A Gentleman in the Street (6 page)

“Uh, no. I don’t think I will, Father. Congratulations, by the way. I hope it’s yours and not that hot young tennis instructor Chloe hired.”

Her father’s voice was loud, a sure sign she had struck a nerve. “How do you know about the tennis instructor?”

“There’s always a tennis instructor. At least the instructor is employed, right?”
That’s right, Daddy. Remember I succeeded where you failed. Remember if I had inherited the precious Mori empire, it would have thrived.

“You fucking bitch.”

Bitch. Cunt. Whore. She should thank her parents, really. By the time she had become an adult, those words had lost all power to hurt her.

She injected a note of false cheer into her voice. “This has been fun. I’ll call you on Father’s Day. Maybe we can go to brunch. Toodles, Daddy.” She ended the call with a quiet click, loath to give the fucking asshole dick the satisfaction of her slamming the phone down on him.

Akira didn’t have to wonder if the birth of the newest Mori would be televised. The ratings would skyrocket, and her father could milk the pregnancy and birth and first year for at least three or four seasons. That was something the kid could look back on, a televised scrapbook of dysfunction.
And these are my parents and siblings showing their asses on cable TV.

She massaged the back of her neck. Of course, when the pregnancy became public knowledge, reporters would come swarming around, as they always did when something dramatic happened on the show. Poking at her private life, smirking over her house parties, waiting outside her home to ask her what she thought about her father’s “leaked” sex tape or her dearest stepmother’s alleged affairs or the ancient history that made up her parents’ acrimonious divorce when she was a baby.

Being the center of attention was fine, but not when her dad was the cause of it.

A knock on the door startled her. She smoothed her hair and straightened her jacket before rapping out, “Yes.”

The door opened almost instantly, and a small dark-haired woman stepped in. Akira frowned at her. This was not her assistant. “Who are you? You’re not Kim. Where’s Kim?”

Big brown eyes blinked at her. “Um, she’s on maternity leave, ma’am. I’m her replacement, Tammy? We met last week.”

Maternity leave. Of course. Babies were in the air, obviously.

Her assistant was in her late forties, and this was her first child, so of course Akira had encouraged her to listen to her doctor and not work up to the day before her due date, as the dedicated woman might have done. Between flying about the country and chasing down gorgeous aloof authors, Akira had completely forgotten the date.

Akira struggled to contain her irrational dismay. She didn’t want this Tammy, who, while competent, wasn’t her assistant.

Or her friend. “How long will you be working for me?”

“The full length of the maternity leave, ma’am. Four months.”

Four months hadn’t seemed so long when she and Kim had discussed it.
Put on your big-girl panties.
Her employees were absolutely allowed to have families. “I ought to send her something,” she mused, half to herself.

“I believe Kim already scheduled a floral and gift basket delivery from you and A.M. Enterprises, ma’am.”

Akira almost smiled. “If there’s anything remaining on her baby registry, buy it.” She hesitated as an impulsive thought popped into her brain and her innate selfishness struggled with her good business sense. Selfishness lost. Damn it. “And arrange it so she can take an additional two months, if she wishes. Paid.”

Tammy’s professional mien slipped. “Um, ma’am?”

Akira glanced over her shoulder at the park. The child had left, but another had taken his place. “Have you ever passed a watermelon through your vagina?”

A choking noise came from her substitute assistant. “No, ma’am. I have not.”

“I’m not an expert, but that’s what birth sounds like to me. I should have told her earlier, to take some extra time. In fact, schedule a call with HR so we can look at our maternity-leave policies across the board.”

When Tammy said nothing, she looked at the other woman. The assistant’s face was nonplussed. “Is there a problem?” Akira inquired.

“No, ma’am. That is…very kind of you, is all.”

Hardly. “I like hiring good, competent women. It’s not our fault parasites can grow inside our wombs and wreck our bodies and imbalance our hormones.”

“Um…”

“I mean, it’s not our fault delightful gifts from God bless our lives. And everything else.”

“Ah.” Tammy licked her lips. “Okay.”

