One week later...
I sit nervously at my desk with my leg bouncing uncontrollably underneath the table. I can't control my eyes from darting between Wes' office, that's currently sitting empty, and the time on my computer screen. It's 10:00am and Wes still hadn't shown up to work.
For the past week Wes had made the idea of showing up to work and on-time an option. An option that he took full advantage of. On Monday he graced us with his presence three hours after we were normally scheduled to be. On Tuesday and Wednesday, he left around lunch time. Never returning and yesterday he hadn't shown up at all, leaving me to continue to work on the pitch alone. Which I'd grown accustomed to and wasn't that awful since I'd changed my mind over eight times before deciding on a slogan.
With Wes' absence and my growing anxiety as the meeting for the pitch grew closer and closer, I needed to find something else to fill my time, unless I was going to change my mind for the ninth time, and I didn't want to go there.
Which is why on Thursday as his office sat dark and empty, I found myself on Google, with Wes on my brain once again. I move my cursor over the search bar and typed in Mr. Wesley Connor Sr. My finger hovered over the enter key, wondering if Googling Mr. Connor would come back to bite me in the ass later. I blow out a breath and decide that my research of Mr. Connor, was for a good cause and not my curiosity at wanting to know about his son.
I hit the enter key, and it doesn't take long to find an older article that depicted Mr. Connor's start in the advertising business. I click the link and begin to read the information before me.
***
Mr. Connor Sr. and his father, Mr. Philip Connor, founded the company right after Mr. Connor Sr. graduated high school. He attended LaGuardia community college in the mid 70's, presumably right after the college became established. He'd taken a few courses that was offered during that time, but he found that college wasn't exactly what he thought it would be and ultimately never finished. He dropped out just after two semesters, taking the money he'd planned on using for college as his startup cost to start a small advertising company.
He would travel on foot, visiting small businesses such as car washes, daycares, and cleaners that were on the cusp of closing their doors due to the lack of profit over the years and informed them about the art of advertising. Mr. Connor made such a name for himself in the small neighborhood of Rosedale, Queens NY, that other small businesses throughout the surrounding Queens area started to seek out his services. Eventually small, medium, and large businesses within the tri-state area, became the reason why Mr. Connor is the success that he is today.
Mr. Connor met his wife, Liv Christensen, while visiting one of the car wash establishments that he'd help grow. Liv had abruptly pulled her sputtering baby blue 78' Volkswagen, into a horizontal park, causing her to occupy two parking spaces. Mr. Connor was just leaving a meeting with the owners and witnessed, what he described as – "a dark-haired beauty who was hellbent on fixing her car". Liv was tucked under the hood of her car, cursing, and kicking the grill of her Volkswagen.
"Can I help you?" He asked her. Liv immediately turned to find a man dressed in a well-tailored business suit walking towards her. She eyed him suspiciously then chuckled. No man dressed in an expensive three-piece suit in the middle of summer could hardly help her fix her car. He was too well put together and pretty for her, and probably couldn't tell her where her gas tank was located. Her Volkswagen had been on the fritz for some time now, but it was her only means of transportation and she didn't have enough money to get a professional to take a look at it.
"I don't think so." Liv says, holding up a hand dismissively. She turned to stare down at all the foreign objects. Nothing seemed out of place besides the smoke that creeped out from a hose-like objects, that was buried beneath a serious of other objects that she didn't know the names of. Curious she reaches for the hose wanting to get a better look at it.
"No, don't!" Mr. Connor warned, but it was too late. Liv gripped the hose, immediately retracting her hand as the tips of her fingers began to burn from the heat.
"SHIT!" She screamed as she tried to shake off the burning sensation. Mr. Connor was by her side in an instant.
"Can I see?" He asks. Liv allowed him to take her hand in his, it is then that she notices the sincerity behind his hazel-green eyes. As her fingertips begin to blister, she couldn't help the calming feeling that contrasted with the pain that she should be feeling from the burn. "It was his eyes that calmed her", the reporter quoted in the article and the rest is history.
