Without limits ssion and.., p.141
Without Limits: A BWWM Collection of Passion and Desire, page 141
“I did, Miss Flynn, and I’m afraid I have to decline. Please apologize to Mr. Lawson for not contacting him as he asked.”
She didn’t offer any explanation, and Roberta Flynn didn’t ask for one. Maybe Esther would have more insight tonight.
“Okay, I’ll convey your decision to Mr. Lawson. Have a nice evening, Miss Beaulieu.”
Looking at the phone, Roberta was a little in awe of the young woman’s decisiveness and poise. A hunk like Ryan offered her what would be a lucrative job with all the perks of working with the boss, and she’d turned him down.
Replacing the phone in the cradle, she walked back to his office. He was standing at the window, looking thirty floors down. The view was phenomenal across Midtown Manhattan, the Chrysler Building so close he could see small people in the lighted windows.
“Mr. Lawson.”
He turned to her, his eyebrows up, an expression of boyish anticipation.
“She’s going to pass,” Roberta said apologetically.
Looking down at his desk, he flipped through the calendar again. “Maybe I should have given her a hint about the salary.”
“Maybe, but I get the feeling she really wants that law degree. I’ve been digging around a little bit. Her address is in one of the last areas of Hell’s Kitchen that hasn’t been gentrified.”
“I didn’t know there was such a thing,” he said. “It’s expensive no matter where you live in the city anymore. I wonder how she affords it.”
“I have no idea. Do you want me to dig a little more?”
“Yes,” he said dismissively. “Goodnight, Roberta. Thank you.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Lawson.”
She shut his door and hustled out. Esther would be waiting.
Returning to the window, Ryan saw that a light rain had started to fall, blowing specks of water that threatened to obscure his view. Forehead against the cold glass, he strained to look down to the street, imagining people caught in the unexpected weather. He imagined April Beaulieu leaving her class in the dark and rain, waiting without an umbrella at the bus stop.
April’s personnel file was in Roberta’s desk, but it didn’t tell him what classes she was enrolled in. Then he remembered his brother, Mark, had had her for a student and that was how she came to work at the firm. He remembered the conversation with Mark.
“I have a bright prelaw student who is desperate for a job. Can you help me out?”
“How bright?” Ryan had asked.
“Brilliant bright,” Mark replied. “She didn’t come to me whining. I had to sign a paper giving her permission to transfer to the night program so her scholarship would remain in effect, and when I asked her why she was leaving, she said she had to find a job, pronto.”
Ryan reached for his phone and keyed in his brother’s number. After he answered, they got through the pleasantries.
“Hear me out, if you will, without smart-ass comments,” Ryan began.
“I’m listening. This is getting interesting.”
“That girl you asked me to hire, April Beaulieu. What class would she be taking at night this semester?”
“Ah! I wondered how long it would take you to notice her. It’s been a couple of months, hasn’t it?” he asked, chuckling.
“I noticed her. Now I need to get in touch with her. Any idea what class she’s in?”
“Hold on and let me look.”
Mark logged on to the school site and went to April’s schedule and found the class. “American legal history,” he said, giving him the building and address. “The class is over at seven.”
“Thanks,” Ryan said, writing it down.
“Can I ask why you want to know?”
“No, you may not. But thanks. I’ll tell you later if there’s anything to tell.”
After hanging up, Ryan straightened his desk, making notes on files he’d work through in the morning. He sent a text to his driver to meet him at the back entrance because the front lobby carried the risk of running into clients. Slipping on his overcoat, he took a look in the mirror. The barber would be at his place in the morning, and he’d get a trim then.
The private elevator opened out onto a quiet, carpeted vestibule where the rental offices for the building were located, and no one was there at that hour. The limo was parked at the curb, really the alley, and exhaust filled the night air, the light rain cold. Winter was just around the corner.
Reading out the address to Arnold, Ryan planned what his approach was going to be. He was beyond caring how ridiculous he appeared. He was interested in April Beaulieu and would do what he could to get her to look his way.
The limousine slid into place in front of the building that housed April’s class. Checking his watch, they’d have a few minutes before her class was over.
“Are you pressed for time?” Ryan asked.
“No, sir, nothing tonight but getting you home.”
“Remember that girl today? The breath-taker?”
“Yes, how could I forget,” Arnold said, chuckling.
“I made contact. She doesn’t expect me, but since it’s raining…”
“Gotcha. Oops! There she is,” Arnold hissed.
Ryan quickly put the window down just as April came close to the limo. “April!”
She looked over, doing a double take, her purse over her head for protection from the rain. Pushing the door open, he beckoned her to get in as Arnold closed the window between the front and rear seats.
“I’ll take you right home,” he said, and she didn’t hesitate, the guy was her boss, after all.
“I’m unprepared for rain. Anything else, I’m ready, but not rain,” she said, exasperated.
“We keep towels back here for just that reason,” he said, handing her a white terrycloth hand towel. “That or a spilled beer.
“What’s your address? Arnold will get you home.”
