Sexiled: an enemies-to-lovers standalone Read online

  I pull up at a beachside bar, taking advantage of the fact that even though I’ve not yet turned twenty-one, I can order a drink here.

  As I sip my margarita, I see some people on the beach playing volleyball. Normally the game calls to me, but I feel out of sync today.

  I sigh, thinking about my night with Morgan. He saw intelligence, beauty, boldness in me. For one night, I came out of my shell and enjoyed myself on another level.

  The problem with having friends for a long time is that mostly they only see in you what they first saw in you.

  If they see you as shy, they’ll overcompensate with a bold energy, and you’ll shrink down to become a shier person.

  If a teacher sees you as unintelligent, you’ll become more defensive, trying to prove them wrong instead of taking risks.

  We give ourselves and others labels to make things easier to understand.

  But the truth of the matter is, we’re contextual beings. When I’m with my volleyball teammates I’m the extraverted life of the party, the star even. When I’m at a house party where I don’t know anyone, I’m the quiet, mousy, awkward girl.

  A soft sea breeze wafts toward my face, and my mind drifts back to Matt.

  He saw me as this docile, shy, plain woman whom he could do with as he pleased and, let's face it, sleep around on. So I became that woman. Toward the end of the relationship, I barely recognized myself anymore.

  But with Morgan—even for a night—I felt like I was exactly who I wanted to be. We were bold together. We connected on a soul-to-soul level about our grief. And the way he ordered me around in the bedroom, with a soft and caring touch. I did things with him that I’d done with no man before.

  With Morgan, I was on fire.

  If it was all a lie, how could my feelings be so true? I thought what we had was magical, real and special, even though it was just one night. Only to discover it was meaningless to him. Is Morgan a sociopath, too? Gah, I don’t like this feeling, of knowing what I felt was actually meaningless to them. How can I come back from this? How can I believe anything someone ever says to me? It makes me feel as though I’m wading through a world filled with liars and lies.

  I finish the last of my drink and walk along the beach for a while, then head back home.

  “Hola, Abril!” my host-mom greets me when I come into their house.

  “Hola, Delfina!” I say and kiss her.

  “Tienes hambre?” she asks. “Are you hungry?”

  I pat my stomach. “Tengo mucho hombre,” I say. Her little five-year-old daughter hears me and giggles. Wait. I said hombre. Not hambre. That’s not right.

  “I just said, I have many men, not I’m very hungry, didn’t I?” I say.

  She points to a plate at the dinner table, then brings out some fish tacos, salsa, and rice.

  “Well, do you have many men?” She smiles.

  Her daughter Gricelda pushes a chair up to the table and sits with us.

  “I don’t even have one.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Not yet.”

  10

  April

  The next day, we have a staff meeting led by Morgan himself.

  He is reviewing our general strategy and the purpose of the Puerto Rico office. His voice is so damn soothing, almost like butter.

  He addresses the room, "In order to guarantee we keep our clients happy, we must explore our…”

  Oh boy. Here we go again.

  Seriously, screw him for being so dreamy. I lose what he's saying and find myself back to that night we were together.

  “I’m going to explore every inch of your body. I hope you don’t mind me starting slow.”

  Morgan stands up and brushes my hair behind my ears.

  “I don’t mind. I like it.”

  He places his hand on my side. “You’re like a present that I want to spend all night unwrapping.”

  Morgan unhooks the red lace bra from behind me, kisses my shoulder, and locks his eyes on mine again.

  “Fuck, blue-eyes. You’re beautiful. Are you sick of me saying that yet?”

  “No,” I giggle. “Say it as many times as you want.”

  “It’s true. You are goddess-like. I’ll say it as many times as I have to until it gets through to you.”

  I search his face for a trace of insincerity, but there’s none. His eyes are clear and truthful.

  He inhales a deep, audible breath in.

  “God, you smell amazing. I want to bottle you up and carry you around with me.”

