O Magnet: A Fake Engagement Romantic Workplace Comedy (Titans of Tech Book 2)

by Tessa Layne

  Stockton

  I usher Penny out of the hall as quickly as I can, certain I'll have an irate phone call from my mother tomorrow afternoon. "So your temper," I say casually as we wait for the elevator. "It's always been because of your red hair, hasn't it?"

  She gives me strong side-eye, and I swear I can see steam coming out of her ears.

  "I'm sorry. I had no idea that was the direction my mother was going to go in her speech. I've been fielding comments like that for years."

  "And when are you going to explain to her that there will be no children from this relationship?"

  "I didn't think we were going to be engaged long enough that it would matter," I say as soon as we're alone in the elevator.

  "Well, think again. Apparently two weeks long is enough to bring up future grandchildren in public."

  "Don't worry about it. I'll handle it. And if she brings it up again to you, I want to hear about it," I say, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close, sliding my hand down to cup her ass, which feels very naked underneath her dress. "I've been dying to do that since you arrived," I say, hoping to steer the conversation back to more neutral - and sexier - territory.

  She softens, but only a little.

  I tip up her chin. "Hey. I'll make it right. I promise." I brush my mouth against hers.

  "I'm not ready to go home... I mean, back to your place," she corrects quickly.

  I secretly like her little slip-up. And while I like my place better with Penny in it, I'm not ready to go home either. Penny's spent too much time and energy dressing up for tonight. And it's still early. "How do you feel about dancing?" I ask, remembering how much she enjoyed it when we were at the Nelson.

  "You know I love it."

  "I know a little supper club over in Columbus Park that has a band on the weekends. Feel like old school Italian and dancing?"

  She perks up. "Are you asking me on a date?"

  I guess I am. I grin. "Seems that way. Are you okay with that?"

  The way she smiles shyly up at me with her teeth sinking into her bottom lip has me wishing I could find a secluded corner right now. She nods, pink coloring her cheeks. "I'd like that."

  I have Edward take us to Capizzi's Supper Club, a joint that's been at 5th and Campbell for close to a hundred years. Rumor has it that Al Capone ate there. Danny's grandfather up the family tree, Tom Pendergast, certainly did. It's still family run and arguably some of the best Italian food outside of Italy itself. They're packed, but I slip Jimmy the bartender a couple of Bens and he manages to squeeze us into a tiny two-top in a secluded corner not too far from the band. The table is covered in a heavy red cloth and topped with a fat red glass votive.

  I wave away the menus when the server arrives and order a thirty-year Barolo, the house antipasti and an order of duck stuffed ravioli to share.

  "What if I wanted something different?" Penny challenges.

  "Believe me, you won't," I say, taking her left hand in mine. "You need to let me take care of you."

  She squeezes my fingers. "I'm not very good at that," she confesses softly.

  "Then it's time you practice," I answer lightly, unsure if our conversation is about to take a turn into deeper territory.

  "Stockton... I-" she pauses and pulls in a deep breath.

  Instinctively, I brace. I haven't even had a chance to figure out how to execute my "win Penny's heart" plan. "I'll handle my mother. Don't worry another second about her," I promise, heart racing like it's a tie game in the bottom of the ninth.

  She waves a hand and lets out a husky laugh. "I can handle Honore," she says with an eye roll.

  She cocks her head, eyes soft. The picture she paints - hair soft around her shoulders, mouth parted in amusement, cheeks golden in the candlelight, hits me right in the solar plexus. The way she's looking at me - it's a moment I'll remember when I'm eighty. I swear, she could sprout angel wings right now, and I wouldn't be surprised.

  "What is it?" she asks. "Why are you looking at me that way?"

  Because I'm in love with you. The words fly into my head, but I can't make my mouth work. All the excuses, all the reasons why this is so wrong fall like logs across the path. "Because you look beautiful," I say. "And I want to remember it." It's a cop-out, but it's too big, too soon. She'll flip out if I go soft. "But what were you going to say?"

  Her mouth pulls into an amused moue. "Oh not much. Just... well... I was just going to ask... doesn't this-" she gestures between us. "Doesn't this feel oddly normal?"

  I huff out a laugh as I nod. "Yeah. Yeah it does."

  "I mean... I hated you when I came to Steele Conglomerate. Okay, hate is maybe a strong word, but I thought you were an arrogant prick."

  I chuckle. "I've been called worse."

  "I mean, obviously I like you, like this...us." She gestures between us again. "But you made me crazy and I wanted to do everything in my power to piss you off." Her face softens. "But no matter what I did, you..." she sucks in another deep breath, chest rising and falling, and fuck me, but I can't help sneaking a peek at her perfect tits. Because even while she's baring her soul, I'm still a dirty old man. "No matter what I did-" she swallows, voice becoming thick. "You were always, you are always there when it counts." She squeezes my hand again. "I... I just want you to know I'll always be grateful for that."

