Lag (The Boys of RDA Book 2) (7 page)

My reply is full of annoyance. “Yes, I’ll be fine, Roger. Have a little faith. They didn’t send you a complete moron.”

“You’re so young, Simone. Old rich people want other old people to handle their money. It lets them know you have experience. Next time don’t wear the red lipstick. You look sweet and innocent not blood thirsty and business hungry.”

My lip twitches at his continued assessment of my appearance. Earlier this evening he told me I looked like a blonde Snow White with my white hair and ruby red lips. I thought he was hitting on me so I did my best to brush off his compliments. Now I see them for what they were, censure. I’ll have to stay on the lookout for poisoned apples in the future.

As we approach the couple Roger leans closer. “Make me proud and don’t mess this up,” are his last words before we’re too close to other party guests for me to make a thinly veiled snarky reply. Instead I plaster on my best fake smile to greet Mr. and Mrs. Moore.

“Ah, Roger. It’s so good to see you, my boy,” Mr. Moore greets him with a strong slap on the back rather than the expected handshake. The move catches my new boss off guard and his face falters in shock. But when I look again his smile is firmly back in place.

I almost correct the bull terrier when he introduces me as a new account executive and then goes on to explain all the ways he’ll be forced to teach me the business before he lets me out on my own. As if I’m a dog that isn’t quite house broken yet. It takes willpower, but I stand with a straight face and put up with all his degrading talk.

Right as I begin to consider following through with my fantasies of hitting him and risking animal abuse charges, the topic changes to past charity events they’ve both attended. As a waiter approaches with a tray full of caviar, the conversation moves to mini foods and which ones are the best.

“We weren’t eating mini hotdogs at our fiftieth wedding anniversary,” Mrs. Moore slowly closes her eyes to show her distress at the idea. When she opens them again, they widen.

“Simone, have you met my grandson? Grant Moore the third, named after his grandfather.”

Oh God, if history is anything to go on, he’s forty with a pot belly. I flinch as my memories of the were-doctor on vacation resurface. The worst part of this job has to be every little old lady’s attempts to set you up with their bachelors-for-a-reason grandchildren.

“No, ma’am, I haven’t.” Another fake smile and I turn.

To my surprise, he isn’t ugly at all and there definitely isn’t a belly on the man in front of me. Is she sure this is her grandson? Grant Moore the third stands about my height. His medium brown hair is gelled and styled back. He isn't wearing black like the rest of tonight’s guests, but instead a dark green suit with a small gold pinstripe design. It’s a bit outlandish, but together the look fits him. The man could have flown here from Nantucket or something. There’s a worldly old-school charm to him. Hand him a lobster and one of those big round boat wheels and he’d fit right in.

Before his grandmother finishes our introductions, Grant has my hand in his and places a small kiss on the top. I don’t know if I’ve ever been hand kissed before and I tense as his lips land on me.

“You work with that snake Walters? It can’t be.”

Over time our small group moves to the side as the Moores continue to greet guests and the room fills up with invitees. The noise level is higher, but Grant’s comment is heard by that exact snake of a boss who goes rigid at my back, knocking me forward a bit. By the increase of his smirk, Grant is more than happy his insult made it to his intended target. Does no one like the bull terrier?

“I moved to the area earlier this week from our New York branch.”

“So soon I can start directing my questions to you?” Grant looks hopeful at the prospect, but before I shoot him down on that unlikelihood, he’s tapped on the back by another guest. “Ah, Finn. Come meet Simone from Lowry, Lowry, and Fink.”

My heart skips on the name. It’s not a common one, but it surely can’t be
the
Finn. Finn as in Finnegan, the owner of Dragons Reborn. Finn, best friend to my beach fling, can it? His black suit is similar to what everyone wears tonight. I’m stunned speechless as I reach out and shake his hand. I’m not ready to meet Trey or any of his friends yet. There’s barely been time to formulate my “accidentally meet Trey in the city” plan. It can’t take place in a ballroom with three hundred other people.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. McRyan.” I finish our introduction without needing to be told his last name. Any other situation and it might have come off odd, a sign that I know more than I should, but I figure in this area and with my finance background, it’s expected to know all the up and coming billionaires. My head sweeps the area closest to us, but I don’t spot a tall handsome hottie in the room and breathe a sigh of relief Trey isn't here.

