Hypocritically Yours: A Standalone Age-Gap Romance Read online

  She giggles, actually giggles, then shakes her head once. “Your father has been giving me money here and there. I didn’t think it would last. I wasn’t sure what would happen. So, I’ve been putting it in an account for you,” she begins. I’m still confused and waiting to see what she’s actually trying to say.

  “Apparently, his guilt has finally caught up with him, or something, because three months ago, he paid me a huge lump sum. It’s nowhere near what he should have paid all those years, but I accepted it because it’s enough to pay first and last, and a few months’ rent in between plus a little furniture to start you right.”

  “Mama,” I say through trembling lips. “How? Why? We’ve been living here together, you’ve been helping us for three years, why didn’t you use it?” I ask.

  She laughs softly. “Because my girl is going places and I’m going to make sure she gets there,” she whispers.

  “I love you,” I exhale. “I love you so much.”

  “You’re going places, Tenny, always have been.”

  LANDRY

  Lifting my hand, I pinch the bridge of my nose as I look down at my dancing phone. It’s eleven at night, and I should be home, but that’s the last place I want to be. It’s not that I hate my life, I have a good one, it’s that I can’t stand my wife. Haven’t been able to stomach her in over ten years.

  Sounds horrible to even think the words, it is horrible, but that’s how I feel. She brought my three children into this world. She is their mother and she was my partner for a while, too.

  For about the past twenty years, she’s just been this figure in my home. Well, what used to be my home, can you call it your home if you haven’t lived there full time in years?

  We had ten good years, but that’s not enough, I want more of the good. She wants more money, more young men to play with, more, more, more.

  I hate it and as the years have passed, the anger has built inside of me and I actually think that I might hate her, too. No, I think to myself, I don’t hate her. I hate the situation and I’m disgusted, embarrassed, and disappointed by her.

  With a heavy sigh, I pick up the phone and slide my thumb across the screen. “Susan,” I grunt.

  “Did I interrupt time with your whore?” she slurs. She’s drunk. She seems to be drunk more than she’s sober, another disappointment. Letting out an exhale, I lean back and close my eyes.

  “I’m at work, alone,” I announce.

  She snorts. “You’ll be interviewing Helen Bradley’s daughter for the paid intern job.”

  “I will?” I ask.

  She laughs, it sounds just as cold as she is. “Yes, you will. You’ll give her the job, too. If you’ll give any other person off of the street a job, you’ll give this girl one too.”

  “Why don’t you have another drink, Susan?” I murmur.

  “You’ll do it,” she snaps.

  I’m silent for a moment, thinking about Susan and her friend, Helen. It’s been years, but I remember her. She was in our wedding thirty years ago. She had dark hair, she was always kind of sad, and was married to a total fucking loser.

  After the wedding, I didn’t hear much about her anymore. “She married to that guy still?” I ask.

  “No,” she hums. “He left her after she had the girl. Hasn’t seen him since, as far as I know.”

  Her Oklahoma accent is thicker since she’s been drinking. I’m used to it these days, she only tries to hide it when she’s sober and attempting to be something fucking special.

  My wife was a sweet hometown girl when we met, an Oklahoma beauty queen and boy did she want to be so much more. I should have seen it then, that nothing would ever be enough for her.

  She wanted to be a socialite and she got what she wanted. Too bad it’s torn our marriage apart in the process. I’m not sure if she minds much. She has her drinks, her multiple men, and her shopping. I have my work, an occasional woman if I go out of town, and my children.

  Now that my children are grown, they have their own lives and it’s just work and occasional women for me. It’s a sad existence, and nothing that I had ever imagined or wanted.

  I used to hope that things would change, that she would change, that we’d change, but after twenty years of the same sad life, I’ve come to terms that it won’t.

  “Why do you care? I didn’t think you cared much about Helen?” I ask.

  She doesn’t say anything, then in a moment of vulnerability, she gives me a glimpse of the woman that I married.

