Her Silver Fox Page 20

  Like his decision to gift Burke or S.A.L. underhanded dealings, he followed his gut and stood.

  “Going somewhere?” R.W. asked, openly surprised by his abrupt departure.

  “I resign.” Two simple words and for the first time in a decade, he felt incredibly light. Smiling, he retrieved his suit.

  “Can you explain to me what’s going on?” Vanessa asked when he stepped off the elevator.

  “I quit.” Without pausing to explain, Patrick headed to his former office.

  “Th-that explains security?” she stuttered, scuttling behind him. So close, she ran into him when he stopped.

  “That was quick.” He looked down the hall finally noticing the two uniformed guards waiting for him.

  “What happened Patrick?”

  “I resigned.”

  “WHAT!”

  Not sure if she still followed him, Patrick kept going, meeting his escort a few paces from his office. “Gentlemen,” he said, noting the way they tensed upon seeing him.

  Both men glanced at each other. “We can’t allow you to go in, Mr. Kelly.” One of the guards held out his palm. “Please hand over your key.”

  Well played, R.W. By sending security, the old man had ensured all his proprietary information remained in-house. Admiring his former boss’ final move, Patrick gave them the credit card sized key.

  Vanessa stepped forward, pass card in hand. “Here’s my key as well.”

  Incredulous, he watched her retrieve her purse and lunch bag along with two picture frames. “I think that’s everything of value,” she remarked out loud while her gaze scanned her desk.

  “What are you doing?” he hissed, towering over her. “You have two mouths to feed.”

  Smiling she came around and looped her arm through his. “I’m coming with you. You need me.”

  Shell-shocked, Patrick allowed her to lead him to the elevators, security in tow. “I think you have our roles reversed.”

  Vanessa punched the elevator call button. “You need me to help you get your business off the ground.”

  Patrick stiffened. “What makes you think I want to start my own business?”

  The elevator dinged open and they stepped inside, leaving their escort brooding in the foyer.

  “Bye fellas.” Vanessa waved. Once the doors closed, she turned to him, her tone deadly serious. “Why wouldn’t you start your own business? You have the Midas touch. Everything you’ve invested in turns a profit and you’re your own man.”

  “I was a sycophant.” Racked with self-loathing, he leaned against the paneled wall. “R.W.’s yes man.”

  She laced her arms in front of her. “Did he choose your investments? What about all the research? And those gut feelings you always get and that panned out every time.”

  “Owning my own business is a big step—”

  “—Like you haven’t thought about it—”

  “—I’ll have to use my own money and there’ll be a ton of risk—”

  “—You have a very lovely nest egg set aside. And you thrive on risk.”

  Patrick felt the corner of his mouth tingle. “You’re a bad influence.”

  “No. I believe in you.”

  Flattered by her unwavering faith in him, he still asked, “Are you sure? I can’t promise job security. I might not even last a year. Or worse, I could lose my shirt.”

  “I would never make Vice President here.”

  Patrick’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Vice President?”

  Vanessa nodded. “A fifty-thousand dollar salary and a grandiose title are my only stipulations.”

  “Fifty thousand?” he coughed, practically choking on her salary demands.

  “Since I’m willing to work out of your penthouse, you won’t have any office overhead.” When he opened his mouth, she held up her hand. “We can meet with investees at a restaurant or rent an on-demand workspace. I can recall two within a five block radius. What’s the first order of business?”

  Patrick considered her words and then said, “Three things. Put my summer home up for sale.”

  “But you love the cottage in the Hamptons.”

  He held the elevator doors open for her. “I do but I like to eat, and so do you.”

  “And the other two?”

  “Order us five thousand business cards each.” He rifled in his jacket pocket for his cell. “Then call Nelson Patel and set up a meeting this week.”

  Vanessa smiled.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “We’re already working liking a well-oiled machine.”

  Outside about to part ways, he took her elbow and guided her to the curb.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We’re taking a cab.”

