He's So Bad Read online

  “Because you’re an ageist.”

  “What?” I ask, intrigued.

  “You always liked older women. I see you looking at Grace’s ass. She’s thirty-five, just so you know.”

  I’m trying to remember a time when I focused on Grace’s barely existent ass. “You’re seeing things. I’ve never noticed Grace’s ass.”

  Carter shrugs. “Anyway, how old do you think I am?”

  I study her pretty face. “Twenty-five.”

  She grunts.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “Probably. Probably not.”

  “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being twenty-five,” I say to make her feel better about revealing her age.

  She shrugs.

  “Young and fluent in Chinese and Spanish? I say that you’re the one who’s winning.” I smile.

  “Me? You’re the one who’s phenomenal. Look at you. You’re a billionaire! I knew that one day you were going to be something.”

  There I go grinning again. I fight the urge to downplay my role in A&Rt Media’s success. I would’ve been comfortable doing it, but I recently realized that I’m the one who stayed on top of our finances. I read the books and asked Gabe to make the appropriate changes. I might have been deficient in the media aspect of the business, but in the financial growth aspect, I was spot on.

  “Wow. Thanks,” I say.

  She shrugs. “So about the real reason why we’re here.”

  I realize that was a question. The real reason is that I wanted to spend some time out of the office with her. “Yes. Work.”

  “Of course work. Robert Tango didn’t want to play with me then; why would he play with me now?” she says with a smile.

  A multitude of images of Carter and I playing with each other now shuffle through my thoughts. Suddenly, I realize that I’ve been staring at her for far too long. My mouth is watering, and my dick is firm.

  I tilt my head inquisitively. “Did you have a crush on me back then?”

  Her face turns red, and she helps herself to a serving of what looks and smells like ginger shrimp. “Did you know I had a crush on you?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  She takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going to tell you this story because it weighs on me whenever your name is spoken.”

  I try to focus on what she’s saying as she recalls a memory of me and a girl I met at the ice cream shop. I took her back to the “love shack,” which was the guesthouse at the back end of Vince’s family’s summer estate. She says the girl drove me back to the guesthouse in a Volkswagen and that I fucked her.

  “I was looking through the window.” She rolls her eyes in shame. “Like a peeping Tammy.”

  I laugh. “A peeping Tammy?”

  “The female version of Peeping Tom.”

  “So you’re apologizing for watching me fuck some girl? How long did it take for me to make it to the end?” I wink at her.

  “You can’t remember?”

  “I remember fucking like a fifteen-year-old kid. I never lasted that long.”

  She stares at me as if a lot of thoughts are floating through her head. She chuckles. “Well, you didn’t.”

  “Last that long?”

  “Right.”

  I’ve never laughed this hard in my life.

  She shrugs squeamishly. “Oh, and I’m sorry for peeping.”

  “Apology not necessary. I brought a boatload of girls back to the house and fucked them.” I wish I could say that I’d done it because I was young and stupid, but I haven’t really shed that behavior. I imagine that if the opportunity to purchase a failing architecture firm hadn’t presented itself, then I would be philandering through Europe, fucking, drinking, and getting high until I suffered a heart attack and died. Basically, I would be in the final stretch of the path to self-destruction. “Not saying it was right, but I did it.”

  She looks at me with narrowed eyes. “Are you judging yourself, Robert Tango?”

  I sit back. What a hefty question. “Yes, I am, and it’s about time.”

  “That never solves anything, you know,” she says.

  “No?”

  “You can’t go back and change the past. Plus no one should judge anyone, and we sure as hell shouldn’t judge ourselves.”

  “Oh no? So what do you recommend?” I ask.

  “Self-reflection and revision.”

  I chuckle. She’s quick. I like that. “When did you become what you are?” Shit, I wish I could take that back.

  Carter’s face turns red again. I’ve embarrassed her. We smile at each other and allow the awkward moment to pass.

  “Regarding work…” I say.

