The Pact

by Max Monroe

  Luckily, though, he doesn’t question my timeline, instead agreeing with a brusque nod before moving on and passing the pulpit to Damien to do his cross-checks. Tara’s foot knocks into mine under the table—accidentally, I’m sure—and she smirks a fake apology.

  I hope you nick your ankles to all hell the next time you shave, I hex in my head. It might seem a bit over the top to be mentally passing out hexes toward your coworker, but Tara Insley hasn’t been anything but a passive-aggressive, evil shrew to me since I arrived in New York.

  “Tom, what is your team’s ETA for the Miami and Vegas properties that just came under contract?” Damien asks, switching the focus to the Grey team of EllisGrey. “I’d like to see us capitalize on the spring market and get those listed within the month.”

  A few agents from Thomas’s team speak up, giving the rundown on where they’re at in the process, and my brain begins to zone out when the legal side of real estate starts getting discussed.

  It’s not that I don’t want to understand the legal side of things; it’s just that I can’t understand it. At all. You know? Just give me properties to use my interior design skills in, and I’m happy.

  This is a perfect example of why, if I ever go out on my own and make Daisy Designs its own brand name, it will revolve solely around the design side of things. No contracts, no listings, just interior design for homeowners and staging work for real estate firms.

  Ultimately, that is my big dream. To run my own company.

  Which explains why my pride is somewhere down around my knees with this whole immigration thing. That big dream is far easier achieved in the United States than Canada. Don’t get me wrong, I love Canada. Always have and always will. But the market in the States holds far more opportunity.

  I need that green card like I need my next meal.

  “Daisy,” Thomas calls, grabbing my attention again and making me sit up straight.

  “Yes?”

  “You’ll be working with Tara on Damien’s new Greenwich Village property. Time is of the essence with getting it out there, so I need the two of you to pool all your connections to make it happen.”

  Of course. Why wouldn’t I be assigned to direct teamwork with Cruella’s spawn?

  “You got it, Tom.”

  “Good. Then get out of here. You two don’t need to hang out for the rest of the call. Just get started.”

  Tara and I both nod dutifully, pushing back in our chairs and climbing to our feet in the conference room. Tara rounds the table, and I hold open the glass door like we haven’t spent the last week of work together solidifying our opposing positions in a lifelike game of Mortal Kombat.

  Dirty looks, underhanded trick questions in front of Thomas, giving me wrong times and addresses for properties and vendor appointments, “accidentally” squishing my food in the back of the break room fridge, and telling the entire office she saw me drying my blouse under the hand dryer in the bathroom—thanks to an unfortunate coffee spillage event—because I apparently have some sort of glandular problem, are just the tip of the iceberg of her full-frontal assault, and this is only my fifth official day.

  Now that we’ve been assigned to work together, I might have to invest in a bodyguard. My vote is, of course, for Kevin Costner, but I’m not sure he makes people who try to defraud the government a priority in his schedule.

  I step outside the door behind Tara and follow her swaying hips down the hallway to her office. So far, she hasn’t even acknowledged my presence.

  She steps inside, rounds her desk, and takes a seat in her chair. I lean into the doorway, keeping the jamb in front of me as a shield of defense.

  “Uh, hey, Tara?” I question, making her head pop up almost violently.

  “What?”

  “I thought maybe we should get a plan together—”

  “I don’t have time right now. I have a lunch engagement.” Technically, so do I, with Winnie and Sophie, but I figured, given Thomas’s urgency, I’d reschedule. “I’ll email you the details I have from my vendors, and we can go from there.”

  Right. Okay, then. I guess I’ll go to lunch with Winnie and Sophie after all.

  I turn to leave, but Tara calls me back. “Oh, and Daisy?”

  “Yes?”

  “You have something in your teeth…” She points to her own mouth in example. “Right there.”

  What a bitch, waiting to tell me until the meeting was over, when we were in the conference room alone for five minutes before it started. I hope she gets on a local train on the way home instead of the express and hits every goddamn stop.