  “I normally take the bus then the A train,” she protested.

  “Not today. You’re an executive now.”

  “Where to?” the cabbie asked.

  “Uptown to Greenwich and Horatio.” Pulling out a fifty dollar bill, he glanced at Vanessa.

  “I-I’m going to 110th,” she stuttered.

  Patrick shook his head. “You need to start sounding like a Vice President.”

  “I’m going to 110th…now…now step on it,” she demanded, her voice several octaves lower.

  “You sound like a butcher from Queens.”

  She chomped down on her bottom lip. “I was channeling Louie from Chops on the Block.”

  “That Italian meat market around the corner from you?” She nodded and he sat back chuckling. She’d opined the market’s meat selection so much he’d given her his personal order on more than one occasion.

  They rode in companionable silence for several blocks. A million tasks running through his head, the sounds of traffic barely registered in his consciousness. Occasionally, he would note their progress with a passing street sign then go back to turning over the numbers. As they crawled up Broadway, he wondered why he wasn’t paralyzed with fear. After all, he was stepping into the unknown, putting his neck out there and life savings on the line. On the contrary, he felt like a lion, King of the Jungle, with an innate ability to conquer anything.

  Glancing out the window, he noticed they’d entered the theater district. The neon yellow background of The Lion King marquee stared down at him.

  Struck by a sudden impulse, he tapped on the glass partition. “Pull over. I’m getting out.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “I thought I asked for a hamburger.”

  “You asked for tomato soup with a grilled cheese sandwich,” Shoshana said with as much calm as she could muster. She handed her father a paper napkin in hopes he’d eat what she’d fixed him.

  “I had this yesterday for lunch,” he grumbled, pushing the bowl away from him.

  “We had chimichanga’s from Miguel’s around the corner.” She slid the bowl back toward him.

  As if suffering from a migraine, her father pinched the loose fold of skin between his eyebrows.

  Shoshana braced herself.

  Lately, she couldn’t tell which way he’d swing. Sometimes, he’d shrug off his forgetfulness with a flippant joke. On the rare occasion, he became downright belligerent, arguing with her tooth and nail. Still, she waited, giving him extra time to gather his thoughts.

  He peeped up at her. “Extra guac?”

  “And sour cream.”

  Tentatively, his fingers reached for the rim of the bowl.

  “I’ll make burgers for dinner.”

  “Thank you,” he conceded before biting into his sandwich.

  She could’ve done it now. Whipped him up a burger with all his favorite fixings but she’d only be setting herself up for more aggravation since his moods and perception of reality shifted so quickly he would be crying for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich by the time the patty hit the plate. Bullying him into eating what she fixed made her life much easier than trying to appease him.

  Stomach gurgling, she lifted her sandwich at the same time her cell phone buzzed.

  T
yson: You have a customer. Get down here now!

  Me: I’m at lunch.

  Tyson: It’s your Silver Fox.

  Bewildered, Shoshana stared at the text message. She delivered his suit to him yesterday. So why would he be here today? It was wrong how she ended things but to leave herself with any kind of sanity, she needed to sever ties. Then why was she standing with the sandwich in tow?

  “I need to go downstairs…um…I have an important customer.”

  With single-minded purpose, her father shoveled soup into his mouth. He paused briefly to shoo her away, “Go ahead. Gryff and I will be fine,” he said.

  Shoshana glanced down at her dog curled up next to her father’s feet. Eyes bright and pleading, the miniature schnauzer gazed longingly at her lunch. Taking pity on him, she broke him off a small piece then gave it to him.

  Somewhat confident the only men in her life would be fine in the interim, she walked out of her apartment. A self-described emotional eater, she chomped on her grill cheese as she descended the stairs.

