“Good.” My father motions to the door, signaling the end of the conversation, and I trail after Aidan as he walks stiffly from the room.
Back in his office, he sinks into his desk chair with a dejected sigh. “Well, I guess I’m stuck with you,” he mutters, more to himself than to me, but it stings. Everything about the way he’s responded to seeing me today stings.
Chin up, Cupcake.
His words from Marco’s come back to me, and I swallow against the sudden tightness in my throat. It’s not only the way he seems irritated by my presence, or that any attraction he might have felt toward me has obviously vanished. It’s that for a few minutes while Aidan listened to me in that bar, it felt like someone was on my side. Likehewas on my side.
I sigh bitterly, turning away. It’s my fault I’m in this damn situation. As usual, my impulsiveness has ended in disaster.
Shit, maybe my father’s right. Iama mess.
The thought stirs a sort of angry defiance inside me, because I don’twantDad to be right. I don’twantAidan to think I can’t do this. I shouldn’t give two shits about this guy after the way he’s acted today, but I can’t help it. I don’twantto be a walking disaster.
I look back at Aidan, determination galvanizing my spine. They can think what they like, but I’m going to do everything in my power to prove them wrong.
7
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 fiveyears 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.
Histwenty-six-year-olddaughter.
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 hadpriorto 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 whatshe 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 itmyproblem. 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 Iwas thinking. Even if Iwasthe 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 atherfor 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.