  I sure hope lunch is filled with friendlier waters. I’m not sure how much more I can take today without going psycho Daisy Mae on someone’s ass.

  Bilbow Gardens is an adorably over-the-top restaurant with cascading florals all over the ceiling and walls, neon signs behind every booth, and pink dimpled leather on the seats. According to Winnie, her husband Wes knows the owner. And I’m thinking that’s probably how she managed to get us a cozy booth in the back corner of the place, away from the hustle and bustle of the kitchen and lunchtime rush.

  “So, Daisy, you have to tell us what Flynn is like as a husband,” Sophie says through a big smile on her side of the booth. “I’m dying to know. I’ve spent a lot of time picturing Jude as a husband—my husband—you know, but it can’t be at all what Flynn is like. Is he serious all the time? Does he wear socks to bed? I have to know!”

  Winnie nods vigorously. “Oh my God, yes. I need to know too. I don’t even know what Flynn is like as a brother, he’s so freaking mysterious. Tell me all his secrets, please.”

  I shift in my seat, trying not to give away just exactly how nervous I am. Any new bride would be feeling the jitters as she sat down with her sister-in-law and another future one and tried to make it into the club, but just like with everything else, my situation is even more complicated. Because I’m not a rosy-eyed newlywed in love, and I don’t know all that many secrets about Flynn—almost assuredly not any more than his own sister has learned about him in a lifetime.

  Aside from the length and girth of his penis, which I’m guessing Winnie isn’t all that interested in knowing, I really don’t have a lot of value to add to this conversation.

  Still, with a lick of my lips and a deep pull of air into my lungs, I give it my best shot. I agreed to this lunch with them, and they’re really fun, nice people. I don’t want to disappoint them almost as much as I don’t want to disappoint Flynn. Plus, I could use the endorphins from the gossip if I’m going to go back to the land of Tara after this.

  “Flynn is…” Dirty, hot, sexy, good with his tongue… “Surprisingly easygoing. He’s never in a bad mood, and he doesn’t get upset if I rearrange his stuff. He’s a really laid-back kind of guy and somehow always seems to know how to quiet my tendency for anxiety and freaking out…” …by fucking me until I can’t see straight.

  Winnie’s eyes dance, and Sophie leans forward onto her elbows. “And?”

  “And…I actually haven’t seen him use the bathroom yet. Like, I’m not sure he does,” I say with a teasing grin, and Winnie’s and Sophie’s smiles turn to laughter. “I mean, his diet is, like, pretty clean and healthy. His breakfast usually looks like it’s portioned out with the perfect amount of protein and carbs and fats like someone is going to take a picture of his plate and put it in a damn nutritional book. All the while, I’m shoving a bowl full of Lucky Charms down my throat. Honestly, he’s the only person I know who actually does the whole “everything in moderation” thing, so maybe his body doesn’t even produce any waste or anything. Frankly, I’m considering buying stock in the Febreze company because I use so much air freshener trying to pretend I don’t have to go either. Just yesterday, I almost overdosed on the chemicals. Seriously, the cloud of mist in there rivaled the smog in Los Angeles.”

  Winnie snorts, and my smile grows right along with my confidence to continue my little newlywed stand-up routine.

  “As f
or the socks in bed, I think all of his clothing just evaporates off him, especially at bedtime. One minute, he’s dressed, and the next, he’s not.” I shrug, and Winnie groans her face into her hands.

  “Oh God. I’m not sure whether to get excited that I’m related to a superhero or be disturbed by the vision of my brother’s clothes evaporating into thin air.”

  “Be impressed,” I say easily. “Your brother is very impressive.”

  Sophie dissolves into hysterics, and Winnie squeals. My cheeks are red and heated with embarrassment, but it’s the good kind. The kind that makes my chest ache a little because it’s not going to last.

  “It must be genetic, then,” Sophie says with a waggle of her brows and adds to Winnie’s suffering so much that she lifts her hands to her ears and pretends to keel over.

  “What’s wrong, Winnie? Isn’t Wes impressive too?” Sophie teases relentlessly.

