Under His Spell (The Miami Tycoon) (7 page)

George came by to Erica to ask how she’d changed the software to allow panoramic views; soon the whole office was using her shortcut. The sense of competitiveness that Erica sensed upon first entering the office was almost non-existent, though Erica had felt a strange sense of secrecy from a few of her coworkers.

The next couple of days flew by; Erica sold the other apartment in her building to a nice young couple with a baby on the way (and was thankful they would be living three floors below her.) Her three open houses went off without a hitch, and she thought a bidding war might be brewing on the cute little pastel-pink bungalow in Little Havana. Maxwell had asked her to read over another contract, and hinted that he might have a bigger project for her to work on in the coming weeks.

Thursday night, Erica had Emily and Manny over for the promised dinner. She made sole with beurre blanc and almond-dressed haricots verts. It was Manny’s favorite, although he referred to it as ‘fancy-ass french fish.’ Erica always pretended to be annoyed, but she was so fond of Manny and the happiness he brought Emily that she really didn’t care. She also tried to recreate the blood-orange margaritas for Emily’s sake, with fair-to-middling success, though Emily proclaimed them better than the original. “The goat blood tastes much fresher.” she said, to Manny’s bewilderment. “Oh, don’t worry Manfred, the goats die quickly and painlessly,” Erica told him, using the nickname just to bug him.

“Honestly, though Erica, somebody needs to wife you up. You’re too good a cook to be single.”

“Don’t I know it. I’m gonna find somebody who can cook for me, though.”

Emily, who was looking at Manny, chimed in. “Or you can live like us, and have an amazing friend to do the cooking for you.”

Erica smiled, both at the remark and the sweetness in Emily’s eyes as she looked at Manny. “Very funny, guys. You’re never getting another invite.”

“That’s it, I’m leaving,” said Manny jokingly. “It’s my last swing shift, though, thank god. Can’t do anymore Friday nights in the ER. Guys get too drunk chasing after pretty girls like you and fall down, and I get the pleasure of sewing their little heads back up.” Manny’s smile was rueful. “All right now, you two don’t get into too much trouble while I’m at work.” He kissed the top of Emily’s head as he put his jacket on.

After Manny left, Emily and Erica moved down to the living room and opened a second bottle of wine.

“Really, though, Erica, best marg-margs ever. I cannot stop saying the word marg-marg. It’s addicting. Marg-marg. Do you think I lower my IQ a few points every time I say it? Marg-marg. Can’t stop. Damn you, Ashley.”

Erica chuckled.“Okay, you have to stop though. You’re making me want to say it. I must resist! Anyway. Change of subject. Is working opposite shifts hard on you two?” Erica asked.

“Ugh, yes. It is. We never get to just hang out anymore. It doesn’t help that I’m always running off to see you since you got back into town...”

Emily had said it in jest, but Erica was immediately repentant. “Em! Oh my god, I am so sorry. I do not mean to be stealing you away! I just love being able to see you now that we live in the same town again—“

“Oh, shush, I’m not blaming you. It’s so nice having you back. And I really did have fun the other night, and, duh, I want us to be involved in each other’s lives. So just shush up. Wait, don’t shush. Tell me about work.” Emily snuggled deeper into the couch and sipped her full glass.

“Well,” said Erica, “Maxwell is married.” Erica willed herself to think of him as Maxwell, not Nick, again, at least when referring to him in the third person.

“You are lying.” Emily sat up straight.

“I am, unfortunately, telling the truth. Apparently everyone in the office knows. I was told after you left. Sucks, right? Not that I was going to date my boss anyway, because how wrong and sluttish, but yeah, maybe I would have done it, and, just, ugh. I hate admitting it, but I’m disappointed.” Erica swirled her wine around in her glass.

“Me too! How dare he dance with you like that and not tell you himself? I didn’t have him pegged for such a weasel. Shit,” Emily said. “Well, how was the rest of the night, anyway?”

“I got shitfaced and I think I yelled at Anthony after he was nice enough to bring me home. I was blackout, I don’t even remember why I was yelling.” Erica tried to look appropriately ashamed.

“Sounds like you took up the drunk bitch mantle after I took the prizewinner home, huh?”