  I space back in, my body now feeling unfortunately heated with those thoughts.

  “The reason for the Puerto Rico office,” Morgan says, “is threefold. One, tax incentives to the company. Two, personal tax incentives for our employees. Three, it’s a great place to bring high-roller clients who want to have the Caribbean experience, which can be a tipping point for securing their loyalty. At Murphy Capital, we’re not just selling them on our services. Anyone can manage funds—that’s numbers on a screen. Our personalized approach and our integrity, which stems from Hal Murphy himself, is what sets us apart from the other groups.”

  Our eyes meet for less than a second as he scans the group, and even that sends goosebumps down my spine. I clench my knuckles at Morgan’s mention of integrity.

  Like he has any. He’s a two-faced salesman extraordinaire. He definitely has a penchant for selling experiences. He really had me going, after all.

  I wonder what BS he gave my dad in the interview to convince him that he was “honest” and not the womanizing liar he actually is.

  And then it hits me.

  That’s probably why he didn’t call me.

  He would have inevitably dropped me after he’d had his way with me, but he realized my father wouldn’t have taken too kindly to the way he treated me. So probably he just nipped it in the bud, once he put it together that I was his boss’s daughter.

  Or…another thought hits me.

  Did he know I was the boss’s daughter when he slept with me? Did he do it just for kicks?

  But no…the way we met. The peach. It’s impossible he planned that. Right?

  I fume, cursing the fact that I’m apparently highly attracted to men who possibly have narcissistic tendencies. Or at least men who still have a fair amount of emotional maturation to do.

  When Morgan gets to the end of his spiel, Gabe raises his hand. Morgan points to him. “Yes, Gabe.”

  “Speaking of personalized relationships with clients, when is the cruise?” Gabe asks, and he’s met with collective laughter.

  “What?” Gabe protests. “Isn’t that an important part of building client relationships?”

  “Great question. We need to rent the boat and figure out the logistics and exact dates. It will be in March some time.” Morgan straightens his tie and looks at me. “April is going to be our point person, heading the committee on that, actually. Thank you, Miss Intern.”

  My stomach sinks.

  Really? I’m going to be a party planner?

  “Uh, are you sure that’s in my wheelhouse?” I protest.

  I came here to learn the business, not for that.

  “I believe it is.”

  Despite the gnawing feeling in my gut, I suck it up. “Whatever you need, Mr. Captain.”

  I wonder if he can hear the sarcasm laced in my voice, or if that’s just for me.

  “Captain,” Gabe says. “I like that. Where’d you come up with that?”

  I shrug. “Nowhere.”

  A grin spreads across Gabe’s lips. “We’re going to get along, aren’t we?”

  As work is winding down on Friday, I’m congratulating myself for having no more awkward run-ins with my boss this week.

  As if he senses this, Morgan approaches my desk. His jaw is flexed so tight I’m worried he might break it.

  “So your father called me today,” he says, as though it pains him. “And he wants me to take you on a tour of San Juan. Get you acclimated. That kind of thing.”

>   I shake my head. “That’s okay. I’m good. I’ll show myself around.” I look back down at the document I am reviewing.

  “It’s not really an option.” I hear an echo of a command in his tone.

  “We could just not, and say we did,” I offer.

  “Yeah, here’s the thing. I didn’t become Mr. Murphy’s right-hand man by going about things dishonestly. So you’re coming. Come on, I’ve got a cool car.”

  I call bullshit on the dishonest part. But reluctantly, I accept his offer.

  “A red Mercedes convertible?” I say when we approach the parking spot outside. “Isn’t that a little ostentatious?”

  “Aren’t you a little ostentatious in that black dress today?”

  I frown. “You’re my boss. You can’t say things like that. And this dress is more flowy than flashy.”

  “Whatever you say. Get in, please.”

  We cruise down the coast in Morgan’s Mercedes, top down so we can take in the salty-fresh breezes of the sea to the north.