  I get the unspoken context, but all I see is that there's a sliver of an opening. "So you don't think I'm a dirty old man?"

  She laughs - the deep kind of a belly laugh that makes my toes curl. "Oh I totally think you're a dirty old man." She bites her lip again as the corner of her mouth slides up. "That just happens to be my jam." And in case I missed her point, the flame in her eyes confirms my dirtiest thoughts.

  Electricity arcs across the table and lodges deep in my chest. The next two hours pass too slowly and too quickly. We drink, we dance, we share ravioli and she gasps and giggles like it's foreplay not food. And when we weave our way through the crowded bar and out the door with full bellies and a buzz from the atmosphere, I'm at half-mast and I give no shits.

  As soon as we're in the car, I push the button for the privacy window and pull Penny onto my lap and lose myself in the softness of her mouth. Her skirt hitches up exposing a length of creamy thigh as she straddles me, and I verify that indeed, she's spent the entire evening without panties. "Oh you dirty girl," I say, palming her ass, before exploring the dips and curves that lead me closer to her most sensitive spot.

  She chuckles low and nips my neck.

  "What made you do that?" I rasp, licking the sensitive spot below her ear.

  "Panty lines."

  So practical. I don't think I'll ever get tired of that side of her.

  "And I thought it might be fun to push your buttons. But it never came up."

  "Oh it's definitely pushing my buttons," I answer, brushing my thumb through her wet folds. "Especially this." I repeat the motion and circle her clit, rewarded with a sigh that sounds like heaven to my ears. I'm torn. I want her to ride my hand straight into oblivion. I also want to tease and torture her until we can get back to my place where I can properly fill her up. In the end, the desire to see her come apart while she's on my lap is too great. Her face is flushed, eyes glazed, mouth parted as another sigh passes her ruby lips. She bows her head and takes my mouth with a greedy moan, tongue sliding against mine as she takes everything I give her. My chest pounds with the intensity of it. I slide a finger deep inside her, wishing it was my cock. A guttural noise erupts from my throat as she clenches around me while I push deeper, curling a finger as I thrust over and over until she comes apart with a shudder, breath hot against my neck.

  "What was that?" she breathes between gasps. "Mother of god."

  My chest rumbles and I'm overcome with the urge to flex, because, fuck yeah. "You're gorgeous when you come," I murmur.

  She curls into me. "You have magic hands, Stockton."

  "Spend the night with me." I shouldn't ask this of her. I have
no right. But god help me, I want to wake up next to her and see the early morning light spilling across her cheeks. And when I return home from our six a.m. rowing practice out at Smithville Reservoir, I want to see her still tangled in the sheets. I want to make love to her again then fix her an omelet while she perches on a kitchen stool in one of my tees and reads me the headlines from her phone.

  Fuck.

  I sound so fucking domestic.

  But I don't care. I want all of that with Penny.

  She pulls back, searching my face. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes." We can sort out all the logistics later.

  She cups my cheek and studies me. My heart beats so hard I think it's going to jump right out of my chest. And then she kisses me - gently. Sweetly. And I swear I feel everything she's telling me. "All right. I will," she says quietly.

  I wrap my arms around her back, pulling her close and claim her mouth, promising her everything that's in my heart but I'm not brave enough to voice. I register the car pulling to a stop in front of my building and I straighten her dress before Edward opens the door. I'm not exactly sure how we make it to the elevator, but as soon as we're inside the carriage, I've got her pinned against the wall and her hands are tugging at my shirt. Somehow, we stumble from the elevator to my door without losing clothing or knocking over furniture, and as soon as we're inside, I kick shut the door and slide my hands under her dress and pick her up, pressing her against the door. My pants hit the floor, the belt buckle clattering against the marble, and I slide home as she wraps her legs around me with a low moan. I drive into her, rutting like a caveman possessed, grunting with every thrust. She meets me more than halfway, grinding against me and crying out as I push deeper and deeper. Our cries echo through the condo and for once I don't care who hears us. Everything in me tightens. Heat races up my legs, pulling my balls tight as a giant vortex of energy winds up then releases with earth-shattering brilliance. She clenches around me with a cry as her climax hits right after mine. My vision spots as I empty myself into her over and over, and together we sink to the floor.

  We collapse together in bed somewhere around four, a tangle of sated bodies and limbs, and while I know my body will curse at me in ninety minutes when I have to wake up for team practice, I don't care. Penny's curled up in my arms, her hair spread across my shoulder, breathing deeply, and a satisfaction I've never known steals over me. I should sleep, but all I want to do is watch Penny sleep. She's soft and vulnerable, her face free from tension and worry. She should look like that all the time. I vow to do what I can to make her life easier. I lie there, one hand nestled in the curve of her hip as the light outside the window transforms from black to gray to pale pink as the rising sun reflects off the mirrored windows of the building across the street. I hate to leave her. I kiss her temple then slip out of bed, ignoring the articles of clothing strewn across the room and down the hall like a tornado's swept through.

