Her Cherry Page 2

  He wore his suit in the way I thought only the bad guy in a movie could pull off. One too many buttons were undone to look professional, and he seemed to proudly let the traces of his tattoos show on his chest and forearms. Everything about him had an edge of defiance and confidence you’d have to be blind to miss.

  And me? I wasn't blind. I was standing stupidly with my lips parted, my eyes wide, and my hands hanging limply at my side when I realized Ryan was deliberately ignoring him.

  The stranger was looking at me with the most heart-stopping pair of blue eyes I’d ever seen. He slowly raised one of his eyebrows. Time itself seemed to be holding its breath. I couldn’t say how long the awkward silence had stretched already. Three seconds? Four?

  “The Bubbly Baker,” he mused in a deliciously deep voice with the most perfect, manly rasp. “Obviously that’s not referring to your personality, or this place would be called The Catatonic Baker.”

  I knew how fish felt when they were yanked out of the ocean now. One minute, they’re minding their own business, the next, their world is turned upside down. In a single instant, nothing will ever be the same. Even if they manage to slither out of the boat, they’ll always know there’s a strange, amazing world waiting just above the surface. Or in this case, a mega-hot guy who was always going to make everybody after him seem like the knock-off brand.

  He cleared his throat. “Or are you giving me that look because you’re closed and forgot to lock the door?”

  The sound of his voice was enough to snap me back to reality. I closed my mouth, swallowed—even though my throat felt bone dry—and formed words, just like the normal human being I wanted to prove I was.

  “I’m wide open. We’re, open,” I added quickly once I saw the amused twinkle in his eye. “The store is open. Yes.”

  “Right,” he said a little slowly. “So I can get a bagel?”

  “Actually,” said Ryan, who swooped up to the counter with a look on his face that spelled trouble for me. “We’re fresh out of bagels. But you would love our cherry pie.”

  The man’s eyes slid past the two of us to the dozens and dozens of bagels we had set out already, just waiting to be sliced and served. “And those are…”

  “Display bagels. Completely inedible,” said Ryan. “You’d break those nice teeth of yours trying to eat one.”

  “What would I do with a cherry pie at nine in the morning?” he asked.

  “Um, well,” stammered Ryan, “You could take it to work? Share it with your colleagues. You do work somewhere, right?”

  He looked annoyed now. “Yes. I do.”

  “Sorry about him,” I blurted. “He’s just messing with you. These bagels are perfectly edible. See?” I snagged up an everything bagel from the display and took a bite that was almost as big as it was unnecessary. I was forced to chew the huge mouthful while Ryan and the man watched me with mixtures of confusion and discomfort.

  I cleared my throat. “Perfectly edible,” I said again, more quietly.

  "I'll take one perfectly edible bagel if you would. Maybe one you didn't already bite, though."

  I tried to will all the blood in my body to stop rushing to my cheeks, which must have been fire engine red already. I didn’t even ask him what kind of bagel, I just threw one in the bag and set it on the counter.

  “And I’ll take your cherry, too.”

  I coughed in the middle of swallowing, which resulted in a kind of choking, stuttering noise that prompted Ryan to slap me way too hard on the back.

  “My cherry?” I asked. How the hell did he know I was a virgin, and what kind of man just… just… straight out of the gate says something like that? And even if—

  “Cherry pie,” he said, but the calm way he was watching my embarrassment made me think his original phrasing hadn’t been accidental at all.

  I boxed up a pie for him and set it on the counter. Ryan nudged me as if I wasn't already painfully aware of why he had talked him into ordering a cherry pie. I was supposed to flirt now. I knew.

  The man paid and then started to walk away. It felt like an invisible hand was clenched around my throat. It was probably divine intervention because if I said anything at all, it was sure to be life-shatteringly awkward.

  “Wait!” Ryan nudged me. “My friend wanted to ask you something.”

  The guy half-turned his head, watching me from the corner of his eye. If I didn’t know better, I’d say something in his expression said he knew exactly what was going through my mind. And my body.

