says.

  “Hey, player,” I grin.

  “Player? What’s that mean
?”

  “Player of baseball. I don’t know, I’m just spacey today. What’s up?”

  He gives me a funny look. “I had a question I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”

  Wow. Wasn’t expecting this question.

  “Camping at El Yunque,” I say.

  “Really? The rainforest in east Puerto Rico?”

  “Yeah, or I’d stay in one of those tree houses.”

  “Tree houses?”

  “Yeah, you know, they have those tree houses that are up high with amazing views. They are all over the world but there’s probably some in El Yunque, too. What about you?”

  He pauses. “I’ve never been to Canada. So anywhere there would be good.”

  “Are you that outdoorsy?”

  He shakes his head. “Not in the least. That was my brother’s thing. You?”

  “Oh, yes. My dad and I would go on camping trips every year when I was in high school. There’s nothing like the clean air and fresh smells, the sounds, the feeling of being out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Hmm. Never appealed to me. I’m born and raised in the city. You were suburbs, right?”

  I nod, and just then it occurs to me that, as big of a connection and attraction as Morgan and I have, there is still a large gap between us when it comes to really knowing one another.

  “Sorry about not getting back to you about that text. It’s been a weird couple of days.”

  “Weird how?”

  “Nothing too crazy, just work. Hey, what’s this Operation U.B.M.O.D thing you texted me about a while back anyway?”

  “Oh, that. It’s not important.”

  He frowns and examines me. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “It’s Unleashing and Believing My Destiny. This new thing Sandra was talking about,” I fib.

  He twists up his face. “What about the O?”

  “Um, nothing.”

  “All right. Well, I have to jet. We really need to have a meet up about…”

  Gabe approaches my desk, and Morgan’s tone change is noticeable.

  “That other thing we talked about Saturday night.”

  “That sounds good! See you later.”

  “Bye, boss,” Gabe says. Morgan nods a polite goodbye, then heads out the door.

  Gabe turns to me. “What was that?”

  I shrug. “What was what?”

  “There’s something going on here. I can smell it. Is it awkward between you because of that selfie exchange?”

  “Nah, not awkward,” I say.

  Gabe narrows his eyes. “Oh my God, is something going on between you two?”

  I slam my hand down on my desk. “No!” I say, much louder and reactive than I intended. A few people glance over from their cubicles, including Loretta from H.R.

  If she knew what was going on, she’d probably throw the handbook at me.

  “It’s five-dollar margarita pitcher night at this cool rooftop bar,” Gabe adds. “Let’s go.”

  Once I have some guac and chips in me, fish tacos ordered, and the margaritas are poured and ready, I feel better already.

  Just in time for Gabe to veer off of small talk and ask me what I know he really wants to.

  “So, tell me. Everything.”

  “Nothing to tell.” I try shrugging him off more time.

  He flares his nostrils and sniffs a few times. “Hey, do you smell that?”

  I sniff. “Fresh air and margaritas?”

  He turns back to me, attitude written over his face. “Hmm. That might be it. Or it might be the smell of bullshit since you’re not spilling the goods!”

  My eyes widen a little, and I try to let the comment slide off me, but there is no denying Gabe has a fantastic bullshit lie detector.

  He adds, “No one gets as defensive as you did back there at the office unless they are hiding something.”

  “Fine. There may have been slightly more than words between us.”

  He leans into his margarita and takes a long sip.

  When I hesitate, he adds, “I’ve been reading one-hundred-thirty-page company prospectuses all day. I need a break. I need something juicy to remember that life exists outside of the office and number crunching. Help me, April. Please.”

  “We may have crossed the employee-boss line,” I admit.

  He stops sipping his margarita. “You’re serious?”

  “I don’t know.” I clear my throat. “Is sleeping together against the boss employee handbook?”

  Gabe gasps. “Oh, my sweet baby Jesus.”

  I withdraw into my chair, trying to sink down.

  “High freaking five!” Gabe says, putting his hand up.

  “Really?”

  “Honey, if anyone deserves it, it’s you.”

  “Yeah, well…no fun goes unpunished apparently.”

  I tell him the seemingly incredible story of running into Morgan’s ex at the stadium the other day.