  We laugh.

  “I want to use your talents on our key projects.”

  She starts eating again. “Define key projects?”

  I nod, impressed by her question. “There are a handful of clients who will keep us afloat no matter what. I’ve read their completed project reports. There’s a sixty-five percent satisfactory rate.”

  She stops before putting a helping of one of the chicken dishes into her mouth. “Wow, that low? Was I an architect on any of the projects?”

  “Not one of them.”

  “That’s a relief.” She plops the food into her mouth.

  I watch her lips as she chews, then I blink myself back to the moment. “But if you were the architect for all the projects, then the clients would’ve been satisfied. Not only are you a talented drafter, but you’re a thorough project manager.”

  “That’s because I don’t have a social life.” Carter chuckles.

  “A woman who rides a motorcycle has no social life? Sounds like an oxymoron.”

  “Most contradictions are not contradictions.”

  “I beg to differ,” I say.

  She tilts her head in a challenging way.

  “Hot contradicts cold. Night contradicts day. Good contradicts evil. And in all of those cases, the line that sets the two apart is clear and concise.”

  Her eyes shine as she grins. “Then I stand corrected.”

  Our gazes linger on each other. I had no idea she would have this sort of effect on me. It’s different and surprising. In order to excise the sexual chemistry brewing between us, I pick up the conversation about work and where I see her talents being used in current and future projects. Carter listens attentively and asks all the right questions. We eat and talk, and occasionally fall into lingering stares. Fuck, I’m falling for this woman, who just happens to be Vince’s cousin, and I don’t want to stop.

  On the way back to the office, I ask Carter how she used to spend her days in Sag Harbor when we all were there. I only remember seeing her at the breakfast table, because Vince and I learned that if we made it to breakfast each morning, then his mother wouldn’t question what we did the night before or what we had planned for the day. We were fifteen years old and most of the time drunk as hell, but nobody but Vince’s sisters, Allie and Madison, could tell.

  “I mostly rode around on my bike looking at everything.”

  “Everything? Like what?”

  “I went out in search of construction sites mostly. I’ve always been fascinated by the ground-up process of an edifice. I would walk through the bare bones of a house and try to figure out where all the rooms should go.” She smiles reflectively. “I know it sounds nerdish, but it’s the truth.”

  “That doesn’t sound nerdish. I wish you had told me. I would’ve gone with you.”

  She laughs. “Oh, is that so?”

  I grin at her as I pull into the executive’s parking stall. “In hindsight, I would’ve.”

  The warm smile we share seems so natural.

  “I still do it,” she says.

  We haven’t broken eye contact.

  “Do what?”

  “On the weekends, I look for new construction and roam the grounds.”

  “You do?”

  She nods. “Yeah, I do.”

  “I’d like to go with you
sometime. Do you mind?”

  Carter’s smile fades. “Um, no, I don’t mind.”

  There’s a knock on my window, and Carter and I look to see who’s there. Grace steps back and folds her arms in front of her. I’m already dreading interacting with her. Two more months, then she’s out of my hair.

  Carter gets out of the car before I can turn toward her. When I open my door to get out, Carter’s already walking down the ramp. I’m still baffled about why she doesn’t use the elevator or stairs.

  “I’ve been looking for you. Zoe said you went to lunch two hours ago.”

  I shake the confusion out of my head. “Sorry, but when did I start needing to check in with you?”

  “You don’t, but you’re running a business here, and not so you can fraternize with the help.”

  “What the fuck do you want, Grace?” I’m this close to reneging on my word and putting her ass out of my company now.

  She grunts huffily. “I need you to accompany me tonight.”

  “Accompany you where?”

  “To an event.”

  I tilt my head. “Give me a straight answer. What the hell do you do around here?”

  “I’ve done everything.”

  I slam my door. “Is there a job title for everything?” I stomp toward the elevator, and I hear her heels clicking behind me. “Well, if you’re going to work in my company, then we’re going to find you a job title, and you’re going to stick to it.”

