Chapter 14
COURTNEY
Mondays are usually my favorite day, a chance to get back to work and do all the things I enjoy—number crunching, planning and strategizing, business contract review, and negotiation.
Today, I mostly just wanted to slam my fist down on my alarm and hide under my pillow for a little longer.
I’m still flustered by what happened in my kitchen with Kaede. I never imagined it could be like that.
I wanted him.
I was damn near begging for more, if not with words, with my eyes and actions. I’d been ready to drop to my knees for him.
He was hard as a rock in his shorts and felt so fucking good pressing me into the cabinet.
When I opened my eyes after shattering from that mind-blowing orgasm, I’d expected him to be cocky, maybe say something about his magic fingers, but that hadn’t been his thoughts at all.
He’d obviously been enthralled . . . by me.
And yet somehow, I got cockblocked by my brother.
Who wasn’t even there!
Replaying the earlier part of that interaction has my blood rushing south, making me want him again, even if I’m disappointed and pissy about the eventual outcome.
Walking into the office, I’m a bit more stompy and twitchy than my usual confident stride. Okay, that might be putting it nicely. In truth, I’m afraid I look like I have ants in my pants.
That thought is confirmed when Jillian’s penciled-in eyebrows lift sharply. “Hey, Boss, was the dick that good?”
I want to growl, I want to snap at her, but that’s probably the horniness talking. And maybe I need a Snickers? Instead, I tug on my skirt and adjust my purse. “No, I went running yesterday.”
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” she asks. Her smirk is damn near overflowing with ‘sure, whatever you say.’
“Kids? I’m definitely no kid. Too close to thirty for that.”
Jillian leans back, propping her feet up on the little trashcan next to her desk and looking totally unconvinced. “You’re all kids to me. I’m just glad you got some.”
I wonder what she’d think if she knew I didn’t actually get dick . . . and that Kaede turned me down after rocking me to my core with just his thigh and his fingers.
Nah, even I wouldn’t believe that if I told it to me.
And I’d be way too embarrassed to admit it.
Nope, going to tuck that humiliation down deep and pretend that little scenario ended with my coming, not getting rejected.
Turning, I half walk, half stomp into the office and try to slam the door, only to be foiled by the hydraulic arm at the top.
The worst part is, I should be pissed at Kaede. Instead, I’m just pissed at my brother.
I get to work, my headphones in with my ‘energy’ mega mix of Bon Jovi, Van Halen, Joan Jett, and Pat Benatar, among others, driving me on.
It’s a distraction, at least, helped along by the detail-oriented work I’m doing on the proposal I’m reviewing. This is my favorite type of work, mixing business and finances and projections. It’s not for AgroStar, since I blew that shot, but maybe I’ll eventually get another one.
By the time Jillian knocks on my door to tell me she’s going to lunch, I’m in a much better mood. “Hey, Courtney? You want me to grab you anything from downstairs?”
“I’m good, Jill. Thanks.”
“Okay . . . and I just wanted to say again, I’m sorry about the flowers issue.”
I wave her in, popping my earbuds out and giving her my full attention.
“Jillian, it’s fine. We’re going to make mistakes.
The important thing is to learn from them and not repeat them.
The lesson I’m taking away from this, and that I want you to take too, is that if we pride ourselves on providing individualized, customized attention to our clients, we need to do it with the utmost care and attention.
We’ve done well in providing that personal touch, but not well enough.
Next time, we’ll do better with every detail, checking and rechecking. ”
She’s quiet, letting that sink in. It’s near verbatim what Dad told me, with my own little touch on it.
“Thank you, Courtney.”
Her phone rings, and Jillian steps out to pick it up with a bigger smile, so I think the pep talk worked. Thanks for another one, Dad.
A moment later, she sticks her head back in. “Mr. Andrews wants to see you. Lunch meeting, I hope?”
“Why are you so worried about my caloric intake?” I ask, pausing my music and getting up.
“As your assistant, it’s my job to keep you healthy and just right.
I happen to think I’m doing a damn good job.
Do you disagree?” She looks me up and down, evaluating.
“Maybe I’ll grab you a snack either way.
Something to keep you charged up for some action tonight. ” Before I can argue, she’s gone.
I head upstairs, where I find Dad’s laid out his office conference table for a ‘working lunch’.
He’s even got my favorite sandwich, pastrami and bacon on whole wheat from the deli down the street.
Best of all, his suit coat’s off and his sleeves are rolled up, always a good sign with him.
“Come in, honey. What’s up in Courtlandia? ”
I’m not sure when that nickname started, but somewhere around my teens, when I would disappear into books, it became a sort of joke.
I would spend hours lost in their pages, coming out of this entirely different world each time.
And Dad would ask me that question as an invitation to tell him about what I’d been reading.
No matter whether it was fiction or nonfiction, something he was interested in or not, he’d listen to me tell him about the books, dissecting plots and characters and expanding my own knowledge along with his.
When I got older, it became a way to ask about my life instead of books so he could stay in touch with what was happening with me.
“Nothing much,” I tell him, skipping the whole deal with Kaede. The fewer people involved with this deception, the better. Kaede and I agreed on that, for sure. “How about you?”
