King of Wall Street(22)

Harper’s satisfied smile ran across my brain. Maybe dating would help get her out of my system.

“You keep me plenty busy,” I replied. “What time are you planning to arrive tonight with Scarlett?”

“I can come?”

I could hear Amanda’s smile, and I couldn’t help but grin. I was a sucker for that smile.

“I’m not going to let my little girl go shopping for her eighth grade dance on her own, now am I?”

She shrieked and I turned down the volume on my phone, wincing. “You’ve got a key, so just let yourself in if I’m not there.”

“Can we get takeout?”

I rolled my eyes. “Maybe.”

“And watch a mob movie like we did last time?”

I chuckled. Because Amanda didn’t have a lot of her stuff in the apartment, when she visited we usually ended up hanging out, eating takeout and watching movies. I loved it.

“No promises. I want you to swear you’ll do your piano practice before you leave. If you don’t pass the exam, your mother will move you to Zurich.”

“It’s a deal.” The piano began to chime in the background. “You hear that? I’ve started already.”

I shook my head. “See you later, peanut.”

“Love you, Dad.”

The three best words on the planet.

“Love you, Amanda.”

As I hung up, Donna walked in.

“If you’re leaving early tomorrow to go shopping, let’s do a quick walk-through of your schedule for today and tomorrow.”

I leaned back in my chair. “I see the women in my life know what I’m doing before I do.”

“Did you ever have any doubt?”

I sighed. “I guess not.” It was days like this when I felt as though my life didn’t belong to me. Having my own business was tough and took up almost all my energy, but usually the rewards of working for myself outweighed the disadvantages. Today the scales were tipping in the wrong direction. I just wanted to shrug off the constant demands on my time, to check out for a day—fuck around on the internet, go ride my bike, speak to Harper. Though I had no idea what I’d say. Apologize, maybe.

“Do we need to cancel anything?” I asked.

“No, but the meeting with Andrew and his contact at JD Stanley is at ten, and I’m guessing you won’t want to miss that?”

She was right. I didn’t want to miss it. I was hoping for a little inside knowledge about JD Stanley, the only major investment bank King & Associates didn’t work with.

“No, Amanda can hang out at the apartment until after lunch tomorrow. Do we have anything in the afternoon?”

“A meeting with Harper at three, but I can push it to next week.” As Donna said her name my face heated and the blood in my veins seemed to speed up.

I ran a finger around my collar. How was I going to approach her? Should I say sorry? She’d been just as up for things as I had, but I was her boss. I didn’t want her to think it could happen again. Maybe I should be upfront with her, tell her she was great, but it was a one-time deal. Or should I just pretend it hadn’t happened? I had no idea.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” I was the last person she probably wanted to see. After all, she thought I was an asshole.

* * * * *

I’d been glued to my iPhone, taking my office mobile while Amanda was in the changing room in the small Midtown boutique we were in. My fingers hovered over my emails. Should I drop Harper a note? But I had no idea what I’d say. This was why the rules of casual sex should be established before anyone got naked. But she’d been the one to talk about Vegas. Perhaps we didn’t need to have an awkward follow-up conversation to reestablish what had already been said. I stuffed the phone back in my pocket and tried to avoid eye contact with the sales assistants.

“What do you think?” Amanda asked, stepping out of a dressing room.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I asked, recoiling in shock. Shopping was not my favorite activity to do—Pandora usually bought Amanda’s clothes—but I was going to have to be involved in every shopping trip from now to eternity if she thought she was going to wear that.

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Dad, don’t swear.”

Don’t swear? She was lucky I didn’t kill someone. Someone like the designer of the dress she had on. “Take that off, right now. You’re fourteen not twenty-five.” It showed way too much skin—there seemed to be nothing holding it up and it was about three feet too short. It was as if she was wearing a towel.

“I’m not a child.”

I didn’t need a reminder she was growing up far too fast. “Yes, you are. That’s what fourteen is. And a child doesn’t get to wear dresses that don’t have arms.”