17
Josie
I pull into Florence's driveway with a sigh. I haven't had a chance to go home and change. I haven't had anything to eat since late morning, and my mind is flying a mile-a-minute.
"I'm sorry I'm late," I tell her when she opens the door.
"It's fine, really," she assures me. "Marin said dinner is just about ready." She stops in front of me and turns around, blocking my way in the narrow hallway. "Can I kiss you?"
"If you want to," I press my lips together to keep from laughing, "but not like you did when I was leaving on Friday."
"Oh." Her face drops. "Never mind, then. I thought we were on the same page." Her shoulders drop.
"Hey." Cupping her cheek, I turn her face to meet my gaze. "I'm hungry. I haven't eaten all day—that's all." I lean in and brush my lips across hers. "So let me eat first, okay?"
"After I feed you?" She presses her body against mine, her heat radiating into me. She searches my eyes before nipping at my bottom lip. She closes her eyes, lost for a moment. "Then can I have more of you?" she asks, her mouth against mine. I feel her smile.
"I'm not opposed," I tell her, putting a hand on her chest to put some space between us. "After I eat something. Whatever she's making smells divine."
"Chicken fajitas, no onions. Marin says it's simple. She hopes it won't offend you that she made it."
What does that woman have against me? "It's fine. I'm going to die of starvation if someone doesn't feed me soon," I joke.
Marin pokes her head around the corner. "Dinner's ready when you are." She glances toward me. "What would you like to drink, ma'am? I can make you a margarita, or we have Modelo Reserva."
I look at Florence as we sit down. She already has a Modelo open. I debate for a minute before I sigh. "I'll have a Modelo."
Florence watches me closely and turns to Marin. "Can you make me a margarita?"
"So how was your day?" I ask her after a few hearty bites of food have taken the edge off my hunger.
She lets out a long sigh. "Woodhouse is getting on my last nerve."
"You haven't fired him yet?"
"He's the main person in charge of the charity gala this weekend. I talked to Carole in HR. We agreed it would be better to wait until after the gala to try to avoid the negative publicity. It could have a huge impact on how much we raise."
"That…" I frown. "That somehow seems wrong."
"It's a business decision." She shrugs. "As long as he leaves me alone and there aren't any new complaints against him."
Marin sets the margarita in front of her.
"Thanks, Marin." Florence turns back to me. "For better or for worse, he's good at what he does. Have you gone shopping for a dress?"
I raise an eyebrow in amusement. "I told you. I wear the pants in our relationship."
"Oh?" She pushes the margarita toward me. "This is for you. Don't argue." When I open my mouth to do just that, she adds, "You can wear the pants, but I'm still the boss. I knew you wouldn't ask, so I asked for you." Marin chuckles in the kitchen.
I pick up the margarita and take a sip. "I asked Marin two weeks ago for the name of your couturier. He made me a lovely charcoal tux that will complement your dress beautifully." I put the margarita down and slide the Modelo toward her. "I had them charge it to your account."
A grin spreads across her face. "I didn't give you enough credit. I'm impressed."
"Don't be," I say, taking another bite of my dinner. "I'm not rich enough to hire a personal assistant, but my dad was an investment banker before he retired. Mom was Director of HR at the med school before she retired a few years ago. I attended one of your silly galas in my mom's stead a few years ago. Right before COVID."
Her eyes widen. "That was my first fundraiser as CEO."
"I remember," I say simply. She was drop-dead gorgeous in a modest—but brilliant—red dress. It was definitely not the right tone for her to set as a young, female CEO, but I couldn't take my eyes off her. Her hair was done up, and the curve of her neck made my mouth water. She's been the only person since Mel to make me feel like that. I felt like I was cheating on Mel for months after that.
Her eyes narrow. "What does that mean?"
"That you were memorable," I tease her, taking another sip of my margarita.
"Good or bad, memorable?"
"Considering I can still see the slope of your bare neck when I close my eyes, I wouldn't say bad."