***
I continued to read several other articles on the Connor family, and came across one that sparked my attention. It was a family portrait of the Connors. Mr. and Mrs. Connor stood in black formal wear both sharing wide smiles. A younger girl, who resembled Mrs. Connor stood next to a younger identical guy and directly next to Mr. Connor was Wes. He was just as tall as his father, wearing a formal black fitted tuxedo. His bowtie was undone and hanged loosely around his neck.
I hadn't noticed it before but if you hadn't known any better, one could easily mistake Mr. Connor and Wes for twins. It was the salt and pepper hair that aged Mr. Connor, but other than that the similarities between the two men were uncanny. While everyone in the photo smiled so hard you could practically see every perfectly whitened tooth, Wes had been the only one who bore a slight smirk. Even in the photo Wes exuded a mysterious vibe. Underneath the photo the caption:
Wesley Connor Sr. with his wife Liv and three children- Wesley Jr., Nicholas and Sienna attends a charity ball at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. 2015.
***
Learning the small bit of family history that I was able to find on the internet had been gut wrenching. Many of the associates bonded well with their teammates; I even heard over whispers that a few of them was envious of my being paired with Wes. The female associates thought the idea of being so close to such an attractive, single, and influential man such as Wes, crossed all their boxes to finding "the one". While the male associates thought it would be great for their careers to work so close to a man of Wes' status. If only they knew the ugly truth behind it all.
There was a lot that I hadn't known about him. My curiosity of the man behind the suits, and hard stares was starting to eat away at me. We managed to avoid each other since our moment in my office a week ago, but I couldn't help but notice the change within him. The last two times I'd spoken a few words to him, his hard exterior was much more distant than it had normally been.
While I played my role in trying to avoid him, without giving it away that I was, Wes made sure to give me absolutely no emotion, as if I didn't exist. As if I was someone that annoyed him the way the feral cats behind my apartment annoyed me some nights with their territorial hisses, purring and growls.
With the lack of a professional relationship and the obvious distance that he'd put between us, forced me to accept that this was how the next six months would be for me. What was supposed to be the best experience of my life, despite my positive attitude, wasn't going in the direction that I'd wanted. I swallow the thick lump in my throat just as my eyes land on the clock on my computer.
10:25am
My anxiety relaxes a bit as a tall, dark figure walk past my blurred focused state. I wasn't sure how long I'd been staring at my computer monitor, but I blink away the haze that coats my vision. I watch as Wes walks into his office, flipping on the light switch and falling into a slump in his chair. My brows furrow as I look at him from across the office floor, even from this distance I can see that he's not his normal asshole self.
His normal tailored suit is replaced with a pair of dark blue jeans, and a white New York Yankees t-shirt that's stretches across his massive chest. A navy-blue Yankees ball cap is pulled down low, shielding his eyes as he takes small sips from a Dean & Deluca to-go coffee cup. His casual attire was almost too casual, even for casual Friday and I was almost certain that his ball cap and New York Yankees t-shirt wasn't on the approved dress code list that's listed in the employee handbook.
I grab the prints for the VitaMission pitch and stand. I take a deep breath as I grip the manila folders and walk across the employee floor towards Wes' office.
"Good morning" I say on a shaky breath closing the door behind me. Wes takes another sip of his coffee before he finally responds.
"What's so good about?" he spits. The harshness in his tone, albeit expected, still catches me off guard. I force myself not to roll my eyes, allowing his snide comment to roll off my shoulders.
God, would it kill him to at least try?
"I was always told that if you were able to wake up to see another day, then you should count your blessings." I say, despite his grouchiness. Wes sits back in his chair with a groan, he doesn't respond to my efforts at conversation, so, I get to the point as to why I'm here.
"I'm happy to say that the VitaMission pitch is officially completed. Here is the finished product." I pass a duplicate folder with the copied prints inside and pass it towards him. He makes no attempt to take an interest in the contents within the folder, forcing me to open it myself and lay each sheet of paper, side by side so that he's forced to get a good look. I hold his gaze with a raised brow, daring him to look at the printouts in front of him. After what seemed like an eternity, Wes finally relents and looks down at the papers. A smirk, the one that seems to be his go to, the one that I've grown to hate, the one that practically makes my panties melt, tugs at the corners of his lips.
"It looks good." He says dismissively. Leaning back in his chair as he takes another sip of his coffee.