  True to his word, the tour is pretty good. Morgan takes me through Old San Juan loaded with old architecture and colorful buildings. Then we head down the coast and stop at an old lookout point before heading back to the city center.

  “It’s an old colonial town,” Morgan says. “Lots of history here, and a lot of it isn’t necessarily terrific.”

  I nod. “Plus, the hurricanes the last few years have taken its toll.”

  "It’s certainly possible to get caught up on the not-so-good parts.”

  “It’s got beauty and charm, though, I can agree on that.”

  “And rum,” Morgan says, waggling his eyebrows at me. “There’s no shortage of rum.”

  Was that just a playful attempt at humor? Maybe he doesn’t mind when I call him Captain. His mood swings are giving me whiplash.

  I decide to just focus on what I do know, and that is what I can see right before my eyes as we make our way down the coast. It’s bright and cheery, the houses are a mix of colors, and as we whip past them in a row, it feels like we are carefree friends chasing a rainbow—not two opposites forced to take a guided tour together.

  We take a turn in the direction back toward the office, and drive by an open store front with lots of knick-knacks hanging from the front.

  “Ohh, stop there,” I say, tugging on Morgan’s sleeve.

  “What do you need?”

  “A candle,” I say.

  “For…?”

  “I always keep a lit candle in my room…” I hesitate, because to tell the truth means going back into detail about my mother, and the “real” moments we shared during our day and night together. Those actually weren’t real moments, I have to remind myself. It was all an act on Morgan’s part to get laid. It’s incredible how easy it is to slip back into a comfortable place with someone you once felt yourself around. Even if that was just for one day.

  Admittedly, I feel absolutely betrayed by Morgan for never calling me after I told him a slew of personal details about my life.

  And I can keep it simple enough. Sharing one small detail to finish this sentence doesn’t mean I am letting him win. “For my mother.”

  “Oh.” He nods, and I sense the usual combativeness in him melt away, if just for a moment.

  He parks and we head into the shop called La Tienda de Maria.

  “Hey. Maria. Your mother’s name,” he comments as we walk up to the storefront.

  “Did I tell you my mother’s name?”

  “Your dad did.”

  “Oh.”

  “You think that’s a coincidence the store you wanted to go into is named for a Maria?”

  “No coincidences in this life,” I say.

  He pushes the door to lead inside, and the bells of the door chime to signal our entrance.

  Inside there is every sort of tchotchke imaginable. Everything from pots and pans, to gardening tools, stones, and touristy shirts that say I love Puerto Rico. And yes, candles.

  A young girl, not older than maybe nine or ten, sits at the counter and watches us.

  I pick up a green candle, and hand it to Morgan.

  “Do you like it?” I ask Morgan, and he flashes his eyes at me before taking a sniff.

  “Wow. Is that Fraser fir? Smells damn good.”

  “You know candle scents? I’m surprised.”

  He says points to the label. “No, I just know how to read.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “There’s only one scent I know without having to read a label and that’s…” He swallows, and his face turns red. “Never mind.”

  “No.” I grin. “Do finish your thought. As your employee on a tour with her boss, I demand it.”

  “It’s not, uh, appropriate.” He clears his throat. “Anymore.”

  I shake my head. “So it was appropriate on the night you—”

  “Look,” he says, cutting me off and shifting his voice. “My point is, I’m man enough to admit a good scent when I sniff it. My mom works in a candle shop, if you must know.”

  The way he scowls at me as he puts it back on the display shelf tells me there’s another scent on his mind.

  “You’re my employee now, not to mention the boss’s daughter. So there will be none of that talk.”

  I decide to drop the subject and pick up another, this one light-blue colored, labeled as a “full moon candle.”

  “Hey, there’s a full moon out right now,” I say. Even that triggers the memory of dancing in the soft rain under the moon with him like a happy fool.

