A Moment Like You Read online

  “I lose custody of the kids,” he explains. “I know you see them as animals, but they are more than that.”

  Honestly, I see them as a nuisance. From never having a pet in my life, I now have to share this place with two horses, an alpaca, two dogs, and chickens. Leyla and Pierce call them “the kids.” I’m pretty sure they have names. Honestly, I don’t care much about them at all.

  “Have I mentioned that you have a very strange concept of family?” …And marriage.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Isn’t all of this fucking complicated?” I ask, referring to our situation.

  Who the fuck lives with their brothers at my age?

  It’s like our father decided to shove us into one place to find out who might become a mass murderer. I’m pretty sure it might be me—or Vance, who used to be part of some classified special forces. He still refuses to tell us what he used to do before he retired.

  My attention moves to the commotion going on in the dining room, and I realize that Blaire, Sophia, and Leyla are chatting in hushed voices.

  “Should I be concerned?” I ask Pierce.

  He glances in their direction and responds, “I’m sure it’s about Hayes’ surprise party.”

  “Do you know she closed one of the Lodge’s restaurants for tomorrow’s celebration?” I complain.

  “Blaire did?” he asks confused.

  “No, Sophia. Sometimes I feel like she doesn’t respect my authority.”

  He laughs. “You think? That woman has you tied by the nuts, but you refuse to acknowledge it.”

  “Fuck off,” I warn him. “She’s my assistant.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.” He pats my shoulder and says, “I’ll be at the office if you need me.”

  I look up at the three friends and hesitate to break the happy reunion. A few months back I’d say that people don’t know their place. Sophia is nothing more than my assistant. Except, things aren’t that simple anymore. It’s not just about the way she makes me feel, but Blaire and Leyla see her as family, as if she’s part of the Aldridges.

  Inexplicably, the bond between the three of them has grown out of proportion in such a short time. Offend one and you’re raising havoc.

  News flash ladies, we aren’t a family.

  “Sophia, we need to work,” I announce, knowing that my interrupting might bring me some backlash from the other two. “You can chat with your friends later.”

  I don’t know much about women. I lived with my mom up until I was eight, and she then sent me to boarding school. I never had a steady girlfriend or the time to get to know more about how women behave. However, I have common sense, and when three women glare at a man the way they glare at me, the smart thing to do is to walk away.

  “Okay then, I’ll be at the office,” I announce. “Come over when you are free?”

  She looks at her watch and says, “I’ve been working since six o’clock in the morning. I spent most of the flight working on the presentation for Tuesday and the numbers of Aldry’s Sweets. I emailed you everything that you requested. You said you didn’t want to discuss the acquisitions until Monday. What else do we have to cover?”

  “A lot more,” I respond.

  “Blaire needs a hand with the party,” she explains. “If you don’t mind, I’m taking the rest of the day off—maybe Saturday too.”

  “Shall I remind you that you came to work?”

  “We have Sunday,” she offers, and I hold my breath because for her to agree to work on a Sunday, that’s major.

  “We could work that day.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s not like I can spend time with my family. They are on the other side of the country,” she reminds me and there’s a hint of bitterness in her voice.

  Before I piss her off, I nod and walk away. Up until now, I haven’t thought about the impact that being in Baker’s Creek created for Sophia. She’s close to her family. Mostly her parents, and she literally lives for her mother.

  When I look at the car, I decide to park it in the garage and just walk to The Lodge. As I walk to the gate, I bump into my youngest brother, Beacon.

  “Hey,” he greets me. “Where’s hottie?”

  “Stop calling Sophia, ‘hottie’,” I order him.

  “Whatever, man. Where is she?”

  “In the house,” I answer and look at the piece of clothing he’s carrying under his arms and grab the vinyl album he’s holding. “What is that?”

  “A Too Far from Grace signed T-shirt for her niece and a collectible,” he answers, giving me a quizzical look, and then smirks. “It is allowed to be nice to her family, right?”