  “I owe it to her. It’s the least that I could do.”

  I don’t ask anymore. I am sure that she does owe it to Helen. Susan was a sweet Oklahoma beauty queen, but that doesn’t mean that she was innocent. I have no doubt that her claws struck Helen at some point and she feels a small bit of remorse, but only a sliver.

  “I’ll give the girl a job, as long as she’s qualified.”

  Ending the call, I open the bottom drawer of my desk, taking out the manila envelope there. I’ve had it for six months. It’s not signed or dated, but it’s time to pull the trigger. This is the last thing that I ever wanted in my life, but this is where I am.

  We’re not happy. Hell, I can’t even remember the last time we had sex. Maybe five years ago? Probably longer. It’s done now though. At least it will be when I stop sitting on these papers and just give them to her.

  It’s time that I lived again. What I’ve been doing is not that.

  Reaching in the bottom drawer, I take out the other thing that accompanies these papers every time I take them out and glance over them. A bottle of whiskey. A good bottle, one that I hide away from clients because it’s my favorite and expensive as shit.

  Pouring myself two fingers, I lift the glass to my lips as I spin around in my chair and look out at the city lights. The Dallas skyline isn’t anything like New York’s, but it’s nothing to sneeze at either.

  At over sixty years old, I’m not sure if I’ll have anything waiting for me after these papers are signed. My love life is probably over. I waited twenty years for a change, it didn’t happen, and I’m full of a sense of regret that I can’t shake.

  I could have done it earlier, but then what would my children’s lives have been like? Maybe they’ll hate me more now that I’m doing it at the age they are? I’m not sure, but I do know that I’m tired of living my life in a way where I’m always worried about what others will think or say.

  My children are adults, Laurent is thirty, the same age I was when he was born. Lawrence is creeping up behind his brother and my sweet Lucinda is graduating with her bachelor’s degree from Yale.

  They are living their adult lives or just beginning to. I have devoted mine to them and to a woman who stays with me because I’ve built my business up so well that she has an endless supply of the things she wants, of the money she desires.

  Letting out a sigh, I push up from the chair and walk over to the window. Looking down, I wonder if I’m just going to pile on more regrets by leaving her. Will this only make my life even more lonely, and difficult? Maybe it would be easier to just accept that this is the way we are?

  We’ve been sleeping in separate rooms for fifteen years, separate dwellings for the past five. Perhaps this is just the way we are now. Perhaps I should just be glad to have a companion as I grow older?

  Turning around, I slam my drink down on the desk.

  Goddamnit.

  I don’t feel old. I may have gray at my temples and lines on my face that weren’t there twenty years ago, but I work out every day. I enjoy being active, hiking, boxing, running, lifting weights. I’m not dead yet, why should I live my personal life as if it’s the end?

  There has to be someone who would look at me as if I’m someone. Not just as if I’m a credit card, a means to get what they want and nothing more.

  There has to be more.

  Something.

  Anything.

  Someone.

  Chapter Two

  THREE WEEKS LATER

 
; TENNESSEE

  Sliding my sweaty palms down my skirt, I wrinkle my nose. Gross. I am a hot sweaty mess and I can’t even blame it on the weather. At least not today. It’s a gorgeous spring day, the birds are out, the sun isn’t blazing hot, and there is a slight breeze.

  Tipping my head back, my eyes move up the building. I feel intimidated by the building alone. I don’t know how I’m going to go inside and talk to the actual owner.

  Pressing my lips together, someone brushes by me, knocking into me. Turning my head to the side, I open my mouth to apologize, but my breath comes out in a whoosh.

  He’s tall, broad, a thick short beard and clean-cut, with trimmed neat hair. He doesn’t stop, his phone is against his ear, but he does look back at me and jerks his chin in his own type of apology, I guess. He’s wearing mirrored aviator glasses, so I can’t tell if he even sees me.