  She knew it was poor form to jump protocol but after their last meeting, she felt it prudent that they not cross paths again. Unfortunately, cock blocking herself didn’t help. She’d regretted her cowardly decision the moment she handed the garment bag over to Tyson. Ever since, she’d dreamed about him marching into the factory all Richard Gere in the Officer and a Gentleman-like and demanding she give them a chance.

  “He’s in the tea room,” Tyson said, nodding his head in that direction.

  “Do you have a mint?” Knowing full well he carried a never-ending supply of Altoids, she held out her hand.

  “Plan on getting busy?” he asked, pulling out the tin. “Whatever you do don’t forget you have a two o’clock fitting.”

  She punched him in the shoulder with one hand. She robbed him of two mints with the other. On the way down the hall, she popped them in her mouth. Nervous, she chomped on them like crushed ice. It might have been just sex but she missed him. Neither her mind nor her body would give him any respite. She couldn’t shake the timbre of his voice, the feel of his hands, his lips, and most importantly the delicious, driving force of his body.

  Palms sweaty, she smoothed them over her hips. Encased in olive green vegan leather, they failed to aid the situation. They did look fabulous on her as did the matching oversized sweater. Short in the front but longer in the back, the knitted top showed off the pants’ lacing closure.

  With a deep breath, she turned the door knob. She instantly found she needed the extra air because the sight of him seemed to suck the oxygen from the room.

  Her fantasies didn’t do Patrick Kelly justice. Attired in a slim fitting charcoal gray Gucci suit, he looked sexy enough to eat. So much so, he made her teeth ache.

  Thankfully, he was engaged with a stack of fabric samples and oblivious to her near catatonic condition. Grateful for the diversion, emotions running wildly from one extreme to the other, she pulled herself together.

  The time apart had not lessened his hold over her. If anything it made it stronger. She wanted to ask him how the last two weeks had been. She wanted to know what he’d done. Had he missed her as much as he was missed?

  Warm sunlight dappled the silver strands of his hair and illuminated the perfect lines of his handsome profile. Her gaze traveled over his broad shoulders, landing on the black garment bag hanging from a chair. Choosing a natural lead-in, she asked, “Was something wrong with the suit?”

  He turned at the sound of her voice. Like being hit with the full brunt of the sun’s rays, it felt like her insides were liquefying. Hoping she didn’t melt into a puddle of emotion, she walked over to the table. Under his unwavering gaze, the journey seemed more like a mile.

  “How have you been?” His smile was just as beautiful as she remembered, instant and warm and so intimate, he made her feel as though he’d never smiled at anyone else before. Feeling herself falling, she reached for a chair, steadying herself.

  “I’ve been well. And you?” she breathed. Heart pounding so loudly, the sound hammered in her ears.

  “Busy.”

  They stared at each other another beat then they both them chuckled as if privy to a private joke.

  “So what brings you in?” She motioned to the garment bag. “Was something wrong with the suit?”

  “I haven’t even looked at it.”

  Confused, she gazed up at him. And even her treacherous heart got in on the act, pounding so loudly it hammered in her ears. Was this unannounced visit solely on her account?

  “I’m here to buy another suit.”

  “You want another suit?” While a sad trumpet bleated in her head, she struggled to keep her expression schooled.

  “Is it too soon?” His piercing blue eyes twinkled.

  “A few clients wait a few months, others years but I’d never turn down a thousand dollar commission,” she said sardonically, her mood soured by his request. “So…what do you have in mind?”

  “I want a suit that exemplifies how I see myself. A man who doesn’t let anything stand in his way and goes after what he wants.”

  His words jolted her. If this mantra of his were true, obviously it didn’t apply to her. There wouldn’t be this polite distance. And she wouldn’t feel so monstrously betrayed, miserable or utterly vulnerable to her stubbornly perverse desire.

  Despite this obvious rejection, she still wanted him. Even in the face of his noticeably cooled attraction, hers had been hit with a dose of lighter fluid. His appeal burned brighter and toyed with her rationale. After all what sane person would want a person more when that certain someone didn’t want them?