“Yeah. It sucked.” Erica blew a few strands of hair out of her face. “But, upside to everything, is that I had lunch with Anthony on Monday and it was so great. I know I’m like, out of the frying pan and into the fire on the office romance front, but it was nice. You know, I have these weird reservations about getting to know him better, but I think it’s just because he seems vain and is a flirt. But comparatively with all others of his species, those are minor sins, don’t you think? He isn’t married, at least.”

“I guess. But is he a flirt with everyone else, or just you?”

Erica considered. “Well, I haven’t seen him with a lot of other women...” She tried to recall whether she’d seen him hit on any other women at the bar. “I’m not sure? But even if he is, I’m not that serious about him either. I don’t really see him as long-term boyfriend worthy. I could use an ego boost though, and Anthony fits that bill.”

“Sure thing. Just don’t get too involved. He skeezes me out. On to more important things!” Emily brightened as she spoke. “Ashley shared some gossip with me whilst I brought her drunk ass home. Luckily my slur-interpreter skills are still great.”

“Mmm. More shit about her Pinterest-perfect wedding? Will there be mason-jar lights? Will there be mason-jar centerpieces? Will there be mason-jar shivs for the mass suicide ceremony being planned by the guests?”

“Aha, no. Thank fucking god. She started talking about how she thinks Ryan is really hot, and her fiancé-to-be is kinda schlubby, and she wants to break herself off a piece of Jill’s man.”

“No shit. Trouble in Pinterest paradise.” Erica gulped some wine.

“It’s true! She said she doesn’t know what to do about it. Obviously, as Ryan is dating an evil ancient sea serpent who will lay a curse on whomever he so much as glances at, I told her to stay far away. In fact, I told her to stop going out to get drunk with him on Friday nights, because she clearly has poor impulse control when inebriated. I also told her, as my professional opinion, that another night like that could put her liver in danger.”

“Good advice. I should take it. Not the liver thing, but the stay far away thing, in regards to my married boss. But now my new crush is gonna be there too.” Even as Erica said the word ‘crush’ in regards to Anthony, she knew it was false. Or at least a stretch.

“Are you going out tomorrow?”

“Yep, the whole office is. Cielito again. I would invite you, but you should stay in with Manfred. Is he working tomorrow night?”

“No, actually, he goes back on morning shift with me starting tomorrow! So, so happy about it. We are going out for dinner tomorrow, then maybe we’ll stop by Cielito for a drink. I want Manny to try the marg-margs.” Erica winced as Emily said the word. “Sorry! Then we’re going home and mama’s getting laid.”

“Good, you need it. I thought you were gonna lay Maxwell out and force me to bone him on the dance floor last weekend. It’ll be nice to see you and Manny for a bit, though. Manny can show everyone how it’s done on the salsa floor.”

“Yeah, girl. We’re gonna get buck on the reggaeton floor, too.” Emily finished her wine and got up, pelvic thrusting in Erica’s general direction.

Erica tried to scoot away from Emily, whose pelvis could not be stopped. “Save it for tomorrow, cochina!”

“Shh, you’re the dirty girl, just lay back and enjoy it.” Erica fled into her orange bedroom and shut the door.

“Say the password!” she shouted to Emily.

“MARG-MARGS,” they shouted in unison.

The atmosphere in the office was light and breezy on the next night, Friday. Everyone but Ashley, who’d made some excuse about dinner with her boyfriend, had stayed late. Now, around seven, all work had ceased and relaxing had begun.

Jess was mixing everyone a drink called a Dark & Stormy, made with ginger beer and rum. Erica made idle comparisons in her mind of the cloudy, ever-changing amber of the drink with the amber of her boss’s eyes. Everyone had brought their chairs over, and Jill, as per usual, was seated on Jess’s desk itself. Even George had come to stand near where Jess was pouring. He seemed to have a vested interest in the amount of rum going in to his drink.

“Rough week, George?” Erica asked.

“I’m a battered man. Maxwell has me going overtime on a, uh, new project. I think he’s punishing me for yelling at you last week. Did I mention how sorry I am about that?” George pulled at his blue canvas tie, which was overlaid a white oxford shirt pulled tight over George’s paunch.

“Oh, that’s ancient history. And I deserved it, anyway.”

Ryan, sitting near by, chimed in. “You did not deserve it! George, you dog. Erica fixed her mistake and got the contract sooner. Erica, you did fine. Don’t apologize for yourself.”