Akira clasped her hands on the table. “Since you and I will be working together for the next four to six months, let’s get a couple of things straight, okay?” Akira raised her hand. “First, I’m a bitch. Judging by how startled you are that I’m okay with my assistant taking some extra time to recover from popping out a screaming infant, you’ve heard that already.”

The poor girl’s mouth had dropped open, horror making her eyes big. “Ms. Mori, I would never—”

Akira waved her hand, cutting her off. “I don’t care. You can call me a bitch to my face, if you like. However, you now directly represent me, which means I basically expect you to destroy anyone else who talks shit about me within your earshot. I pay for loyalty, and I think I pay well for it.”

Tammy swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Second, my father is a complete and utter asshole. I don’t care if you have a Team Hiro shirt or have slept in his hotels or watch his show or own his sex tape. He’s an asshole. The next time he or his production company calls, I want you to grab that call and tell them all to go fuck themselves. Or each other. I don’t care who they’re fucking as long as I don’t have to talk to them. Ever. Clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Adrenaline sang through her veins, revitalizing her. She had shit to do, and she was doing it. She would be fine. With or without her grandmother’s box. With or without Jacob’s body on top of hers, ever. “That’s all for now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Akira sighed. “I don’t like to be called ma’am. You can call me Akira.”

“Yes, ma’am—Akira.” Tammy practically curtseyed as she backed away. “Please let me know if you need anything. I’ll be at my desk.”

“Great.”

Tammy hesitated. “If I may speak frankly, Akira. I have watched exactly one episode of your father’s show, while on a treadmill at the gym, and it made me want to weep for humanity.”

Akira cracked out a laugh. “Good. Maybe we can manage to get along then.”

Tammy made her way to the door, only to pivot around in a flurry. “Oh my goodness. I am so sorry. I forgot why I came in here. A Mr. Jacob Campbell is downstairs asking to see you.”

Poof. That was the sound of all Akira’s lovely resolve and focus going up in smoke.

Akira swiveled away from her computer. “What?”

“He said he’s an acquaintance? But he isn’t on the list of approved visitors.”

Aw. How very like serious, sober Jacob to not even be able to lie and upgrade their status to friends to gain entrance to her office. Hell, “Facebook friends” would have been warmer than “acquaintances.”

“Shall I tell security you aren’t available?”

Tempting. The call with her father had abraded her raw nerves, and she’d learned a lesson about sparring with Jacob when her shields were low. It had been a close thing, there in that cabin. There were dangers in permitting an adversary to see weakness, and she wasn’t in fighting shape right now.

If you refuse to see him, you’ll look wussy.

Steel grafted to your spine. Ice in your veins.

More like Play-Doh and lukewarm milk.

But why was he here? This wasn’t their dynamic. She was the one who always went barging, unwelcome, into whatever space he occupied, be it a holiday party or his cabin or her mother’s home. Before today, she would’ve assumed he had no idea where her office was even located.

Damn it, her curiosity had been piqued, and Akira’s curiosity often trumped her good sense.

She could do this. He would be on guard from their last encounter, ready to shove her away the second she came near. All she had to do was make it absolutely clear she didn’t care about a damn thing he did or said to her.

“Akira?”

Indecisiveness was a foreign emotion for her. “Send him in.” She regretted the words the instant they emerged, but efficient Tammy had already ducked out.

Akira licked her lips, glancing around the office. Anxiety had her seeking out every nook and cranny, uncertain what she was looking for.

The office itself was warm and inviting, with gleaming, restored oak floors and plush furnishings and rugs. Other than framed art consisting of shots of all of her establishments’ locations on the wall and a photo of her grandmother on her desk, there was nothing personal in this space. Nothing that could reveal any weakness.

Meeting him was for the best. She could have hardly faced herself in the mirror if she’d cowered in here from Jacob, of all people. She would see what he wanted, and then send him on his way. No doubt, he was probably on some sort of saintly errand.

Was it a little bright in here? Taking care not to hurry, she rose from her chair and pushed the button that would lower the shades on her windows to mid height.

She thought of the fine lines around her eyes. Lowered them some more.

