Chapter 6
I’m walking on cloud nine coming into work. I spent all of Sunday swathed in a cocoon of bliss, and zero thoughts about work or the upcoming week or even the Cupid Ball. I can’t remember the last time I took a Sunday—or any day, for that matter—to myself.
Multiple orgasms apparently seem to be the secret to a soft life. Someone should alert the news outlets.
There’s only one thing threatening to pop my perfect bubble, one thought lingering in the back of my head—he hasn’t texted me.
Not that I’m waiting around for the moment his name appears on my screen.
He was so insistent on exchanging numbers that I just assumed I would hear from him soon, but nothing.
With the sun still fighting to peek above the horizon, I slide into my desk to start the day.
The office is always quiet this early in the morning, perfect to leisurely scroll through emails.
Within twenty minutes, I reach the bottom of my inbox, there's a soft stream of sunlight filtering in, and my coffee has gone from scolding to perfect. Maybe this week won’t be so bad, regardless if Eros has called or not.
My computer chimes, and when I glance at the incoming email, I recognize the sender immediately.
I’m not superstitious; I’ll step on a crack, walk under a ladder, and I couldn’t care less if I break a mirror, but maybe I should reconsider.
One thought about everything working in my favor and now I’ve been kicked head first into jinxing myself.
Cupids’ Charity Ball is in less than two weeks, and while I may have slacked off on some of my duties, I booked the vendors months ago. So why is Veronica from Party Rental Express emailing me over the weekend with the subject line Phone Call Request?
My teeth clamp down on my bottom lip as a lead weight drops in my stomach when I pull open the email.
“Oh no,” I finally say into the emptiness that is my office. “No, no, no.”
One perfect weekend ruined by an email. It’s barely eight in the morning, but I immediately pick up the phone.
Crossing my fingers as if the small act holds some magical power over party orders, I wait for her to answer.
With each ring, my mind spirals further out of control until I feel the beginning prick of tears behind my eyes.
Luckily, Veronica answers before I do anything rash, like actually cry when I don’t even have all the facts.
“Hi, Veronica, it’s Harper from Cupid. I know it’s early but I got your email and wanted to touch base.”
She sighs into the receiver. Not a good sign, maybe I was right to start crying. “Hi, Harper. I’m so sorry to do this. When you booked, I was out on maternity leave and the temp they brought in as my backup booked all your rentals when they were already assigned to another event.”
“Which ones?” I grip the phone until there's a slight crack of the plastic.
“All of them.”
The air rushes from my lungs as I register the worst possible outcome. “Please tell me you're joking. Everything we picked is the same?”
“I’m afraid so, both events are Valentine themed and apparently you guys have the same taste. I’m so sorry, Harper.”
I know this isn’t her fault, but I want to scream. “It’s okay,” I say instead.
“I can give you some leads for other companies but they’re all in the Bay, and with Valentine’s Day on a Saturday this year, there’s a lot of parties that weekend.”
What she’s saying is I’ll need a Hail Mary to find somewhere with the items I need.
“Okay, thanks, Veronica.”
Her email with the list, a small list, I might add, must have already been drafted because not even a minute later, my computer pings with the incoming message.
My plans for the morning are now out the window.
The Cupid Ball is a town staple, it’s what we’re known for across the county.
The amount of money it brings in sustains some departments' budgets for the entire year, and I don’t even want to think about what would happen if I have to cancel.
And if I have to tell my father the Ball is canceled because of rentals, I might as well kiss my job goodbye.
I can’t prove my dad hates that I work in the same building as him, despite him getting me this job, but it sure feels like it.
There hasn’t been a single report I’ve sent to his inbox that he hasn’t sent back with some sort of note about revisions being needed.
Ridiculous revisions at that—like the shade of red on a cover page is too dark, or he wants pie-charts instead of bar graphs.
I change them, of course, but each time he does it, a little piece of me withers up inside.
And he hates when people figure out I’m his daughter.
His other daughter he always likes to interject with.
Parents shouldn’t play favorites but we all know they do.
