Cocky Suits Chicago: Books 1-3

by Alex Wolf

  “Good to meet you.” I hold out my hand and resist the urge to crush this guy’s metacarpals so he never puts them on Abigail again. It’s absolutely not good to meet him, at all. He needs to piss off.

  He barely squeezes my hand back. It’s like shaking hands with a wet noodle.

  Jesus.

  You can tell a lot about a man by the strength of his handshake and this guy is just as I thought, soft as fuck.

  I glance up to the balcony and Wells has two brunettes on his arm, and I’m almost positive one of them is supposed to be for me. He chats them up, but it seems like he’s watching me out of his peripheral vision.

  Abigail looks at me, and I swear there’s a sparkle in her eye. “Okay. Well, I should get back.”

  “Sure, see you at the office.” I watch her go and barely refrain from scowling at Kyle when he glances back at me.

  Once I’m back up to the balcony, Wells leans in and his voice lowers. “Don’t worry. I found us some ass.” He says it like I just struck out and nods to the two brunettes a few feet away.

  It makes my blood boil even hotter. If I want Abigail, I’ll have her. I always get what I want.

  I scan the room and watch Abigail meet up with her friends. Our eyes lock for a moment, but I quickly turn toward the table and sit next to the other brunette.

  “I’m Sandra.” She holds her hand out and sinks her teeth into her bottom lip.

  I take her hand. “Dexter. Call me Dex.”

  “I’ve never fucked a Dexter before.”

  What the hell did Wells just get us into?

  He leans back with a satisfied grin.

  Sandra smirks and slides her hand up my thigh. Her red fingernails give me a squeeze. Any other night I might enjoy a woman being so direct, but the one I want is across the room with some fuckbags named Kyle, Chuck, and Barbie.

  “Let’s get out of here,” says Wells. “I have the top-floor suite at The Peninsula.”

  I shouldn’t be surprised. That room only goes for eight grand a night. The bastard has a new mansion on Lake Michigan, but it’s about a forty-five-minute drive away. I give him a head nod, letting him know I’m on board so we can get the fuck out of here. I’m ready to call it a night even though I’m leaving without Abby. It’s still a success. I’ll have Wells as a client before the weekend is up so I’m still batting .500.

  Like a true asshole, I can’t let it go, though. I make a point to parade Sandra and her big tits right past Abigail’s table. She needs to know what she’s missing out on. I want her to be just as jealous as when I saw her on the dance floor grinding with that limp-handed cock boy.

  Instead, she just smiles and waves, like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

  Goddamn it.

  We finally make it outside to the sidewalk.

  Sandra leans in close and whispers, “Your place or mine?”

  Her friend slides into the back of a black Mercedes with Wells. Of course, he has a car and a driver. Why wouldn’t you on a random night out in Chicago?

  Man, I have to bring his business to the firm.

  “Neither.”

  “Hotel? With those two?” She nods toward Wells and her friend.

  “I’m going home, alone.”

  She frowns.

  I lift my chin in Wells’ direction. “He has enough dick for both of you. Enjoy yourselves.”

  Wells smiles, then shrugs. “He’s not lying.”

  Sandra walks over and climbs in.

  Wells tells the driver where to take them then turns back toward me. “My life doesn’t suck at all and I appreciate the generosity.” He pats Sandra on the leg, like she was my possession and I’m sharing her with him for the night. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, you will, bitch. Have fun.”

  He shoots me a middle finger and they speed off down the road.

  I glance back at the front of PRYSM once more, then start down Kingsbury street, looking for a cab. Jerking off to the thought of Abigail is a million times better than putting my dick in that thirsty chick.

  Abigail

  My alarm blares way too early. It definitely feels like a Monday already.

  I stretch and yawn.

  Staying up late watching scary movies with Kyle and Nick was a bad idea. I know better than to do that when I have to work the next morning.

  I rub the pad of my finger over the creases of my eyes. It’s like my head just landed on my pillow and I could easily go back to sleep for another four hours, but I roll over and sit up. The minute my feet touch the cold floor I regret not turning the heat on last night. I was exhausted when I got in, and Barbie, the ice Queen, is anal about the thermostat. I think her real name might be Elsa because my room is a damn ice box.