Jill’s smile was tinged with pity, which Erica disliked. “Yes, Erica, you are a valued member of this team. We just love having you here.” The sarcasm was so light as to be undetectable to anyone but Erica and Jill; still Erica was saw the tension at the corners of Jill’s mouth. She must’ve been worried that Erica would out her for giving her the wrong fax number. Erica would not stoop to that, but she enjoyed letting Jill sweat a little.

“I am sorry! I said I was! What do I have to do here, Erica, build a statue of you?” George looked like he really, really needed a drink. Erica was pleased about Ryan defending her. She was beginning to feel like she really was a ‘valued member of the team,’ or something like that.

“Sure, George, that’ll be just fine. I think Jess has something for you before you begin construction, though.” George accepted his glass graciously, drained it in one go, and then informed the group that he had to catch a cab to his daughter’s graduation from swim class.

“Marco!” shouted Maxwell, entering the room just as George exited.

“Polo,” came the much less enthused response from George as he passed through the doorway.

Maxwell looked gleeful. “George is just mad because he’s having trouble closing on a sale. But the rest of you, cherished employees, don’t have that problem. Thirty-four sales in one week! It’s a new record, we’re celebrating tonight,” he informed the group.

“Hey, don’t threaten me with a good time!” Anthony said. “When’s the party start?”

“How about now? Does that work for you guys?” Maxwell looked at Erica while he spoke. She only looked back in response, as the rest of the group yelled and whistled in assent. He didn’t know it, but as she looked she was deciding that the amber in his eyes was much, much nicer than the amber in her glass. Erica knew quite well, to her dismay, which she’d prefer to look at for the rest of the night. She tore her eyes from his, directed her gaze down at the consolation prize, and drank the last of the spicy golden liquid.

Maxwell, as always when he looked at Erica, felt a buzzing start in him. Today she had her melancholy expression on, the one that made her look like a tragic film starlet. The paper-whiteness of her skin, the rich darkness of her hair... she was something of an anomaly in Miami, land of orange palms. Anthony must have been thinking the same thing, because a few moments later, he asked her, “Erica, not to be all why-are-you-so-pale, but, uh, why are you so pale?”

Erica smiled wryly. “Accident of fate. Scandinavian-mutt father and half-Chinese, half-Russian mother. They both work at Biscayne, that’s how they met. Apparently, they did not consider that their offspring would have the tanning potential of a snowman.”

“No kidding! I didn’t know you were such a mutt. Do you speak Chinese?”

In perfect, Taiwanese-accented Mandarin, Erica called him a whoremonger in possession of a baby penis.

Anthony looked suspicious. “Hey, what did you just say to me?”

“Oh, I just said how lovely your hair was looking today.” Anthony preened in response.

Jess addressed the group. “All right everyone, since you haven’t yet complimented my delicious creations, I’ll do it myself: Thanks Jess, you make a kick-ass drink! You’re the greatest!” The assembled officemates subsequently fell all over themselves telling Jess how wonderful the drinks were and how much they appreciated her doing all the work.

“Pshht, you ingrates. You’re all buying me a mojito when we get to the bar. Now get your stuff and let’s go!”

Maxwell, who had not yet partaken of Jess’s mixology experiments, volunteered to drive everyone in his Range Rover. Erica called shotgun the second they were within sight of the parking lot.

“Ugh, I feel so undignified in the backseat,” complained Jill, seated next to Ryan. Anthony had insisted on driving his own car, saying he’d had only one drink an hour before. He drove an Audi two-seater, and Jess had quickly volunteered to go with him.

The ride was quick and went by even quicker for Erica, who was again breathing in Maxwell’s heady scent, tinged with a hint of leather from the expensive-looking interior of the SUV. She barely registered Jill and Ryan’s incessant bickering in the seat behind her.

When they reached the sidewalk outside of Cielito Lindo, Ryan and Jill got out of the car. Erica, not wanting leave, gathered her purse slowly. She started as Maxwell touched her hand and asked, “Will you stay a moment?”

She looked up at him and let her purse drop back down to the floor. “Of course.” She tried to control the tremor in her voice, begging her body not to betray her quickened pulse and unwarranted excitement to him.

“I’ve been meaning to get you alone all week. There’s something I want to ask you, Erica.” The way he said her name...Erica could do nothing but nod, encouraging him to continue.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, his phone buzzed in his chest. He looked crestfallen, but reached in his jacket pocket to answer it.

“Hello?” Soon crestfallen turned to anxious surprise. The voice on the other line sounded high and feminine, but Erica could not discern what she was saying.