Window Shopping(15)

The vein adjacent to my assistant’s eye throbs ominously. “Don’t you ever want to tell them to just…fuck right off?”

I start to deny it, but that would be a lie. I’m a terrible liar, too. He’d see through me easier than a piece of swiss cheese. “Of course I do,” I sigh. “But they own this department store same as I do. They kept it going through some tough times and we all have jobs because of it.”

“You’re conveniently forgetting the fact that you bailed out Vivant five years ago. They conveniently forget as well. They treat you like they did you a favor, instead of the reverse.”

I gather up the necessary paperwork for the meeting. “Leland, if complaining a little makes them feel better about not being hands-on, let them. I don’t need a pat on the back.”

Ah, geez. The tip of his nose is turning red. “But you deserve one, boss.”

“Well, there. Just got one, didn’t I?” I come around the desk, grinning. “Let’s go eat some raw fish and pretend it’s a blueberry muffin.”

On the way out of my office, I can’t help but glance back at my desk. At the exact spot where Stella sat on Tuesday night after I carried her up here. It’s Thursday now and I haven’t seen her once since then. It’s been killing me to stay away, but Jesus, I have no idea what to do about her. I came dangerously close to kissing her perfect mouth right there in the elevator. Then once again in my office. And after having her thighs hug my waist for nearly five minutes, my body wanted a lot more than kissing. I haven’t been that hard in God knows how long. My cock was so stiff, I had to face the opposite direction and think about the time I walked in on Aunt Edna shaving her bikini line with a straight razor.

Yeah, this girl. She gets to me. Bad.

I don’t often act without logic, but that’s exactly what I’ve done here.

I’ve essentially hired Stella—on a trial basis—so that I could see more of her. But in turn, hiring Stella has made her off limits. Not only would kissing her be a violation of company policy and an unforgiveable abuse of power…I sense it would be a complication totally separate from our positions at Vivant.

I don’t mind complications. I’d do just about anything to get complicated with her.

I’m just not sure she’d want to get complicated with me.

She’s made it pretty clear that she thinks I’m the world’s biggest cheeseball.

My worst transgression is a parking ticket. While she was in prison, lonely and cold—I’m actually going to break out in hives just thinking about it—I was up here in this cushy office worrying about product displays and purchase orders. Easy. So easy compared to what she’s faced. And I think that’s what she was trying to tell me on Tuesday night when she confided the reason she got convicted. It was a roundabout way of saying we’re different.

Too different.

And she’s not interested.

Why else would she have run out of here like I offered her moldy toast?

On my way down the hall, I catch sight of my reflection in one of the glass partitions between desks left over from the pandemic. I’m smiling, even though I’m dreading the next couple of hours with every fiber of my being. I’m wearing a bright red bow tie and suspenders and I can already see Stella smirking over them.

Maybe I should skip the meeting and go downstairs to the window box where she’s working. Just to be positive she’d smirk. Hell, I’d take a smirk over not seeing her at all. I’ve held the girl in my arms one damn time and now all I can think about is doing it again. Sitting down with her in my lap, letting my hand roam freely up the softness of her wool tights. Watching awareness dawn on her face that I’m nothing in bed like I am in the street.

Not even close.

Christ, don’t think of that now or you’ll embarrass yourself.

We reach the entrance to the conference room and Linda, the receptionist who has been here longer than me, comes stomping out with a pinched expression holding a pitcher of water. “They don’t want it cold,” she says, somewhat hysterically. “They want it room temp. Last time they wanted it freezing.”

“Maybe we should have the water blessed by a priest and burn the demons out of them,” Leland suggests. “St. Patrick’s is only a few blocks away. I could be back in no time.”

“Forget the water, Linda. I’ll handle them.” I lean down and whisper near her ear. “There’s a bottle of bourbon in the bottom left-hand drawer of my desk. Go take a swig.”

Her shoulders drop down from around her ears. “Bless you, Aiden Cook.”

“Leave a drop for me,” I chuckle on my way into the conference room. “I’ll need it,” I murmur under my breath as I come to a stop at the head of the table, taking in my family members and their shared air of impatience.

Closest to the window overlooking midtown is my grandmother, Shirley, and her grandson—my cousin—Randall. Randall will not look up from his phone once during this entire meeting and frankly, I’m good with that. He tends to say things that make me want to pop a blood vessel, Leland-style. Across from my grandmother and cousin sits my father. Bradley Cook. He looks over at me briefly when I walk in, then goes back to studying the skyline.

“Merry Christmas, everyone,” I say, taking a seat. Leland flops down into the chair beside me like he’s about to get a tooth pulled without Novocain. “I hope you didn’t hit too much traffic coming in from Long Island.”