Cocky Suits Chicago: Books 1-3

by Alex Wolf

  “I hate all of you.” Nick takes a huge swig of beer and fights back a grin.

  “Okay, yeah, I’m joking, but I do need all the details of you making out with her.”

  Kyle laughs. “Oh, man, we missed you. We were starting to think your boyfriend had you chained up somewhere.”

  What the hell? “Boyfriend?”

  Kyle sighs. “Dude, the real reason you haven’t been hanging out with us. We’re not dumb. We know you’ve been seeing that douche in a suit.”

  I shake my head. “I never said you were dumb, I just don’t have a boyfriend. And he’s not a douche.”

  Nick jumps in. “Oh come on, Abby, we saw you making out with him in the hallway. Thought Kyle was going to cry himself to sleep because you’ve been ignoring him.”

  I take a drink of the beer Kyle brought over, then wave a hand out at both of them. “Oh what the hell ever, you guys. Stop trying to change the subject. We were talking about your make out session with Barbie, not mine, and I would hardly call a kiss making out.”

  Kyle doesn’t seem fazed one bit by my attempt to deflect. “So, you guys getting serious?”

  Ugh, what is their deal? They’re acting like a bunch of girls. I came here to escape thinking about Dexter.

  “Look, no offense, but I don’t want to talk about him. I want to hear about Nick getting hammered and making out with the ice queen. I’ll buy a round of shots for details.”

  “Deal.” They both say at the same time.

  “The sacrifices I make for inebriation,” says Nick.

  “Oh, poor baby.” I fake-pout my lips and reach across the table to ruffle his hair.

  “You owe me two shots for reliving the torture.”

  I crack up laughing. “Was it that painful?”

  “It was pretty crazy.” Kyle straightens up in his chair like he’s getting ready for story time.

  “Enough, please.” Nick shoots me a pleading look. “I’ll tell you everything, for shots, of course. But it really wasn’t as bad as Kyle makes it out to be.”

  Kyle stares at him. “Dude.”

  “Okay, fine.” He turns to me. “So, first off, I was crazy hammered. Like, beyond-all-rational-thought drunk.”

  I nod. “Duly noted.”

  He looks up toward the corner of the ceiling, searching for the right words. “You know when you had to watch those nature videos in science class, and they show like a boa constrictor swallowing a rat?”

  I can barely contain the laughter building in my chest and roll my hand forward like continue.

  “Kissing her was how I always envisioned that rat’s point of view, like what he would see right before the snake swallowed him.”

  “Keep going,” says Kyle.

  “Yeah, so we were in a cab when it happened, and the worst part is…”

  “Wait for it.” Kyle nudges me, already about to die.

  “Well, like, right after we, umm, parted ways, so to speak, she gets this look on her face, like, I don’t know how to describe it, but she tilts her head down and projectile vomits all over my chest, right there in the cab.”

  “Ewwww!” I squeal.

  Kyle bursts into laughter. He’s so loud everyone in the bar turns to look at us.

  “You were right, I didn’t need details. Can we please never discuss this again?” I can’t imagine how mortified Barbie must’ve been. I mean, I feel bad for Nick and everything, but damn.

  “I’m quite all right with that arrangement.” Nick bumps fists with me.

  I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the thought of that cab ride. “All right. I’ll order shots. What do you guys want?”

  “Tequila,” they both say at the same time.

  Uh oh. This could be a long night and a morning headache. I take a deep breath. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  Dexter

  I pull up to the entrance at Covington’s mansion that sits right on Lake Michigan. He bought the land last year, but I haven’t been over since he built everything. The black wrought-iron gates have a solid-gold WC right in the middle, and I’m almost positive it’s twenty-four karat.

  I laugh to myself. How gaudy can this motherfucker get? It’s hilarious because I know he’s self-aware and does this shit just for that reason.