She shakes her head, laughing. "I was so naive when I started this job. I thought I should be celebrating the power of strong women. Turns out the job is hard no matter who you are."
"More so because of dicks like Woodhouse," I point out.
She laughs. "Did you know, outside of work, he goes by Dick?"
"Sounds appropriate. Will he be gone after the gala is pulled off?"
She nods firmly. "Without a doubt. It's already been arranged." She takes a quick swig of her beer. "How was your day? What did you do after work?"
I put the image of her bare neck out of my mind. "Nothing exciting. The coin guy seemed pretty impressed with my grandfather's collection, though. Hopefully that'll pan out."
"You have a coin guy?" she asks, her interest piqued.
"Remember I told you about my grandfather's penthouse? There's a judgment against it I need to pay off before I can inherit the place."
"Please tell me this isn't turning into a legal scandal. I can't afford that kind of publicity."
"Of course not," I tell her. I sit back in my chair, sipping my margarita. "This hits the spot. Anyway, my grandfather has quite the collection of valuables, including some high-value coins. Art, gems, some rare books, even a few sculptures."
"How high-value are you talking? My brother collects rare coins," she muses. "If you decide you want another opinion, I can ask him for a recommendation."
"Engelmann wouldn't give me any numbers, so I don't know. I have a colleague who works with the Delmont Auction House, so I have a few contacts there I'm working with to determine some of its worth."
"Doesn't he have appraisals for his inventory? If it's valuable, he should have the paperwork somewhere."
"Possibly." I shrug lightly. "The lawyer didn't have a current inventory list. I haven't checked the safe deposit box downtown yet. To be honest, I haven't even gone through the place. I poked around a little, realized that a lot of stuff was expensive, and decided to take pictures and let the experts deal with it."
Marin comes in quietly to take our empty plates and slips me another margarita without a word.
"Come in the living room. We can relax there."
I sit down on the couch opposite her, putting my drink on the walnut table beside me. "Did you grow up with money like this?" I ask her curiously, looking around at her expensive furniture.
She shakes her head. "My parents were immigrants after the Second World War. Well, dad's family came at the beginning of the war. Nonna—my grandma—came here with my mom when Mom was a baby."
"Land of opportunity," I murmur with a smile.
She shakes her head. "Hard work. Our parents worked their asses off so we could get a good education. And taught us that we could do anything we chose to."
"Still, hard work isn't always enough."
"Fair enough. Anyway, I worked my ass off to get where I'm at. Never slept with a man to move ahead—just good old-fashioned hard work."
I laugh softly. "Slept with any women to get ahead?"
She shakes her head. "I try to stay away from the morally gray. This—" She motions between us. "I didn't like the idea of this contract at first. It feels like I'm hiring you as an escort and an actor."
"We can pull it off," I say, taking a sip of my margarita.
"I'm not worried about that," she says off-handedly. "I like you enough to spend time with you, even if I am contractually obligated."
"You know how to make a woman feel good," I deadpan.
She takes the margarita out of my hand and puts it on the table. "If I kiss you, can you say that again a little more convincingly?"
The corner of my mouth twitches in amusement. "You'll never know if you don't try," I tease.
She leans in, stopping close enough that I can feel her breath on my face. "Is this okay? I know it's not part of the deal." Her gaze lingers on mine. "You don't have to—"
I brush my lips across hers, cutting off her words. She tastes like spicy fajitas and Modelo Reserva. Her mouth opens, soft and hungry, as my fingers trace the soft skin of her neck. I remember the curve of her neck, the sinuous line that led to her—
She pulls away from me, her tongue tracing her bottom lip. "Tell me again."
I blink. Tell her what?
"That I know how to make a woman feel good," she prompts, her voice sultry.
"Does your ego need the boost?" I reach for her again. You don't make Josephine Mueller hungry unless you're going to feed her.
She stops, closing her eyes and inhaling slowly. "What is it, Marin?" For a moment, she doesn't turn around. Her posture deflates as she controls a frustrated sigh.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. Gwen called. It's important."