  “Oh God, you’re terrible. Both of you.”

  I’m overcome with laughter, but Sophie keeps going for both of us. “Horny, Winnie. I think the word you’re looking for is horny. Jude’s on some ridiculous kick that we can only have sex every other day leading up to the wedding. Some kind of sacrifice to the Fortune-Teller Gods, he says. I’m dying here.”

  I suck my lips into my mouth and shift in my seat. Flynn and I haven’t had sex since the night I got here, and Sophie’s right—it’s killing me. Hell, I think that’s probably seventy-five percent of why I’m letting Tara Fuckface Insley get to me so much. I keep waiting for him to take charge and fuck the anxiety out of me, but no matter how many coy looks I’ve given, we still just climb into bed and go to sleep.

  “Oh, sweet Jesus. The fortune-teller?” Winnie murmurs, putting her hand to her chest.

  “What? You know something about it?”

  Winnie nods and then shakes her head. “It’s been…well…fifteen years or so? Before Remy’s wedding, they all went to a fortune-teller, and she had all these things to say about the trajectory of all of their love lives.”

  “Remy’s married?” I ask in confusion.

  Winnie shakes her head. “No. It never happened. Charlotte…” She pauses and licks her lips. “It was a long time ago, and it was bad. She left him at the altar. I swear that’s why all of my brothers have avoided commitment like the plague.”

  My throat tightens exponentially. “What’d the fortune-teller say about Flynn?”

  Winnie waves me off. “Oh, I don’t know. They’ve all been pretty tight-lipped about what she said, honestly, but I know Jude feels like she was right about him and Rem.” Winnie glances up at my face, which I’m almost positive is as white as a sheet, and smiles sympathetically. “Oh, honey, don’t worry. You and Flynn are together, and you’re happy. Whatever that fortune-teller said, you’ve obviously got your lives figured out.”

  I force a smile, but inside, I feel sick. Flynn and I…we don’t have anything figured out at all. And when Winnie and Sophie find out in two and a half months, they’re going to hate my stupid, lying guts.

  Flynn

  I turn the page in my philosophy book, the sheets and comforter resting comfortably at my hips, and watch Daisy as she dances from one spot in the room to another, propping her toes up a little so she can rub lotion down the length of her pretty legs. She’s got on a long black-floral satin robe that dusts the floor with every bend and obstructs most of my view, other than the tanned length of skin that runs from her calves to her toes.

  “Lunch with your sister and Sophie was really great. They’re both so fun and funny,” she says, glancing at me over her shoulder.

  “Mm,” I hum, looking down at my book, but when she shucks the robe and bends over again, my eyes move right back to her. This time, there’s nothing blocking my view of her sheer panties and thin white tank top. My cock twitches under the covers and starts to harden immediately.

  She hasn’t dressed like this for bed since she got here, and she can’t seem to keep herself from adding to a rolling ramble, so it’s not a secret that something is different, even if she thinks it is.

  “I really needed that after the week I’ve had at work,” she says, and her hands keep spreading that fucking lotion up and down her legs, her fingers lingering every so often, and her eyes keep looking toward me like she’s trying to make sure I’m watching the show. “It’s…good, you know? But it’s a transition. It’s not at all like working with my boss, Damien, in LA. He’s kooky and spirited, and the people here are pretty serious, I guess.”

  I hum. “Mm-hm. Sounds like New York.”

  She laughs then, finally finishing with her lotion and heading toward the bed with slightly wild eyes. “It does, doesn’t it? Pretty clichéd if you ask me, but I’ll take what I can get. I mean, I’m so appreciative of everything you’re doing, and I’d never dream of suggesting that this isn’t the nicest opportunity anyone’s ever given me. You don’t owe me sympathy, you know? You’ve done a great job of welcoming me. Better than I expected, to be honest, and I just want you to know that—”

  “Daisy,” I interrupt, forcing her to take a breath. Any more words per second and I’m pretty sure she’s going to spin off into the atmosphere like a cartoon rocket.

  “Yes?”