  “I didn’t get your name,” I said.

  I saw Ryan looking at me with a you call that flirting kind of expression, but I tried to ignore him. I was just getting warmed up, okay?

  “William,” he said with a smirk. “Should I just call you Cherry?”

  It was a miracle I didn’t pass out when what felt like ten gallons of blood rushed to my face. He knew I was a virgin. Somehow, he knew. Maybe there was a secret, hot guy society where they passed around the names of local virgins. Or maybe it was just that obvious from looking at me.

  I knew Ryan wasn’t going to let me off the hook if all I did was ask his name, so I braced myself for the plunge and tried to flirt, which felt a lot like trying to get an old, rusted out car to start after twenty-five years of disuse.

  “You can call me whatever you want,” I said. I almost—almost—planted my hand on my hip like some parody of the sultry seductress, but even I knew that was too much. I could practically feel Ryan cringing and trying to hold in laughter beside me. Forget the fact that I hated the idea of being called Cherry, like some kind of lady of the night, but the way I’d deepened my voice to deliver the line was going to haunt me for the rest of my life.

  He turned all the way now, giving me his full attention, along with narrowed eyes and a half-grin. If he noticed my awkwardness, he gave no sign of it. “Careful. I might take you up on that.”

  Ryan actually fist-pumped beside me, which didn’t help my concentration at all. “You would?” I asked.

  If I had any weight in the verbal exchange, I just threw it all away with my stumbling response, but he didn't seem to notice or care. He just stood there, looking completely unhurried and totally in control as he took me in. He popped a bite of bagel in his mouth and held it there with his teeth. He tucked the pie perilously under his arm and then grabbed a decorative vase full of flowers that I had on the counter. He gave me a friendly nod and started to leave.

  “What the hell?” I asked. My brain was playing catch-up, but I was pretty sure he was trying to steal my flowers.

  “Sorry,” he said, words muffled by the bagel between his teeth. “I steal stuff. It’s a medical condition,” at least that’s what I thought he said.

  Without even a wink or a smile, he was gone.

  “Wow,” Ryan said and started a slow clap that I was not about to join him in. “That beautiful, beautiful man. He stole your cherry and deflowered you in one fell swoop. Respect.”

  I sank down onto my elbows and let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Technically,” I said sourly. “He paid for my cherry. It was the flowers that he stole.”

  Ryan snorted. “Dirty, dirty girl.”

  I slapped his arm but grinned all the same. "You're horrible. This is all your fault. You realize that, right?"

  He wandered over to where William had taken the flowers and scooped up what looked like a business card. “Which part? The part where I got Thor to hit on you, or the part where he left you his number?”

  “Let me see that,” I said, snagging the card from him. “William Chamberson,” I read slowly. “CEO of Galleon Enterprises? Have you ever heard of that?”

  “Galleon?” Ryan plucked the card out of my fingers. He stared at it and then shrugged. “Never heard of it. But I’ve heard of a CEO.”

  “It must be a small company if the CEO goes around stealing flowers from bakeries.”

  “Who cares. That guy could be the CEO of a hotdog stand. You’re not going
to get a more open offer from a guy than you just did. He’s game.”

  I scoffed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you want to date him.”

  Ryan laughed. “I’m sure some guys do. I’m just saying. You’re like a sister to me, and I’ve seen the look you get sometimes.”

  “What look?” I asked, even though I had a pretty good idea I knew what he was talking about.

  “Like you’re the kid at a middle school dance and no guys have said a word to you all night?”

  “Am I really that pathetic?”

  He gave me a soft smile. “Pathetic? No. But I hate seeing you look like that. Give this guy a try. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “I end up in his freezer, chopped up into little pieces? Or maybe he has a taxidermy collection he wants to show me?”

  Ryan looked up and wobbled his head back and forth like he was testing those ideas out. "Okay. Let me rephrase my question. What's the best thing that could happen?"