  Yes, we’re roommates, but it’s very much her apartment. I needed a place to stay and she had one. No way was I going to move in with some random man in Chicago. Grabbing my bathroom caddy, it’s like being back at summer camp. Barbie’s a neat freak and bitches any time I leave things scattered about. To be fair, she keeps her stuff put away so I can’t really complain.

  Leaving my bedroom, I head to the bathroom, but the door’s locked.

  “Just a minute.”

  Great.

  Chuck, Barbie’s boyfriend, apparently stayed over—again.

  He’s probably in there taking a dump. Talk about lousy luck this morning.

  I set my stuff by the bathroom door and shuffle down the hall to the kitchen. I need coffee or I might turn murderous. I grab my favorite mug from the dishwasher.

  Opening the refrigerator, I pull out my hazelnut creamer and scowl. I shake the bottle and my face heats. It’s empty.

  I open it up and tip it upside down over my mug and bang on the bottom.

  Not a drop.

  If I did this to her I’d have to hear about it for a week. Now, I have to stop off on my way to work and pay a small fortune for what I could’ve enjoyed at home for free. I press the button for the lid to the trash can with my right foot and toss in the bottle along with my disappointment.

  I glare toward the bathroom. I know he’s the one who finished it off, and I hope it gave him the coffee shits.

  I mentally smack myself. I still haven’t taken a shower, and I don’t want to go anywhere near where he’s been. I need a new roommate. One who doesn’t come with an annoying hairy boyfriend named Chuck.

  The bathroom door opens and to no one in particular, he says, “Whew. Someone light a match.”

  This is your life right now. You need to get it together, Abby.

  The sound of the aerosol lands in my ears, hissing as he sprays it around.

  My nose scrunches in disgust.

  Gross.

  I hate to skip my shower, but after this, I have to risk it.

  He struts past me in the kitchen, looking like a damn yeti in his boxer briefs and no shirt.

  Maybe it’s a good thing I don’t have my coffee, or I might spew it everywhere. I can deal with the hairy, shirtless act, but the rest is a big fat no.

  I quickly move down the hall, scooping my caddy on the way to my room and slam my door a little louder than I need to, but screw that guy. I light one of my Bath & Body Works candles and pray it works its magic quickly. Sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the mirror on the back of my bedroom door, I twist my hair up into a bun. Today will be a light makeup day. A few swipes of mascara and cherry lip gloss. I smooth my eyebrows and pop up to get dressed.

  After throwing on my work outfit, I blow the candle out and make a wish. It’s a silly ritual that should be reserved for birthdays, but it makes me happy. Plugging my nose, I brave the bathroom long enough to brush my teeth. I gasp for air once I stumble into the living room and manage not to inhale anything toxic.

  Once I escape the apartment, I head to my favorite coffee shop down by the L-train station.

  Grabbing my white chocolate mocha from the barista, I board the train, throw on my Beats, and crank up Everyday People by Sly a
nd the Family Stone.

  Just another day in paradise.

  My morning got off to a shitty start, pun intended, and it seems my bad fortune will carry on through the workday. I’ve already had trouble tracking down three associates for important depositions. I screwed up and set up two meetings at the same time for Donavan. Fortunately, he hated one of them and rescheduled, then thanked me for the blunder.

  That’s the totality of my good luck, and I’m starting to think the candle wish from earlier was nothing but a curse.

  I walk by Dexter, hoping maybe he can turn around this disaster of a day. “Hey, how was your weekend?” I didn’t think he was going to let go of me when we ran into each other at the club, and part of me secretly wished he hadn’t.

  He barely looks in my direction. “Fine.”

  Oh my God, what’s his deal? The world hates me.

  Come on, Dex, just give me that smile of yours once. I need it so bad. I’m drowning over here. Help a girl out. “Do anything fun?” Surely that’ll be a good ice breaker to talk about running into each other.

