4. Weston
Ilean back in my chair after putting Daisy to bed, the city lights dancing far below. I can’t get that look that Miss Flowers gave me out of my head when she talked back to me. She’s feisty. I’d be lying if I said the thought of giving her a little lesson in respect didn’t turn me on.
My hand wanders down my abs, settling on my inner thigh as I close my eyes and imagine a very different outcome of that conversation today. Images of her bent over that desk as I pull her back onto my cock with her hair fill my brain.
Why the hell did I threaten her like that about her smart mouth? Should have kept that thought to myself.
“Fuck,” I groan, my cock already growing stiff remembering the way she trembled beneath my stare, her delicate throat constricting. I stroke myself through my pants, then stop suddenly, reminding myself that this isn’t some random woman that I can take home and never speak to again. Not only is she far too young for me, but I can’t get involved with someone so active in my daughter’s life. Not to mention, I’m pretty sure I’m the last man on earth she would think twice about letting into her bed.
I stand up, walking over to the wet bar to pour myself a few fingers of whiskey before walking to my bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time and retreating to my bathroom to turn on my shower.
I strip out of my clothes, another image of her popping into my head from when she ran into me in Paris. The shock on her face was priceless and I actually had to keep myself from laughing at the way she was pawing at me to try and help. I shake my head as if that will dislodge the memory from my brain. I don’t waste time with the liquor, and I down it in two mouthfuls, the burn rushing down my throat and settling into my chest.
“Get it together,” I remind myself as I walk into the large marble shower.
The last time I felt anything more than sexual desire for someone was my wife Mirabelle. She really was one of those people who lit up a room when she entered it and I’ll forever wonder what she saw in me. It wasn’t the money or the power, things she grew to resent actually. She truly loved me and I felt it every single day… until I didn’t.
Nobody had to tell me she was falling out of love with me; I watched it happen right in front of my eyes, one day at a time, and yet I did nothing to fix it. Instead, I did what pushed her away in the first place; I buried myself even further into my work. By the time she fell ill and we realized that this rare disease had completely taken over her body, it was too late. I tried everything to save her—money, the best doctors in the world, drug trials, specialists—but in the end, none of it could save her.
Daisy was barely two years old when her mother died. It pains me every day that she’ll grow up not even remembering her. I feel the usual pit forming in my stomach that comes along with taking a walk down this memory lane. I close my eyes and let the water wash over me, praying for it to take away the guilt I still feel about all of it. I try to focus my attention back on Miss Flowers, imagining what she’d look like spread bare on my bed, but it doesn’t work. The last thing I need or deserve is a young woman I can use to try and absolve myself of my past sins.
I hurry through my shower, contemplating if I can call the nanny to come stay at the house for a few hours while I reach out to Natalie, a woman I’ve known over the years. Another woman whom I’ve used to distract myself, only she’s the one who came on to me first. We both went into it fully aware of what it was, a physical means to an end after I lost my wife and she got divorced.
This is the same routine I always do, when my feelings start to feel too real, I avoid them by preoccupying myself with pussy. I’m aware it’s unhealthy but like I tell my therapist, at least I’m self-aware. I slide my phone open, typing out a quick message to see if she’s around tonight and hit send. No use reaching out to the nanny first if Natalie is busy. She responds almost instantly.
Natalie: For you? Always ;)
Something about her response instantly kills my mood and I don’t bother responding. It’s not even nine yet and I’m showered and in for the night, having no desire to try and distract myself with work. I pour myself another healthy glass of whiskey and turn on ESPN to catch up on the recent scores. Something else I never have time to enjoy anymore—sports. My phone buzzes and I look down to see another text from Natalie.
Natalie: So, what’s the plan, sexy? I’m happy to come to you.
I close the screen, tossing my phone to the side, already regretting my decision to reach out to her knowing I have to face her tomorrow. I don’t know why but somewhere along our hookups, her sickly sweet attempts to seduce me do the exact opposite. Maybe I am just a jaded asshole, no longer interested in a woman who wants me back. Fucked, I know.
I try to distract myself and focus, but no matter what I do, I cannot get the image of her out of my head.
Daphne Flowers. Even her name sounds sweet and innocent like she was predestined to be a first-grade teacher.