  The man is a troll one-hundred percent of the time, only he buys companies just to fuck with people and piss them off. I guess when you have “fuck you” money, you can do those types of things. The security camera zooms in on my face as I roll my driver’s side window down. I press the intercom button and wait.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  I’m still laughing, barely able to get the words out. “Tell Covington to open this monstrosity.”

  The man doesn’t show one hint of irritation. He sounds British too. Of course he does. “One moment, sir.”

  What the hell? I shake my head and can’t quit snickering.

  The gates part and I drive up, snaking around a few hills, not believing my eyes. I knew this bastard was loaded but holy hell. When I finally reach the main drive, the house is massive. The front is a mix between brick and rock with floor-to-ceiling windows between that look like they’re three stories high. I don’t even want to know how he had those fuckers hauled in here. Okay, maybe I do want to know.

  I bet he rides around on a Segway with a little helmet barking orders at people.

  Decker is out of his fucking mind if he doesn’t want this guy for a client. I don’t give a shit what kind of kinks he’s into. Bet he has a damn sex room ten times bigger than the one in that Fifty Shades movie. Yeah, I watched it to get laid. I’ve made worse sacrifices and Dakota Johnson is hot.

  Anyway, what Wells does is none of my business, but I’d be curious to see a giant torture fuck chamber. Who wouldn’t want to sneak a peek at that?

  I snake around to the side and there’s a damn helicopter landing pad. I pass by the eighteenth green of his golf course that’s on the property. This guy has it all.

  I pull up to the roundabout that circles the front entrance and park Betsy.

  The front door swings open.

  I exit the car and tuck some confidentiality paperwork he asked me to bring under my arm. Covington has a rocks glass in one hand and a cigar in the other. The British butler guy follows him, but he waves him off.

  “You like?” He holds his hands out, barely keeping a straight face while he asks the question.

  He’s in a black silk robe, and all he needs is a few blondes with fake tits on his arm and he’d put Hugh Hefner to shame.

  “It’s gaudy as fuck and you look ridiculous.”

  “Good, that means I’m winning at life.” He bursts into a laugh. “Fucking Collins, the straightest shooter I know. You’re as honest as they come, and that makes you a great friend.” He glances over at some lights right off the lake. “Building this pissed off everyone in a two mile radius. It was glorious. Should’ve seen all the petitions filed.”

  I shake his hand and he pulls me in close and leans down to my ear.

  “From overhead, the house looks like a giant cock and the landscaping is a giant middle finger to anyone flying overhead.”

  “You’ll always be a ten-year-old boy at heart.”

  “Pissing off people with opulence and some nice pussy are the two things that do it for me. No point in having money if you can’t enjoy yourself.”

  I follow him up to the door. “Indeed.”

  The front entrance opens into a large foyer with twin staircases that spiral up both sides of the room to the upper level. We pass through a breezeway underneath the staircase. The hall splits three ways and we go to the left to his den. Rich brown couches and a ton of leather-bound first editions throw off a historic vibe. You’d think they’d all be for show, but underneath the shit-eating grins and practical jokes, Covington is a genius. He’s a shark and I know for a fact he’s read every book in this room, and more than that, understood what the hell he was reading. He’s the kind of guy who does keg stands wh
ile quoting Wealth of Nations and arguing the merits of supply-side economics.

  “You like cigars?”

  “I don’t turn them down.”

  “Come on.” He takes a puff and pats me on the back.

  We pass into an anteroom that’s a giant humidor. There’s a huge display on the wall showing humidity levels and temperatures.

  “You’ve never had one like this before.”

  “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

  “They were a gift.”

  “From who?”

  “Raul Castro.”

  I raise a brow. “No shit?”

  He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Had some business in Cuba.”

  I don’t even want to know. I laugh and shake my head. Dude is whack and eccentric as fuck. Of course he only smokes the best cigars in the world.

  He punches in a code and pulls a cigar from a drawer, then shuts it and an electronic bolt retracts into place.

  He pushes two more doors open and it leads into what I can only describe as the most elegant sports bar in the world. There are flat-screen televisions everywhere, and a giant screen with a projector on one side. They’re all tuned to sports, C-Span, and stock market channels.

