Chapter 7 Aidan
AIDAN
My sister waits on my doorstep when I get home, holding up two bags of Chinese food. I give her a weary smile as I approach, pausing at the door to lean in and peck her on the cheek.
“Hey, Soph,” I say, letting us into my apartment. “What are you doing here?”
“Just felt like seeing my big bro,” she says with a shrug, her short dark hair brushing her shoulders from the movement. Today it’s got a streak of blue through it on one side.
I smile as I toe off my loafers in the entryway, placing them carefully onto the shoe rack by the door, then pad into the kitchen and pull two bottles of beer from the fridge.
Sophie has a habit of showing up on a whim, but I’m used to it.
Despite the fact that I like my schedule to run like a well-oiled machine, I’ve come to love the spontaneity of her visits, even when they fall on a shitshow of a day like today.
If it weren’t for her dropping by “just because,” we wouldn’t see each other nearly enough.
We move seamlessly into the living room, spreading the food out on the large oak coffee table, a ritual we’ve done many times before.
I moved into this Carroll Gardens apartment five years ago, after falling in love with the pre-war details like sash windows, exposed brick, and high ceilings.
The decor mirrors that of my office with thick rugs over worn wooden floorboards, a chunky leather sofa, and wooden bookshelves.
Soph flicks off the overhead lights, turning on a floor lamp instead—she always complains about the glare from bright lights—then settles in beside me on the sofa, pulling the throw off the back and tucking it over her legs.
Sometimes on a cold night like tonight, I’ll light a fire in the old fireplace—it’s one of the things that sold me on the place—but the smell of the food is too tempting for me to delay getting stuck in.
“How was your day?” Soph asks, snapping the chopsticks and rolling them between her palms.
I stifle a sardonic grunt as I take a pair of chopsticks and do the same.
Where do I start? As much as I love my sister’s company, I’d been looking forward to an evening alone with my thoughts, so I could figure out what to do about Iris.
But maybe this is better. Less time for me to stew. I’ve been doing that all day.
I could never have expected that when John found me an assistant, it would be the woman from Marco’s. Not in a million years. And that’s before we even get to the part about her being his daughter.
His twenty-six-year-old daughter.
Fucking hell.
Of all the moves I could have pulled to torpedo my career, hooking up with the boss’s daughter is number one.
Maybe it would be okay if she was mature, if we could handle the situation like adults, but she’s barely an adult, and that’s information I would’ve liked to have had prior to hooking up with her.
Then there’s the lie about her being in college. I thought it was admirable that a woman in her thirties had made the move to go back to school. The sign of someone who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go after it. That’s damn sexy in a woman.
But she’s not the woman I thought she was at all.
I picture her in my office today, the way she threatened to tell John about what happened between us, as if to remind me she could destroy my career in one fell swoop if she wanted.
Then, when I was trying to speak to John, she burst in and pouted at her father.
That was nothing like the sweet woman I met at Marco’s.
That was a spoiled princess who knew exactly how to manipulate Daddy. How to get her way.
And get her way she did. John gave her the job, even with zero experience, something that became abundantly clear as the day wore on.
It’s all fine and good for him to want to help his daughter, but not when he makes it my problem.
Even if we hadn’t had the encounter at Marco’s, I wouldn’t want her working for me.
She’s terrible for the role, and I can’t trust her.
But none of that stopped my gaze from straying to her when she wasn’t looking, skimming across her cleavage in that loose, ivory blouse, trailing to the cut of her skirt hem across her thighs, noticing how long her legs looked in those heels.
Every time I tried to focus on my work, I got flashes of her on her knees in front of me, the way she moaned, Yes, Sir, as I worked my fingers across her slippery clit.
And every time I thought about how she’d lied to me, how she’d behaved like a brat in my office, I wanted to bend her over my desk and show her she couldn’t get away with that shit. That there would be consequences.
Fuck.
My dick twitches at the thought, and I shove the image away with a scowl.
Iris might be undeniably sexy, but she’s trouble.
That should have been clear by the way she flirted with me in the middle of a workday at the bar, the way she pulled me into the restroom with her.
So many red flags, I don’t know what I was thinking.
Even if I was the type to date, she’s not the right woman, connection to John aside.
With a grumble, I tear into some Kung Pao chicken, angry at myself for still thinking about her. Angry at her for making me lose my focus at work.
“You okay?” Sophie asks, poking around in the fried rice to pick out all the shrimp. She knows I hate it.
“Fine,” I mutter, reaching for the remote. I need to put on a game or something, need to get out of my head.
But Sophie’s hand touches mine, gently taking the remote from me. “You’re not fine, Aid. What’s wrong?”
I chew my chicken murderously. The worst part is I can’t even tell Sophie what happened.
My sister and I are close, but not close enough to share our sexual escapades, and even if we did, I’m not sure I like the way I look when I consider what Iris and I did from an outsider’s perspective.
She’s eighteen years my junior, and we hooked up in the restroom at a bar after she’d been drinking.
Now, I’m essentially her boss. I know what we did was consensual—that she pushed for it far more than me—but if I were on the outside looking in, I’d seem like a Goddamn predator.
Which is exactly how I fear John would see it if he were to find out.
But what I can share is the frustration at working with someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing. Sophie knows how important efficiency is to me, how much I relied on Mandy. She’ll understand.
“My new assistant started today,” I mumble, taking a swig from my beer.