What an asshole.
"Thank you! I believe the client will like it. Except there's one problem that I can't seem to solve" I say. Wes raises a questioning brow as he waits for me to go on.
"I'm having issues crunching the numbers for the presumed budget." I place another excel sheet on the desk and slide it towards him. To my surprise he lifts the excel sheet and begins to scan the information. I sit quietly, nervously playing with my thumbs on my lap as he looks over the numbers, numbers I had a difficult time putting together.
"I'm not particularly good with numbers. Math was never a strong subject for me. I've recently learned that you have your degree in finance and mathematics and was wondering if you can take the lead on this section?" I ask. Wes continues to scan over the excel sheet, his eyes bouncing from the sheet in his hands to the papers that are placed in front of him. I sit and wait as I watch his dark features from underneath his ball cap.
He's as infuriating as he is sexy, and he knows it. I hate that I can't keep my eyes off of him, but the mystery of him has my curiosity pegged in such a way that even I can't recognize it. I try to fight it, the urge to know more. The urge to learn the darkness behind his eyes. I really do want to fight it, lock the curiosity away in a vault and throw away the key. But that's easier said than done.
The fact that the man gave me absolutely nothing to work with. Hell, I hadn't even known that he had siblings until twenty minutes ago. I'd also learned about his education through the power of Google. I had to thank my lucky stars that the internet took a liking to influential people otherwise I wouldn't know much else, even if what I did know was the basics. Wes cleared his throat, capturing my attention. He places the excel sheet on top of one of the others and takes another long sip from his coffee cup.
"Ok!" Is all he says.
"Ok?" I question, needing more than just an OK.
"I can crunch the numbers for the client." He answers. My heart thuds in my chest in excitement. Small steps.
"Prefect, I'll need the numbers before 3:00pm today. I need to send a few things down to the printer before the end of day in order to have everything set and ready to go by Monday morning before the clients arrives."
"No problem." He answers quickly and because this has been the first time, he'd ever agreed to do any form of work, it's almost hard to contain my excitement. I could hear a small chatter of commotion coming from the hallway. Wes raises his eyes towards the door. A rapid hard knock comes to his office door just before it opens.
I turned to see Mr. Connor Sr. as he strides into his son's office with confidence. He's dressed in a pair of navy slacks, and a soft baby blue collared shirt. A pair of cream-colored suspenders hugs his board shoulders, and a pair of matching Italian leather loafers complete the look. It was obvious that the laid back yet impeccably polished look was his attempt at causal Friday, but even the man in charge needed to show some form of superiority.
"Good morning." Mr. Connor says his voice booms throughout the small space. I quickly stand to my feet and extend my hand towards him.
"Good morning, it's nice to meet you again Mr. Connor." I greet him. He takes my hand in his and gives it a firm shake.
"It's nice to meet you as well Ms. Rhodes. How's the pitch for VitaMission coming along?" He asks, the butterflies in my stomach swarm in a flitter of glee instead of the normal bout of nerves.
"We were actually just discussing the finishing touches." I answer, turning my attention to Wes who seems to be unbothered that his father's visit.
"Is that so?" he asks, his attention is now turned to Wes. I could feel the tension in the air as father and son share a stare down that I didn't dare come in between. As Mr. Connor steps further into the office, I grip the folder that was sitting on Wes' desk, and tuck it under my arm.
"I'm going to give this a once over, before lunch. Wes, I will stop by later today for the budget sheet." I take one last glance at Wes, whose eyeing me as if it were the first time, he'd noticed me today. The way he does just before the sexual tension in the air grows thick. I peel my eyes away, turning towards his father.
"Mr. Connor, again it was a pleasure." I add before turning on my heels and leaving the two alpha males on their own, purposely leaving the door open.
Once I'm tucked safely inside my office, I can't help but to sneak curious glances towards the open door to Wes' office. His father is now occupying the chair that I'd once been in and from the looks of things Wes and Mr. Connor seem to be in a very heated discussion. I'm not good at reading lips and I want to kick myself for never caring to learn how to do so. I squint my eyes as I try but fail to get the gist of their conversation. By the tense muscles in his back, it's obvious that Mr. Connor is the one dominating the conversation.