I like her attitude and her smart mouth even though I gave her a hard time about it. I love a woman who can stand her ground, who can give as good as she gets. That was one of the many things that drew me to Mirabelle; she had a quick wit and a sharp tongue. Although the fantasies that come to mind about correcting that smart mouth of Daphne’s weren’t the same for Mirabelle. I learned early on in our relationship that she was fragile behind all that false bravado. She wasn’t open to allowing me to explore that side of myself. I respected that and honored it, my love for her and making her feel comfortable and safe with me was more important than any proclivities I had.
I close my eyes, allowing the whiskey to do its job. My mind is still fixated on Miss Flowers and whether or not she would allow me to explore that side of myself with her.
* * *
“Mr. Vaughn,Nile Logistics is here for your meeting along with your lawyers. I’ve set them up in the conference room as discussed.”
“Thank you, Loretta. Tell them I’ll be right in.”
I finish looking over my notes, something I don’t tend to hyper-fixate on before meetings because usually I’m the one being pitched to, but this deal is different. Today I’m trying to convince Nile Logistics, one of the largest transportation companies in the world, why they should sell me their shipping company. I’ve been expanding the transportation side of my empire with my airline and now I have my sights set on shipping while Nile has been looking to turn their focus more on trucking.
But that’s not why I’m uneasy. It’s because their head of acquisitions is Natalie Penner, my on and off flavor of the month, and I stupidly texted her last night in a whiskey-laden moment of weakness that I’m now regretting. Not to mention, I never responded to her. Obviously, it would be a conflict of interest if anyone found out, one I’m sure I could navigate but I’d rather not.
“Afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” I say as I enter the conference room, avoiding eye contact with Natalie.
“Weston,” Greg Tufft, their CEO, stands, then walks over to shake my hand with his signature elbow grab, something I’m sure he believes is a “power move.” “I can’t tell you how excited we are to finally have this meeting on the books; I know it’s been a long time in the works. Let me introduce you to everyone.” He goes around the table, introducing me to the local team as well as a few folks from New York, London, and Tokyo.
“Weston.” Natalie smiles as she approaches me with open arms, her tight shirt way too low for a work setting, but I jut my hand out instead. She glances down at my hand, her arms slowly dropping. “Of course.” She gives me a playful wink. “Always a pleasure to see you. I’m so excited to talk business.”
I nod and take a seat at the head of the table, making a mental note to remind her later that things between us are over—indefinitely. I’m not about to jeopardize this deal over a quick fuck. Not to mention, with our past and how we met, it’s even more messed up and something I’ve grown to regret and resent.
The meeting goes great, beyond great actually, and runs long. I glance at my watch, realizing that I’m going to be late getting home which means the nanny will be pissed I made her stay late… again. Maybe Miss Flowers was right about me; I need to learn a lesson in time management.
“Weston, I’m going to be honest with you. You are the man we want to do business with. Now, I’m not saying it’s a done deal; we are being courted pretty seriously by one other company we are considering. I know we’ve taken this meeting over, but I’d appreciate if you could join us for dinner and drinks at Mastro’s tonight.”
Fuck. The nanny won’t stay any later; I can guarantee it and tonight is my mother’s weekly charity something or other.
“Of course, I’m excited to continue the conversation.” I smile as we agree to meet at seven p.m.
I grab my jacket and phone, heading to the elevator. Loretta is already gone for the day, as is pretty much everyone else.
“Weston,” I hear Natalie’s raspy voice call after me as I walk briskly through the building lobby toward my waiting car, but I don’t stop. In fact, I pick up the pace and duck into the car quickly.
“Evening, Mr. Vaughn.”
“Evening, Nick. In a hurry tonight,” I say to my driver as he closes the door behind me.
“Long day?”
“Very,” I reply as I stare out the window, not focusing my attention on anything in particular. Sometimes I feel like my life has lost all meaning, and then I look into Daisy’s eyes and realize she’s my reason for living, my reason for everything.
“How’s the little one?” Nick has been my driver for a decade. He was the one to rush us to the hospital when Mirabelle went into labor with Daisy. Sometimes it feels like he’s more family than my own.
