The Sunday Arrangement (4 page)

Despite
my attraction to men, Kat would always have that special spot for being my “level
three” girl. Kat came up with the levels in college. Levels for girl crushes,
very similar to a man crush for guys. Level one was a girl that another girl wanted
to be friends with. Level two meant you wanted to be that girl or have specific
aspects of a girl, like perky breasts or straight hair. Level three was the woman
another girl would have sex with if the opportunity ever presented itself. For
most girls, level three was reserved for celebrities. Not me. For me, it was Kat.

“Well,
it doesn’t matter anyway,” I said, once I wiped the beer off my face. “The man
is a stud, but he’s as arrogant as you are gay. I was with him five minutes,
and already I can’t stand the kid. The next few months in Vegas are going to be
hellish.”

“Well,
there’s always gambling or strip clubs. Wash your blues away on the Strip by watching
gals strip. That’s my motto.”

I
cocked my head to the side. “That seems like something that’s more up your
alley, Kat.” I sighed. “I wish I could at least work on my other projects in my
free time. Dad’s making me give up all my other work, even the big one I’ve
been tweaking. He told me it’s time I do some ‘real work.’”

“Real
work? What does he think you’ve been doing all this time, cooped up in that
giant office of yours? I would’ve slapped him.”

My
eyes strayed to an old family portrait hanging on the wall by the front door.
It was the last one where we all looked happy, years and years ago. “I’m going
to have Monica continue to work on them while I’m away. She has her dog to look
after, and she doesn’t want to leave with me to go to whatever spot in Vegas
Maverick wants to build this damn casino.”

“I
can’t believe you’re just going to sit there and let your father pull the
strings like that.” She quickly stood up from the couch. “Stand up for yourself,
Lo.”

I
pulled her back down to the couch before she had a chance to storm off in her
normal fashion. “I want to become CEO of the company before I’m thirty, and if
this casino deal goes well, it could be a good stepping stone for that.
Besides, if we happen to build the casino in Vegas, which I’m sure we will,
I’ll fly you out a few times to have fun with me. I know I’ll need you if I
have to be around
him
all day.”

She shook
her head at me and smiled. “You don’t have to pretend to be so fed up with him
around me, friend. I can tell you don’t completely hate the idea of being
cooped up in the neon city with Mr. Please Fuck Me Anytime You Please.”

I
grimaced. “I doubt I’d go that far. . . .”

Kat
fiddled with her white-blonde hair. She swooped the short strands over to the
side, giving her pixie cut a small adjustment. “Fine, but I still say you need
to start your own company. You don’t need your father’s business anymore. Just
look at your brother. He’s doing just fine without good ol’ Hart Corp. Go out
and build something friendly for women, Lo. The world is your pearl!”

“I
thought it was ‘The world is your oyster,’” I said with a laugh.

“Sick,
who wants those slimy things?” she asked.

I took
another drink from my beer. “Anyway . . . I can’t build my own company because
it would destroy my father. Ever since Toby left the company, Dad’s been more
cantankerous than ever. He still brings it up every time we’re all together.
It’s really tiring to hear the same speech at every meal.”

“You
care too much for him. He was never there for you, and he’s using you now.” She
sighed heavily and rubbed her brow with her hand.

“Maybe,
but it’s still my job—Daddy problems or not. Besides, I’m good at it.”

Kat
reluctantly agreed. “Kicking ass in the office is kind of your thing,” she
said. She set her empty Dos Equis bottle on the small chest in front of the
sofa. “Enough business talk for the day. I came over to see if you wanted to go
clubbing. . . . Let me rephrase that. . . . I came over to see if I could
persuade you to come clubbing with me.”

“You
know I look like an awkward chicken on the dance floor. Besides, I’d rather not
have women who don’t know I’m straight trying to hit on me all night. I feel
bad when I have to turn them away.”

“You
can always tell them you’re with me. That’ll keep them from trying to get in
your knickers.”

I
laughed. “Panties, Kat, say it with me. Pant-teees.”

She
shuddered. “Even the word sounds gross . . . pan . . . I can’t do it.”

“I
think you’re the only lesbian in the world who hates that word.”

She
shrugged her shoulders. “Can’t help it. . . . Knickers, now that’s a fun word to
say. Knickers, knickers, knickers!”

I
just shook my head. “Really though, I’m pretty beat from the day anyway. I was
in the office before sunrise again. I think I’m just gonna crash.”

Her
grin quickly faded. “How are you feeling? Are you still getting those
headaches?”   

“You
mean my work-induced migraines? Sometimes, but not recently. Maybe that’s a bad
sign?” I laughed. “Clearly my brain has just submitted to the hours and hours
of work I put in every day.”

“You
are your father’s child,” Kat said. Silence enveloped the room like a cloud. Abruptly
Kat stood up from the sofa. “I should go. Imagine what those gossip rags will
say about our lesbian affair if I spend the night?”

I
laughed to try and lighten the tension. “Because you’re leaving so early, they’ll
say I broke up with you over that blonde ho you were with last month.”

“That
blond ho sure did know how to kiss . . . too bad she was jealous of you.”

I
arched an eyebrow. “Me? She was a total ten bombshell, no doubt about it. She
was jealous of me?”

Kat
shrugged her shoulders. “You’ll always be first in my heart, love. I don’t
think she was ever going to be okay with that.”

I
stood up from the sofa and walked her to the front door. She hugged me tightly.

“Thanks
for rescuing me today.”

“No
problem. You know I’m a sucker for the whole damsel-in-distress bit.”

I
smirked. “Have fun clubbing. And tell those photographers that I shagged you
silly and then broke up with you because you forgot to buy me flowers.”

She
smiled and gave me a wink. “Oh, I think that story is being written as we
speak. Later, love. I’ll text you.”