If only I could get an idea of what the two men were discussing.
I blow out a frustrated breath, still caught up in Wes and Mr. Connor's conversation that I don't notice Chadwick's bright smile as he peeks his head in.
"Hey, are we still on for tomorrow night? I was able to get a reservation at Dellarocco's in Brooklyn heights." He says as he enters my office. I blink and jump to my feet as he enters. I plant an innocent enough smile on my face as he leans over my desk and places a gentle kiss to my cheek.
"Of course, we are." I answer him. Both Chadwick and I take a seat, me behind my desk and he on the other side.
Since our first meeting, Chadwick and I had gotten close. Reese, Chadwick, and I spent most of our lunch hours together. Yesterday it had been just Chadwick and I, which so happens to be the day that Chadwick asked me out to dinner.
Reese couldn't attend lunch, something about getting a flu shot and having a doctor's appointment and planned on getting a hotdog from the vender on the corner on her way back into the office. Something told me that she may have fabricated that excuse, since she'd returned back from lunch with the smell of tequila and limes on her breath and no signs of a band aid from said flu shot anywhere.
She was also too enthused about getting the details from my and Chadwick's lunch and I couldn't help but to wonder if she and Chadwick planned on her absence so that he and I could spend some alone time together.
As I filled her in on the details, she bounces happily in her seat, proud of her match-making skills and I can't help but to be proud of her match-making skills either.
Chadwick and I learned that we shared a lot of the same interests. We both shared a love for the arts. Italian and soul food were our kryptonite, along with comedies and the famous Coney Island. I hadn't realized that there was another New Yorker out there besides my grandmother and I, who still felt this unforgettable love of nostalgia when they visited Coney Island.
"So, how's your day going?" He asks, I shrug and turn my gaze towards Wes' office. My breath hitches in my throat when I see that Wes is now standing and is looking directly over at me.
How long had he'd been standing there?
His ballcap is still relatively low but the chill that runs down my spine lets me know that he is indeed looking at me. I hold his gaze for a moment and watch as he lifts the Dean & Deluca coffee cup to his lips and takes a long swallow before tossing it into a trash can. Mr. Connor appears behind him and places his hand on his sons' shoulder. Wes doesn't break our stare as his father says one last thing to him before leaving. I clear my throat and drag my gaze away.
"My pitch is done, but I'm waiting on Wes to go over the financial parts, before I send everything over to the printer." I answer.
"Good, it sounds like things are actually starting to fall into place with you and Mr. Connor." He says and again I shrug. I hadn't fully indulged either Chadwick or Reese on my past few weeks of working with Wes or a lack thereof. When he hadn't shown up to work or showed up late, I'd make up some lie about him handling some form of managerial type of business in order to assist his father. I couldn't bare them assuming that he was able to come and go as he pleased since he was technically the owner. I also didn't want them assuming that because I'd been partnered with him that I was receiving some sort of special treatment, which I wasn't.
"I guess you can say that it is." I answer. I could feel the word: LIAR begin to etch across my forehead, and I drop my eyes, unable to look at the practically perfect man sitting across from me.
"So, how are you feeling about your pitch on Monday?" I ask, trying to turn the subject in a different direction.
"We feel rather good about it. At one-point Reese and I had too many ideas that the project seemed to get away from us, but we eventually figured it out and now we're ready to move forward." He answers.
Chadwick and Reese were given a smaller project than Wes and me. They were creating a newspaper and billboard ad for a local bakery that were famous for their cupcakes. It was more visual than it was slogans, or the company seeking a new customer base.
"I can only hope that I have just as much confidence as the two of you on Monday." I say. Chadwick reaches across the desk, placing his warm hand over mines that were folded into a ball on my desk.
"I'm certain that you will. You're great, don't question it" He reassures. My heart flutters at the warmth of his words, and I can't help but to smile at Mr. Perfect.
"What do you have planned for the rest of the day?" he asks, and I quickly skim my mental rolodex until I come up empty. Besides, waiting on Wes to finish the excel spreadsheet, there wasn't really anything left to do.
"What do you say we sneak away from work for a while and grab a cup of coffee?" he asks.
Coffee.