  He shakes his head. “Nope.” Then, he just walks off, leaving me hanging.

  Ugh!

  I head back to my desk. I just need to embrace the fact it’s not my day; just get through this one and start fresh tomorrow. I don’t have the faintest clue what crawled up Dex’s ass. He was so flirty at the club. Maybe Mondays aren’t for him either.

  I consider us friends in a way. We’ve met up for drinks a few times after work and it always goes well, despite the intimidation factor because hello, he’s a partner. It’s never anything too casual. I try to hold back on the flirting and keep the conversations about work considering he’s a boss, even though I don’t report directly to him. I don’t want him to think I’m coming on to him, even though if the roles reversed it might be impossible to resist. He’s freaking gorgeous.

  He doesn’t act like a boss, though. I know for a fact him and Deacon are practical jokers of the highest order and Decker always wants to wring their necks. I think it’s cute and fun. They know when to be professional and when they can let their guard down.

  I pass by Quinn and she gives me a wry smile, like she knows I’m thinking about Dexter. I know it’s just my brain playing tricks, but it feels like everybody is watching me, judging.

  The tattoos are the only way I can tell Dexter apart from Deacon. Well, that and he’s way leaner. Deacon is big because he played football. Oh, and the scar. Dexter has this scar right above his left eyebrow. It’s not huge but it gives him this edgy, bad boy look.

  And the kiss. God, I’ll never forget it. That whole day was incredible. When Dex told me what he was doing for Deacon, helping him win Quinn back, I couldn’t say no. And okay, maybe just maybe, Dexter and I made out in the bar that night to raucous cheers from professional football players.

  I don’t even remember exactly how it came about, but he just fixed his gaze on me and I was done for.

  We were so drunk I don’t think he remembers doing it, but I will never forget the way I floated into the clouds when we parted ways that night.

  Dex is smoking hot, and I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t attracted to him. Every woman in the office practically drools over him and his brothers. Anytime he’s nearby I get this sensation deep in my belly. My heartrate spikes and I feel on edge.

  This attraction is insane because I’m not looking to date anyone. I’m twenty-four, just out of school and beginning my career. I tried nursing school for a year but switched to paralegal and I love it. It’s the first job I’ve really felt was meant for me.

  No, I need to rid myself of these thoughts of Dex and focus on my job.

  At the same time, as I sit down at my desk, I can’t stop thinking about his foul mood. I don’t know if I’ll be able to focus on anything until I get him to smile again.

  I need to hit up the breakroom and get my head in the game before I start my afternoon.

  Perfect.

  He walks in there just as I stand up and stroll that way. He keeps chocolate pudding cups hidden in the back of the refrigerator, practically daring someone to eat them. Nobody in their right mind would do it, but it’s cute. He has this boyish charm about him, but he’s anything but a boy in that Dolce and Gabbana suit.

  No, Dexter Collins is all man and he knows it.

  I march over, intent on finding out what crawled up his ass. He’s got a big stick up there, and I need to yank it out. I pass by Quinn’s desk, and she shoots me this mischievous smirk like she knows exactly what I’m up to. I don’t know how to process her grin, so I shove it to the back of my mind.

  I don’t usually hit it off with women, but Quinn is very likeable, and I could see us being friends. I give her a small wave then feel stupid when I realize she wasn’t smiling at me at all. She was looking at Deacon, her fiancé and Dexter’s twin who strolls up to her desk.

  You’re so awkward.

  My cheeks pink with embarrassment as I enter the breakroom. Dexter leans up against the dark counter next to the refrigerator. His ankles are crossed, and I can see a hint of his charcoal-gray plaid socks. I didn’t take him for a patterned socks kind of guy, but they’re perfect with those shoes and that suit. His jacket is draped over a chair, like he didn’t want to get it dirty, and the sleeves of his button-down are rolled up on his forearms.

  It’s arm porn to the nth degree. Ink snakes down his forearms. My chest grows warm. Electricity jolts through my veins along with curious thoughts of what the rest of those tattoos look like under his shirt on his chiseled frame. I blink at the sight, and his gaze meets mine and snaps me out of my daydreams.