“Ah, and this is Trey.” Finn looks to the other side of me. Of course he’d sneak up behind me while my back is turned.

“Trey, come meet Simone. I’m taking her out on a date next week.” Grant flashes a smile at me and steps two spaces closer.

I’m frozen between Trey behind me and Grant with his date declarations next to me.

“I don’t think so, Moore.” Trey’s heavy voice slides over our group with determination. “Simone’s mine.”

Grant, Finn, and I all stiffen at his words, but Trey continues to move toward me as if he didn’t make a monumental declaration. My heart stops beating and my blood sloshes around in there without the beat.

“But I saw her first.” Grant looks at me with sharper appraising eyes.

“No, you didn’t.”

Almost a month has passed since the last time I laid eyes on Trey Good’s face. I refused to search him out online like some kind of stalker. Well, at least no more than what I did from our hotel. It might be the strain of the harsh fluorescent lights in the large room, but he looks different than he did under a clear blue sky. The cut of his chin or the trimmed stubble shadowing his face aren't as prominent. His dark colored eyes slant toward me, but they narrow as he notices my appraisal of him. His black hair is a smidge shorter, and he has it jelled back rather than loose like he wore it on the beach. He’s the same man, but harsher and more rigid than the one I remember.

Grant recovers first. “You know Simone?”

“We’ve met, yes. In the Bahamas,” Trey responds to Grant’s question but doesn’t remove his eyes from mine where he stopped between Grant and me.

Grant looks at me again. His eyes rake me from head to toe slowly and he smiles. “She’s the girl, then?”

“Maybe not.” Trey moves to a position closer to my arm before he discreetly grabs my elbow. “Walk with me.”

Both Finn and Grant give me a look of pity before Trey pulls me from our small group. Roger notices my missing presence and calls after me, but I’m already in Trey’s grip and don’t attempt to break free. We aren’t far from his friends before his fingers tighten around my elbow and he leads us into a hallway outside the grand ballroom.

The door closes behind us and he wheels on me until we’re face to face. “Why are you here?”

I think I’m still in shock from meeting him tonight, but I muster up words to answer with a quick rundown of my promotion and relocation.

His face loosens a small amount, but then tightens again. “So you didn’t transfer to try and get me as an account because of our connection?”

“What?”

Maybe I should have expected the question, but I flinch as if his words have physically hit me. I stand straighter and steel my back against his allegations. “No, you didn’t factor into the questions. You were pretty adamant it was a vacation thing. I deserve this promotion.”

“So you aren’t going to try and gain my account to solidify your status here?”

“Oh my God, no.” I push against his chest to try and get away, but he doesn’t budge. Honestly the fact hadn’t crossed my mind. Mr. Peterson and Jay would be so disappointed in me if they knew I met a multimillionaire on vacation and didn’t try to sign him on the dotted line.

“They don’t know you know me?” he continues questioning me in disbelief.

“No, not unless they figured it out from the way you acted. In fact, my new boss is kind of an asshole. It would work better for me if he never learned about our history.”

He steps closer. “Why? Are you dating him?”

My eyes widen at his question. How is this the same man I met on vacation? “I am not dating my new boss! I’ve been here a week. He’s a little intense, that's all.”

Trey’s head drops the inch or so to mine and he smiles, the tension leaving his body. “Small penis syndrome, you mean?”

His change in topic and attitude sets me off guard again, but I laugh despite my agitation. Wasn’t it exactly what I’ve been thinking all week?

“Probably. I haven’t seen it, nor do I plan to.” My head tilts to the side as I wait to see his reaction.