  “Is it fuck with Henry day?”

  “Every day is fuck with Henry day,” he states seriously taking back the album.

  “Fucker,” I grumble. “Do you always have to have a comeback?”

  “I understand your frustration, not everyone is as smart as I am. What can I say, I got the brains,” he replies. “Daddy dearest left the best for last.”

  Someone, anyone should tell him that he’s in his late twenties and not a child who should be taunting his siblings. It won’t be me though. There’s something fun about watching him do this to the other guys.

  However, he’s right about one thing. He’s the smartest one of the bunch. I’ve seen him work at The Lodge and the factory, and he not only learns what I teach him fast, he masters it and implements new things. Not that he’s happy doing it. He’s just resigned to do his part until the term is over. He’d rather be in his studio playing music.

  The guy is a musical prodigy.

  Like many smart people, he can’t stay put. I’m hoping that he’ll be able to keep himself in one place.

  One thing about him is that he’s restless, and he likes to bend rules. Beacon always finds a way to make the system work for him. There’s no way out of the conundrum our father put us in, yet, I can see him trying to escape and fuck us all.

  We’re supposed to live under the same roof, but he had a music studio built for him with two extra rooms. Both of them are guestrooms for his bandmates—or so he claims. Since the construction company finished the place, he’s been staying there every night. He claims to be working, but no one can work two weeks straight without any sleep.

  I would know, I don’t sleep much, if at all. As long as he doesn’t do anything stupid or get us in trouble, he can stay wherever the fuck he wants.

  When I arrive at The Lodge, I text Karl Morrell. Beacon isn’t the only person who works around the system. I can do the same, and my vice president of operations will help me implement my plan.

  Henry Aldridge: Emergency meeting in ten minutes. I’ll send you the videoconference link.

  Karl Morrell: It’s Friday.

  Henry Aldridge: It’s not optional. We have a lot to figure out for next week.

  Karl Morrell: What’s happening next week?

  Henry Aldridge: I’ll meet you in ten minutes so we can discuss it.

  Three

  Sophia

  Not having my life together is an inconvenience. Not a character flaw. Thankfully, it’s one of those things that can be altered and masked without having to jump many hoops or get a personality makeover. The downside of pretending that I can conquer the world is that people rely on me for almost everything.

  There’s another inconvenient trait that might be a flaw. I have a hard time saying no to the people I love. Like supporting my parents, babysitting my nieces and nephews, or…just about everything, but within reason. I’m not a pushover. If I don’t have time or it’s out of my reach, I say no.

  The latest example is Blaire. She and future baby Aldridge-Wilson are my new weakness. She’s a capable woman, but since she is always puking, someone has to look out for her. Usually, it is her fiancé, but for obvious reasons he couldn’t be involved in the organization of his surprise party. When she asked if I could give her a hand, I should’ve said, “Yes, I’ll oversee everything fro
m New York,” and then found an excuse to avoid this weekend’s trip.

  Parties, special dinners, and engagements like this are part of my duties. I organize them often—no need to be present during the affair. I’m so good I can make the impossible, well…possible. Like for instance, I got a video of Hayes’ mother and some of his colleagues wishing him a happy birthday.

  I do it for Henry more often than I want. The best part of these affairs is that I skip the events, and I don’t have to deal with him.

  When I told Blaire that everything was ready and I’d be in my room, she stared at me slack-jawed and said, “You’re one of my best friends and part of this family. I expect you to be with us.”

  I’ve never seen someone so offended at me for not wanting to attend her family and close friends party.

  I could be in my room streaming romantic comedies and eating ice cream. Instead, I’m at a table sitting next to Satan’s spawn, drinking the most delicious Bellini created on this planet, dipping strawberries in melted dark chocolate, and fantasizing about…well, him.

  One can hate a person and want to be touched by his big hands, licked by his tongue, or bitten…

  Yes, baby, I want it rough tonight.