  I grinned. "He turns out to be a closeted baking enthusiast, and we bake cookies together, feed each other frosting off the spoon, and then rub chocolate syrup all over our—"

  “Yikes. Make sure you don’t share that fantasy with him. Or anyone, actually. We’ll have to rename the shop The Freaky Baker.”

  “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m not going to beg for a date. Do you have any idea how demeaning that would be? He’ll be lucky if I even call.”

  I hunched over the card a couple hours later on my lunch break, carefully plugging each number into my phone. I was at my favorite coffee place. New York City was overflowing with coffee places, and this one was admittedly only my favorite because they always had a new, snarky message on the chalkboard every day. Today’s message: Pro tip… An apple a day will keep anyone away if you throw it hard enough.

  I pressed the phone to my ear and waited, chewing my lip while I watched my leg shake up and down like it was on autopilot. This was so stupid and demeaning, just like I’d thought. I tried not to focus on that. I thought about how many times I’d fantasized about some version of this storyline playing out in my life—minus the part where he stole my flowers. I owed it to myself to at least give it an effort.

  “Galleon Enterprises,” answered a woman who sounded inches away from yawning. I thought I could actually hear her looking down her nose at me. It was almost impressive.

  "Can I speak with William?" I asked. I made an attempt at sounding confident but failed.

  “William… you’re going to need to be more specific. Last name?”

  “The CEO,” I said. “William Chamberson.”

  Pause.

  “You want me to put you on the phone with William Chamberson?”

  “Yes,” I said, injecting a little more confidence this time. “He left me his card.”

  “Mhm,” she said. “Left you his card. Did he? You must be very special.”

  I could hardly believe the nerve of the woman. Obviously Galleon wasn't some small hot dog shack like we'd joked about, or he wouldn't have a secretary, but still, she needed to get off her high horse. "How do you know I'm not some important businesswoman? What if I was calling to make a million dollar deal?" My heart was pounding, and my cheeks were flushed with indignation. The nerve of this woman had me ready to hit something. Where was my stupid old college textbook when I needed it?

  Another pause.

  “Are you?”

  “No, but that’s not the point—”

  “No. You’re not. Because this is the number William gives women to call when he wants to impress them. I’m going to put you on hold, tell him you called, and then he’s going to tell me to hang up on you. He likes to make you poor girls try so hard,” she sighed. “Hold.”

  The phone clicked over, and some infuriating elevator music played. I tapped my foot and glared at nothing in particular as I waited. I was tempted to tell Ryan to cover for me while I marched up to Galleon Enterprises, whatever it was, and found this woman. Maybe she was using an old school phone with a cord, and I could choke her out with it. Then I'd take down William and his games with a paperweight. I sighed. I wouldn't actually choke her or hit William. But one thing was for damn sure: if he didn’t take my call, I wasn’t gonna go chasing after him. Making this call was as far as I could stretch my dignity, thank you very much.

  The music cut out and there was a clicking sound on the line.

  “Cherry?” The voice was deep. His voice.

  "Yes," I breathed. I wasn't proud of how my heart raced, and pride boomed through me. He was going to hang up on me, was he? I winced and shook my head. “No, I mean. I’m the one who gave you the cherry pie, yes. But my name is Hailey.”

  “Well, Hailey. I’m busy as hell today. Meetings to sleep through. Calls to ignore. You know, CEO stuff. If you want to talk so badly, you can come to the masquerade party we’re throwing to hype a movie release tonight. Tell the guys at the door your name is Cherry and they’ll let you in. Oh, and I’m holding your flowers hostage. So if you want them, you’d better show.”

  I stammered out a few meaningless syllables, but he hung up on me before I could say anything. I stared at my phone like it had just grown horns. The man was insufferable, and he knew it. He also knew he looked so obnoxiously good that he could get away with it. Barely. Just barely. As the day wore on, the idea of actually going to the party wormed its way into my brain and started to take root. I was tight-lipped about it with Ryan because I knew he'd just try to talk me into it. But I didn't even need to tell him to know he'd beg me to go. I'd just been lamenting how life was passing me by, hadn't I? Besides, who said I even had to seek out William at the party. Maybe I could just put on a silly mask and a fun dress to make a night of it. For once, I was tempted to do something spontaneous and maybe just a little bit dangerous. I was tempted to go.