Trey sighs and his posture loosens. “I’m sorry. You caught me on a bad night and seeing you here was a shock. You should have emailed me.”

“I didn’t know you’d be here and we said—”

“Yes, I remember what we said,” he answers my comment about keeping it vacation only before I complete it. “Listen. I have to leave. I stopped in to say a quick congratulations. Give me your number.”

The harsh, demanding way he non-asks makes me want to refuse, but it’s Trey and I’m powerless to ignore a chance to talk to him again. Even if he’s a little tough and challenging on his own turf.

CHAPTER NINE

The dark brown chairs in my building’s lobby have to be real leather. They’re steps above my New York apartment. The whole building is a higher class than I've ever lived before. From the marble floor to the crown molding ceilings, I love every inch. The pay increase with my promotion allowed me to upgrade my living arrangements, and so far it’s worth every extra penny I pay to live here.

“Would you like me to call you a cab, Ms. Stevens?”

Did I mention the doorman? I swear I’ve fallen into apartment heaven. Who cares if the four-thousand-dollar rent is more than half my monthly take home pay. I have a doorman.

“No. I’m waiting for someone, but thank you.”

The greying man in his cute dark suit returns to his place by the door after a quick head nod in acknowledgment. The last time I saw Trey was the anniversary party Thursday night, but through a few quick texts, he’s invited me to hang out with him and Finn at their friend Cosmo’s place. I didn’t peg him as the early Sunday morning type, but hopefully Cosmo’s house has coffee.

A warm breeze cuts through the cooler lobby as the doorman pulls open the door from inside. I look up to watch the newcomer and am met with Trey’s stubble-covered jaw and black hair. His eyes are covered by a pair of aviator sunglasses, but I imagine they’re bright to match the smile his face carries. Dressed in jeans and a blue long-sleeve button down shirt with the collar open, he reminds me of the man I met on the beach.

He crosses the distance to me before I stand. “You’ll freeze in that.”

My happy expression shutters at his words. It’s a simple morning with friends so my jean shorts and short-sleeve t-shirt felt like the right choice at the time, but now he makes me regret the decision.

“I mean you look great in it, but mornings are cold here. Do you have a coat?”

His words take away some of the earlier sting, but not all of it. “Um, sure, upstairs. Somewhere, I haven’t unpacked it yet. It looks sunny out there. Is it that cold?” I question.

“It might look warm, but once you’re out there for a while it gets chilly even in the summer. It will warm up in the afternoon. You need a closet full of long sleeve shirts and parkas to live here. Doesn’t New York have seasons?”

I’m startled as he grabs my hand and turns toward the door. It isn’t the soft caress I enjoyed on vacation, but tighter. There’s something a little frantic about the way his hand reflexively holds on tighter when I try to pull away.

“Wait.” I stop Trey’s movement toward the door. “Let me go upstairs and get a jacket.”

He pulls me closer, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and I have a flash of the sweet Trey I remember. “Don’t worry. I have one in the trunk you can borrow, but I’m parked out front so we need to go.”

This time I allow him to pull me from the lobby. His eagerness to leave is now understood. The doorman, whose name I must learn, gives Trey a quick glance over and smiles at me before we walk out the door.

Parked, but idling in front of my building, sits a bright red Mazda Miata convertible with the top up. The scooped little two seater sits low to the ground and I duck to get in as Trey opens the passenger door for me.

I’m buckled in and ready to go before he reaches his side of the car after stopping in the small trunk. He hands me a dark blue fleece zip jacket that’s at least two sizes too big but waits for me to unbuckle and put it on before he places the car in drive. It's all a little bossy considering I didn’t catch the chill he talked about in our five-foot walk from the building to the car, but I don’t bring it up.

The ride is quiet and the silence starts to get to me before I search for any topic to talk about. “What made you pick the Miata?”

His head turns toward me with an upturned lip. “You know your cars?”