2. Bram
2
brAM
I’m really sorry about last night.
It’s fine.
It’s not. I ruined your date. Seriously, Bram, I’m so embarrased.
We don’t have to mention it again.
Are you okay?
Working on it.
I ’ve read through that text exchange at least two dozen times since it occurred Saturday morning.
This isn’t ordinary behavior for an adult man speaking to the close friend of his daughter, a woman who is also his employee and half his age. Nor is it typical for me to stay up half the night, sick with regret over hurting a woman who has just as little business wanting me as I do wanting her.
If I had any doubts about that—her wanting me—before Friday night, they’re gone now.
The date seemed like a good idea. After all, why wouldn’t I spend the evening with a single, attractive, age-appropriate forensic accountant from Ohio? I’ve been single for over a year, a period that I firmly believed had absolutely nothing to do with the year Sophie Nelson has worked at my firm.
Life gets busy, dry spells happen, and she’s a young, beautiful woman whom I spend eight hours a day in the company of, and who happens to share a great number of my interests. I’m only human. Therefore, it seemed like a reasonable assumption that any inappropriate attraction I’ve experienced toward her could be put down to lack of other options.
Incorrect.
Woefully incorrect.
Now… Now, all I can think about is the look on Sophie’s face when she saw me with Rebecca. Never have I so quickly gone from certain I was doing the right thing, to wracked with guilt and regret. The vomit on my shoes was almost welcome, as it meant I could end the night before it really began.
Rebecca makes sense. Sophie doesn’t. And yet, only one of these women has me counting down the hours until staff arrives at the office Monday morning.
I need to see her.
I need to make sure she’s okay and… That’s it. Ensuring her general well-being is as much as my role in Sophie’s life will allow. She’s been Honor’s best friend since their Freshman year of college. I met her when she was a bright-eyed eighteen-year-old, nervously awaiting her new roommate in the tiny, white-walled dorm room. That was a long time ag o. She’s a woman now, but that doesn’t make it right for me to want her.
Lying to myself was so much easier. Better to believe I was a horny, desperate old man, and she had no interest. That’s what I’ve done for over a year, but Friday night destroyed that luxury.
Now, it’s impossible to escape the newfound certainty that it wasn’t all in my head. That the times I’ve caught her looking at me, or heard the hitch in her breath on the rare occasions we touched, weren’t a figment of my imagination. Sophie wants me too, and now that I’m sure of it—damn it. Damn it, I have no idea how I’ll keep myself off her.
Getting hard whenever she walks into my office is depraved enough, but for me to have feelings for her? Jesus, my kids would lose their minds, and God only knows how it would affect my business. There’s a very good chance HR would try to find some cause to fire her, if only to insulate the firm from a sexual harassment lawsuit.
It’s a disaster, and yet, none of that is enough to stop my pulse from racing as I head into the office a full hour early on Monday morning.
Christmas is on Thursday, which means the staff will only be in the office for two days, then off for an entire two weeks. It’s a tradition, something we’ve always done for our employees, and the time away from the office never fails to boost morale.
Ordinarily, I’m so burned out that I need it just as much as they do.
This year, I resent it.
The irrational, overwhelming urge to keep Sophie Nelson in my immediate line of vision at all times isn’t compatible with giving her two weeks off. Unfortunately, rationality isn’t something I’m able to employ where she’s concerned. So, with over an hour to go until I would normally leave for work, I find myself parking in the garage across the street from the office.
Ellinger and Vogel, or E&V as it’s more often called, is housed in a massive old bank, complete with vault standing open behind the reception desk, an original brass chandelier, and gleaming marble floors. The place fell into disrepair after the Northeast National Trust Company closed and sat vacant for years until my partner and I purchased it to showcase our adaptability. Now, after renovations, the structure is a testament to respecting tradition while moving forward into the twenty-first century.
Clients are blown away by the place, and our offices have become our greatest sales tool. Frankly, I haven’t met anyone who wouldn’t want to work in a building like this, and in New England, most of our work comes from the refurbishment of existing structures.
“Good morning, Bram,” calls Natalie, the lone receptionist here this early, as I walk through the door. A flurry of snowflakes follows me inside, and I wince as I narrowly avoid slipping halfway across the lobby.
“Can you lay the mats out?” I ask her, proceeding with more caution to the elegant marble staircase, which rises along either side of the lobby.
Almost no one is here yet, but soon there will be dozens of architects, engineers, and support staff crossing the room, and there will be blood if we aren’t careful. Upstairs, the lights are still off in most of the offices, and my footsteps echo down the silent hall toward my team’s half of the building. I can’t explain why I’m here, even to myself, but sitting alone in my house for one more minute was unbearable.