“Great. Loves school and her new teacher.” I think back on how many times a day I hear Daisy reference Miss Flowers. “How’s your new grandson?”
“Oh, he’s great. Already has the Mrs. and me wrapped around his tiny finger.”
We make small talk on the way back to my building. I try to remain engaged but I’m too focused on how badly I’m struggling trying to balance being a father and run my company. I rub my forehead, remembering Mirabelle saying something similar to me just after Daisy was born.
“It’s bad enough you’re not around like you should be for your wife, Weston, but you can’t do this with a child. We need you here.”
The second the car slows and Nick pulls up in front of my building, I’m running out of the door and inside. The elevator barely opens an inch before the nanny is standing in the foyer, arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face.
“Mr. Vaughn,” she starts and I hold up my hands.
“I know, Roxy, I know. I’m sorry, truly I am. A meeting ran long and now it’s turned into an unexpected dinner.” I look at her hopefully but the V in her forehead only deepens.
“Not a chance,” she says, reaching for her bag. “My girlfriend and I are celebrating our one-year anniversary tonight and I’m already late for dinner so thanks for that.” She pats me on the arm and climbs into the elevator to leave. “And by the way, I’m moving in two weeks. Have a good night!”
“Fuck!” I shout as the doors close.
“Daddy, bad word,” Daisy says, coming around the corner.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. You’re right.” I crouch down and push her hair out of her eyes. “Did you get into the chocolate again?” I reach my thumb out and wipe away a smudge from the corner of her mouth.
“I dunno.” She shrugs, a coy little grin on her face.
“Oh yeah?” I grab her, tickling her as she squeals and crumples into my chest in a fit of giggles and squirms. “Did you have a good day at school?”
“Yeah, but I kind of didn’t want to leave.”
“What do you mean?”
“I like Miss Flowers more than Roxy. She’s nice to me. Can Miss Flowers be my nanny?”
“I don’t think she can, Daisy. She teaches other kids so she can’t just spend the whole day with you. Did Roxy do something wrong?” I ask, a little concerned.
“No.” She shrugs, reaching for my tie. “I just like Miss Flowers more. She’s so nice and she talks to me a lot.”
“I know you do, honey. Listen, I know that you’re going to be upset but unfortunately daddy has to go to a meeting tonight so is it okay if Grandma watches you?” I haven’t called my mother yet but I’m sure with enough groveling she can make it work tonight.
“Daddyyyyy,” she pouts and it breaks my heart.
“I know. Let me call grandma really quick. Maybe she can bring over her puppy Marshmallow.” That makes Daisy’s eyes light up.
I dial my mother who answers instantly.
“Hello, darling. Make it quick, please. I’m about to leave the house.”
“Shit, okay, well, I was hoping you would be able to watch Daisy for a little bit tonight. I have a di?—”
“Weston, you know that I have my bimonthly board meeting tonight for the women’s league. I simply can’t.”
“There’s no chance she can go with you?”
“Heavens no, that would be absolutely torturous for her. What about the nanny?”
I drag my hand over my face, squeezing my temples. I can feel a tension headache building rapidly.
“I’ll figure it out, Mom. Enjoy your night.”
I hang up the phone and let out an exasperated sigh.
“Can Miss Flowers come over?”
I turn around and look at Daisy, ready to tell her no when suddenly I realize that it’s not a bad idea. Well, it is a bad idea because I barely know the woman and she’s made it clear she can’t stand me. Also, it seems a touch inappropriate to just text your child’s teacher and ask her to babysit. I think about it for another second, realizing in my desperation I really don’t have any other options.
“Would you like that—if she watched you?” She nods her head with a big grin. “I’m sure she’ll be pissy about it,” I half mutter. “Okay, let me see what I can do. Why don’t you go get ready for a quick bath.”
I head to my office and pull out the paper with Daphne’s cell phone. After a simple search of her phone number, I find her address, recognizing the building instantly.
“What are the odds?” I mutter as I program her number into my phone.
I run upstairs, filling up the tub with bubbles, toys, and warm water. I give her a quick bath, pack her some snacks and a change of clothes just in case, and type out a message to Miss Flowers.
Me: Are you home?