Escort (A Standalone Romance Novel) (New York City Bad Boy Romance) (46 page)

“I
don’t know,” he says. “It’s getting kind of late.”

“Well,
just keep me company for a little bit,” I tell him. “That is, if you want to.”

He
looks at me and, with a modest smile, he nods.

“Great,”
I tell him. “How’s the search for another job?”

“I’m
looking, but things are still pretty sparse out there,” he answers.

“Would
you like something to drink?” I ask.

“I
probably shouldn’t,” he answers. “I still have to drive home tonight.”

“About
that,” I start, “I was wondering if I could impose on you for something.”

“What’s
that?” he asks.

Lie
of omission or not, he was right about me needing some more help when it comes
to training Cheryl. When I asked her what an assistant store manager was
supposed to do, this look came over her face like I was drunk at the wheel,
steering the ship into an iceberg.

“Well,
I’m still struggling with training,” I tell him. “Part of me wants to hold on
to as much as I possibly can while the other part wants to overcompensate and
delegate everything to her. I’m sure there’s some kind of middle ground, but
I’m having some serious trouble finding it.”

“I
can probably do that for a couple of days,” he says, “but I really do need to
focus on getting me and the guys another job.”

“Fair
enough,” I say. “I was wondering if you could start tomorrow.”

He
thinks about it for a moment.

“I
guess I could do that,” he says, “but I won’t be able to do it full time, what
with bidding on new projects and all.”

“All
right,” I tell him. “So, how about that drink?”

“Wait,
I thought you were closed on the weekends,” he says.

“I
am,” I tell him, slowly making my way toward the kitchen until he gets the
point and starts following me. “At least for now, but I want to get Cheryl
prepared so she can start taking over some of my duties by Monday.”

“You
know,” he says, “I’m really proud of you for being willing to change what
wasn’t working for you. Not a lot of people are willing to do that.”

“Well,”
I tell him, “like you said, if I don’t start delegating, the store’s either
going to close or I’m going to end up burning out and, if I’m unable to learn
to delegate before then, the store would close anyway, so it’s really by sheer
survival that I’m doing it. I have beer or vodka.”

“Vodka,”
he says. “I never really liked beer.”

“All
right,” I say, pulling the vodka out of the freezer and setting it on the
counter. “Did you want a shot or a mixed drink?”

“Surprise
me,” he says. “To be honest, I’ve never been that good with shots, but I never
know what to mix it with, so I really don’t drink that often.”

“Actually,”
she says, “I think you’ve got that backward. If you drank more often, you would
have figured out by now exactly what to mix your liquor with. Ice?”

“Sure,”
he says.

I
mix up a quick screwdriver, mostly for the fact that vodka and orange juice are
the only non-water beverages I have in the house.

“So
tell me something,” I start, trying to figure out how to say what I want to
say.

“What’s
that?” he asks.

“You’re
single, right?”

“Yeah,”
he says and I hand him his drink.

“What
do you think makes a good relationship?” I ask.

“I
don’t know,” he says. “Trust, affection, respect…I think there are a lot of
things that go into making a good relationship, but even with all of those
things, I guess you never really know whether the other person is where you are
with everything, so who knows?”

“Trust,
huh?” I ask, but decide not to push the issue until I have some more
information.

“Yeah,”
he says. “The problem, like I said, is that you never really know whether the
other person is worthy of that trust. I guess that’s why we learn to trust
people in the first place. Otherwise we’d all be paranoid of each other all the
time. Still, I trusted Amy, enough to want to marry her, but that turned out to
be pretty fucking stupid.”

“So,
what would you do if you found yourself in a new relationship and you found out
that your partner was hiding something from you?” I ask.

“Did
you start dating someone recently?” he returns.

“No,”
I tell him, “nothing like that. I guess I’m just curious. It’s been so long
since I’ve had a real relationship that I’m just trying to figure out if I’d
even be good in one.”

“I
think you would,” he says, taking a drink. He swallows and wipes his mouth,
adding, “I think your willingness to admit your own limitations should tell you
that you’re ready for something more serious.”

“Is
that what you want?” I ask.

“What
do you mean?”

“Well,
you just got out of a relationship that ended so badly, I’m just wondering if
you still have faith that they can work,” I explain.

“Oh
yeah,” he says. “All that crap aside, I think relationships have the potential
to be wonderful things. The problem, in my view, is that so often, people get
into something wanting to change the other person or thinking that it’s even
possible
to change another person
without him or her being really ready and willing to do the work themselves. I
think that’s what dooms most relationships. In the end, the person never really
changes, so you either go into denial or you grow so resentful that you end up
wanting to blow the whole thing up.”

“Is
that what happened with you and Amy?” I ask.

“To
be honest, I don’t know
what
happened
with Amy and me. Alec keeps telling me that he saw something was wrong from the
beginning, and to his credit, that’s true. The only thing is that with him, he
thinks that anyone who’s not in at least a semi-open relationship isn’t doing
it right,” he answers.

“So
you’re the monogamous type?” I ask.

“I
haven’t always been,” he answers, “but as I started growing up and seeing what
it was that I actually wanted from a relationship, I realized that it wasn’t
something I could really have with more than one person. I think relationships
like the one Alec and Irene have are great for some people, but they’re not for
everyone. They’re not for me.”

“Would
you like another drink?” I ask him.

