The Sunday Arrangement (5 page)

He
stood and started pacing in front of my desk as though it was his own office.
Obviously, he was already comfortable with me though I wasn’t entirely sure I
liked that. I wanted him to feel pressure to prove himself to me.

“I
don’t see why not. I’ve got the list of possible investors, the theme of the
casino, the design . . .”

“You
do realize this is our project? I’m not sure
we
have anything set in
stone at this particular moment in time.”

He
stopped pacing and turned toward me. A smile curved on his thin lips. “Your
father has heard all the details.”

“And
as I have already stated, I have not. Since I’m the overseeing project manager,
your ideas need to be pitched to me before we take any steps.” I pinched the bridge
of my nose, willing the oncoming headache away. The doctors always encouraged
me to avoid stress-inducing environments. They probably would not approve of my
new partnership with the increasingly stressful Pierce Maverick. The man had
been in my office for five minutes, and already I felt more stressed than I had
in weeks. Whether that was his arrogant nature or the way his smile awakened parts
of me that hadn’t been touched in years—I didn’t know.

“Of
course, of course, Ms. Hart. We are partners, I agree,” he said, his tone
dripping with condescension. “Let’s go grab a nice cappuccino, and I’ll discuss
the project in full detail so you can get on the same page as your father and me.
I believe you’re going to like what I’ve come up with so far.”

Abruptly,
he headed toward my office door before I had the chance to turn him down. I
gathered my purse and followed him out of the building, hating myself for
quickening my every step to close the space between us.

~*~*~*~

“We
will fly out to Las Vegas and stay there until the building is underway,” I
said to Monica over the phone. I held my favorite yellow mug filled with a
hazelnut blend of freshly brewed coffee. The smell was intoxicating so early in
the morning.

“Yes,
I already signed the condo’s lease.”
At
least I’ll be comfortable
while I’m in hell.
“Tell Dad we’ll contact him when we discover the perfect
space or building for the project. Could be a few days. Thanks. Bye.” I tossed
my cell phone onto the sofa cushion beside me.
If it weren’t for my
assistant, communication with my father would be almost nonexistent.

I
cupped my hands around the warm mug and took a small sip. The serenity of the Sunday
morning quietly calmed my anxious thoughts about the upcoming trip. The thought
of having to see this egotistical man every day was unimaginable. My father’s
nagging voice whispered in my ear. “Give him a chance,” he had
uncharacteristically advised. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was being too harsh
on the young man so eager to prove himself. He had, after all, had some pretty
interesting ideas for this project. Maybe he deserved a fair shot from me, even
if I did find his continual arrogance a bit intolerable. I just had to remind
myself that this was a small stepping stone to becoming a CEO and, later, the
head of the company.

My phone
buzzed to life. “Hi, Mom,” I answered.

“I
tried calling your office, but it kept going to voice mail. Your father told me
you’re going to Las Vegas for a few months?”

“Yes,
it’s for that new project he’s doing with Maverick.”

“Don’t
get me started.”

I
set the mug on the coffee table in front of me. “Well, what are you complaining
about? I’m the one who has to work with the guy.”

“I’ve
seen some recent pictures of Mabel’s youngest. I don’t feel sorry for you at
all working with that handsome fellow,” she said.

Great,
Pierce even turns on my mother
. “Then why are you upset?”

“I just
can’t believe, after all this time, your father is suddenly agreeing to do
this. He loathes Peter Maverick. Always has, always will. I’ve had to listen to
the man’s tirades for years, and now he’s willingly going to work with him for
a ‘better image’ as he put it.” She sighed loudly. “I think we should have his
head checked, but what do I know?”

I
laughed. “Maybe you’re right. But Daddy has his reasons, and you know his gut
has never steered him wrong.”

“Yes,
his gut . . . I’m quite familiar. That’s how I got him to marry me, you know. I
fed him my famous pecan pie and let his stomach do the thinking.”

“You’re
a wise woman, Mom.”

“Well,
I’m glad someone in this household thinks so. . . . Listen, I want you to clear
your schedule. We have to see each other before you leave for this big project!
How does dinner at that flutey-tooty French restaurant on 55th Street that you
love so much sound?”

I
rolled my eyes. My mother, God bless her, was a multi-millionaire, but any
restaurant with hundred-dollar plates was “flutey-tooty” in her eyes—one of the
many reasons I adored her. She was just a simple girl from Mississippi when she
met my dad. When he proposed, he promised her the world. Little did she know
that merely meant multiple banks accounts all over the globe. “All right. I
could use some company and a nice glass of wine. Invite Toby and Margret too. I
leave the day after tomorrow so it will have to be soon.”

“I’m
not sure your brother can make it. They put little Henry down awfully early
these days. Something Margret read about the baby going through an adjustment
phase at twelve months . . .”

“A
year, Mom. He’s one year old. Say it with me. He’s a one-year-old.”

She
smiled. “You go by months until they’re two—you know that. Anyway we’ll see if
they can make it. Let’s plan to have dinner tomorrow night with or without ‘em.”

I
took a small sip of my coffee. “Sounds peachy. Maybe I’ll bring Kat along.”

“Whoever
you’d like, darling. You know your father will probably have —”

“Something
better to do. I know.”

I
could hear the hesitation over the line. “Well, I’ll try to convince him all
the same. Nothing’s more important to us than you. I love you, Lauren. Don’t
you forget it, baby girl.”

“I
love you, too, Mom. I’ll talk to you later.” I hung up the phone.       

Well,
at least I’ve got one parent who’s doing it right.
I
stretched my arms high above my head. I supposed it was time to start the day.
There was still a lot of packing to do. I didn’t even know where to begin with
my clothes. Chastising myself for imagining what Pierce would like to see me
in, I made a mental note to go shopping later and to call Kat for an emergency
consultation. If I was going to do this Vegas thing, I wanted to do it in
style. And who better to advise me on what looked good on women than my lesbian
friend?