  I’m being rude as hell, but Grace brings out the jerk in me.

  She jumps ahead of me and puts her hand over the down button. “How dare you?”

  The door opens, and two people exit. I enter the elevator. Grace enters too since she’s not finished gabbing.

  “And why are you having dinners and shit in the first place?” I ask.

  “Why are you going to lunch with Carter?”

  “It’s none of your business. You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Or did you even go to lunch? Did you take her to your hotel room and fuck her?”

  My frown is so severe that I feel as if my face will cave in. “What do you want, Grace?” I enunciate each word.

  “I said that I want you to go to an event with me.”

  “What’s the event?”

  “The Annual Soiree at City Hall,” she says.

  “Why do I need to be there?”

  “Because everyone we need to work with to get shit done in this city will be there.”

  I ruffle my eyebrows. The elevator door opens, and I get out.

  Grace stays in and puts her hand in the doorway. “Meet me in the lobby of that hotel you’re staying in at eight thirty tonight. Don’t be late. Wear a black suit with a black tie. I would say not a cheap suit, but you haven’t worn anything inexpensive since you waltzed into my father’s office asking to buy his company.” She takes her hand out of the doorway. “Tonight, you’re going to see what I do.” Her tone is bitter. Apparently, she’s not only offended me, but I’ve offended her as well.

  I make it back to the office, and Carter is at her desk, working. She doesn’t look in my direction as I pass her door and head to my office. I feel as if I’m caught in the calm before a storm. I push down the giddy sensation I get in my stomach when I remember today’s lunch, and I get to work.

  I meet with Account Acquisitions and listen to each project they want to place a bid for. They tell me about the solicitations from private individuals, non-profits, and businesses who want to use our services. The majority of the solicitations are from non-profits. Ralph was big on signing onto free projects, but I’m not. I end that meeting three hours later and start another one.

  The office starts to thin out around six, but I’ve been so busy that I forgot to look in on Carter. When I finally look toward her desk, it’s clean and she’s gone. I look at the other side of the room where Matt sits. He’s gone too. Shit, I’m jealous, and not in the way I’ve been toward Vince. This is different. This is something that I can’t explain.

  Principals

  I take the elevator down to the hotel lobby. Grace is already there, sitting on one of the sofas and looking at her cell phone. She’s wearing another tight bright red dress. Some guy almost trips over his own feet while staring at her. She’s certainly beautiful, and I’m normally drawn to bitches, but for some reason, she doesn’t do it for me. If I hadn’t been drawn to Carter upon first glance, I wonder if I would be boning Grace right now. The thought makes my stomach turn.

  Grace stands once I reach her. “You’re on time.”

  “I’ve been punctual ever since I took over the helm.”

  “Well…” She straightens my collar, and I fight the urge to recoil. “I heard punctuality wasn’t your style.”

  I guide her hands away from my collar. “And who told you that?”

  “Does it matter?”

  I shrug. “No.”

  She snorts facetiously. “I didn’t think so. The limo is waiting for us.” She holds out her elbow. “Be a gentleman.”

  I take her arm, and we walk side by side out of the lobby and to the limo. I sit as far away from her as possible. Grace starts sending texts as soon as the car moves. It’s a relief to not have to chitchat with her.

  “So what’s going on between you and Carter?”

  I’m caught off guard. “Didn’t you ask that already?”

  “And you didn’t answer.”

  “Because it’s none of your business.”

  She finally looks up from her phone. “You should watch out for her. She likes—attention.”

  I recall the funny, sexy, down-to-earth young woman, who spends her weekends hunting for construction sites, that I had lunch with today. There’s no way Carter is the kind of woman who needs to be seen. “Duly noted.”

  She slips her phone inside of her purse. “Is that so?”

  “Is your problem with her or me?”

  “Who says I have a problem?”

  I grunt. “Listen, I took my best architect to lunch to discuss the sorts of projects she’ll be working on in the future.”