The thought of Coffee sounded great. I'd skipped my usually cup of coffee this morning and opted for a cup of Earl grey, unfortunately it didn't quite satisfy my usual cream, sugar with a dash of caramel. Not to mention, I couldn't get the image of Wes' perfectly plump lips wrap around the white plastic lid of the Dean & Deluca cup. The image caused me to shiver, but I quickly shake it off.
"That sounds great."
Standing I take my favorite snakeskin crossbody from my desk and sling it over my shoulder. Holding out his hand like the true gentleman that he is, I place my hand into Chadwick's and we both head towards the door. I immediately catch Wes' large frame as he continues to watch me with an unreadable face. As Chadwick and I leave the office, I find it difficult to tear my gaze away from the mysterious man that held a portion of my curiosity that I couldn't seem to dismiss.
He's an asshole.
A spoiled, rich, asshole.
But he's a sexy, spoiled rich asshole.
I could see his eyes follow me, as I get further and further away from his office and out of view. Chadwick presses the elevator call button, and we wait in silence until the elevator arrives. Chadwick places a hand at the base of my lower back, the warmth of his touch bringing me back to reality. As we step onto the elevator, I look up to see that Wes is now standing in the hall, with his hands tuck inside of his denim pockets.
Why is he watching me?
Does it have anything to do with his father's visit?
What did he and his father discuss?
And most importantly, why do I care?
My curiosity was getting the best of me, and I needed to get it under control. I knew all that I needed to know about Wes Connor, and I wasn't impressed with my findings. Although he came from an influential family, you'd think he missed a few etiquette classes, because the man was a total Prick. I stand taller in the elevator next to my coffee date and push all thoughts of Wes out of my mind, after all – Curiosity did kill the cat.
***
It's five minutes to 3p.m. as I impatiently make my way towards Wes' office. I can see through the opened door that his attention is focused on his computer. He stares intently at the screen, as he drags the mouse and click on whatever it is that has his attention. He doesn't notice me, as I step inside.
"Hey, I'm here to see if you've finished the budget sheet for VitaMission. I'm getting ready to head out for the day and would like to send everything over to the printers." I say as I make my way towards his desk.
He doesn't answer me for a few seconds, but I don't let him get to me. My coffee date with Chadwick had set me on a natural high. I enjoyed his charm and great conversation. Unlike the man sitting in front of me, Chadwick was pleasant to be around. Which is why I didn't allow Wes' cold attitude to ruin the high that I planned to cling to for the remainder of the day. He finally pulls his attention away from his computer. His eyes slowly begin to trail up and down my body before he returns his attention back to his computer.
I can see his jawline tighten and his piercing hazel-green eyes are practically burning a hole in the computer screen. I'm unsure of his mood, but if I were any good at reading body language, I'd say that he seemed to be edgier than he'd been this morning.
"How was your lunch?" he asks. I open my mouth to answer, but then close it. The question catches me off guard and I have to think of the proper answer. He'd never asked how my lunch had gone or day for that matter.
"It was great actually. I needed the break and the company." I answer. Wes pulls his gaze away from his computer screen again. He studies my face, as the slow bob of his Adam's apple move up and down as he swallows. I shift in my chair and hold his gaze, waiting for his next move. His eyes roam over every inch of my face, before falling away.
We sit in silence a little longer as I wait patiently for him to inform me of his status on the budget, but he continues to watch his computer screen as if I weren't even there. I never knew that just one person could push my patience past its limits until I met Wes Connor. Not even Old Lady Benson who would come into Libra's every Friday at exactly 5 o'clock and order the same T-bone steak with a side of fries, only to send the steak back because it was either too rare, or not rare enough. It had gotten so out of control that Oz, decided to "take the T-bone steak off the menu" on Friday's forcing Mrs. Benson to order something else. It was a low blow, but it worked.
"It's better than throwing out perfectly good steak four times a month" Oz assures.
I folded my arms over my chest, as I tap my heel against the carpeted floor. The soft thud is enough to grab his attention. Wes blinks a few times as if he were trying to pull himself out of some sort of trance and leans back in his chair. He pulls open his desk drawer and drops a file on his desk, it hits the table with a loud THUMP!
