1. Brontë #2
Chantelle is clearly a lot younger than my father, but she’s also probably one of the best things that has ever happened to him.
I still struggle with the notion that people can really, fully change who they are at their core, but I also feel like a hypocrite when I see the way my father has changed because of her.
When I heard that he was forty, marrying a woman who was my age, I laughed.
I didn’t think for a second that it would last; it was merely a cliché life crisis move.
But here they are, ten years and two kids later and he couldn’t be happier.
“He’s working on it, Bronte. I know it’s practically a slap in the face to ask for your patience and understanding with him, but I promise you,” she says softly, reaching her perfectly manicured hand out to rest on my arm, “he wants a genuine relationship with you. He talks about it all the time.”
“I know. Sometimes it’s just hard to forgive and forget.”
“I have no doubt. You’re justified in those feelings, Bronte. The boys were upset they couldn’t come tonight by the way, Silas in particular. He and Jenson made this for you.” She reaches into her clutch and pulls out a hand-drawn card that brings a huge smile to my face.
Silas and Jenson are the two little gems that came out of my family’s toxic breakup. From the first day I got to meet them, it’s like I’ve always been their big sister. And one thing that Chantelle always makes sure they know is that we are brother and sister, no half this or half that.
“Aw, those boys. I need to come see them this weekend.”
“They would love that and your father would love it too, so he can take you out in your new car.” She winks at me.
“I better go find him, but I want to throw a fun little family cookout in the next few weeks, kick off summer right and celebrate your birthday. The boys will want to show you all their new flips and tricks they learned in swim lessons over the winter.”
“That sounds lovely, Chantelle.” I pull her in for a tight hug. “Tell the boys I missed them and I’ll see them soon.”
I head back inside to find my friends. “Hey, you guys want to go grab a drink somewhere else? I’m feeling a little celebrated out.”
“Oh yes, please!” Taylor says, grabbing her clutch and hopping down from her stool.
“Just a second,” I say, looking around for my dad. I spot him and head over to let him know we’re leaving.
“Thanks again, Dad.” I give him a hug and he squeezes me so tight, like he’s trying to make up for years lost.
“I’m so proud of you, Bronte. Your mother would be too.”
This time I can clearly see the tears and for some reason, maybe because I don’t want to disappoint him or maybe because I’m tired of feeling guilty, I agree to the meeting with his friend.
“I’ll do it. I’ll meet with Beckham Archer for an interview.”
A few moments later, Sylvia, Taylor, and I are making our way into a dimly lit speakeasy type bar in The Loop. This isn’t our usual neighborhood and the bars here are filled with finance bros in overpriced suits and clearly veneered teeth, all trying to shout over each other about their “big win.”
“You sure you want to stay here?” Sylvia asks, looking around, and I shrug, grabbing a high-top table. “Doesn’t seem like our vibe.”
“Yeah, but it’s close by. I don’t feel like Ubering anywhere. I just need something stronger than the glasses of champagne I downed.”
“Did your dad manage to talk you into working at his company?” Taylor asks.
“No, but I did something stupid.” I roll my eyes.
“I agreed to take an interview at his fellow billionaire friend’s company, Archer Financial.
I guess he needs an admin or something. Ugh, I’m so disappointed in myself that I didn’t just tell him I want to work in nonprofit and maybe start my own someday. ”
“Honestly, Bronte, I think it’s a smart idea.
” Sylvia shrugs and I look at her sideways.
“Remember when you met me in undergrad? I was the teacher’s assistant and I told you that I was unsure about getting my master’s in education?
Well, I didn’t listen to that gut feeling and now I’m a teacher and honestly, I kind of hate it. ”
“You hate it?” Taylor’s ears perk up.
“I don’t hate it all the time, but it just doesn’t feel like it was my passion, what I’m meant to do; it’s something I’m good at so I convinced myself it was my dream. Sometimes I don’t think I’ve even figured out what my dream is yet, but I know it’s not in the education world.”
“So you think taking this job, if I get it, would be a way for me to try out the financial world before I either fully commit or walk away?”
“Exactly!” She slaps the table dramatically.
“And if you think there’s an interest there, I’m sure you could move into a financial position within the company.
With your forensic accounting master’s, you’ll be able to find work at any financial firm.