  Why did that night have to be so damn romantic?

  But as I watch his familiar face as he just stands there, I can’t deny what happens to my body when I’m in this man’s orbit. It’s positively infuriating. Anger mixes with my arousal now, though, and this is a new combination of feelings for me. The heat may start off from different places, but it always ends up right between my legs.

  Even months later, I kept waking up dreaming about my head on his chest. I repeated that silly line about Romeo falling for Juliet in one night. I justified giving myself over to him after knowing him for just a blip of time.

  He takes the candle out of my hands and sniffs it. “You actually believe that moon hocus pocus stuff, do you? What’s next? Ghosts are real?”

  “Ghosts are real. We talked about that. You probably don’t remember, though. I know that night wasn’t very notable for you.”

  He shakes his head dismissively and hands the candle back to me. “They just slap a label on that candle that could literally mean anything.” He picks up a red candle and reads it. “‘Vela de amor.’ What utter nonsense. This candle will not bring you more love.”

  “If you don’t appreciate the offerings, then you may go now,” a woman’s voice speaks from behind us.

  I turn my head and see a woman with black and gray hair. She looks to be in her fifties, and she seems to have just appeared behind us.

  “Put the candle down, sir,” she says, then shakes her finger. “You don’t like the candle? Well, maybe the candle doesn’t like you. Ever think of that?”

  Morgan’s expression is a little shocked, but he does what she says, and he puts the candle down.

  “Are you Maria?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “No. Maria was my mother. I am Sandra. Would you two like help with…”

  As she’s talking, her eyes begin to flutter. She reaches and touches my wrist, and gasps. “Very strange energy,” she says, her eyes still closed.

  “Strange energy? What do you mean?”

  “You carry much, little one.”

  I shake my head. “No, I’m fine. I think.”

  She opens her eyes. “When was the last time you had an energy cleansing?”

  “Oh boy. Here we go,” Morgan pipes up. “This is what I’m talking about. You pick up the candles, they figure out you’re one of those gullible people who are susceptible to ‘energy’ reads, so they can clean you out. No, thanks.”

  She turns
toward Morgan, unfazed, with a steely expression.

  “My family is clairvoyant. We come from a small town in Portugal. My great grandmother predicted that the mayor of our town would pass away. Everybody laughed. Then she was right. So everybody hated us. Said it was witchcraft and he caused him to die. We moved here to escape the angry mob in the early 1900s.”

  She steps in closer to Morgan. “I meet guys like you every day. Closed-off energies. Think they know it all. Funny thing is, you’d benefit more than anyone from an energy reading. I don’t like utilizing my powers on someone like you though. You think you know everything there is to know, so you are not worth my effort. If you had some humility, I’d try. Maybe.”

  “Yeah, okay, well, we’re going to be leaving,” Morgan says, then turns to me and jerks his head toward the exit. “Come on.”

  She reaches toward Morgan and grabs hold of his wrist, the same she did with me, and closes her eyes.

  A tear rolls down her cheek and she lets go. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Sandra says, wiping away the tear. “What great pain. I can see that you and your brother were very close.”

  Morgan’s steely gaze changes to misty. “How do you know about him?” His voice is shaky.

  “Just hocus-pocus stuff,” Sandra bites back.

  She turns back to me. “Now you. Come with me. I need to talk to you. In the back. Will take ten minutes. You have ten minutes?”

  This doesn’t seem like a question, and there’s something about Sandra that is other-worldly, so I follow her into the back and sit across from her in a booth. She closes the curtains, then immediately looks at the ring I have on.

  “What is your name?”

  “April.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, April. Do you have a boyfriend?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Why is the Claddagh ring pointed down, then?”

  “It’s complicated?” I say.

  “Very well. What I’m going to do right now is read your energy. Have you ever had this done?”

  “No, I can’t say I have, exactly. I’ve been to a medium, but that was only to speak to my mom.”