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Maybe she ran? Maybe she got kicked out. I wouldn’t be surprised at this, knowing how patriarchal Ricardo ran his family.
I had to admit that the things she said in her interview were true, and I couldn't argue with them. There wasn’t an excuse good enough to let those people wait for me while I was on the phone. I should’ve tried harder to arrive early, even though it was my parents on the phone.
Reagan St. James had been on my mind all day, every day since last week. She had visited my dreams in the most seductive way, and when I stroked my cock in the shower every night, her face would flash in my head, which I shook off. I looked her up online just to confirm that she didn’t have a modeling job or a movie career that she had recently left. There wasn’t even any gossip about her to dig into.
She was a private person, too. My quick internet search told me nothing about her hobbies or interests except that she had joined various music competitions when she was in Juilliard. Her social media accounts were set to private, which was odd because she struck me as someone who was flashy in person. Then again, even when Ryan and I were still friends, she was a quiet girl who usually kept to herself. I didn’t know that she’d grow up to have such a smart mouth.
“I added her as a joke,” Clair said.
The Chief of HR and I have been best friends since high school. She was the only girl who didn’t throw herself at me, which humbled me because she was pretty. But when I found her making out with a girl in the hallway, I knew she didn’t swing that way. When we started hanging out, we realized we had the same interests and the same sense of humor, and we decided to be friends.
“In return, she made a joke out of me.”
“She really did have you by the balls, Parker,” she giggled, puffing out another cloud of smoke. “I thought she’d run away or piss herself or something. Is she, like, a lawyer or something?”
“I doubt it.”
“She has a mouth on her. I’m impressed she was able to leave you speechless.”
“Try living with men like Ryan and Ricardo St. James. She probably spent her entire life proving to those assholes that she was more than just some helpless lamb.”
“Yeah, okay. She’s not a helpless lamb. But that doesn’t mean you had to hire her,” Clair pointed, putting the cap on her vape. She was done for the time being.
“Susana thinks she has potential.”
“But she doesn’t know how to fold stuff. I doubt she even knows how to use a vacuum.”
“She probably doesn’t,” I agreed. “But she’s here for a reason, and I’m going to find out why. Plus, I like pushing her buttons. Tormenting her might just be my new favorite hobby.”
“You know, sometimes I think you’re a little fucked in the head.”
“Maybe I am. Thanks to Ryan St. James.”
“Geez. What did that man ever do to you?”
If only she knew the whole story.
I had just come back after half a year in Europe. Ryan and I had agreed to research more about our business, and I told him that in the next two years, I wanted Parker St. James, our bourbon business, to be able to spread its wings and to try selling other alcohol.
“Business is very slow right now,” I had said when I mentioned the idea of expanding. “People would choose our brand if we had a variety of liquor to buy. We can’t just sell bourbon forever.”
Ryan had agreed to my sentiments, and he suggested that we should start with wine.
“It’s a vast market. We can have a hundred different varieties from red to white, from Pinot to Merlot,” he had suggested, and I thought it was brilliant.
So we talked about visiting Europe to expand our ideas with regard to wine products and to see potential investors and suppliers. We needed to learn the anatomy of the business and the procedures that make a winery work.
But two weeks before our flight, Ryan had said that he couldn’t go with me, that something had come up with his sister, and that leaving for six months wasn’t an option.
So, I allowed him to stay behind to take care of Parker St. James while I was away.
As my driver took my bags from me and stored them in the trunk, I called my girlfriend Paige, whom I wanted to see immediately after being away for half a year.
Long distance wasn’t for the faint of heart, but I was thankful that she was understanding enough to know that I was in Europe for work.
I had invited her to come with me, especially since Ryan had backed out. It would be a nice European trip for us. But she said that she couldn’t have fun there if her ailing mother was left here, suffering. I understood, so I left on my own.
Paige Simmons and I met in college. She was what you might call an “It Girl”—rich, smart, and she knew how to carry herself in a crowd. She was in one of my classes, and I had needed to borrow an iPhone charger from her. But I had forgotten to return it, so she gave me hell the following day, calling me a thief.