Reluctantly, she gave him the address, relieved that the rain would ensure that none of Nancy’s acquaintances would be loitering on the stoop. Patting her hair and shoulders with the towel, April shuddered, remembering her decline of his job offer, and decided to address it.
“I’m sorry I forgot to call you this afternoon. Work was busy, and I had my class to get to, and it slipped my mind.”
“Miss Flynn told me you’re passing,” he said. “I have to say I’m intrigued. Usually, researchers will do anything to get upstairs.”
April didn’t reply immediately. She got what he was suggesting. He’d offered her an opportunity that other women, and probably men, too, would jump at the chance to have.
“I apologize,” she said, hoping he’d leave it at that.
“There’s no need,” he said. “I guess I should mind my own business.”
She looked out the window, wondering if silence would be answering yes to his comment.
“It’s not that,” she finally replied. “I have a goal. It’s a personal goal, and if I don’t reach it, it could be detrimental to my sisters.”
“I see. So becoming a lawyer is important to you,” he said.
“It’s everything.”
She hated how dramatic it sounded, but it was true. The job security, the pay, the prestige was all important to her. The fantasy of renovating Nancy Earle’s brownstone, college educations for her sisters, even help for Jake—it meant everything.
“What if I made your new position temporary? It could run until you started law school. What if we provided your law school tuition based on your willingness to work for our firm as an attorney? Would you take the job then?”
“Wait!” she cried, holding her head in disbelief and then bursting into laughter. “Like Cinderella?”
“Ha! I guess you could say that,” he replied.
“But why? You don’t even know me,” she said. “I could be a horrible person. I could be the laziest thief and you’d be stuck with me.”
Glad for the darkened car, Ryan was sure he was flushing. “My brother would disagree, Miss Beaulieu. I want you upstairs,” he said, giggling. “That’s all I’m willing to say right now because I’m embarrassing myself.”
It embarrassed April, too. So Ryan Lawson was attracted to her. If that meant she’d have to put out to keep her job, well, she’d better clear that up right away.
“If you’re expecting me to do anything inappropriate…”
“Oh my God, no. If you feel like I’m coercing you, I’m so sorry. I’m just trying to get you to agree to come upstairs.”
He took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead, and the gesture was so revealing that April started to laugh again, grasping how ridiculous she was being.
“I don’t feel coerced, please,” she said. “You hear so much about Me Too, and I won’t put myself in that position, ever. I probably shouldn’t even be in this car with you.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she cringed when his expression changed from hopeful to distraught. He was so handsome and, she was discovering, kind and generous, too. He was obviously attracted to her. And he was offering her a chance of a lifetime. What was wrong with her?
“I accept your offer,” she quickly said, making eye contact finally. “I’ll come upstairs to work, and if you’ll give me the money for school in return for a job, I’ll take that, as well. We’re supposing that I’ll stay in the city for law school.”
“Yes, we are going to assume that,” Ryan said, returning her smile.
The limo turned a corner, and April looked out the window. “This is my street,” she said, expressionless.
Ryan glanced out the window. It was a sad, as yet ungentrified neighborhood of four-story brownstones, some boarded up, some in states of renovation.
“You can stop here.”
Ryan tapped on the glass, and Arnold opened the window. “This is it,” Ryan told him. “Which floor is your apartment on?”
“My mother owns the house,” she said, placing the towel on the seat next to her, feeling awkward that it might have makeup on it or possibly smell like her hair.
“Wow, that’s quite a house,” Ryan replied as Arnold opened her door.
“It’s falling down,” April said, swinging her legs out. “Another reason I work.”
“Can I walk you up?” he asked in a soft voice.
Turning to him, she paused getting out, looking him in the eye. A body rush zipped through her, a complex mix of titillating chills and warmth. Smiling, she shook her head.
“I’m okay,” she answered.
“Maybe next time?” he asked.
“Maybe,” she said, getting out.
He waited, perched on the edge of the seat, watching her quickly climb the steps, raindrops glistening on her hair and shoulders.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he called out. “Upstairs.”
Laughing, she waved before opening the door to Nancy’s house.
Arnold shut the car door and went around, getting in behind the steering wheel.
“She wasn’t kidding when she said that place is falling down,” he said.
“Roberta is looking into it,” Ryan said. “I didn’t expect the young woman to give away so much information. She’s been pretty closemouthed.”
“Where to?” Arnold asked, watching him in the rearview mirror.
“Home,” he answered. “Looking forward to home.”
Resting his head back, Ryan closed his eyes. April’s scent lingered in the car, a light, floral scent. He’d noticed it when they sat together in the office that morning, and tonight added damp wool from both their coats.
Smiling, he imagined his lips on her long neck. Trying to remember what her body looked like that morning, long legs and slim hips jarred his memory, the rest well hidden by a rather modest ensemble. He kept abreast of women’s fashions and pictured what she’d had on: a classic straight skirt that hit her right above her knee, and a short cream-colored cardigan with a little black collar. Underneath, she wore a white blouse, her breasts unobtrusive until she moved a certain way and they strained at the buttons. April wore office clothes appropriate for a researcher. She’d need business attire upstairs. He’d ask Roberta to give her a clothing allowance for suits, lying that all new hirees got the money.
