Page 6 of Takeover

Vickie: Whose side are you on? Taylor 3 always stick together.

Alan: I said she was out of line, but I’ll still come and kick his ass if you want.

Vickie: You can’t fight!

Me: You can’t even throw a punch!

Alan texts a picture of his middle finger and tells us he has better things to do than talk to us.

I leave my phone as I prepare myself for meeting Ethan Bradford and his son. A quick Google search revealed he’s divorced and has full custody of a four-year-old boy. He probably drove the woman away and lawyered up to take the child.

Too early and too tired for me to bother with breakfast, I put on a pair of dark blue skinny jeans. I stand in my closet in my black bra as I look for a shirt. I mentally curse myself for responding to the asshole the way I did. Not because I feel bad, but because I had to deal with the disappointment from my father for the rest of the week. True to his word, he stayed away from me and canceled our weekly Friday lunch. I’m only doing this to earn my dad’s respect back. Finally, I grab a white button down and pair it with a light blue blazer.

“Shit,” I hiss as I slide my feet into a pair of couture ballet flats. I haven’t had a chance to check the weather, but I hope it’s mild for November because I have no time to look for another pair of shoes. I grab my coat out of the closet and book it out of my apartment. Thankfully the weather is mild, and I’m able to get to the store on Main Street in under ten minutes, which gives me five minutes to spare.

As soon as I turn the corner, I see him standing there, checking his watch. Probably ready to call my father the minute the clock strikes seven. I see him holding the hand of a little boy. I can’t see his face from here, but his hair is lighter than his father’s and it’s spiked. The kid is in skinny jeans and high-top sneakers.

Ethan finally notices me as I approach and despite my bulky coat, I can feel his eyes roam my body, reminding me of the day we met. When he intentionally eyed by breasts from across the room. I can feel the heat on my face, but I ignore it and come to stand in front of him.

He doesn’t say a word. He’s challenging me to another stare down like the first time at the office. Honestly, I can stand here and stare into his blue eyes all day, but I need to get this over with and continue with my weekend.

“Mr. Bradford,” I say. I ignore him after that and focus on the adorable little creature who is now hiding behind his daddy’s leg. “Hey,” I say to him, squatting down to his level, “I’m Tara.” I stick out my hand, and to my surprise, he gives me a firm handshake.

“I’m Vincent.” He’s adorable in wire rimmed glasses with his spiked dirty blonde hair. His eyes are the same blue as his father's.

“Well, Vincent, it’s so nice to meet you. I’m here to give you a personal tour of this place, which my daddy started before I was born. What kinds of stuff do you have on your Christmas wish list?” I ask him, as I open the door. What kind of jerk makes his kid shop for his own gifts? Shouldn’t Santa deliver the kid’s presents? Stupid idiot. I’ve already made up my mind that I’m going to ignore the father and focus only on the son.

We’re greeted by Hank, the store’s head of security when we step inside. He takes our coats and before taking them to his office, tells us the store is ours.

“So, Vincent,” I say, turning my attention back to the kid. “Where do you want to start? Action figures? Video games? Is there anything your father wants you to stay away from, kiddo?” He looks up at his dad, then back to me before he hides behind his father’s long legs.

“His father is right here,” he says. I stand to my full height and finally look at his face. Damn, the asshole is gorgeous. As good as he looked in that bespoke suit, it’s nothing compared to the gray v-neck sweater draped so perfectly against his muscular frame. He’s intense today. He offers neither a smile nor a smirk.

Play nice, Tara, I tell myself. The last thing I need is for my father to remain angry at me right before the holidays.

“Right. Is there anything that’s off the table, Mr. Bradford? We only have an hour before the store opens, and I want to give Vinnie a great experience.” We wouldn’t want you to have to interact with the masses, jerk. I literally have to bite my tongue to stop myself from saying the last part

“His name is Vincent.” He scowls.

“It’s okay. You can call me Vinnie if you want,” the little voice says, peeking from behind his father’s legs. “You’re pretty.” He ducks back behind his father as he gets those words out.

I ignore the snort coming out of the father and offer Vincent my hand.

“Thank you, Vinnie. I think you are quite handsome. You must take after your mom.”

He blushes as he smiles shyly. He pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket and hands me a list. It turns out, Vincent is not there to shop for himself. He’s here to get Christmas gifts for the kids of his father’s staff, and the staff of the building where he lives.

For the next half hour, I take them around the store, checking items off Vinnie’s list. His father was a constant presence as he pushed the shopping cart behind us. I memorized the list, taking in every curve and flare of the handwriting. Handwriting that is much too neat to belong to a four-year-old.

A four-year-old who adores his daddy. Despite holding onto my hand, he spends the entire time looking to his father for approval on everything. During that time, the jerk doesn’t check his phone once. He pays attention to every word his son says before replying with his opinion.

It took me about ten minutes to notice that they’re wearing matching outfits. Vincent is also wearing a gray v-neck sweater. They both have on dark blue jeans, but Ethan’s are on the baggier side, fitting him just right around the ass. Bernie was right about that. Ethan Bradford has a great ass.

When we get to the action figures, Vincent takes off, leaving me alone with his father for the first time since we got there.

We stand there, my arms crossed as if that would offer me some type of protection against my unwanted guest. Neither one of us speaks, and I grow more uncomfortable as he peruses my body with those intense eyes. He looks me over so many times that I look down to make sure I don’t have anything on my clothes.

When I decide my clothes are clean, I put both hands on my hips and stare into his eyes, refusing to look away first.

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