  “So, he has an ex! Deal with it. What do you want, a player with a clean slate? Now that, hon, does not exist. That’s a fantasy.”

  I sigh. “I just wanted to live in a fantasy world for a little bit longer. Now it’s spoiled.”

  “You could never be serious with a ballplayer? I can understand that. But he’s not a player anymore, right?”

  “I think they’re trying to get him back in the game. He’s still so young. Why wouldn’t he go back?”

  Gabe sighs. “I can understand your precaution, but why don’t you just pretend it never happened? No sense in getting your panties all in a bunch at some hypothetical.” His head tilts and I feel like he’s examining me further.

  “What?”

  “You got burned the first time. Now you’re like a dog who had a horrible owner. You think every treat comes with a catch.”

  My stomach sinks. “I hate thinking about dogs with horrible owners. It makes me sick.”

  “And it makes me sick that there are Matt’s out there in the world, ruining wonderful women like you with their cheating behavior. Just enjoy yourself, April. You’ve earned it.”

  Our fish tacos arrive.

  “Fish tacos and you’re hooking up with our hot boss. What more could you ask for?”

  As I sit back in my chair, a faint smile comes back over me. He’s right.

  I need to stop overthinking things.

  Like rule number seven.

  27

  April

  The next day, I’m working late when my work phone rings.

  “Hello?”

  “Good, you’re still here,” Morgan says.

  “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “I need to see you in my office.”

  “What about? I was just about to take off.”

  “Can you spare a few minutes?”

  “For you? Sure.”

  I get up and walk through the office to Morgan’s door. Loretta is the last one here besides me.

  I slip into his office.

  He looks handsome as ever even after a long work day. His hair a little disheveled, a dark green tie partway undone on a still perfectly ironed white dress shirt. His five o’clock shadow is already coming in as he looks down at something on his desk in a manila file folder, seeming in deep concentration.

  “What are you working on, boss?”

  He looks up suddenly, as if surprised to see me, and flips the folder shut.

  “That was quick.”

  “You called me in here.”

  “Shut the door, please, April,” he says.

  Something in the tone of his voice sends chills up the back of my spine.

  I shut it, then turn around again. “Everything okay?”

  He folds his hands on his desk.

  “What happened to Rob Mackelhern’s paper invitation?”

  “Mackelhern…” I recite.

  “The Swiss investor.”

  “Oh, I think I’ll get to that on
e next week.”

  “Well,” he blows out a sigh. “He’s pissed. He’s the second richest man in Switzerland and, apparently James Grimly, who is the richest one there, got his invitation already. You’ve got to send them all out at once.”

  “Let me get this straight. One guy is pissed because his friend got his fancy paper invitation and he didn’t? I sent all of them the emails invitation, and confirmed with each of them by phone.”

  Morgan billows out a sigh. “This is no ordinary party. And yeah, when one client thinks they’re being treated better than another, that’s a big deal. I just got an angry email from Mr. Mackelhern about how he wants to withdraw three-hundred million from our fund.”

  “Isn’t that a bit of an overreaction?”

  He shakes his head, then stands up and looks out the window, putting his hands on his waist.

  “That’s how it is with these people. Money, invitations, status, it’s all part of some big dick-measuring contest. I don’t get it.”

  “Yet you work in this industry.”

  He spins his head around. “Come again?”

  “You’re just as driven by money as those people, aren’t you?” I say. “I mean, you’re working for the big payoff that will come once my dad gives you equity in the company.”

  “How did you know about that?”

  “Just a hunch. Clearly, you two get along.”

  My heels clack on the floor as I take a few steps toward him.

  “Look, the point is that the directive to send out all the invitations in one batch was in the very first email I sent you on this project. Now it’s very close to the date, and they still haven’t gotten their paper invites.”

  My stomach drops, and guilt seeps in. “Remember what I said about trusting you with little things?” he adds.

  I push my glasses up on my nose and twirl a lock of my hair.

  “But they still got the e-invitations. And I called everyone to confirm.”

  His eyes narrow to slits. “What are you doing, Ms. Murphy?”

  My heart begins to race as I walk over to his side of the desk and lean on it.

  “Is there anything I can do to at least make it up to you?”

  He cocks his head. “No, I just need you to be better. You’re smarter than that, April.”