Not athletic, April was in shape without too many muscles, a look he preferred. She was exotic, poised, spare with words. He wondered what she’d be like in an argument, and he chuckled, rubbing his chin. Watching the lights of the city rush by, he pictured her dressed for court, standing at a podium, making an opening statement.
They arrived at his building, and Arnold stopped at the curb instead of going down into the garage. “I’m going to get gas,” Arnold said.
“Okay, I’ll see you upstairs.”
The doorman stood under the canvas portico waiting with an umbrella. “Good evening, sir.”
Ryan thanked him, walking to the elevator. The operator was on duty until ten and stood aside to let Ryan through. All these men serving him struck him at that moment. They probably had families they supported by opening his doors and pushing elevator buttons.
At his floor he used a key to open the elevator door. “Goodnight,” he said again when the doors slid open to the dim light of the foyer. He waited until the doors closed again before he went farther. French doors led to the spacious living area. A bit suspicious, those doors also required a key to open. Once on the other side of the doors, he was finally able to relax, taking off his coat and hanging it on the coat tree, still damp, it would dry off before morning. There was a place for his briefcase. Margaret had sorted his mail, and only things addressed directly to Ryan were on display. Junk mail would be recycled.
He carried the envelopes through the house and down a long hallway to his bedroom, which was at the south end and, like his office, had views of Midtown Manhattan, elegant, historic and expensive. He stripped off his suit and tie and threw his shirt in the laundry hamper. A quick shower, sweatpants and a long-sleeved T shirt and he was ready for the evening.
The kitchen was at the other end of the apartment. His dinner was on the counter, still warm. A note telling him that a salad was in the refrigerator waited next to a plate of roast chicken. He placed everything on a tray, including an open bottle of beer, and took it into a small den off the kitchen. For the next forty minutes he’d watch the news while he ate and looked through the mail. Sometime between nine and eleven, he’d grab his laptop and check email, sometimes with his briefcase open at his feet.
Tonight there was an email from Roberta Flynn.
A quick perusal of public records shows that the address April Beaulieu used on her employment application is a single-family home owned by Nancy Marker Earle. It looks like the previous owners were Samuel Earle and Katherine Marker Earle. Nancy might have inherited it from her parents.
The property taxes are due in two weeks. For the last three years, taxes were paid on time by April Christina Beaulieu. Before that, payment was sporadic. From nineteen ninety-five until ninety-nine, the taxes were paid by David Beaulieu.
In a postscript, she added the amount of the tax payment, which Ryan grimaced at. They must have recently reassessed the building sight unseen because it seemed like a ridiculous amount of money for that house. He knew about what April made downstairs. Paying the taxes on top of the other expenses she must have caring for her siblings would be stretching it. The knowledge distressed Ryan.
While Ryan worried about April, she made a quick dinner. After he dropped her off, her routine was different from his. The lower floor of the house was dark. She flipped on a lamp in the living room and put her book bag on the floor next to the couch. The living room was the one place in the house that felt normal to her. It was neat and clean though threadbare, the drapery from her grandmother’s day. Once a year when she washed the windows, April vacuumed the drapes, and they were so dry-rotted that one of these days they’d just fall off the rods. But for now they were holding up.
She hung her coat up. Before she ran upstairs to change, she’d put water on to boil for pasta, noticing the dishes had been done. Either the girls were stepping up to the plate or her mother had made a rare attempt at housekeeping.
Making the rounds, she knocked on the girls’ doors, and both were home alone, doing homework. Her income didn’t support electronics, and they didn’t have cell phones or tablets. They complained about it constantly, but it was a good goal to reach, and both girls were saving money to buy what they wanted.
The television was on in Nancy’s room; April could hear it through the door. The smell of cigar smoke seeped under, angering April. She’d abstain from chatting with Nancy while there was a man in her room.
After changing into yoga pants, April went back to the kitchen and fixed dinner, just pasta with jarred sauce, but she made a salad and green beans and garlic bread out of stale hot dog rolls. Thankfully, payday was tomorrow, and she’d shop on her way home from work.
While she cooked, brother Jake came down from the fourth floor with his news.
“I’m moving out,” he said. “I hate to leave this mess on your shoulders. We’re getting married, and I want to live with Michele. It’ll mean moving to New Jersey temporarily.”
April stirred the sauce while it heated. “Of course you’ll live with Michele. How could you bring her here?”
“She offered,” he said. “But there’s no way. I’m sorry.”
Fiancée Michele had her own apartment in Jersey City, and Jake couldn’t ask her to move into his mother’s ratty house, although she’d offered.
“I totally get it if you don’t want to leave your sisters,” she said. “I can live there.”
“No, you can’t,” he said. “I don’t want to live there, anyway.”
“What about Courtney and Natalie?” Michele asked.
“April’s there. If April leaves, the girls can live with me. With us. I don’t want to live with my mother any longer.”
“Okay, if that’s what you really want to do…”
“It is,” he said, the conversation exhausting. “Trust me, it’s not easy walking out on them.”