  “I do my best thinking in here, come on.” He motions me over to a long bar with a marble top that runs along one side of the room.

  I take a seat on a leather barstool.

  He opens a box and pulls out a bottle of fifty-year Glenfiddich like it’s no big deal. I accept a rocks glass with it poured neat and take a sniff. You can’t just throw back a twenty-five-thousand-dollar bottle of scotch, though Covington probably goes through one a week.

  He takes his time cutting the end of the cigar and hands it over. “Can’t drink that swill you’re used to with this cigar. This shit is an experience.”

  I lift my chin and take a sip. It’s fantastic. I can taste notes of vanilla and toffee. I don’t know if it’s worth twenty-five grand, but fuck it, I’m not buying.

  “It’s orgasmic, right? Now for the cigar.” He pulls out a lighter that looks like a small welding torch.

  I decide fuck it, I trust him. I puff as he holds the blue flame to the end.

  As soon as I taste the smoke and take a few more puffs I immediately relax.

  Look, I’m a man who has a lot of money, an important job—I’m happy. But right now, I feel like a fucking titan, like a peasant made into a king for the day. Covington operates on an entirely different level of wealth than my family does.

  We bullshit a bit more and he takes me on a tour of the bottom floor. I keep bracing myself for it, almost a little excited, but there’s no sex dungeon in sight, yet. I find myself a little disappointed, but I’m not going to ask him to fucking see it. There’s an indoor pool, a bowling alley, two movie theaters, and a gym that would make Cole Miller’s dick harder than a diamond in a hailstorm.

  Covington pauses randomly, in the middle of a normal hallway. “Did you sign the paperwork?”

  “Of course.” I pull out the accordion folder I’ve been toting around.

  “Let me see it.”

  I pull out the non-disclosure shit and hand it over.

  Covington looks relaxed, but his eyes work the pages over, a million calculations running through his brain. Finally, he hands it back. “Okay, so look, Collins, I like you. We’ll start with a trial run. I’ll hand over a few of my newer entities, still nothing to balk at for someone like you. They require quite a bit of start-up administration-type work, instead of usual legal maintenance, so it should net some decent billable hours for your firm. They’re a healthy mix of different industries. The rest will remain in care of Cooper and Associates, but that’s a temporary situation for now. You outperform, you get the rest.”

  I know I secretly hoped he’d want to shift everything over but that’s a pipe dream. If I was him, I’d do the exact same thing, throw me a wide range of entities and make sure I nailed each one. This is a test; one I will not fail. “No problem. I don’t mind kicking a little ass to prove myself.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. Let’s go celebrate. You’re driving.”

  Oh shit. Tomorrow is going to be a long-ass day.

  Fuck it.

  “Let’s do it.”

  I hang out for a bit and Wells gets dressed. He’s gone for roughly five minutes and comes back looking like he just stepped out of a GQ spread.

  It makes me wonder if he has a personal stylist back there on call to get him ready at a moment’s notice.

  The two of us walk outside and Wells has to fold himself into the Chevelle. The fucker is like six-four and he’s not a twig.

  He definitely looks intrigued by the car. “Nice. I like it.”

  “Restored her myself. Took five years.”

  “No shit? Why so long?”

  “Some of us work for a living, asshole.”

  He laughs. “I know. Being me is pretty awesome.”

  I nod. “Pompous motherfucker.”

  “Always. You ever do any racing?”

  “Nah, not since my college days. Got busted and ticketed. Parents were pissed.”

  Wells nods. “Yeah, that happens when you get caught.” He grins and turns to face me. “I never learned my lesson.”

  This fucking guy. Just when I think he can’t get any more arrogant, he outdoes himself.

  “We’ll go sometime. Friend of mine owns a few stock cars for Nascar and has a private track. You could bring this beauty out there if you want. Open her up a little.”

  “Sounds awesome.”

  “What’s under the hood?”

  “All original, four-fifty-four.”

  “She purrs like a kitten.”