The
French restaurant was surprisingly calm for a Saturday night. The lights were
dimmed to a romantic level. The pale pink napkins were folded in an elegant
fleur de lis shape atop each plate. I glanced around the quaint restaurant to
spot any of my family but saw no one I recognized.

The
short, blonde hostess gave me an electric smile. “Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Hart,”
she said. She turned to grab a single menu from the brown basket behind her
short podium. “Just you this evening?”

Her
familiarity with my face spoke volumes to how often I dined here. She was
always sweet enough to ask if others would be joining me, though I doubted she
had ever seen me actually eat with another living soul. Kat despised this
place, and she was really the one I’d think to bring.

“Actually,
yes. I believe there will be three others. Possibly four, if my brother brings
his baby.”

Her
seafoam-colored eyes widened in surprise. The glitter painted over her eyelids
caught the faint light of the room and glimmered. I couldn’t help but think how
much Kat would love this petite woman’s kind face. “Look at those eyes,” she
would say. “You can tell everything you need to know about someone by their
eyes. They’re the windows to the soul, you know.”
My Kat, a lesbian
Dickinson.
They would make an interesting couple—tattoos, glitter, and all.

“Excellent!
Right this way,” the small hostess gestured. “I know you prefer this side of
the restaurant.”

“Thank
you. This will be perfect,” I said as she seated me at a large, round table
near the back. “They should be here shortly.”

“We’re
here now!” my mother practically squealed from a few feet away. My brother and
his wife were right at her heels, and behind them was my father with a frown
already etched across his unpleasant face.

Immediately
I clutched the table.
A family dinner and it’s not Christmas? Something has
got to be up.

“Hi
everybody,” I said, feigning excitement.

“Lauren,
you look wonderful! Is that a new dress?” Margret asked as they all settled
into their seats. Her pleasant smile lit up her otherwise plain, tired face.

I
glanced down at the fitted red halter I’d just picked up that afternoon. An
impulse purchase. I had admired the way the short chiffon was snug around my
hips, accentuating my curves and freakishly long legs. The little red number
made me feel like a desirable woman, something I hadn’t truly explored or
dressed for since Professor Tilton unbalanced my world.

“Yes,
actually,” I gushed. “Thanks for noticing.”

“Seems
a little fancy for such a measly restaurant,” my father quipped. He folded the
napkin across his lap, not bothering to meet my eye.

My
finger nervously played with the edge of my empty wine glass, making it whistle
slightly. Two seconds into the evening, and he was already being difficult.
That had to be a new record. “Thanks?” I mumbled.

The
awkwardness hung in the air, palpable yet inescapable. My mother reached across
the table and squeezed my hand. “We all think you look wonderful, dear.”

“Smokin’,”
Toby enthusiastically chimed in. He casually put his arm around Margret in the
booth, pulling her close. They were an oddly matched pair, but I knew my
brother loved her. His dark hair, dimples, and tall frame had never failed to
get the attention of several beautiful girls. But he had chosen Margret a few
years ago—a poor, plain girl with a kind heart. I loved her instantly and found
it easy to understand why Toby had as well. “You’ve never looked better,” he
added.

I
chuckled in spite of myself. My brother somehow always knew what to say. “Moving
on . . .” I said. “Thanks, guys, for coming to see me off. I’m kind of
surprised to see you here, Dad.”

His
large, wrinkled hands shot up in the air as though I had just accused him of
spitting in my salad bowl. “What? A father can’t visit his only daughter before
she ups and leaves town?”

I
cocked my head to the side.
Interesting logic, Daddy Dear.
“Under your
orders, remember?”

“Yeah,
what’s up with that, Dad?” Toby asked. “The Mavericks, really?”

“It’s
just business,” my father responded dismissively. He turned to my mother and
gave her a look as if to say, “Deal with
your
children.”

Our
waiter interrupted with two bottles of the restaurant’s finest merlot. Dad
must’ve ordered it before he sat down, a classic Robert Hart move.

“Thank
God,” I heard my brother mutter under his breath as the stout waiter poured him
a generous glass. He took a sip of the red amber liquid and smacked his lips.
“So Lauren,” he said, “how do you feel about working with
the
Pierce
Maverick?”

I
sighed and glanced at my father, who was paying more attention to the wine
label than the conversation—my father, a man of few, disgruntled words. The less
he said, the happier he usually was. “It’s work. I already don’t care for the
man,” I said, hoping my forced tone was at least semi-believable. “He is obnoxiously
arrogant and full of himself—”

“Now,
Lauren, . . .” my mother interrupted as though scolding a young child for not
looking both ways before he crossed the street. “Be nice.”

I
shrugged. “What? I’m willing to give him a fair shot. Toby asked how I felt,
and I’m telling him.”
I’m just choosing to leave out the part where I’m
ridiculously attracted to him.

Margret
handed me the small basket of garlic bread. “Arrogant men are the worst. How
often are you going to have to see him?”

 “Oh,
I’ll see him every day for at least the next three months,” I said, not
breaking eye contact with my father. “I don’t know how I’m going to get through
it, honestly,” I said feigning exasperation. I knew exactly how I would survive
though—my vibrator and a tall glass of Scotch every night. Maybe then I could forget
about the man I was supposed to hate but found myself desiring nonetheless.

Toby
reached across the table to put his hand on top of mine. “I’ll fly out once or
twice when we start talking architecture and keep you company for a few days.
Will that make it any easier?”

“I
wish I could come, too,” Margret admitted. “But somehow I don’t see babies and
Vegas really mixing well.”