When I emerge in the open workspace, which houses most of my team, my eyes are drawn automatically to the corner where Sophie’s desk is, and my heart vaults into my throat .
She’s there.
I didn’t expect her to be, had anticipated more time to get my head on straight before I’d see her face, and the shock has my mental faculties coming to a screeching halt. She’s sitting cross-legged in her rolling chair, blue-light glasses resting on the bridge of her nose, and caramel-colored hair pulled up in a messy bun with a few loose strands framing her face. Her computer screen is lit, casting a bluish glow over her delicate features, but she isn’t looking at it. Instead, her attention is on the familiar figure leaning back against the edge of her desk, his lips curved into a lazy smirk.
She’s looking at him. She’s smiling at him. Sophie—my Sophie—has her attention on another man, and out of nowhere, there’s an inferno burning in my gut. A vicious, furious jealousy more powerful than any I’ve experienced before. My muscles are tense, my body on alert, instinct demanding I drive my fist into the nose of one of my oldest friends for speaking to her.
Before I can stop myself, or reign in the dark, primal impulses that have risen inside me so unexpectedly, I open my mouth. “Holden!” I bark, attracting the attention of both my business partner and the woman I’m obsessed with. It seems to happen in slow motion. Both turn to face me, and as Holden’s smirk deepens, Sophie’s smile falls.
Shit.
“Morning, Bram. You’re in early.” Holden looks back to Sophie, disregarding my presence completely. “When we’re back from the holiday break, I’ll take you to lunch. We can discuss more. It’s a great idea, though.”
My fists curl in the pockets of my wool coat, pulse racing. “What’s a great idea?”
God, I sound like a lunatic. I must look like one too, because Holden lifts an eyebrow as he turns his gaze, with obvious reluctance, back to me. At his side, Sophie studies her keyboard.
“You’ve got a great team member here. I might have to poach her.” He stands, eyes glinting.
It doesn’t escape me that he’s sidestepped my question. Is it because he’d rather I didn’t try to tag along to their “discussion” lunch? The one that will absolutely, under no circumstances be happening because I would rather reserve every table in the city than let Sophie go anywhere alone with Holden Ellinger?
Or, perhaps the fist-into-nose impulse is worth revisiting.
Not daring to attempt speech again, I nod toward my office and wait until I’m confident my partner is following before turning on my heel and striding into the glass-framed room.
“Goddamn.” Holden laughs the moment the door closes behind him, casting an appreciative look toward Sophie, who is now absorbed in her computer. “I don’t know how you get anything done with her around. Not kidding about poaching her by the way, she’d be great for the Nichols project. Not to mention the aesthetic benefits. I’ll give you Vincent in exchange. Not as pretty to look at, but he is competent. On occasion.”
“Enough,” I snap, not bothering to disguise my impatience.
Getting angry at Holden for being attracted to her is beyond hypocritical. After all, attraction is mild when compared to the obsession I’ve suffered for a year and a half. The things I’ve imagined doing to her are filthy, even by my standards, but that’s not all I want from her.
I know exactly how incredible she is and am painfully aware of how her ass looks in a pencil skirt and the way she presses the end of her pen to her fat bottom lip when she’s thinking. I’m also familiar with Holden’s predilection toward unattached, kinky sex with beautiful young women. Hell, once upon a time, I indulged right alongside him.
Those encounters all but evaporated into thin air when my daughter called in a favor, asking to arrange an interview for her best friend. Needless to say, she got the job, and the rest is written in sexually frustrated history.
Now, I’m hooked, and just the thought of her falling for the well-practiced Holden Ellinger charm is enough to make me want to stake my—purely theoretical—claim, by any means necessary.
“You’re not poaching her,” I continue, glowering at my bemused partner. “And you’re not taking her to lunch, either. If you want a meeting with her, you’ll do it here in the office.”
Holden tilts his head, fixing me with a knowing, amused expression. “I see we’re awfully possessive of a junior-level employee. Anything you want to share with the class, Vogel?”
“Get fucked.”
He laughs, glancing again at Sophie, who is absorbed in her work and thankfully unaware that two men old enough to be her father are panting after her like old dogs. “I’m trying to be supportive! Good for you, man. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
I’m going to crack a tooth if I don’t stop gnashing my molars this hard. With difficulty, I pry my jaw apart and grit out, “She’s friends with Honor. Nothing has happened, and nothing is going to happen.”
Holden—who seems to view this unexpected turn of events as Christmas come early—beams. “So, me taking her to lunch won’t be a problem, then?”
I might actually punch him before this conversation is over. This isn’t like me. I’m ordinarily the balanced half of our partnership. When Holden makes decisions based on emotion, I’m the one who puts on the brakes. Now, my jealousy is a runaway train, threatening to derail and destroy everything in sight.