Ask any middle child and they’d all agree on how easily we’re overlooked.
But to my parents, I'm not just the middle child, I'm the less than perfect child, the child who doesn’t fit the image of their idea of a perfect family.
The “one boy, one girl, has a Labrador Retriever and house in the ‘burbs” type of image.
No, I’m the child who didn’t come out a boy.
I pursued an arts degree instead of business.
I’ve been labeled overweight since before I knew what it meant.
I always have been and always will be less than, and even if I give up trying to be a part of the family, there is still a part of me that doesn’t want to give more fuel to hate me.
And canceling his beloved event would only add to an already raging fire.
It took me the entire morning but I finally found one rental place that has almost everything I originally booked. They were out of red table runners but I’m nothing if not resourceful and can easily sew two dozen myself in ten days.
All of that would be great if we didn’t have to pay almost double the original quote.
Which means I need Nolan’s approval.
I’ve been standing on the other side of his closed door for at least five minutes, searching for the courage to go in but it keeps slipping through my fingers. Where is the girl from this weekend, the one who spoke up for herself? I could really use her right about now.
Sadie tsks from behind me. “You can go in, you know? He’s not in a meeting.”
“I know, Sadie,” my annoyance loud and clear.
With my hand raised, I’m halfway to knocking when my phone chimes and being saved by the bell has never felt better. Sadie watches with a confused look on her face as I back out of the room, balancing reports in one hand and digging for my phone with the other.
“I’ll be right back,” I say to her, not that she cares.
I need to see you again.
What happened to hello?
That's what I should say but I don’t. Seeing his words mirror my thoughts sends sparks flying across my skin, lighting up every nerve ending I have and washing me in a sense of relief.
I was beginning to think he only asked for my number out of some weird sense of chivalry.
You know... I came inside you, made you come multiple times, why not get your number so it doesn’t feel cheap, sort of thinking.
I’d like that very much.
His next text appears before I finish my message.
Tomorrow. Midnights at 8:00
Something about the urgency in his text stokes the kindling on the pleasure leftover from the weekend, but there’s no way he thinks I’m a member and can return.
I remember Maxine telling him I was there as part of the open house.
At no point was I ever going to become a member, I work in local government.
Small town government at that, I barely make the monthly dues in six months.
I was there for the experience, he knew that.
I’m not a member at Midnights
His next text takes a bit longer but when it comes I have to bite my lip to keep from squealing.
It's been taken care of. Tomorrow at 8:00.
I'll be there
And no masks this time. I have to see you.
I’ve been actively trying to think about what’s behind his golden armor. Now that it’s a possibility my skin starts to buzz.
Yes, Sir
I don’t wait for his reply as I shove my phone into my pocket and stride back toward Nolan’s door. Knocking twice and I push through with a new wave of confidence. My knees falter at the sight of him smiling down at his phone.
Nolan never smiles. But here he is mid-morning on a Monday grinning at his phone like a kid who’s about to be set loose in a candy shop.
He only notices I’m standing in front of him after I clear my throat.
His smile drops when he looks up. He sets his phone down and now I’m facing the detached and stoic man I’m used to seeing.
“Morning, Harper,” he greets, shifting his seat to roll closer into the desk. “How can I help you?”
I’ve got this. He can’t really say no and it’s not like it’s my fault anyway.
“There was an issue with the rental company for the Cupid Ball. Apparently they double booked their stock and have canceled our order.” I’m ready with the solution and research to prove the twice-as-expensive vendor is the only option, but the way he’s staring at me has all my hard work and well thought out monologue jumbled in my head.
His gaze is piercing and attentive. I have to take a second to remind myself to breathe.
“I found a company that has almost everything we booked with the exception of the table runners, but I’ll take care of those personally.”
“Why do I sense another ‘but’ coming?”
“Because there is,” I reply.
The words seem to be stuck in my chest. Absent-mindedly, I tug on the plain gold necklace I have on, pulling the charm back and forth. Nolan’s eyes lock onto the movement. He watches me with an almost feline interest.
