I held her eyes. “To be perfectly honest, at this point what I think I have is a Devereux Laurent fetish.”
She blushed and looked away.
My erection tried its best to go for the gold and raise her desk off the floor. It certainly put in an honorable mention. “Say something mean to me,” I told her gruffly. “Tell me you don’t want me again.”
“It’s simple: You’ve built me up into a challenge in your mind because I said no and you’re not used to hearing the word. That’s all this perverse infatuation you’ve cultivated for me is.”
I respected the effort of her little speech, but she was so far off that it did nothing to help me. “I don’t need a challenge. I’ve never been that guy. I’m enough of a challenge to myself that I’ve never had to seek outside help to meet that particular need. Try again.”
“You’re not attractive. No one thinks you’re pretty.”
I laughed. “Now I know you’re lying. Try again.”
“You’re tacky and I hate you.” Perfect deadpan delivery.
“Nope. That did the opposite of what I needed. Try another.”
“We both know it’s not going to work. I think your love language is insults.”
“Say something nice then.”
“I actually think you’re a good person.”
I almost came on the spot. There went that theory.
I was actually kind of working—only occasionally distracting myself by touching the tip of my finger to her nose when she wasn’t looking then snatching my hand back before she could smack it—when my dad interrupted us.
“I need a word, son,” he said from the doorway behind me.
He already sounded out of sorts, and I hadn’t even insulted him once today. Yet.
“Secretary, go get me a coffee,” he had the nerve to say.
Ro didn’t even look up.
I swiveled in my chair and looked at him. I opened my mouth to say something, I don’t even know what, but it would have been deeply unpleasant.
Ro beat me to it, her tone sublimely unconcerned. “Get your own coffee, sunshine.”
My dad stood there and fumed for a beat. “You going to let her talk to me like that?” he asked me.
I smiled pleasantly. “Encourage it, even.”
“At least give us some privacy so the men can speak here, doll.”
At that she did look up at him, raising a brow. “This is my office. Have your privacy somewhere else, doll.”
I was trying not to smile as I told my dad, “Go wait in my office. I’ll be there in a minute.”
I turned back to her. We studied each other, her gaze curious, mine fond.
“Why do you put up with him?” she asked.
Question of my life, that. “I don’t even know. I guess because he’s my only family, and I don’t know how to cut people off, particularly when they’re that persistent. If he visited more than once a year, I suppose I’d be more motivated, but probably not even then. He’s an ass, but I’m all he’s got.”
“Softie,” she told me affectionately.
She’d walked right into it. “I have definitive proof to the contrary,” I drawled, “if you’d care to see it.”
Her eyes smiled more than her mouth did, crinkling at me while she pursed her lips to restrain an outright grin.
I tore myself away from those eyes to go see what my unwelcome, dissolute father wanted.
The second I walked in the door he started in on me, launching a pitch for his latest scheme. I sat down and let him go on for quite a while. He liked to talk.
When a half hour went by and he showed no signs of letting up, I held up a hand. “Let’s cut to the chase,” I said with a sigh. “Are you asking me for money again?”
That set him off into a tirade about my lack of business sense and how I had no idea how to sniff out a good investment.
“I’m not the one asking for money here,” I slid the words in when he had to pause for air. “How much is it this time?”
“You don’t have to say it like that. Like you’re doing me some huge favor.”
“To be clear, I am. If these so called investments ever pay off for you, I’ve certainly never seen my fair share of it.”
“I thought you were doing well. What do you need the money for?”
“That’s not remotely related to what I said. You’re calling this an investment. I’m taking exception to your wording. If you need money from me, just tell me how much.”
“Just fifty k. If you’re doing so well, you won’t even notice.”
I wouldn’t notice, not in my bank account anyway. What I did notice was that he couldn’t stop being an asshole even in the time it took him to ask for money. I sighed. I was a softie. “Fine, but this is your birthday and Christmas gift for the year. You aren’t getting so much as a card after this.”
He was, at least, in a better mood after that. And he did leave me alone, pausing briefly at the door to say, “You-you’re a good boy. Thanks, son.”
Ro came in almost on the tail of him walking out. She just stared at me, and I could tell she’d heard at least some of our dysfunctional interaction.
Finally she spoke, “You big softie.” Each word held its own little universe of delicious affection. I could have soaked in it for hours. Days. Years.
And also, she fucking walked into it again. “Something is big on me but, full disclosure, it’s not soft.”
She left to run errands, and I stayed home to stay on track for the day’s word count goals, so I didn’t see her again for quite some time.
Unfortunately, I did see Ida and my father, together and separately, quite a few times. They just kept popping into my office and annoying the hell out of me with various complaints and demands.
I took my daily swim and Ida was there in a white thong bikini, perched on the edge of the pool, her feet and calves dipped in, while she called out encouragement for my laps like I was doing something impressive.
Even with how obvious she was being it took me a while to realize she was flirting like she thought we might rekindle some old flame. Yikes.
“Do you need money, too?” I asked her suspiciously at one point when she just wouldn’t leave.
She looked surprised but not for the reasons one might think. “Too? Carson asked you for money? He didn’t even tell me! I’ll make him pay for trying to hide money from me again.” With a huff, she left.
Well, that did the trick.
And my dad kept seeking me out to give me ‘advice.’ He was waffling between trying to get me to fire Ro to speculating about how he might go about seducing her.
He was such an unrepentant piece of shit I could hardly take it sometimes.
And Ro was still gone. I kept texting her complaints about the company I was being forced to keep, but she didn’t respond.
By 5 p.m., I started drinking copiously—the good Scotch.
I’d had enough of my dad and Ida for the year, but somehow that didn’t make them disappear.
I drank until I was fuzzy-headed, decided that was a good development, then drank until I was whistling, then dancing and singing.
That was when Ro found me.
My mood brightened considerably.