“She’s your employee,” I snarl, thankful there’s a desk between us.
Outside the office, overhead lights flicker on, and I see a few of my other team members filtering in, their mouths moving in muffled conversation as they unwind scarves and pull off mittens.
“Not technically. She’s on your team. HR won’t give a damn, as long as we sign something.” He pretends to consider this for half a second. “You know, why wait until after the holidays? I can push my lunch meeting. Why don’t I?—”
“Holden,” I snap, heat prickling at the back of my neck. “Enough. You’ve made your point.”
“Have I?”
Knowing I’m backed into a corner, I blow out a heavy lungful of air and shake my head. “I’m asking you, as a friend, not to go there. Is that good enough for you?”
Holden chuckles, already moving backward toward the door. “We could always share. Like old times.”
Over my dead body.
“Leave,” I grit out without moving my jaw. There’s a marble paperweight sitting at the corner of my desk, and for a moment, I allow myself the fantasy of hurling it directly into his smug face.
Considering I can’t remember the last time I had an unhinged, violent impulse, having two in the space of ten minutes is disconcerting.
Holden performs an elaborate, fake bow with much hand twirling and over-the-top foot tapping. “A pleasure, as always, partner. I’ll see you in the all-hands meeting tomorrow. Should I tell Sophie you’d like to see her privately?”
“Out, Holden. And don’t fucking touch her.”
He pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll consider your request carefully. No promises, though. Maybe you should give her a reason to say no, if I do end up asking her to that lunch.”
I open my mouth, preparing to unload a fresh wave of fury onto the man responsible for the piercing pain now radiating from my temples and into my skull. Before I can, though, he’s opening the door, grinning peevishly over his shoulder at me.
A few members of my team pass, talking loudly about the upcoming holiday, and before I can think of a way to call him a fucking asshole in such a way it wouldn’t spark office-wide gossip, he’s gone.
Bracing my hands on my desk, I bow my head, forcing myself to breathe through my nose.
A quiet knock on the doorframe has my head lifting again, and my heart follows when I see who it is. Sophie has paused in the doorway, gazing at me through wide, brilliant green eyes. “Hey,” she says, hovering half out of the room. “Um. There are some inconsistencies in the blueprints for the Kerring project. I was planning to get started on the prints for that today, but I wanted to verify with you first.”
My throat is thick as I straighten up. “I’ll take a look.”
Neither of us speaks as I follow her back to her workstation. Sophie isn’t an architect, but she’s integral to the team. While she has other responsibilities with the engineering team, her main job is to use 3D printers to create architectural models for clients or pitches. Considering my team alone has eight major projects underway right now, and twelve more in the pipeline, she’s busier than most of her colleagues.
Her computer monitors, which are stationed outside a glass window overlooking the printing room, have a set of blueprints pulled up. Sophie plops into her seat immediately, all business. “It’s here.” She points out the problematic numbers and I lean forward obligingly, struggling to think straight with the scent of her shampoo clouding my senses.
“Yes. I see it.” I reach past her to take the mouse and switch to another part of the prints, verifying the issue hasn’t carried on throughout the design. Then, because I feel like I’ll burst if I don’t say anything, I ask quietly, “Are you feeling better?”
Sophie sighs. “I thought we weren’t going to mention it.”
“I’m sorry.”
A hook low in my abdomen tugs when her elbow brushes mine. “It’s fine. I probably ruined your shoes, so that does give you a certain amount of leverage.”
“A worthy sacrifice, then.”
“I know, right? All for the low, low price of whatever men’s shoes cost. I’m guessing… forty dollars?”
I chuckle and move the print to check another measurement unnecessarily so I can stay close to her a little while longer. The awkward, lingering discomfort that was present between us a few moments ago is fading away, and I can’t bear to leave her side. “Closer to three hundred.”
With a gasp, Sophie leans to the side to stare at me with wide, indignant eyes. I feel myself grinning. “Three hundred dollars? For shoes, Bram? What makes the three-hundred-dollar shoes any better than the, say, forty-dollar shoes?”
“Well, aside from overall higher quality?—”
“Can’t have been too much higher if they couldn’t withstand an everyday, run-of-the-mill vomit.”
“Then there’s the question of comfort, and arch support...”
Sophie waves me off, rolling her eyes. “My arches can go to hell if they need three-hundred-dollar shoes to do their job.”
Unable to find any more pretense to remain close, I straighten up. Sophie is smiling, but there’s something in her eyes that makes the deep fissure of regret in my chest widen a little further.
My transition from her best friend’s father, to her boss, to her friend, was effortless. Talking with her, making her laugh, has become the best part of my day. Now, there’s no question about it. Something has broken between us.
It’s not until I’m sitting back at my desk that I realize she never answered my question.