6. Vaughn
SIX
VAUGHN
There was a note when I got back to the office. Scrawled under mine, she’d written:
The tray was the least you could do. And I feel the need to remind you that the paper debris was not left on the floor by me.
I huffed a laugh. She had me there.
A few hours later, when I went out for lunch, a tingle of pleasure zipped through me at the sight of golden hair wrapped in a high bun. I unbuttoned my jacket and nodded to the hostess, who brought me to my favorite server’s section.
When Alba saw me sitting at her table, she stopped dead. “Again?” she snapped. “Don’t you have somewhere better to be?”
“Nice to see you too, princess,” I replied.
The hostess’s eyes bounced between the two of us, and then she slowly backed away.
My waitress cocked her hip and leaned her tray against it. “Let me guess. Chicken again? We all know how adventurous you are.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I might want one of the specials.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re unbearable?”
“Not recently, why?”
She rolled her eyes, and I watched the way the light played on her cheekbones, her clavicle, her hair. Some of the tightness between my shoulder blades eased, and I leaned back in my chair.
I knew, in some corner of my mind, that I was acting like an ass. I knew she probably just wanted to do her job, and I was antagonizing her. But everyone else in my life—other than my five-year-old daughter—tiptoed around me like they were afraid of me.
I liked Alba’s sharp words and unimpressed looks. It brought me back down to earth. Reminded me of where I’d come from. It wasn’t the oozing, slimy smile that men like Roger gave me. It wasn’t the odd deference my employees seemed to adopt around me.
Her attitude was real and raw, and it made me feel like I was just a one-van contractor scraping by in the city again. I was nothing special, and neither was she, and that was just fine.
With a sharp smile, she rattled off the specials. Then she added, “No creepy bigwig to impress today?”
My own smile matched hers. “Just me.”
“What happened? He decided you weren’t worth the trouble and now you’re sad that he hasn’t opened the purse strings for you?” When my smile slipped, hers widened. “Oh, I’m right, aren’t I? Ha!”
“I think I’ll have the chicken,” I said.
“Mm-hmm,” she replied, grabbing the wine glasses I wouldn’t use from the place setting in front of me.
I watched her move through the restaurant, gliding between tables and effortlessly charming the other patrons. She caught me watching a few times and scowled at me.
When she stopped at my table with my food, I couldn’t help asking, “How did you guess?”
She blinked at me. “You’ve ordered the chicken every time, big guy. It wasn’t rocket science.”
“Not about the chicken. About the investor I was meeting with last time.”
“Oh,” she said breezily and waved a hand. “You didn’t stand a chance. Enjoy your lunch!”
“Wait—” I said, but she was already gone.
I chewed and swallowed, but my mind wasn’t on the food. When she stopped by a few minutes later with a saccharine sweet “How’s everything tasting today?” I couldn’t help setting my fork down and leaning forward. “What do you mean, I didn’t stand a chance?”
“Oh, did I huwt your feewings?” She pouted, blinking big blue eyes at me.
Insolent woman. I wanted to put her over my knee.
My cock throbbed, and I realized it wasn’t just the pressure release valve of sparring with her that brought me back here, day after day.
It was the fact that she made my blood thrum in a way nothing else had in a long, long time.
I was no better than Roger, was I? “I want to know what you noticed,” I insisted.
And I did. I had to have a gaping blind spot to have failed to snag an investor after all this time. I needed to know what it was. I needed to fix it, so I could shape the business—and my life—exactly how I planned.
Alba knew something I didn’t. That was unacceptable.
She dropped the mock-sympathy act and shrugged.
“He probably saw that polyester suit and four-in-hand tie knot and dismissed you before you even sat down. You look like a little boy playing dress-up. Then you declined to share that bottle of wine he ordered, and he decided to milk you for a free lunch.”
I won’t lie; I was offended. I leaned back in my chair and scowled at her. “What’s wrong with my suit?”
The waitress looked me up and down, arched a brow, and shook her head. “If you have to ask, I’m not sure I can even help you.”
And she walked away.
My suit? The wine? What the hell was she talking about?
I watched her disappear into the kitchen and looked down at the tag sewn into the side seam of my suit jacket. I pulled it across and squinted.
100% polyester. Well, damn.
Frowning, I picked up my knife and fork again to finish my lunch. When she came back with the bill, I met her gaze.
“Yes?” she asked, brow arched.
“Why was it a mistake not to order wine? I don’t drink when I have to go back to work in the afternoon.”
“That’s very responsible of you, but it sent the message that you don’t want to be part of his little club.”
“‘His little club?’”