  “Ha! Carter is not your best architect.”

  “And you determined this how?”

  She rolls her eyes and looks out the window.

  I study her for a moment. “You’re jealous of her. Why? She’s an architect, and you’re daddy’s little girl. You’re both attractive in your own ways. Believe me, there are enough men to go around.”

  She sniffs bitterly. “I’m not daddy’s little girl. Get that through your fucking head.”

  Whoa. I hit a nerve. “No need to get pissy. You started it.”

  “I started it? How old are we?”

  I let out a longwinded sigh. She’s driving me nuts, and I want her antagonism to stop. I extend my hand. “Let’s call a truce.”

  She hesitates but shakes my hand. Her palm is wet. My palm is dry.

  “So what’s this night all about?” I ask.

  “Every single person who needs special attention so that we can get shit done will be in the room tonight. I have a relationship with each one of them. I know you’ve been wondering why my father wants you to keep me around. You’re about to find out.”

  Politics. Vince has always been better at it than me. I respect the man who works hard to be the best, not some slimy-ass individual who relies on cronyism to get ahead. I can’t scratch backs, and I sure as hell don’t want mine scratched.

  Grace talks about all the people she plans to introduce me to tonight. I’m certainly intrigued.

  City Hall is an ostentatious building on the outskirts of downtown. Its gothic dome is lit up, which makes the structure appear as if it’s a relic from Europe’s past. The original City Hall, which was just as overworked design-wise, collapsed during the 1906 earthquake. This one was built in 1915. What’s funny is the original structure collapsed because of cronyism and back scratching, which is why we’re here tonight.

  The limo stops behind a line of other limos. I want to get o
ut of the car where we’re stopped, but Grace, who’s back to sending text messages, holds up her hand, shakes her head, and says, “Be patient.”

  It takes nearly forty-five minutes for us to get our red-carpet exit. The driver opens the door for us. We get out of the vehicle, and cameras flash.

  “Mr. Tango, over here,” a photographer shouts.

  All of a sudden, my name is being called by so many men with cameras that I can’t count them.

  “What the hell is going on? Why the fuck do they know who I am?” I say to Grace.

  “I sent out a press release,” she says through a pasted-on smile.

  My name is still being called, and I don’t like the sound of it. This shit just got real. I keep my face forward. I’ve never been the type to play to the cameras. The last time these fuckers were interested in me, I was fucking a crazy royal chick from England. They pinned me as the bad-boy businessman from America and said that I gave that maniac chick a venereal disease. I would have never fucked her without a condom. I don’t even know why I fucked her in the first place. I think I went on a binge and was high for the whole month we were together—but not too stoned to forget to wear a condom. I knew her reputation.

  Grace keeps up the fake smile. “Look into those cameras and smile your ass off.”

  “This is your game, not mine.” I continue to face forward.

  “Fuck you, Tango.”

  “You’re not my type,” I say, but I wish I could take the words back just as fast as I say them.

  Grace and I enter the grand doorway. She’s silent as we weave through the crowd, still arm-in-arm on our way to the ballroom.

  “Listen, I didn’t mean that. That was immature of me,” I whisper in her ear.

  “I don’t want to fuck you either, Tango. But what I’m doing is protecting my father’s legacy, so when I say smile at the cameras, you fucking smile at the cameras,” she says past her pasted-on smile.

  “All right.” I paste on my own smile and turn toward the cameras. The bulbs flash.

  Grace winks at me. It’s apparent that she loves being in charge.

  I’m shaking hands and saying the same shit over and over. I’m the new owner of Kennedy Creative. I’ve been in the media industry for the last eight years. Then I listen to the other person discreetly tell me what they expect from me. We arrive at our fifth councilman—Gerald Bush. I’m amused by how he chuckles after everything he says. There are two reasons why a person does that. Either they’re nervous or they lie a lot. I suspect in his case, it’s the latter.