"I'm going to need more time with the budget." He says and I all but throw up my steak and blue cheese salad from lunch earlier.
"What?" I question unable to keep my voice at a steady, professional tone. He had all day to figure out the budget, actually that was a lie. He had all week to work on the budget, but his bad attitude and piss-poor attendance affected that. He removes his Yankee ballcap and tosses it on the desk; he scrubs a hand over his face.
"I need more time. There were some things that caught my eye that will need more time to get through." He answers. His hands fall lazily onto his lap and with his face no longer hidden underneath his ballcap I'm able to get a better look at him. His 5 o'clock shadow and unruly hair gave away his lack of sleep. The small circles underneath his almond shaped eyes, was a look I hadn't seen on him before.
"Wes, if we don't get this to the printer today, then we won't be able to give a good pitch on Monday." I tell him, practically pleading.
"Then we'll give a good pitch on Tuesday." He says as he stretches his arms above his head. I try but couldn't hide my ogling. The way his T-shirt stretched across his hard chest should be written as the eighth sin. His body was so damn perfect that it hindered my focus.
What the hell were we even talking about?
Shit! Eden, pull it together!
"I hardly think that we would be able to get an extension till Tuesday, the client is set to meet with us at 9:00am on Monday." I tell him, leaning over his desk putting emphasis on the timeframe.
"I'm aware but it doesn't change the fact that I still need more time." He answers nonchalantly. "Besides, you never know until you ask. Clients are used to extensions and sudden date changes." He adds.
"Yes, but if I knew that I was going to need an extension I think the professional route would have been to ask mid-week, not on Friday." I say standing. Wes shrugs his shoulder, replacing his ballcap and stands with me. He rounds the desk and walks towards his door.
"Where are you going?" I ask, following behind him.
"I'm going to pass the message along that we will need an extension." He answers, and I practically have to jog to keep up with his long strides. I reach out and grab his arm, causing him to stop abruptly.
"NO! We'll figure something out." I declare. Wes raises a brow and waits for me to continue.
"Oh yeah? What do you have in mind?" He asks. With my hand still wrapped firmly around his forearm, I look around the office thankful that most of the staff have gone home early for the day.
"Could you have the budget sheet finished by 8 o'clock tonight?" I ask. Wes looks away, thinking, before nodding his head.
"Ok, perfect. You take the budget sheet home and finish it. Once you're done you can give me a call and I will arrange a courier to pick it up. I can pick it up from the Office Depot near my apartment once it's completed. That way we don't look unprofessional by not meeting the clients need on our first pitch together." I answer, hoping he would agree to my alternative. Hell, it's the least he could do, since we're in this situation because of his lack of hard work.
"Sounds like a plan." He agrees. I nod my head once happy with my quick thinking.
"Great! So, tonight then?" I ask.
"Tonight." He agrees. I could feel the heat radiating off of his body and it is then that I'm reminded that I'm still holding his arm. I drop it as if I were holding a scolding hot pot. I tuck my hands into the back pockets of my jeans, the movement pushes my breast forward, and Wes takes the opportunity to glance down at the exposed skin on my neck. My neck is the only part of my body that's on display since I chose to wear a white flowing blouse that I purposefully buttoned all the way to the top. His eyes fall lower, and I could feel my nipples hardened against my lace bra, but still I'm happy that everything is left up to his imagination.
I wonder what he's imaging, the curious bitch within me asks. I shake the thought from my mind, I couldn't go there again.
"Uh, we'll need to exchange phone numbers so that we're able to reach one another once you're done with the budget sheet." I say, breaking the silence. Wes slowly pulls his cellphone from his pocket and presses in the code. He hands the phone over to me and I take it, tearing my gaze away from his hazel-greens and begin to dial my number and press the call button. I allow the phone to ring three times before hanging up. I add my name to his contact list and hand the phone back to him.
"There, now we can reach one another anytime." I say.
"Yeah! I guess we can." He responds. His voice is deep, and lust filled. Before I could fall back down the rabbit hole, I take a step back, breaking the magnetic pull that he and I couldn't seem to dismiss.
"I'll check in on you tonight. Goodnight Wes." I say, turning and leaving without giving him a chance to respond.
And now we wait.