There. Better.

Her hands automatically smoothed invisible wrinkles from her skirt before she stopped herself. Hell if she needed to primp for anyone.

Walking swiftly back to her desk, she rested her hand on her chair and picked up a stack of paper at random just as the knock came on the door.

Staring blindly at the report in her hand, she raised her voice. “Come in.”

She counted off a few beats after she heard the door open before she glanced up. “Oh. Hello—” Something caught in her throat, and she had to clear it. It was like the forest had stepped inside. Jacob was far too big and too wild for her fussy Aubusson rug and damask curtains.

Not shirtless this time, alas, but he was dressed in another pair of those delightful jeans, worn and faded at the crotch and knees. The soft green cotton T-shirt hinted at the muscles beneath. His brown leather jacket was a concession to the spring chill outside. His hair was curling and disheveled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it.

Was it soft? She bet it was soft. Her fingers itched. Now that she had touched him once, her body craved more.

The door clicked as Tammy closed it behind him. Jacob turned at the noise, his torso twisting and his shirt tightening over his abs.

No place to run. You’re all sealed up in here with me.

She coughed, attempting to regain her powers of speech. “Jacob.” She placed the file she held as a prop on the desk. “This is a surprise.”

He shifted the reusable shopping bag he carried from one hand to the other. His gaze bounced around her office. She resisted the urge to follow it, to confirm the space did not, indeed, reveal anything about her she didn’t want this man to know.

Did this small glimpse into her world intimidate him? Surprise him? She couldn’t tell. His face was impassive.

He finally focused on her, probably realizing he hadn’t responded to her greeting. “I apologize for barging in. I know you’re a busy woman. I should have called first.”

“You don’t have my number.” Was her tone too plaintive? She didn’t have his number either. They were hardly going to stay up late, twirling phone cords and gossiping.

“I do, actually.”

The strange flare of excitement those words brought was quickly squelched when he continued. “Since I used your phone to call Kati.”

Ah. Made sense. So much more sense than him simply having the means to contact her because he might one day want to talk to her. Without someone holding a gun to his head. “Of course. And how is young Kati? Survived a weekend without you?”

He rolled his big shoulders. “Yeah. She did just fine without me.”

Was that a note of bitterness she heard? “Aw. Is Papa Bear’s nest feeling preemptively empty without his little Kati-cat?”

It may have been a trick of the light, but she could have sworn a slight flush darkened his cheeks. “Don’t worry about Kati. It’s family stuff.”

Family stuff rarely had anything to do with her. Never her, unless a parent needed to score some ratings or keep up appearances. She lifted a shoulder. “I rarely worry over things that don’t concern me. Trying to keep the Botox fairy away as long as possible, you know.”
Get this over with.
“So what brings you here?” She strode around the desk so nothing was between them, perching against the solid surface
. She stretched her rather nice bare legs in front of her, mentally pouting when he kept his gaze fixed on hers.
“Did you decide to take me up on my offer?” The words were light, though she felt anything but.

I could show you all the things I was thinking about doing to you when I was watching you. All the ways I would touch and lick every part of you.

“Can you please be serious?”

“I’m deadly serious.” She gave him her best elevator eyes, traveling down his body and back up. “There’s no lumber to chop here, but I’m certain we can improvise.”

Irritation made storm clouds gather on his face. “Look, this is hard enough, and I haven’t slept much, so I’m not really in the mood for this…whatever it is we do.”

“Maybe I didn’t sleep well, either,” she said, and then started. There it was again. That bleating, plaintive tone. More obvious this time, so obvious he stilled, a confused look on his face.

Why shouldn’t he be confused? She kept changing their script left and right. Only she wasn’t doing it deliberately.
Get a grip on yourself.
There was no way in hell she would unravel in front of this guy.

She shook her head, her mouth firming. “What do you want?” The words were sharper than she intended, displaying her unease.

He cleared his throat and held out the bag in his hand. “I, uh… I wanted to give you this.”

She rose from the desk, his hesitation unnerving her.

“Most men don’t bring me presents in grocery bags.”