The pit of my stomach warms up at the action, the heat spreads, and I feel it again. Something was in the air while we finished dinner. It's strange, and I think she felt it too. I feel impossibly close to this girl even though we've known each other such a short time. I haven't told anyone my history, not even Mike. But I wanted to tell her. I want to tell her more. I want to tell her absolutely everything about me.
I stop myself. Wow.
The air in the car grows close and I find it hard to breathe as the realization hits me like a freight train: my feelings for Vera are far deeper than I thought they were, and those feelings are far deeper than they have any right to be. The rest of the ride flies by as I grapple with whether or not I am falling for-screw it-I am falling for her. I've never felt anything this deep or this fast. I've never really gotten to know any woman well enough for it to even be a possibility.
What would Vera say?
She'd probably think you were crazy. That's what. For sure, now is not the time to bring it up with everything on her mind about her dad and her career. Everything in me hopes that she gets the job. Not only would she be doing what she loved, but she could work with me. There is something warm at the thought of us working together. A hazy vision forms in my mind of all the things we could accomplish together with her brilliant designs and my practical skills.
I park down the block from her house, not wanting to alert her parents. They'll find out eventually I imagine, but that's her call until then. In the meantime I'll push her boundaries as far as she'll let me, but I'll never cross them. I turn to her, and with our linked hands I lift the back of hers to my mouth and press a kiss to her skin. "You okay?" I ask.
"Yeah," she says, and I can see her blush in the dark. "Sorry I've been so quiet. I'm still anxious about how the interview went."
"You're going to get it," I say. Please god, let her get it.
She laughs, but it has no heart. "It's out of my hands, right?"
"That's right." I pull her close to me, wanting to feel her in my arms as much as possible in the small space. I kiss her, and it's a whole new world. In this moment, the softness of her lips are the only thing in existence that I could ever want. I want her. I want all of her. She kisses me back, and when her tongue runs along my lips I feel my cock wake up. I pull away gently, and I place one final chaste kiss on her lips.
"Unless you want to ride me in this car," I say, "we have to stop here."
"That's an idea," she replies with a twinkle in her eye.
"As much as I"-and my cock-"love that idea, I think you need sleep tonight."
There it is in the air again as she leans against me, kissing my lips, my jaw, my neck.
"James," she says softly, and it sounds so much like a moan I have to force myself not to take her right here. "I like you, too."
Before I can think of a reply, she gets out of the car and slams the door. I watch her walk away, putting the car back in drive after she waves from the gate. As I head home I can only think one thing: I'm still in so much trouble, but this is the kind of trouble I want.
13
Vera
When I wake up, I find I have an email from Rebecca asking me to call her at my earliest convenience. It's only nine, and she sent the email a half-hour ago. Such fast news must be good, right? It has to be. I shake myself awake and grab my cell. I dial her number and wait for an answer. Butterflies are in my stomach. This is it. I can feel it tingling in my toes.
The receptionist. "The Harrison Foundation. How may I direct your call?"
"Good morning," I say, "this is Vera Caldwell calling for Rebecca Harrison."
"One moment, please."
I wait on the edge of my seat as chirpy hold-music plays in my ear. It doesn't even take a minute. "Rebecca Harrison."
"Hello, Rebecca. It's Vera Caldwell."
"Vera," she says, sounding happy, "I'm so glad you called."
"My pleasure."
She clears her throat, and my stomach tightens. "I have to say I am so sorry that you won't be joining us, but your father explained the situation and I wanted to thank you personally for the donation. With that, I'll be able to take on ten new charity homes."
What? I don't understand. She keeps talking.
"I do hope you'll consult with us, though. Your low-income plans are exactly what we're looking for here."
There's a sinking feeling in my gut and tears spring to my eyes. I do my best to keep them out of my voice. "Of course, I'd be happy to."
My father called her.
My father bought her off and she was going to give me the job. The job I've been working my ass off for and dreaming about for half my life.
A fury nothing like I've ever known fills me, followed by a crushing sadness. Because that money my father donated? The Foundation needs that money. Those families need that money, need the houses those funds will build. Rebecca continues with her thankful speech, and I don't know how much more I can listen to it, when I know she's thanking me for my father's betrayal.
"Just let me know if you need anything, Vera."
An idea forms, the very least I can do with this situation. "Actually, I have a request."
"Name it," she says.
"You have a contractor-James London?"
"Oh yes!" Her voice lights up. "We love James."
"He's a good friend, and I know he does good work. The homes you choose to build with the donation-schedule permitting, of course-would you consider giving those contracts to him?"
She laughs, "That seems simple enough. We're always happy to have him on board."
"Thank you," I say.
"I hope that we'll be speaking soon!" And she signs off.
I sit on my bed, utterly unable to move. I'm at war with myself, wanting to destroy something and at the same time wanting to crawl into my bed and hide for days. Then a resolve forms. No. No hiding.
I pull on clothes, not bothering with makeup. I don't have time for it. My anger won't wait for it. I go across the house to my father's office and throw open the door. I push it so hard I hear it slam against the wall with a very satisfying crack. My father is at his drafting table and I'm gratified by seeing his pen snag across the paper in his surprise.
"How much did it cost you?" I ask.
He finds his blotter and starts to work on the mistake I just made him make. "What are you talking about?" He isn't even looking at me.
My voice is loud and I hear it echo as I shout-I don't care, let everyone hear- "Bullshit! You know exactly what I'm talking about. The Harrison Foundation. How much did it take you to buy them off? How much did you lose to make sure they were fine with you withdrawing me from the position?"
He looks up mildly. "Two million. I figured you would appreciate it."
"Appreciate it?" I seethe. "Why would I appreciate you sabotaging my career? I've dreamed of doing this kind of work since … " I trail off as my voice breaks with emotion.
He just rolls his eyes. My father, the great Timothy Caldwell, rolls his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic, Vera. You know you're blowing this entirely out of proportion."
I take a deep breath, desperately trying to keep from screaming at him. "I'm not being dramatic. You bought someone off-"
"I made a donation," he interjects.
"You bought someone off to force me to work for you."
He looks at me for a moment. "I suppose you can put it like that, if you insist. Though I'm doing it for your own good."
"If you were going to do this, going to force my hand," my fingers squeeze into fists and I desperately want to hit something, "then why make that deal with me at all? What was the point of the past three months of me looking for a job?"
The mistake on his plan fixed, my father puts his drafting tools away and fully turns to face me. "I wanted you to see just how hard it would be for you if you were on your own. I wanted you to appreciate the fact that I am handing you a career and a legacy on a platter. Most people would be grateful for the opportunity, Vera. I've worked hard to make sure you have a place in my company, and so you will accept it with grace. Understand me: this tantrum you're throwing will be the last time you will be allowed to behave this way."
"Tantrum," I say, a sudden and deadly cold flowing through my body. "Confronting you about this thing you did and standing up for myself is not a tantrum."
We stare at each other, and everything clicks with a horrifying certainty. Every rejection that I've received from my interviews referenced my father; my no-longer-future employers keep asking me to give him their best. I thought it was because he was famous. I'm realizing it's because he paid them off.
Every single interview I've had has been sabotaged by him.