  Have I mentioned he’s hot?

  It’d be pretty hypocritical of me to say that I’m not attracted to my boss when he looks so goddamn sexy. Tonight, more than usual with his black button-down shirt, his hair disheveled, and wearing a pair of jeans. This is so unlike him, yet, he looks as hot as he does when he wears suits.

  I wish I was immune to him. It’s hard to ignore a guy who looks like him. The whole arrogant attitude, mixed with those fitted Brioni suits, and the trimmed body… Okay, I have a slight crush, which is becoming a problem.

  During my free time—which isn’t much—I ponder about my issue and the possible solutions.

  My first thought is usually about how would he look completely naked? Understandably, it’s the wrong path, so I go into the second thought as fast as I can. This happens to be the most important which is, how can I stop fantasizing about him?

  The only two solutions I’ve found so far are one, dating a hotter guy. It’s not feasible, since I don’t have time to date. Number two could be more satisfying, too risky, and impossible at best. What if we fuck and purge the attraction?

  I suck on my bottom lip, press my legs together, and close my eyes for a second as I imagine him running his hand up my skirt and…

  Okay, horny, tipsy, and lonely are a lethal combination. No one knows that better than me. The last time this perfect storm occurred I ended up dating Trey Lockwood. Not my proudest moment. The first two weeks were like a Jennifer Anniston romcom. Afterward it was an episode from All My Children. I was the mistress. The asshole had a wife and two kids in Connecticut—and a girlfriend in New Jersey.

  See, if I had my life together, I wouldn’t fall for guys like Trey, or yearn for what my siblings and friends have—a loving partner. Nor would I be longing after my boss as if he was the last strawberry dipped in dark chocolate.

  I’d be at home with my significant other spending quality time. I wouldn’t be fantasizing about the ways that my boss could bend me over a table and fuck me.

  “Are you okay?” Henry asks with his sexy low voice.

  He is so close that I can feel how his words run all the down my ears and make their way into my body like thick, warm syrup. I wish it was his hands though.

  When I open my eyes, I realize his lips are almost touching my earlobe and his sandalwood scent caresses my nostrils. His green eyes bore into mine. Sometimes I wish I knew what he’s thinking, others I wish he…

  Okay, Trey wasn’t the last mistake I made. It was Henry Aldridge three weeks ago, while he… I’m not sure if he was mourning his father or yearning the childhood he never had.

  Henry and I didn’t have sex; we had a moment. Well I had a moment. I’m not sure about him.

  My heart skips just as I recall my hand touching is firm jaw, our eyes connected, and his lips parted so close to mine that I could feel his warm breath on my face. He bent his head, and our mouths touched.

  For me, it was the usual “the world stopped spinning and everything around us disappeared” moment. When I say usual, I mean that I’ve heard of that phenomenon. My friends have told me about it happening to them, but it was the first time it happened to me.

  At that moment, I wanted to believe that something as crazy and incoherent as Henry and me could happen in this universe.

  It can’t.

  I smile at him and look away. What’s the point of remembering the best kiss I’ve ever had when I know it meant nothing to him? It’s not worth discussing what happened on the top of the roof or have me sign one of his stupid dating contracts.

  “Time to go upstairs,” he murmurs. “You and your friend celebrated…a lot.”

  Celebrated is incorrect, but let’s go with that. Leyla and I were having a pity party while her estranged husband openly flirted with one of Blaire’s friends and Henry had disappeared.

  I search for Leyla, but she’s not around.

  “Where is she?”

  “Pierce took her home,” he answers. “I think we should do the same.”

  I chuckle. “I don’t have a home. Sure, I live in the penthouse of a luxurious hotel in the heart of Manhattan, but can I call it home?”

  “How drunk are you?”

  I reposition myself so we can be face to face. The golden flecks in his green eyes glisten with the flame of the candles set on the tables. This would be so romantic, but it makes me feel lonely.