  I suppose it’s my fault he ran into me. I am standing in the middle of the sidewalk, at the entrance to the building, unmoving because I’m scared shitless of what is going to happen next. If I don’t get this job, then I don’t know what I’m going to do.

  It’s not like I can just move back to Oklahoma. My mom and I set up the apartment already, paid all that money for deposits and furniture. Plus, I’ve signed a lease. There is no way that I can fail, I won’t let myself. I’ll do what I have to, to make this work, to make Dallas my new home.

  Squaring my shoulders, I take a step forward, then another, my legs and knees trembling with each step that I take closer toward the tall glass doors. They automatically open as soon as I step close to them, my eyes widen with wonderment at the sight.

  Another step, then another, I force myself to continue moving. I don’t have time to run away, I don’t have the money or any other prospects either. This has to happen, and I should probably feel guilty that my mom called her old friend to get my foot in the door, but I can’t. Not if it gets me the only thing I’ve worked this hard for in my entire life, the only thing that I have wanted so badly that I can taste.

  This job. This company. This is what I’ve always wanted. I’ll do just about anything to get it.

  Flicking my gaze to my left, I see a woman sitting behind a large counter. The front is sleek black, not a single fingerprint mars the glossy exterior. One foot in front of the other, I make my way closer to the counter.

  The top is made of white granite or marble, it’s perfect and gorgeous. I wonder offhandedly if this is the place I could work. I would take it, I would love it. To be able to greet people all day, be the first smiling face they see.

  “May I help you?” the woman greets, her voice syrupy sweet and fake all at the same time.

  Lifting my gaze from the white countertop, I give her a shaky smile. “I have an interview for the intern position?” I say, my voice shaky and unsure.

  “Do you?” she asks, arching a brow.

  I blink, taking a step back. “Ummm.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Don’t answer a question with a question. You’re here for an interview. If you want this job, you need to be confident. There are other people who are walking in there acting as if the job is already there’s. Get it together, girl.”

  My lips part slightly in awe as hers curve up into a grin. “I’m Bethanie, by the way. Most of my friends call me Bethie.”

  “I’m Tennessee, most people call me Tenny.”

  “I dig it, cute name. Last name? I need to look you up and check you in.”

  I tell her Bradley and chew on the inside of my cheek as she touches some buttons on her computer keyboard. My palms start to sweat again as nervous butterflies flit throughout my stomach.

  Pinching my eyes closed, I inhale a deep breath, then let it out before I open my eyes. “Oh my,” she breathes.

  Flicking my gaze to hers, I gulp. I don’t even get an opportunity to ask her what she means, she stands and licks her lips.

  “You’re to be taken directly to Mr. Astor’s office himself. I’ve never actually been up to his office before. Wow, this is kind of a thrill. You totally have this job, girl. Shoulders square, back straight.”

  I watch as she rounds her counter, a smile plastered on her lips. “Follow me,” she says with a wink.

  She’s dressed so much nicer than I am. She’s wearing a navy-blue skirt suit with a hot pink blouse beneath the jacket and leopard print high heels. Her blonde hair is slicked back and worn in a high ponytail. She’s not quite as tall as I am, but has curves for days where I’m more straight, tall, and lean, no matter what I do.

  I feel stupid walking behind her. My discount skirt, with my even larger discounted white shirt tucked inside. My low-heeled pumps are nowhere near as nice as hers, or nearly as tall. She looks elegant, while I look exactly like what I am, a little girl playing dress-up.

  We ride the elevator in silence, then as the door pings open and we begin to walk through the next room, she asks me where I’m from.

  “Tulsa,” I murmur.

  She stops, turning back she looks at me with a grin. “Don’t tell anyone here you’re from Oklahoma, they’ll make fun of you relentlessly,” she warns.

  As if I’m not nervous enough, she has to say that. My entire body trembles and she turns her back to me and starts to walk again.

  “I’ve never actually been on this floor before. It’s so awesome, even the carpeting is plush and expensive,” she says practically swooning. “Mr. Astor’s office is at the end, I hear he has a huge window, floor to ceiling so that he can look down at the city.”