  Wrestling with her emotions, she edged around him. Per her usual routine, she walked to the lineup of mannequins near the bank of windows. She touched each one in turn, using the time to regroup.

  Under no uncertain terms should she be upset. Wasn’t this what she wanted? No feelings, no complications beyond a transient passion. With things finally in perspective, her emotions under control, she draped her arm through a new floor sample. “What do you think of The Elba? It’s our newest design. It has a clean tapered silhouette and structured shoulders. The drape of the pants is a little longer.”

  He gave the suit only a cursory glance before his eyes rested on her. “I’ll take it in this blue pinstripe,” he said index finger tapping the exact fabric sample. “You have my measurements?”

  “We keep them for the life of the client and adjust them accordingly with shifts in weight. You haven’t changed have you?” She didn’t mean for it to come out that way. “I mean you haven’t gained weight have you?”

  “I’m still the same man,” he said with a flagrant familiarity that caused her stomach to flutter. Too bad his next words evaporated said stomach, “I’ll get out of your hair now.”

  Not ready for him to go just yet, she asked, “Can I reach you at the same number?”

  His expression lightened making him even more handsome. If he were to pull her into his arms at this very moment, they wouldn’t come up for air until Chanukah.

  “Actually no,” he said, pulling her from her dirty thoughts. “You need to contact me on my cell. I recently quit the Morrissey Group and gone out on my own.”

  If there had been any doubt regarding this surprise visit, there was none now. With effort, she forced her mind to absorb the news, classify it, and form an appropriate answer as if the new change in his circumstances had been infinitely complex. After promising herself five minutes of self-recrimination later, primarily calling herself all kinds of fool, she finally replied, “Mazel tov.”

  “Thank you.” His smile blossomed into a full-fledged grin. And the flutter was back. “Big step, but it’s a long time coming. I’ve changed and those changes no longer fit the company’s vision.”

  “I can imagine.” But in all honesty, she couldn’t. Like the majority of her clients, she really didn’t know Patrick Kelly. Remembering his exact measurements and a few of his personal preferenc
es and interests didn’t count. And neither did the fact that his cock felt delicious inside her. No. There was more to true intimacy than simply sex. And now that the dynamic of this thing between them had changed, she sort of wished things had worked out differently.

  Thankfully, he saved her from further torture by wishing her a good day.

  Long after he’d gone, she remained in the same spot, not wanting to move, hoping with the lamest pipe-dream fantasy that he’d come striding back through that door. Of course, her life wasn’t a stupid romance novel or silly soap opera, and he didn’t come back like she’d hoped.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  In the coming days, Shoshana took refuge in her chaotic schedule, rising early and working late. Factor in a father with a touch-and-go mental state, the constant demands of employees and clients, and a handicapped dog, Patrick Kelly quickly became an afterthought.

  Okay, that wasn’t exactly true. She thought about Patrick Kelly constantly. She just didn’t have the luxury to wallow in what she now viewed as a mistake. She had too many people depending on her.

  Instead, she channeled her energies into the design of their spring line. And when she found it difficult to sleep at night, she sat up reading the company’s daily receipts. They proved to be an adequate sleeping pill without the toxic effects.

  The only thing she did not do, she didn’t work on his suit. As a master tailor, it was customary to make the first cut if not the entire pattern. This time she handed the task over to Joe, who was more than able and willing to handle the task. From time to time, she checked in to assess the suits progress but all in all she remained hands off.

  So she was rather shaken when Joe waddled into the Tea Room less than a fortnight later during her morning briefing with Tyson.

  “Mr. Kelly’s suit is ready for the first fitting,” he declared, setting the invoice in front of them. Not one for niceties, Joe walked out again.

  Before she could retrieve the Patrick’s order, Tyson scooped it up.

  “Allow me,” he offered, picking up his cell. “I believe you have an opening tomorrow for a hot beef injection.”