She
left, and I watched her trudge to her car from the window, hoping the paparazzi
would be civil to her since I wasn’t on her arm. I knew she was right. They
were probably having a field day with my lesbian friend rescuing me from the
limo. God only knew what the papers would say tomorrow. My father stopped
trying to quell the rumors that I was a closet lesbian years ago when he decided
to have the company adopt an “open-minded policy.” I wasn’t complaining. Kat’s
presence wasn’t exactly negotiable, and as long as we were hanging out, the
papers would make whatever they wanted out of the millionaire’s daughter. Only
in the trashiest gossip rags did I ever get any action. Too bad my life wasn’t
nearly as exciting as so many people believed.

I
locked the door and headed up the stairs, ready for yet another night alone.

I stood
at the window of my office waiting for Pierce to show himself. Dark, ominous
clouds loomed over the bustling city. Downpour was imminent. “This can’t be a
good omen,” I muttered to myself as I crossed my arms. I wondered whether
Pierce would even bother showing up this morning. I hadn’t exactly started our
business relationship off on the right foot since I refused to meet him where
he’d specifically requested. I didn’t care. My message this morning needed to
be clear: I did not work for him. If anything, this little prick worked for me.
After all, I was the one with all of the experience. I was the one who had
clocked an ungodly number of hours at the office. And I was the one who would
carry us through the tedious details of creating this new casino. That was, if
I could force myself to focus while he was in the room.

I
glanced down at my outfit, a black pencil skirt with a sleeveless, pink ruffled
top. It was a little frillier and brighter than I was used to wearing around
the office—heather gray slacks and black, long-sleeved tops were more my
staple. As I was leaving my house that morning, I tried to convince myself that
my appointment with the handsome Pierce hadn’t persuaded me to choose the overtly
feminine outfit. In my heart, I knew better.

Glancing
at the clock on the wall, I secretly hoped he would be late. Better still, that
he wouldn’t bother coming. Whether he showed up or not would tell me how much
his heart was in this project that our fathers had entrusted to our care. The
very idea of working with the Mavericks still baffled me. I grew up hearing my
father’s endless tirades about how Peter had managed to steal another one of
his ideas, or how excited he was to best him in something. Now to be working alongside
Peter and his son seemed inherently wrong, like I was going against a cardinal
rule.

I
sighed and shook my head before turning to go back to my desk. I had been there
early to review what little documentation there was on the upcoming project. I
could feel one of my headaches coming on, and dealing with an arrogant man with
something to prove was the last thing I needed right now. As I sat down in my
checkered wingback chair, I heard my office door open. I didn’t bother turning
around.

“Monica,
call Mr. Maverick and tell him that if he isn’t here in five minutes —”

“Please,
call me Pierce.” He walked over to one of the leather chairs in front of me and
sat down. He crossed one long elegant leg over the other and pretended to pick
an invisible piece of lint from his pinstriped suit. He then looked at me with
an insufferably devilish smirk.

“Why
are you late?” I asked.

“Since
when is two minutes past considered late?”

“Any
minutes after an agreed-upon time are tardy in my book.”

He
shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “I came in as soon as your assistant
permitted. Why did you refuse to meet me at the park this morning?”

“I
had other things to attend to.” I folded my hands on my desk and stared into
his almond-shaped eyes.
Why am I nervous?
“And I typically do not
respond to my business partners with snail mail since I’m not exactly in junior
high anymore.”

He
chucked softly. “Well, I don’t really believe in e-mails or texting. I suppose
I could have called you.”

Who
doesn’t believe in e-mail? How the hell are we going to get any work done?
“It’s
e-mail. It’s not the Easter bunny.” I grabbed a notepad from the end of my desk
and pushed my nerves aside. “You’re here now. Let’s get started.”

“There
was a reason I wanted to meet you there,” he pressed.

“And
what was this reason?”

He
smirked again. There was a taunting glint in his eye. “Doesn’t matter now. But I
want to build the casino in Las Vegas, of course.”

 “Cliché.”

“I
prefer to think of it as effective.”

“Anywhere
specific in mind?”

He
licked his thin lips and slowly nodded his head.

“Well,
we’ll have to go out there and see if we can find a lot big enough . . .” I let
the rest of my sentence fade as I imagined something else that might be large
enough.

“And
if we can’t?” he prompted, after a moment of silence.

I
pretended to fumble through my notepad, looking for a specific page. “In that
case . . . then we would try to find a building we could buy out and tear down.
My brother is overseeing the architecture, and he’s absolutely excellent at
what he does.”

“I’m
sure all of the Harts are,” Pierce said softly.

I
ignored him. “Once we have a design in mind, we can start pitching the plan to
the investors.”

He
nodded his head in agreement. “Excellent.”

“I
have a few questions, if you don’t mind,” I said, trying to steady my voice and
hone my concentration. “Dad didn’t exactly brief me on the entirety of this
project, so I feel a little out of the loop. I tried reviewing some of the
paperwork we have, rough sketches and outlines of Hart Corp’s goals and
projections. There’s not much there, though I guess I didn’t expect there to be
in the project’s infancy.”

Pierce
gestured with his large hand for me to continue.

I
cleared my throat, forcing myself to stare at the papers in my hand.
Concentrate,
damn it! You’re the professional here.
“What’s our projected launch date
for construction? I know this is a long way off, but I’ve found that if we have
a target date in mind, we can at least have something to shoot for.”

“I think
we can be up and running in a month’s time, give or take a couple of days.”

I
forced myself not to roll my eyes. His ignorance was blaring louder than the
fireworks at the fourth of July.
Like hell, we will. It’ll be at least two
months if not three
. “That soon?” I questioned, proud that I was able to
keep my response professional.