I can’t help myself. “It’s double the price,” I say as I release the charm and slowly drag the tips of my fingers down my chest, running along the hint of cleavage I risked showing today.
Damn, maybe Midnights is worth the monthly fee if one night gave me the confidence to try and use my body to get my boss to spend money I know the town doesn’t have.
It’s not the worst thing in the world, right?
I’m sure there are government officials out there using their influence to get things much seedier than dinnerware for a party. Actually I know there are.
My hand falls to my lap, not willing to risk anything more.
But he’s still watching me, fingers now pressing against his soft lips—I really hope it isn’t because he’s holding in a laugh.
But I don’t think he is. Mankind, or rather men, has set the bar practically in Hell.
Add in being exposed to men like my father and his friends at an early age, I’m feel as if I’m always waiting for the punchline to come at my expense.
But with Nolan, I’ve never heard a negative word about me, or women in general, leave his mouth.
He’s also the best looking of my father’s friends, which doesn’t hurt either.
“Nolan.”
He shakes his head free of whatever vortex he’s stuck in. “Sorry.” A look roams across his face for a moment as our eyes meet before he tears away from me. “It’s not a problem, make sure they send the invoice today and you can pay it.”
That’s it? My arsenal is chock full of arguments to get this done and I don’t have to use any of them?
“And you're okay with the extra cost eating into basically the whole budget for the recreation department for this month and next?”
He leans into the tilt of his chair and slips his hand behind himself. He brings his hand back out with his wallet, slips out a shiny black card and slides it in front of me. “Just put it on my card and I’ll fix the budgets.”
Now I’m more confused than anything.
“Isn’t this… I don’t know, collusion, or something?”
His smile returns. “I think they care more about using government funds to pay for personal expenses, not the other way around.”
The card is heavy in my hand, clearly made of metal and a limit so high it’d be impossible to max out, if there was a limit at all. “Are you sure about this?”
“We both know your dad would make it your problem.”
“Since when do you care about my problems?” The question slips out before I can stop it. If only a hole would open and swallow me whole right now, save me from my own embarrassment.
The scowl I always assumed was a permanent fixture on Nolan’s face softens. “Is that what you think of me? That I don’t care about you?”
I force myself to look at him and not at my hands twisting around in my lap.
“Well, yeah, because why would you? You may be my dad’s friend, but you don’t know me.
You’ve never taken the time to talk to me outside of making sure I send in reports, and the few times I’ve been at my parents the same time as you, you never acknowledge me.
You stare at me, but you don’t talk to me. ”
Stillness falls around the office. My words hang in the air. It sounds desperate, and I don’t want to be that woman. I don’t want Nolan to know how much it bothers me to be ignored by him. And I don't want to want him. Especially now that Eros is in the picture.
But I do.
“I didn’t realize you noticed.” His voice is painfully low but I heard him.
“I—”
The office door swings open and my father’s voice precedes him. “Nolan, Sandy and I are having a dinner party tomorrow night. I’ve invited the mayors from Fairvale and Cornelia and I need you to be there,” my father commands, barely registering I’m here. “And oh—Harper you're here.”
“I was just leaving.” My voice lacked any warmth I used to possess for him, the part that yearned for my father's affection died a long time ago.
He doesn’t notice, he never does. “Your mother would’ve invited you but it’s very last minute, you understand.”
“Don’t worry about it. I have plans tomorrow night anyway.”
He looks all too pleased that I won’t be tainting his perfect dinner party. I can’t even remember the last time my parents asked me to dinner and not as an after thought.
Standing from my chair, I swipe the card from the table while my father is fiddling with his tie. “Thank you, Mr. Archer. I’ll be done and have this back to you soon,” I say, almost robotic.
Nolan’s eyes leave scorch marks in my back as I leave, making me feel almost guilty for going to see Eros tomorrow.
But why?
I’m not tied to anyone, I’m free to see whomever I want, whenever I want. So why does one soft look from Nolan, and one single hint that I’m not just some employee, or his friend's daughter, send me into some sort of sexual crisis mode?