  2

  William

  There was a place in my office no one knew about, not even my twin brother, who shared the title of CEO with me and liked to think he knew everything. Sorry, Brucie, but this one was all mine. I walked up to the bookshelf beside my desk, which looked expensive, and it damn well better. I'd paid some French woman a small fortune to decorate my office. My memory is hazy on the details, but I think my instructions were something along the lines of, "If people aren't shitting their pants out of pure respect the moment they walk in here, you didn't do it right." Thankfully, the woman had done a good job.

  If the walls in my office could talk, they wouldn’t say a word, because they’d know they were too good to talk to you. That’s how perfect it was.

  I’d never read a single book on the huge bookshelf, which even had one of those ladders you could slide around on wheels to reach the highest shelves. That had been a special request, and when the blinds were drawn, it’s possible that I sometimes liked to see how far the ladder would slide if I jumped on it at a run.

  I picked up a glass paperweight shaped like a globe and set it on the bookshelf. There was a magnet in the bottom that activated a mechanism behind the door. I waited while a series of heavy, very satisfying, metallic clicks sounded out and then the door swung open.

  Yes. I had my very own secret villain lair, right inside my office. It was every bit as amazing as I had hoped.

  The room inside was what I liked to think of as my trophy room. It wasn’t a huge area, which was an unfortunate restriction of the whole sneaking it under my brother’s nose thing. Too big of a project or too much space shaved out of my office, and he would’ve noticed. Bruce could never find this, because I had a section of my trophy room dedicated specifically to things I’d swiped from that OCD tightass who called himself my brother. I’d had the space set up like an art gallery, complete with marble pedestals and glass display cases. My favorite item was the single, perfectly yellow banana in the center of the room. I actually paid a chemist to come up with a kind of transparent lacquer coating that would keep the banana preserved. You could still see my brother’s name written on it in big
, black sharpie. “Bruce.”

  I ran my hand affectionately over the display case and grinned. Yes. I had too much time and money on my hands. No, I didn't feel bad. Yes, I had a little bit of a problem with stealing things. No, I didn't plan to change. The official diagnosis would be kleptomania, if you wanted to be a dork about it. I liked taking things. It started when Bruce and I grew up poor and our situation justified it. Eventually, I realized I just stole things because I liked it, not because we needed the money. I'd always had to find places to stash my strange little prizes, and the trophy room was the epitome of all my work. I had the best stuff in here. Bruce's banana was the crown jewel, but I also had a towel he'd set aside for himself to keep from getting sweat in his car after a racquetball match. It brought a smile to my face just remembering how pissed he'd been when he couldn't find it. I had a pair of his sunglasses, and a framed display of single socks I'd stolen from his dresser. I made sure they were part of a pair. I actually felt a little guilty about that one. Bruce probably could've had an orgasm if his day went exactly according to schedule, and I knew the thought of an incomplete pair of socks probably short-circuited the poor guy's brain.

  Oh well. It was good for him. I was born a minute and seven seconds before him, which gave me the responsibility of being the older brother, and therefore meant I was obligated to mess with him. Some brothers might've called it a job, but you never worked a day in your life if you've enjoyed your job, right? I had staplers I'd taken from around the office, mostly belonging to people who pissed me off. I had pens I'd snatched from rude waitresses, and even an "I Recycle" pin some douchebag had been wearing on his backpack—seriously, of all the things to brag about. You recycle? I'd almost been tempted to toss that one in the trash just for irony's sake, but my need to stash it won out in the end. Not everything made the collection. Sometimes I'd snag something on a whim and just toss it. If I was feeling adventurous, I'd try to reverse steal it, which basically meant sneaking it into someone else's possession without them realizing. I looked at the newest addition to my collection. The vase of flowers from the bakery I'd snagged this morning. I'd set it up on one of the marble pedestals near the back wall.