I’m
not going to lie: I am trying to get him drunk. People tend to be more
malleable when they’re intoxicated.

“Sure,”
he says. “I hardly tasted the alcohol in that at all. Would you mind putting in
a little bit more next time? When I can’t taste the booze in a drink, I always
get worried that I’m going to end up drinking too much without knowing it.”

“Sounds
like we both have control issues,” I tell him, taking his glass.

He
chuckles. “Maybe so,” he says. “What about you?”

“What
do you mean?” I ask.

“You
said that you’re single, but it sounds like you might have someone in mind.
Anyone I know?” he asks.

Boy,
he’s starting to push it. I don’t know if it’s the booze or if he’s actually
trying to make his move, but I’m going to have to keep on my toes if I’m going
to learn whatever it is I’m trying to learn.

“I
don’t know,” I tell him coyly. “I guess I’m more open to the idea than I used
to be, but I still think it would have to be on my terms.”

“What
are your terms?” he asks.

“Well,
like you,” I tell him, mixing the drink, “I think that honesty’s a must. I
think I’d have a really hard time being with someone who would lie or knowingly
withhold the truth from me.”

I
wonder if he’ll get the hint and come clean.

“It’s
an important quality,” he says. “What else?”

That’s
a no.

“I’d
want someone who doesn’t think of my ambitions as a liability,” I tell him.
“Sure, I’m starting to delegate more and all that, but I still have a lot that
I want to accomplish in my life, and if I were to start dating someone, I think
they’d have to really be okay with that from the get-go.”

“I’ve
always been really attracted to driven women,” he says. “I think it’s important
for people to be passionate, to have things that they want to accomplish.”

“Is
that why you took over your company?” I ask.

“Kind
of,” he says. “I think the real reason is that it’s been in the family since my
grandfather, and if I didn’t take it, it was going to go to someone else.”

“So
you’re trying to keep the family business alive, then?” I ask, handing him his
second drink, this one with not two, but three shots in it.

I’m
going to get the truth out of him one way or another.

“I
guess so,” he answers and takes a sip. “Shit, I think this might be a little
far the other way.”

“Well,”
I tell him, “the best we can do without wasting anything is for you to take a
couple more drinks and then I’ll start filling it back up with orange juice.”

I
think he’s starting to suspect that I’m digging for something, but the look on
his face is hardly one of certainty.

“I
guess my big drive in life has been to fulfill other people’s drives,” he says.
“I’ve never really thought of it that way, but really, I am kind of living my
father’s life.”

“Why
not change it then?” I ask. “If I can make changes, I’m sure you can.”

“It’s
not that simple,” he says. “José could very easily take over, but I’m really
not in a position where I could afford to sell the company, and I don’t think
he’s in a position where he could buy it.”

“What
would it take for you to follow your dreams?” I ask.

“I
don’t know that this
isn’t
my dream,”
he answers and takes another gulp of his drink. I fill it back to the top with
orange juice.

“I
thought you said you were living your father’s life,” I respond.

“Yeah,”
he says, “but my father had a great life. I mean, I don’t do everything that
he’s done and I do a lot of things that he’d never dream of.”

“Like
going home and getting drunk with your boss?” I ask.

“No,”
he says, taking another sip, “that’s something he did all too much. That’s kind
of what made things difficult with him and my mom.”

“Divorced?”
I ask, but quickly add, “I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.”

“It’s
fine,” he says. “They were talking about getting a divorce, but when mom came
down with cancer, he did the right thing and stuck with her.”

“I’m
sorry,” I tell him.

I’ve
been trying to avoid thinking about the fact that my own mother has cancer,
even though all indications point to her being fine. I can’t imagine what it
must be like to actually lose a parent.

“It
is what it is,” he says, taking a drink.

“Want
another one?” I ask.

“I
think I should probably slow down,” he says. “When it comes to liquor, I’m a
cheap date.”

“I’ll
keep that in mind,” I tell him, shooting for inscrutable.

“What
about your parents?” he asks clumsily.

“What
about them?” I return.

“Are
they still together? I don’t know, that’s really none of
my
business. I just thought I’d—”

“They’re
still together,” I tell him. I plan to stop there, but the juxtaposition of the
cancer comment with his direct question regarding my parents is hitting me pretty
hard. “My mom just found out that she has cancer and, to tell you the truth,
I’m pretty freaked out about it.”

“I’m
sorry,” he says. “What kind does she have?”

“Chondrosarcoma,”
I answer. “It affects bones and joints. From what I know, they didn’t exactly
catch it as early as they would have liked, but it looks like her chances are
pretty good.”

“I’m
glad to hear that,” he says.

“What
kind did your mom have?” I ask. “Really, if you don’t want to talk about it, we
can change the—”

“Cervical
cancer,” he says. “When it happened, I was too young to know what that meant,
but she never had a chance. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. If
you ever want someone to talk to about your mom—not that she’s…you know,” he
stammers, and I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol or the conversation.

So
far, my search for clarity hasn’t provided very much in return.

“Thanks,”
I tell him. “I might take you up on that. So, how about that drink?”

“You
know what?” he starts. “I think I will have another one if you don’t mind. Not
as strong as that last one, though.”

“I’m
on it,” I tell him. While I’m fixing up his third drink in the last fifteen
minutes, I start again, “You know, I really think that one of the things that’s
most important in a new relationship is chemistry.”

“Yeah?”
he asks.