  I can’t tell, but it’s almost like he’s halfway scowling while he takes an angry bite of pudding.

  “You ever going to try something besides chocolate?”

  His brows shoot up, but he doesn’t reply.

  I’m not giving up that easy, Dex. “I went through a butterscotch phase once, but banana is the dom of pudding flavors.”

  He sighs. “Cool.”

  What the hell? He’d usually smile at a joke with sexual undertones.

  Thought you didn’t flirt with him, Abby?

  Okay, maybe I do a little. I’d do anything right about now. My brows furrow. “You upset with me or need to talk? I mean, I’m a good listener.” I sidle up next to him and give him a bump with my hip. I don’t know how much more obvious I can be, and I’m getting nowhere.

  “Nah. I’m fine.”

  I stare down at the floor, like maybe he’ll have some pity and actually talk to me. “Don’t sound fine.”

  He drops his empty pudding cup into the trash. He licks the spoon, slowly, for good measure before tossing it in too. And holy shit the way he wrapped his tongue around the white plastic sends a current between my thighs, and for the first time in my life I find myself jealous of a freaking spoon.

  He starts for the door, not bothering to look back. “I’m fine. Why you on my case?”

  I follow and grip his forearm.

  He turns back to me.

  I shrug and can’t stop the frown that forms on my face. “I don’t know. I guess you just seem different. You’re not very talkative.” The guy isn’t usually a chatterbox, but I can always coax more than a few words out of him.

  He plasters on the fakest smile I’ve ever seen. “I’m fine. Promise.” He turns and coolly says, “See ya,” over his shoulder.

  I frown again. I just want one real smile. It could totally turn around this shit day of mine. “Hey, um, Dex?”

  Pivoting slowly, the darkened color in his eyes pins me in place and steals my breath away. He sighs again, like I’m his little sister and he has to deal with me. “What is it? I’ve got a lot of paperwork.”

  I don’t know why I won’t let this go. Maybe I’m just competitive and have to get my way. I shrug. “Right… me too. I just…”

  He looks like he wants to be anywhere but here right now. I have to look sad, because that’s the way I feel
inside, and Dex must take notice because he actually attempts a real smile this time, even though I know he doesn’t want to do it.

  Spit it out, Abby.

  “I’m going to The Gage for a drink after work. Maybe we could meet up?” I try to hide the hope in my voice. I know I said he’s hot, but that three-letter word doesn’t really do him justice. Like the dude could be on the cover of GQ Magazine. I’d put that poster on my wall. And if I’m being honest, I’d so pull out my vibrator and chase more than one big O staring at said poster.

  This is bad. Way bad.

  I didn’t realize how attracted to him I was until just now. I don’t need to be having these feelings about Sex...

  Shit.

  I mean Dexter.

  Oh boy.

  I let out a breath as he stares me down, and I hope like hell he can’t read my thoughts.

  His lips curl up into a bit more of a smile, and my stomach rolls in a good way. Maybe my day is turning around after all.

  “Sounds fun. I’ll be there.”

  “Grood.” What the hell, Abby? “I mean, yeah, I was going to say great, then switched to good. You know what? I’ll see you there.”

  This time he gives me a genuine smile, and my whole world lights up.

  Then, it simultaneously crashes. I watch him go and already wonder if I should cancel. I shake my head. I’m being stupid. He thinks I just want to hang out, nothing more. Dexter and I can totally be friends.

  It’s fine.

  I’m fine.

  There’s that stupid word again. I am so not fine. I am anything but fine.

  Stupid Sex...

  Hell! Dexter.

  I scoff out loud at how ridiculous I am, and I wish my brain would sort itself out. I need some kind of buffer to control myself around him, so I don’t get drunk and make out with him again. Or worse, end up in his bed for the night.

  Would that really be so bad?

  Stop it, brain!

  When I get back to my desk, I send a text to Kyle.

  Me: Hey, drinks at The Gage after work. Invite a friend.

  Kyle: See you there.

  Me: Perfect.