  “I don’t need to be drunk to tell you how I see the world,” I respond. “You complain about having brothers and living in a mansion with all of them. I bet it’s ten times better than being in New York, alone.”

  “Do you need new housing accommodations?” His question infuriates me, and before I can snap, he says, “You live in the presidential suite of one of the best hotels in the world—for free—and you’re lamenting your luck. What else could you possibly need?”

  “First of all, it’s not free. I work my ass off for you and your company. I earn my living. Pets aren’t allowed,” I complain. “Not that I could take care of one. Between my parents and you, I don’t have time for…anything. Do you have any idea when was the last time I went out on a date?”

  “Let’s head to your room,” he insists, helping me stand up and then with my jacket.

  “This is a new jacket,” he states. “I’m guessing you bought it along with the dress and those lacy shoes?”

  I smirk and whisper, “The manager at Chanel called me Thursday. They had a new line and I couldn’t resist. Everything matches. The purse, the shoes…” I whisper, “and the lingerie.”

  He gasps, his lips part, and he stares at me with an expression I can’t identify, but how I wish it was hunger.

  “You’re going to be the death of me, Ms. Aragon.”

  I could be a lot of things. What would it be to add lover to my duties?

  “Definitely drunk,” he confirms as we walk toward the elevator.

  “No,” I insist.

  He shakes his head. “If you were sober, you wouldn’t be blurting nonsense.”

  As we step onto the elevator, he presses the button of the top floor.

  “So, would you rather be at a house than the presidential suite?” he questions.

  I glance at him and shake my head. “I would rather not be lonely. What’s the point of having so much when you have no one to share it with?”

  He crosses his arms and crooks his eyebrow.

  “Sorry,” I apologize because once those words leave my mouth, I realize that I am describing his life.

  “Why is it that my family and you think that my life is pathetic?” he grunts and stops the elevator, pushing me to a corner. His arms on each side of my body, caging me. “My life is different. This is all I know. I. Am. Content. With. It.”

  “But are you happy?” I question. “D
o you really have everything you desire?”

  Heat climbs upon my body. My cheeks flush after I blurt the word desire. Maybe he’s right. I’m drunk, because all I can think about is the kiss we shared.

  What am I doing?

  He reaches out and strokes my burning face with his fingertips. “I always get what and who I want.”

  Henry slides his hand under my chin, lifting it.

  “Longing is an unknown word to me, because once I wish for something, I make it my mission to own it,” he says, his thumb caressing my bottom lip.

  His penetrating eyes watch me with the desire he claims not to have. A longing as deep as mine.

  I straighten my shoulders and give him a challenging glare, “Why the restraint?”

  “With you? That’s something I keep asking myself every day,” he responds. “Listen, I don’t force people to accept me. Being Henry Aldridge isn’t easy. I have conditions, limits, and rules to protect myself. Sometimes I just take what I want and move on.”

  He twists my long hair with one hand, pulling it down and kissing my exposed neck. “With you, I don’t want to just take. I want you to be willing to give. I want to seduce you. I want you to surrender all that power you exude, to me.”

  He nibbles my neck, running his free hand slowly up and down my back. My body is shaking, and I’m not sure if it’s from his words, his lips, or the tension that’s building between us. My skin is burning, and I’m gasping for air.

  “I want to own you,” he continues, and I shiver when his hand reaches under my skirt and his fingers grace my skin as it climbs to my core. “Claim every inch of your body and call you mine.”

  A sound between a gasp and a whimper escapes my throat when his finger moves aside the silky fabric of my underwear and he runs his fingers down my slit. His eyes fixate on me. I heave when he buries his digit inside me, rubbing the heel of his palm against my heat.

  “You’re soaking wet,” he says, his stubble rubs against my jaw as he nibbles the sensitive skin behind my ear.

  I move against his hand, seeking release. His fingers tighten and I order, “Faster.”