“That’s good.” Sophie smiles, handing me the fried rice, finally shrimp-free. “How is she?”
“Terrible.”
Sophie’s brow creases. “Uh-oh. Why?”
God, where to start? The files I gave her to deal with that mysteriously disappeared? The emails I asked her to send that she never got around to? That her desk looked like a Post-it bomb had hit it by the end of the day?
“She’s a mess. Completely inexperienced, and it shows.”
Sophie wrinkles her nose. “Shit. That’s not helpful. Why did you hire her then?”
“I didn’t. John did.” I waver, unsure if I should mention his fatherly favor, then decide to be honest. “She’s his daughter.”
“Right.” Soph mulls this over as she reaches for her beer. “So I guess you’re stuck with her.”
I give a grim nod. It certainly seems that way.
I tried again in the afternoon to approach John about perhaps reassigning her, but it was clear the topic was not up for debate.
And given John’s still pissed about the meeting I missed—the one I forgot all about while I was in the restroom with his daughter—I knew better than to push the subject.
“Maybe she’ll improve,” Sophie suggests hopefully.
“I doubt it,” I mutter. “She’s all over the place. Her desk is a mess, and she insists on writing notes in a notebook instead of working on her computer. She has a brand new iMac, for Christ’s sake. It makes no sense.”
Sophie considers me carefully as she chews some Kung Pao chicken. “Just because someone does things differently than you doesn’t mean they’re wrong, Aid.”
I sigh, dragging a hand down my face. “I miss Mandy,” I say, like a petulant little boy, and she laughs. She’s the only person who’ll let me get away with shit like that.
“Come on, give this new woman a chance. She might have a different approach, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be helpful.”
“But the mess,” I say, shaking my head. That might be what annoyed me the most. I keep my office and my home immaculate. Always have. “How can she do anything with a desk snowed under with papers?”
Soph shrugs. “She probably has a system. Remember how my room was always a mess when we were kids?” She shoots me a grin, and I cut her an amused look.
I remember all too well. “But it worked for me. I had my own way of doing things.” Her smile turns rueful.
“Go easy on this poor woman. If she’s anything like me, she’s had a lifetime of people telling her she does everything wrong. ”
I soften at my younger sister’s words. Sophie is her own brand of quirky and always has been.
I can’t count the number of times she got in trouble at school, or with our parents, for doing things outside the box.
But that’s Soph, and I’ve always loved her for simply being herself.
Always felt protective of her when others had an issue with it.
Sophie might be a little chaotic, but she also cares deeply about the people she loves, sees the world in ways others never can, and is a gifted artist.
“How’s the painting going?” I ask, and Soph grins.
“Good. Jada’s helping me get into a show in Greenpoint.”
I smile as I sip my beer. Sophie and her wife, Jada, met at the gallery Jada runs in the Meatpacking District a few years back.
They got married late last year, and Jada took my place as Sophie’s biggest champion.
It’s through her connections that Soph has gotten her paintings featured in some of New York’s bigger galleries, and her career has started to blossom.
“That’s great,” I say, silently praying she’ll get it as I reach for the Kung Pao again. Soph doesn’t take rejection well, and I hate to see her crushed. “How’s married life treating you?”
She smiles. “I love it. I never thought I’d want to get married after…” she trails off, not saying what we’re both thinking. After Mom left. “But it’s the best thing I ever did.” Sophie watches me for a moment, expression thoughtful. “You really should try it, Aid. Don’t you get lonely?”
I consider this. Between long hours at the office and early mornings at the gym, I don’t have time to feel lonely.
I think of the way it felt to lie alone in bed last night, replaying the moment I shared with Iris in Marco’s, then push the thought from my head. She’s the last person I need in my bed.
“I’m too busy to get lonely,” I mutter to my sister, and she gives me a wry smile.
“True. You’re married to your career.”
I snort into the chicken. That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose. The truth is, I don’t think about marriage. Relationships. Love. I’m working toward something bigger than that, and I don’t need a woman getting in my way.
Sophie softens, touching my arm. “You know Dad would be proud of you, right?”
My throat tightens, making the chicken stick as I swallow. Would he? I doubt it. I should be a partner by now. Working on projects that really leave their mark on New York, like the Whitmore Museum expansion.
And not getting distracted by the boss’s daughter.
“Thanks, Soph,” I mumble, reaching for my beer bottle. “Let’s hope my new assistant doesn’t ruin everything.”
Sophie rolls her eyes. “You’re so dramatic. I’m sure everything will be fine.”
With a sigh, I take a long pull of my beer.
I know Sophie means well, but she doesn’t know the whole story.
She doesn’t know what happened between Iris and me, about what a mess the situation really is.
That Iris is pretty much invincible. Her father won’t take the job from her unless I tell him what happened between us, and I’m sure as shit not doing that.
Hell, he’d probably fire me. I’m fucking trapped in this situation, and Iris knows it.
And it makes me furious.
Furious that I’ve worked my ass off for years in this job, while she can step in without a lick of experience and threaten everything I’m building.
Furious that she’s in my office, taunting me with those blue eyes, that long hair, and those full lips.
My eyes stray to the clock hanging in the kitchen, reminding me I have less than twelve hours before I have to be back in the office.
Back around her. I tug my phone from my pocket, checking my schedule.
My morning is clear, and relief washes through me.
I’ll work from home until my afternoon meeting.
The less time I have to spend around Iris, the better.