“I’ve got good news,” Dad says. “Talked with Ms. Crabtree . . . and she loves your proposal.”
I'm so surprised that I squeeze my sandwich and a blob of horseradish squirts out onto my hand. “What?” I say, shocked. I grab a napkin, wiping my hand off. “I figured AgroStar was in the rearview mirror and we’d have to move onto the next one. How’d you work that miracle?”
“I had nothing to do with it. You did. I might not be her biggest fan, but Jane’s a businesswoman in the end,” Dad says simply.
“Court, I told you that mistakes happen. I taught you better than to wallow in the bad, and I get the feeling you’re still beating yourself up?
” He tilts his head, giving me that Dad look that says he already knows the answer to his question.
I hold up my thumb and finger an inch apart. “A little. I just wanted to do well, and I thought I was going to knock it out of the park. I’m disappointed in myself. No, I’ve moved past that to angry.”
Dad sets his sandwich, a three-layered club that we have an unspoken agreement to never mention to Mom, down with a sigh.
“You’re better than this. Now, eat your sandwich, give me the pickle you’re not going to eat, and remember that you can do it.
Crabtree even insisted that her assistant, that Secret Service looking man she totes around with her, keep quoting figures from the presentation when they went to the doctor as a precaution.
She told me that herself. Learn from that.
Never stop. She likes the plan. Your plan. Now, what’s your next step?”
I take a bite of my sandwich, thinking. Not so much about the next steps—I’ve had those game planned from even before my first presentation—but about my fifth-grade science fair project.
“Dad . . . I can’t get it to work!” Another cardboard boat design sinks into the pool. It’s my third one.
“That’s what an experiment is, Court. Tell me your hypothesis again.” Dad’s relaxing in a lounge chair. He’s pretending to read the paper, but I know he’s patiently watching me.
I go through my entire project, from conception to hypothesis to my third failed experiment.
“Okay, so you’re trying to figure out which design floats best as measured by time above water.”
“Yes,” I say with an eye roll, thinking that I literally just said that.
“Of the three designs, what were their float times?”
I refer to my notes, which I’ve been taking meticulously. “Two seconds for the first one. It basically sunk immediately. Four seconds for the second, and five for the last. They’re so close that I don’t think it’s a relevant variation.”
His eyebrows raise at my vocabulary. Lots of adults do that, but Dad talks to me like I’m older than I am, telling me that if I don’t know a word to let him know and he’ll explain. I like that.
“Did you confirm the timing?”
I snap. “I’ll do all three designs again, float them all at once, and see which is the last man standing. If the results are the same, that would confirm the variation.”
He smiles and shuffles his paper. “I wonder if you could come up with a fourth design for a broader range of test subjects.”
I smile at the memory and how Dad didn’t just hand me the answer but nudged me in the right direction and encouraged me to do more. It’s a lesson I did learn well from him, one I’ve used countless times throughout school and on work assignments.
“I’ve already got a plan, how we can integrate the rollout through a PR campaign for name recognition, then use our restaurants and supermarkets for distribution.
First call needs to be to Vaughn Easton in PR, get his design team in on branding and logo developments.
AgroStar’s internal memo of calling it ‘Energy Supplement 19-5’ isn’t going to sell anything. I’ll get Jillian on that after lunch.”
Dad grins, nodding. “Proud of you, baby.”
We keep eating, and as I tuck into the second half of my sandwich, he speaks up again.
“Don’t forget that your mother and I have our anniversary coming up.
” Dad freezes and then laughs. “Sorry, I forgot who I was talking to. I’m sure you have it in your calendar, with annual alerts.
But the party is a big deal for Kimberly.
Especially after Ross and Violet’s news. ”
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Dad sighs happily. “You know, the best part of this is having all of you close to home to celebrate with us. God knows, the three of you drove us crazy sometimes, but the estate is so quiet without you there. Especially Ross. This empty nest thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
” He smiles, letting me know he’s teasing. A little.
“That’s not true. We come by to drive you crazy all the time.”
“Hmm, true,” Dad says. “But to let you in on a secret, I miss the morning arguments over what to have for breakfast. Ross with his protein shakes every day, Abi on that vegan kick, and you . . . I will also admit I’m glad you outgrew Honey Nut Cheerios. What was the deal with the straws again?”
I chuckle at my younger self. “That was the summer I considered being a surgeon and wanted to practice keeping my hands steady. Feeding those Cheerios onto a straw was my mission. Ten Cheerios in ten seconds, I think, was my goal.”
Dad shakes his head. “I do remember that now. The girl who fainted at the sight of blood wanting to be a surgeon, and nothing we could say would sway you. And ugh, Cheerio breath.” His face screws up.
“I forgot how much you hate the smell of Cheerios. But . . . I didn’t forget about your anniversary. I already have the gift for you and Mom purchased and wrapped, and though you’re reminding me, I hear you loud and clear. I’ll make sure Abi is there, on time, with no leaves in her hair this time.”
Dad laughs and picks up my pickle, taking a big bite and crunching loudly. “You’re a good daughter and a good sister.”