  “How is he?” I ask softly.

  She shrugs a shoulder, looking back at me with a smirk. “I have no idea. I’ve only ever seen him walk past my counter, but that man is hot. He makes me tingle in all the right places,” she announces.

  My face heats from her words and she laughs softly at the sight of my embarrassment. When we finally reach the back of the building, she lifts her arm, her hand balled into a fist to knock.

  “Wait, just one second,” I cry.

  She looks back over her shoulder, her brows lifted as she waits for me to say whatever it is I’m about to say, probably knowing that I’m going to stall, or at least try to. She doesn’t allow it though.

  “You’re going to be fine. Come talk to me before you leave, I want to hear all about it.”

  In the next moment, she knocks on the door and there’s nothing I can do about it. I hear his voice from the other side. It’s deep and smooth, like nothing I have ever heard before and suddenly, I understand exactly what Bethie was saying about feeling tingly in all the right places.

  LANDRY

  I haven’t conducted an interview in years. I’m not even sure that I remember how. Susan made it clear that she wanted this girl to get a job though, so I decided to just interview her myself. Even if the internship position isn’t for her, there is probably something uncomplicated in the mailroom that she can handle.

  “Mr. Astor,” a woman’s voice calls from the other side of my door, accompanying a knock.

  Glancing at my computer, I groan. Julie has taken her lunch, which is why she’s not out front to greet them and announce their presence so that I’m prepared.

  “Come in,” I murmur.

  The door slowly opens. I don’t look up, I need to finish reading over this contract. I’m hoping this interview will be short and sweet. Get this girl hired either as an intern or in the mailroom.

  “Mr. Astor?” a soft voice murmurs as the door clicks closed.

  Lifting my hand, I wave toward the chair. “Have a seat. I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

  It only takes me a few minutes to finish the page. I mark a couple things that need to be changed by the attorney, then finally lift my gaze to meet with Helen Bradley’s daughter. When my eyes clash with green ones, my heart stops in my chest.

  I’ve never seen a shade of green that color before, never realized that eyes could be that light green. Clearing my throat, I try not to shift in my seat, but it’s hard with the growing e
rection beneath my slacks.

  “You must be Miss Bradley?” I ask.

  She smiles softly, nodding as she tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear. She’s uneasy, unsure, and judging by the pink in her cheeks, she’s shy.

  “Tennessee,” she says before she clears her throat. “Tennessee Bradley.”

  Her accent is clear, she is definitely an Oklahoma native and I find it endearing and sweet. Perhaps it’s because I haven’t heard it from a woman without a slur in years. Perhaps it’s because she is endearing and sweet. She hasn’t been ruined by life yet.

  “I was told you’d have a copy of my resume already?”

  Smiling, I nod my head once. “I do. There’s not much there. Why don’t you tell me about yourself? Why do you think that you should be an intern for Astor Investment Banking?”

  She’s quiet for a moment. I watch as her eyes move around quickly, her breathing becoming quick and she balls her hands into fists in her lap. Then she inhales a deep breath before letting it out and her gaze finds mine, focusing.

  “After transferring from Arkansas back to Oklahoma, I decided to dive deep into finance. Numbers are my passion.”

  She’s lying, but I can’t quite decide what about. The transcripts prove that she did indeed study business and finance, she also received great grades and graduated cum laude. It’s impressive, but she does lack extracurriculars that make a well-rounded candidate.

  Nodding, I lean back in my chair. She’s beautiful, stunning really, but I don’t hire based on looks. She chews on the inside of her cheek, a tell of hers. She is also still holding her fisted hands in her lap, another tell.

  “I’m not sure…”

  “I’ll do anything,” she bursts out. “Whatever you have a position for, I’ll take it.”

  “Why?”

  She looks down at her lap, then lifts her eyes to meet mine. “I need this. I’ve been dreaming of working here for the past three years. There’s nowhere else. If I fail…”