Fraud is always going on. You know what they say, scammers are the new serial killers. ”
“True,” I say, laughing at her comment. I’m feeling better already about my decision.
“But first,” Taylor says, looking around the bar, “we need to get you laid because it’s been over two years now and you’ve graduated so no more excuses.”
I duck my head in embarrassment. “Okay, maybe yell it a little louder next time so the bartender can hear you?”
I slide off my stool, flipping her the bird as they both fall into a fit of giggles.
“I’m getting a round of old-fashioneds.”
I walk to the bar and wait for the bartender to notice me when a shadowy figure to my right catches my eye.
This guy is not your average twenty-something frat boy.
His suit looks expensive, bespoke like it was made for him.
It hugs his arms and shoulders, accentuating a very toned physique.
A lock of his dirty-blond hair has fallen over one eye as he reads something on his phone.
I take the advantage of going unnoticed by him to really look him over. His jaw is rough with stubble, but it’s cut and angular. His lips full. He reaches for his cocktail, bringing it to his mouth to take a sip before placing it back on the bar top without looking away from his phone.
“What’s with you finance guys?” A burst of confidence surges through me as I make small talk with the stranger. “Always working.” I shake my head and place my order as the man turns to look at me.
He glances over his shoulder to make sure I’m speaking to him before sliding his phone in his pocket and turning on his stool to look at me. He doesn’t hide his gaze as it slowly travels down my body, then back up again before he replies.
“Guilty.” He smirks.
The dim light catches his icy-blue eyes and makes my stomach do a little flip. Maybe that champagne hit me harder than I realized because this man is so sexy I feel my mouth grow dry.
“Married to the job?” I say coyly, dragging my teeth over my bottom lip seductively like I’m in a cheesy rom-com. I brush my hair back in a flirty manner, leaning a bit forward on the bar top so it presses my breasts together.
Who the hell am I right now?
“Afraid so. She’s my wife, mistress, and lover.” He tosses back the rest of the amber liquid in his tumbler and places it on the bar top.
“Shame.” I smile as the bartender places my drinks down in front of me and I go to hand him my credit card.
“Allow me, please?” he says, nodding toward my card.
“Thank you.” I pull my card back and place it in my wallet. I gather the three tumblers between my fingers, and then I set them back down on the bar, not yet ready to break up this little flirt fest.
“So what brings a beautiful young woman like you to a place like this?” The way he looks at me has my stomach doing all sorts of little flip-flops.
“You mean to a bar in The Loop filled with young finance gurus foaming at the mouth to be the next Wolf of Wall Street?” He chuckles and I shrug.
“Just something in the way they all brag about how they can really see Jordan Belfort in themselves gets me going. Like it’s going to make a woman’s panties drop that they can resonate with a selfish, narcissistic scam artist like they really are Leonardo DiCaprio in the movie. ”
“You’re fiery. Funny as hell too.” His eyes do that lazy perusal of my body again and it sends my stomach into somersaults. “Please tell me a woman as gorgeous as you hasn’t been lured into the soul-crushing world of finance?”
“You mean because I’m pretty it would be a shame?”
He nods. “Not a shame. We need more women like you who call it like it is, but you’re young. Seems like there’s probably more fun and exciting things to fill your time than long hours and hanging out at bars with men like me.”
“Men like you, huh?” I cock my head, bringing back my flirty demeanor. “And what kind of man are you?”
“The kind your dad wouldn’t want you talking to.
” His voice is deep and a little ragged as he leans back in his seat, running his hand through his hair as his eyes drop down to my lips.
I stare at him, debating my next move, when I notice the sexy lines at the corner of his eyes.
It was obvious he wasn’t a fresh graduate when I first saw him, but it’s only now that I can see he definitely has a few years on me.
Damn, an older man—my kryptonite.
“Look, I don’t normally do this.” He laughs at my statement. “Right. Cliché, I know, especially after your little ominous warning but…” I rummage through my wallet for an old receipt and grab a pen from the bar, scribbling down my first name, last initial, and my phone number and hand it to him.
“Is that an initial?” He looks at the paper, then to me.
“Yes, I figure a man who looks like you must have at least twenty different I don’t normally do this women’s numbers in his phone. So, with a last initial, maybe I’ll stand out.”
“Only twenty?” He hooks an eyebrow at me, making me laugh. “Why only the initial? Scared to give me your last name?”