  “Damn right she does. Her name is Betsy.” I pat the dashboard lovingly.

  Wells nods. “Nice to meet you, Betsy. Hopefully, this won’t be our last encounter.”

  We blast off into the night and forty minutes later arrive at The Gage and head straight to the bar. I hadn’t planned on coming out at all tonight. I was hoping to convince Abigail to come over to my place for a movie. After the way we left things at the office, I want to make it up to her. I was kind of a dick, but I’m tired of all her mixed signals. Wells called and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to sneak in and meet with him earlier than expected. She didn’t act like she’d be up for anything anyway. Maybe it’s for the better. Let shit cool down a little.

  I lean on the bar while Covington orders a few drinks.

  I glance around and quickly jerk my head back.

  What the fucking fuck?

  Abigail is at a table with those two friends of hers. She’s slouched in her seat a little and laughing like an idiot. Her eyes are all glossed over and judging by her mannerisms and the wild way she flings her hands around, she’s wasted.

  “Gotta be fucking kidding me,” I growl. My face heats a million degrees with every second I see her there.

  Wells leans over, clearly intrigued. “Ahh, the girl from the club. The one you’re falling for.”

  I whip around to Wells. “I’m not…” I see it in his eyes and can’t even finish my sentence.

  He knows. Fuck, the whole world probably knows, but Wells definitely knows. The fucker can read any situation, probably knew it that night at the bar.

  “We’ve been dating.” I pound my drink and set my glass down a little harder than needed.

  Wells seems amused, like he’s just waiting for something to happen. Like he wants something interesting to happen. It’s how he is. “Does she know that?”

  I fire off a glare in his direction.

  It only makes my blood run hotter. Is he testing me? Seeing how far I’ll go to defend something important to me? Is it a metaphor for his companies?

  He glances over at the table and snickers again, shaking his head. “Christ, Collins. I don’t know how to offer you any counsel. My experience doesn’t extend to this type of situation. My women don’t pull stunts like this.” He leans in closer. “What are you going t
o do about it?”

  Just as he says it, Abigail dies laughing and reaches over for Kyle. Her hand drags down his forearm and my hands ball into fists.

  “Fuck this shit.”

  “Atta boy.” He leans back, highly interested, as I shove off from the bar.

  I glare back at him, scowling. “You can shut the fuck up too.”

  It only makes him grin wider.

  I storm over to Abigail’s table.

  Lifting her head up, Abigail meets my gaze. “Heyyyy, Dex!” She lets out a giggle and slurs the shit out of her words. She turns to her dumb fucking friends. “You remember Kyle.” Her arm shoots out and she nearly falls off her damn chair.

  I grab her arm to steady her, then lift her up so she’s standing.

  Kyle starts to get up and say something.

  I wheel around on him. “Fuckin’ do something, kid.”

  He sits back down but glares at me. I glance over and his buddy’s eyes are two giant white orbs.

  “Sex-Dexter, you need to stop!” Abigail slurs her words again and smacks at my hand.

  How can she be this fucking irresponsible? Usually she’s the more mature one out of the two of us. I have to remind myself she’s only twenty-four.

  “I’m taking you home. Grab your shit, let’s go.”

  “No you’re not.” She points a finger in my face. “You’re not my boss.” She waves the finger around, trying to finish her thought. “Here, anyway. I’m my own boss. I do what I want when I want. You don’t own me, asshole.”

  I now understand why Decker is always getting migraines dealing with our childish shit all the time. I point to the door. “Go to the car, now!” I bark the words at her.

  “Fuck you!” She yanks her arm away from me and moves toward the bar.

  “What the hell is your problem, man?” The other guy stands up this time. He must’ve sat there and worked up some courage.

  “You better sit the fuck down, piss pot.” I take a step in his direction. “Try something and I’ll put you through that goddamn window.” I turn and point right at Kyle. “My problem is him.”

  Kyle shrugs and leans back, trying to look cool. “She said you guys aren’t together, man.”