  “What’s really going on here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I raise my eyebrows and reach out to run a hand across her sheer panty-covered hip with one hand and tweak the peak of her very obvious nipple through the material of her top with the other. “Is this for me?”

  “Is what for—”

  “Daisy,” I call, stopping her evasion before it starts.

  “It’s for you. I just…well, we haven’t had sex since the night I got here, and I thought maybe—”

  “I like it.”

  “You do?”

  “Hard not to like anything that shows this much of your body, babe.”

  Her cheeks flush under the attention, but her nipples also harden noticeably. She likes when I’m direct, even if it embarrasses her at the same time.

  “You want me to fuck you?”

  She nods jerkily. “Yes.”

  “Okay,” I agree easily, tossing my book onto my nightstand, grabbing her by the hips, and depositing her in the bed with a roll to put her beneath me. I palm her breast in my hand and suck her nipple into my mouth through the cotton of her tank top, and her head flies back immediately. I stop then, waiting for the haze to clear and her confused eyes to come back to mine. “The clothes are great, Dais, but if you ever want me to fuck you, all you have to do is ask.”

  “Flynn.”

  “It’s not a chore. And it’s not an obligation. Fucking you is fun,” I disclose with a smile.

  “It is?”

  I scoot down suddenly, shoving the hem of her top up to expose the bare skin of her breasts and grin even bigger. “Oh yeah. In fact, I think I’m gonna fuck your tits tonight.”

  She looks almost disappointed, and I can’t help it then. I laugh.

  “Don’t worry. I’m gonna fuck your perfect little cunt too.”

  Up and down, her chest heaves with the intensity of her excitement. I climb off her and the bed, shuck my boxer briefs to the floor and climb back astride her, my hard, angry cock bobbing above its waiting home between her breasts.

  I thumb both nipples until she moans, and then I slip my dick between her lips to moisten it. She sucks ravenously, eager to get in as many licks as I’ll let her before taking it back again.

  Damn, she never disappoints.

  “I see your mouth knows how to do a lot more than talk.”

  She hums around my girth and doubles her efforts under the praise. I pull back when a tingle in my spine threatens with my climax and scoot back down her body to position myself, ordering, “Wrap your tits around my cock.”

  She complies, grabbing a handful of breast in each hand and closing them around the slick length of my dick. The resulting picture is fucking amazing.

  “Fuck, every part of you l
ooks good wrapped around me.”

  Slow and steady, I start up a stroke between the flesh of her breasts while she plays with her nipples, her tongue spiking out to lick at her desperate lips.

  “You want my cock back in your mouth, don’t you, dirty girl?”

  “Yes,” she agrees with a cry, her beautiful, heavy tits bouncing with my every thrust.

  “You wanna suck the come right out of me, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she breathes through a nod, frantic.

  Fuck yeah, I want that too. I want to coat the back of her throat with my come and watch her swallow it, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend myself in her throat when she went to this much effort to get me between her legs.

  “Next time, baby.”

  “No, Flynn, now,” she complains, and I shake my head.

  “No. Right now, I’m going to fuck you with your ass in the air so I can spank the self-doubt right out of you.”

  “Flynn.”

  “You want sex, Daisy, you ask me for it, understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The way the word sir rolls off her tongue has the power to push my mind to dirty fucking things—things she’s not ready for now but will be one day soon if I have anything to do with it.

  “Good,” I whisper, leaning forward to take her mouth with mine in a deep kiss. She moans into my mouth, which only enhances her gasp when I grab her by the hips, flip her over, and rip her sweet little sheer panties right off her body. “Now, get your ass up.”

  She does as she’s told, sinking her chest into the mattress and straddling her knees until her ass and pussy are all I can see. She’s so fucking perfect, I can’t help but run my tongue over everything in sight.

  This Daisy—my Daisy—tastes better than any fucking flower smells.

  Thank fuck she’s ready for me. I position and seat myself to the hilt in one aggressive stroke, making her cry out into the pillow beneath her head. Deeper and deeper, I push myself back into her on every downstroke, almost as though I can permanently attach myself if I try hard enough.