I grab the paper and write out the rest of my last name before handing it back to him.
“There.”
He looks at it, then his smile falters a little. “Bronte Spencer?”
“Yes, that’s me. I guess you probably don’t have a lot of Brontes in your phone so the last name is a little redundant now that I think about it.”
“Yeah,” he says almost nervously as he runs his hand over his jaw. “That’s for certain.”
“I’ll be right back. The ladies are frothing at the mouth over there for these,” I say as I look over at my friends who are giving me ridiculous hand signals and eye gestures, thinking they’re being subtle.
I walk the drinks over to the table and place them down.
“Holy shit, you guys. I just met the finest man I have ever seen in my life. I think I almost blacked out and peed myself talking to him,” I whisper as if he could hear me over the loud ruckus the frat boys are causing in the center of the bar.
“And of course he’s older.” Taylor bounces her eyebrows. “Daddy issues coming in stroooong.” They both laugh. They’ve always teased me about my affinity for older men.
Is it daddy issues? I’m ninety-nine percent sure it is. We can thank Jonas for that.
“I gave him my number!” I shriek just as both of their faces fall. “What?”
“Uh, I think he just left?”
“What?” I spin around and sure enough, he’s nowhere to be found. I walk back up to the bar and look around. “Where did that guy go?” I ask the bartender who shrugs and turns to help someone else.
And then that’s when I see it, the crumpled-up piece of paper left on the bar top with my name and number.
I groan and stretch my arms overhead, trudging to the kitchen to make a much-needed espresso before getting ready for my interview at Archer Financial… a decision I’m now regretting giving in to.
Instead of taking time to learn about the company, I’ve spent far too long thinking about the rejection from a total stranger this weekend.
I make myself a latte and open my iPad to do a little research, but my mind keeps drifting to that sexy smirk from Mr. Daddy Issues at the bar.
“Ugh.” I shut my iPad and march to the bathroom for a shower, hoping if I get my day going it will take my mind off Taylor’s all-too-true comment that I haven’t been laid in over two years and if I’m not careful, my virginity will grow back at any second.
I finish applying my makeup and pull my long hair up into a professional high ponytail. I slide my feet into a sensible pair of black pumps and do a quick spin in front of my floor-length mirror to double-check my pencil skirt isn’t tucked into my panties or there isn’t a hole in my white blouse.
After this weekend’s rejection, I really don’t need a double dose of embarrassment for my self-esteem. I look polished and professional.
“I’d hire me.” I smile at my reflection before grabbing my portfolio and heading to Archer Financial.
I stop outside the reflective building and stare up at the towering skyscraper.
My dad was right; it’s literally across the street from his building.
I feel my chest tighten as I watch several people walking into the building, their heads turned down as they stare at their phones, completely oblivious to the world around them.
Is this really the life I want?
I square my shoulders and march into the building, reminding myself that this is a good opportunity and like my dad and my friends mentioned, a way to feel out if a life in finance is really what I want.
“Hi, I have an interview with Mr. Beckham Archer at nine thirty.”
I smile at the man sitting behind the front desk, but he doesn’t reciprocate.
“Name.” He doesn’t even look up from his computer screen.
“Bronte Spencer.”
“It’s the fortieth floor. Take the elevator bank behind me to your left. Here’s your visitor’s badge. Make sure it’s visible on your person.”
“Thank you.”
I walk timidly around the massive desk, my heels echoing against the marble floor as several others rush past me to enter the elevator. When I arrive on the floor, there’s a second reception desk with two women smiling at me. I repeat the process of introducing myself.
“Mr. Archer is ready for you.” One of the ladies smiles as she stands and walks around the desk. “I’ll show you the way.”
She brings me to two massive wooden doors that she opens and ushers me inside before turning to walk back down the hallway.
I step inside the office, nervously looking around when I spot him. His back is to me as he faces the floor-to-ceiling windows. He’s clearly typing furiously on his phone but finishes and slides it into his pocket to turn around and face me, a casual smirk on his face as he speaks.
“Thanks for meeting me, Miss Spencer.”
Holy fucking shit, you have to be kidding me. This cannot be real.
I almost want to pinch myself, convinced I’m having a nightmare right now. Before I can stop myself, the words fall from my lips in a somewhat whisper.
“Mr. Daddy Issues?”
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