21. Chapter 21
21
Brody
Miles is in the kitchen buttering a piece of toast when I leave my office Friday morning. He’s driving to Vegas this afternoon for the long weekend to film and it’s going to give me several nights with Sophie with the house to myself.
“Gonna invite your girl over and have a fuck fest this weekend?” Miles waggles his eyebrows before taking a bite of his toast.
“Hello to you too.” I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks.
“Calm down,” he chuckles through a mouthful of food. “I’m not asking for details.”
“Not much detail to give,” I admit, running a hand through my hair. I can’t meet his gaze, instead walking over to the dishwasher and beginning to unload it.
“Wait, what?”
“I, er, I mean I haven’t- We haven’t” I can’t continue.
“The fuck have you been doing?”
“Do I have to say it out loud?” I groan, turning to face him with a large mixing bowl in my hands.
“Yeah, you fucking do.” Miles’ toast lays forgotten on his plate. He crosses his arms and leans sideways against the kitchen island, waiting for an explanation.
“I’ve only-” I grunt in frustration, trying to find words that don’t sound ridiculous. I fail. “I’ve only eaten her out,” I grumble.
“You know there’s more to sex than that. ”
“Excuse me for not diving in head first.” I roll my eyes and turn my back to him again, putting the mixing bowl in the upper cabinet.
“You definitely didn’t dive in head first.” I can hear the smirk in his voice. “That’s adorable.” He snorts. “Glad I didn’t get you that ‘no longer a virgin’ cake I was going to.”
“What about you? Still keeping it PG with your girl?”
“Nah, I really connected with her yesterday. But I don’t kiss and tell.”
“You literally just did.”
“Tomato, potato.” He pauses and I hear him chewing while I continue with my chore. “Look, just take the weekend to show her a good time. With or without your cock.”
“I’m going to smack you.”
“My safe word is cucumber.”
A few minutes after Miles heads out, my phone buzzes with a text from Mel–a reminder of our standing lunch date. She does it every month and I’ve never known if it was a test, but I haven’t canceled in over nine years. I’m not about to start now.
I take the route I know well, down to Marina del Rey. The restaurant where I meet Mel once a month is nestled inside a luxury hotel. I’m not sure why she prefers this place. I’ve never asked, but they typically have a good menu with a lot of locally sourced ingredients as well as seasonal cocktails that she enjoys.
When I walk into the restaurant, the hostess glances up at me before continuing to organize the menus in front of her. I’ve seen her before and she knows Mel and I have a standing reservation. I don’t need her help to find my boss in the small, mostly empty restaurant. Mel is sitting with her back to me, facing out over the water. The table is set right up against the threshold of the restaurant, though still inside. When it’s nice out, huge windows collapse to the sides to allow an uninterrupted view of the marina. Today it’s cloudy, but no rain is expected, so the windows are folded open.
“Punctual as always,” Mel says in her velvety tone when I walk past her and pull out the chair to her right. I don’t want to obstruct her view and the table seats four.
Her brown hair, tinged naturally with red, is pulled back into her usual tight bun. The front of her hair has some volume to it. Her hazel eyes are striking against her pale skin and her signature deep red lipstick is flawless as is her sleek, black pantsuit.
“Can’t be late for lunch with my boss. What are you drinking?” I sit and scoot in my chair. Mel glances down at the cocktail in her manicured hand. It’s purple with two edible flowers sitting on top .
“I believe this one is called Purple Mountains Majesty,” she says with a smile.”I ordered your usual.”
“Would you believe I wanted water today?” I ask, settling in and placing a napkin on my lap.
“Not for a second.” She grins and watches while I pick up the menu.
The waiter arrives with my beer and then dashes away when Mel dismisses him. He knows the tip she leaves for excellent service is usually twice what the bill costs and it’s always in cash–every server’s dream. Mel Ashcroft is probably whispered about in awe, for the tip alone. I only worked as a server in my first two years of college and I remember only getting good tippers once in a blue moon.
“The new client,” Mel begins after a few minutes of silence. “The one with all the documents.” I set down the menu to meet her gaze. “I may take you off of the project.”
“What?” I frown at her. She just gave me the project and it’s not as if it’s small. She knows it’ll take time.
“It’s nothing to do with you,” she clarifies, absently straightening the silverware in front of her. “I simply think it's a lost cause. The client is difficult.” She says the last word as if it’s not quite right, but she can’t find another to use.
“If you’re sure.” I watch her carefully. “Is there anything I can do to convince you not to take it away?”
“I thought you didn’t want it.” Mel studies me. “But no, there’s not. I just…” she trails off, pulling both lips between her teeth and biting down for a moment like she isn’t sure how to continue. “You know some of what we do is dangerous.” I nod. She never involves me in that side of things. I wonder if something made her change her mind. “I think this may cross a line we don’t usually cross.”
“That’s all you have to say.” I trust her judgment.
Mel has never put me in harm’s way. A policy of Harp Solutions is to keep every department, every individual employee, essentially separate. I don’t know a single other person who works for her, but I know there are at least a hundred people on the payroll–which Mel takes care of personally.
“That simple, hm?” she asks, the corner of her mouth pulling upward in a smile.
“You’re immovable, Mel. If you made up your mind already, I’m not going to waste my breath trying to change it.”
“I knew I liked you. ”
“So, is that all you wanted to discuss?” I ask, looking down at my menu again. I haven’t been able to focus on the words in front of me yet, so I have no idea what to order.
“Unless you accept my offer.”
“I don’t want to be the CIO,” I mutter.
“Because it takes you away from the action,” she sighs. “Fine, then I’ll just give you another raise. What’s the amount that’ll make you feel so guilty you have to accept?”
“I don’t know, how much are you willing to offer?” I tease with a grin.
“You’re too good to be a grunt.”
“If you had managers, I’d accept that,” I shoot back. “Too bad there’s so much secrecy.”
“I thought you hated people.”
“I do.”
“I’ll speak with payroll.”
“ You’re payroll.”
She narrows her eyes at me.
“Then I’ll speak with myself.”
“I like the freedom of being an individual contributor,” I chuckle. “Can’t you let me have that? At least for a few more years?”
“No.”
I roll my eyes. Mel has been trying to promote me to CIO for two years now, asking me at every single monthly lunch. The job description she provided is so simple and boring, it means I’d be retiring. A lot of people would love that–earning an obscene amount of money and doing zero work is the dream. Not mine, of course. I may hate client interactions, but I like the challenges I’m faced with and I like the thrill. I came to terms with what our company does a long time ago.
Mel picks up her cell phone from beside her silverware and taps a few times.
“Your raise will be on your next paycheck.”
“You’ve been trying very hard recently to get me to retire,” I muse, setting my menu down again. I’ll just order the chicken, any chicken. “What’s going on? Is there trouble?”
I can imagine someone upset by their cheating spouse or their scornful parent might want to take their anger out on us. Nothing would ever come of it. Mel is very good at putting people in their place and getting what she wants, but nothing is safe forever. I can also imagine that some of the shadier dealings of Harp Solutions can get dangerous quickly .
“No, nothing like that.” She’s lying. “I just want to show my appreciation. You’ve been by my side from the beginning. You’ve never questioned me or my motives.”
“I don’t have to know why you’re doing what you’re doing.” I shrug.
“Few people have put their trust in me the way you have. Can I not reward loyalty?”
“You can, just not with a forced retirement.”
Now it’s Mel’s turn to roll her eyes, which she does in a very dramatic fashion, parting her lips with a sigh. If you were to look up ‘eye roll’ in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of her.
“One of these days,” she chuckles.
“When you offer me enough.”