“You know, the boys’ club. You told him loud and clear that you won’t play by his rules.”
“I just don’t like drinking during the day.
” Not when I had to work—and not since I’d become a father.
I didn’t like drinking in front of my daughter, and I’d vowed a long time ago that she’d never see me drunk.
I’d watched my father buy bottles for men he tried to impress, watched him drink himself into a stupor whenever his latest business venture failed.
I’d found it pathetic then, and I found it pathetic now.
I wouldn’t become him. “I don’t see how that would have made him decide not to invest when he had the potential to make bags of money off me. ”
“Men like that don’t only care about the money,” she replied, and I knew it was true.
After all, I didn’t only care about the money.
She went on: “They want to feel superior. It’s why he hit on me.
It’s why his suit was probably bespoke, and his watch was worth forty thousand dollars.
Everything he did was designed to make you and me feel inferior.
Mostly you. I was just a bonus.” She said it casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Then she grabbed the billfold and peeked inside.
She obviously saw the tip I’d left her, and for some reason she looked annoyed.
“Were you expecting something else?” I asked, nodding to the leather folder.
“I don’t need your pity,” she shot back.
“Of all the things I feel about you, pity isn’t one of them.”
She scoffed. “Oh yeah? What do you feel about me?”
“Annoyance, mostly.” Sort of. Among other things.
“And yet you keep coming back.”
“It’s more fun than a punch in the face.”
“High praise.” She rolled her eyes.
I laughed. “I can take that back if you prefer,” I said, nodding to the tip I’d left her.
She snapped the billfold closed. “No. You keep coming here every day just to piss me off.” She lifted the leather folder. “This is the least you could do.”
The words echoed through me, and I frowned. The cleaner had said the same thing in her note. Before I could answer, Alba had walked away.
I gathered my things and headed back to work. I’d only walked through my office door when Jim knocked on the jamb. “Can you talk?”
I gestured to one of the chairs in my office and took a seat behind my desk.
Jim, a tall, lanky man, stood behind the chair I’d gestured to. He pushed his wireframe glasses up the bridge of his nose before moving his hand to the back of the chair. “We just heard back from Arlo Noble. He’s interested; he wants to meet.”
“The solar panel guy?”
“Solar panels, early cell phone components, dabbles in conductor parts... Bit of everything.”
“And he wants to get into construction?”
“He’s got money to burn.”
A flutter went through my chest, blood rushing to my extremities. Could this be it? The saving grace we’d been looking for? “Okay,” I said, “let’s set it up.”
Jim patted the back of the chair and strode out. I stood, combing my fingers through my hair as I paced my office.
Arlo Noble was a big fish. After he’d sold his last company, he’d taken time to be with his family, but I’d heard he was looking for a new venture. He was the kind of guy who took big risks.
I was a big risk.
My assistant, Hillary, poked her head in. “Jim just told me about Arlo Noble. You want me to set up a meeting? Lunch at the usual place?”
I thought of Alba watching and silently judging the whole thing. “No,” I said. “Somewhere new. Somewhere nice.”
“Got it,” Hillary said. “And Billie just called; she just picked Charlotte up from school, and Charlotte’s running a low-grade fever.”
I swore softly. “I’ll work from home for the afternoon.”
My assistant nodded and checked her tablet. “Nothing else is pressing.”
I grabbed my things as Hillary went back to her desk. My heart beat faster than usual. For the first time in a long, long time, I felt hope. I could not screw this up. I stepped out of my office door, then veered left toward Hillary’s desk.
She looked up. “Yes?”
“My suit,” I said, spreading my arms. “What do you think of it?”
“What do I think of it?”
“Yeah. Be honest.”
Hillary tilted her head. She’d been with me since my contracting days, and I trusted her implicitly. Her pause told me that she was frantically trying to find a diplomatic way of telling me that my suit was awful.
“It’s…okay,” she said.
“Hillary.”
“It could be better. The shoulders…”
I arched my brows.
“It doesn’t really fit.” She cringed. “You know?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t know. That’s the problem.” I tugged at the suit jacket, then straightened my tie. “Polyester,” I said, looking at her. “Is polyester a problem?”
“I mean, it’s not the most comfortable, that’s for sure.”
“Could you tell that this suit is made of polyester?”
“Yes…” she said, frowning. “Why?”
“Shit.” I groaned, then pointed at her. “Find me a tailor. Or a suit store. Or… Where do I get a good suit?”
Hillary’s shoulders eased down from her ears, and she smiled. “I’ll send you some options this afternoon.”
“Good,” I said, and marched out the door.