  Sparky's there this morning, riding along in coach Fitz's boat and offering advice between sprints. Our current cox, Sammie Winters is good, but we've never had the chemistry with her that we had when Sparky was in the cox box - probably because Steele was in love with her. But Sammie's talented and open to feedback, and with Sparky's added experience from being on the women's national team for two years, this morning's row is productive and in spite of my exhaustion, I'm energized when we pull the shell from the water.

  "Home game at six tonight," Owen mentions as we're drying the shell. "I'm bringing Lisa and Polly to the game tonight. Who's up for joining me in the owner's box?"

  I'll be honest, I want to keep Penny to myself, but we all agreed when we purchased the Kansas City Kings that we were going to be hands-on, accessible owners. And that means attending as many games as we can, given our schedules. And Penny likes Lisa. "Sure. I'll bring Penny."

  I catch Sparky and Steele exchanging a heated glance, but Sparky nods. "Sure, we're in. It'll be nice to get to know Penny a little better."

  "I'll check with Rox," Danny adds. "If she's feeling up to it, I'm sure she'd love to get out. The twins have been giving her fits."

  I never would have pegged Danny for fatherhood, but marriage and parenthood suit him, although I can see the lines of exhaustion around his eyes. In the meantime I'm grateful that I'm headed home to a peaceful condo and Penny. But the hairs on the back of my neck prickle as soon as I come through the door. It's eerily silent and something feels off. "Penny?" I call, instantly on edge.

  "In here," she says in a small voice.

  That's when I spy her wearing a tee-shirt she must have fished out of a drawer, and hunched over the kitchen counter, hair pulled into a messy topknot. "What is it? What's wrong?" Dread pools in my stomach.

  She raises her eyes to mine, face pale and tight. "My mother got parole. They're moving her to a halfway house today."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Penny

  The week creeps slowly by, but by the following Monday, the constant anxiety that has followed me around like a black cloud begins to ease. Seven years ago, the last time my mother was out on parole, she didn't even make it a week. It's been ten days and she hasn't violated parole to come looking for me, nor has she gone off the deep end. She's contacted me only one, by text, to share her cell phone with me.

  Maybe she really has figured things out this time, I think as I twist my hair into a soft knot at the base of my neck. I still find it startling to see my original hair color in the mirror after so many years, but it's growing on me. I swipe red lipstick across my lips and head downstairs to where Edward is waiting to drive me up the street.

  Normally, I'd walk, but not in the red patent leather stilettos I'm wearing today. Lisa arranged for Owen to spend a few hours with Polly this weekend and dragged me out for a little retail therapy. I'm quite sure Stockton's eyeballs are going to pop out of his eyes when he sees my new work attire - a navy pencil skirt, thigh highs, and a white three-quarter sleeve shirt crisply starched and with the top two buttons open so that the butterfly necklace Stockton gave me peeks out.

  I sail into Stockton's office just as he's coming out from his room, freshly showered from his morning practice. He sees me and freezes, hand still working on adjusting a cufflink. His eyes darken. "Shut the door behind you," he orders brusquely.

  "Good morning to you, too," I toss back.

  "Now, Penny," he snaps, eyes raking over me.

  I roll my eyes. "Yes, Sir." I shut the door a little too hard. "Better?"

  "Didn't I tell you to never call me sir?" He prowls toward me, a feral light in his eyes.

  I see where this is going, and a shot of arousal rips through me. Part of me regrets breaking the dress code for four years. "What are you going to do about it?" I challenge, popping open another button on my blouse, grateful that most of our morning meetings don't take place until nine-thirty. Still, this isn't without some risk. Andrew, Harrison's assistant, is right across the hall.

  "Teach you a lesson in obeying your boss," he says softly, eyes glittering. "Door or desk."

  "Are you going to spank me?" I ask too breathlessly. We've played spanky before, but not in the office. Except for the day he kissed me in front of the rest of the C-team, Stockton's been hands-off at the office.

  "Don't tempt me," he says as he pulls me to his desk, which because it's first thing in the morning is devoid of laptop and paper. He pulls up my skirt and groans when he catches sight of the lace at the top of my thighs. "Jeezus, fuck," he mutters under his breath as he slides a hand between my legs, caressing my aching center. "And wet, too. Fuck, Penny."

  I open another button on my shirt, exposing the front clasp of my bra. It's probably not part of the game, but I don't care. I want his mouth on me.

  "Stop," he orders, taking my wrist and pulling my arm down. "My job."

  With his free hand, he pops open the clasp and exposes my breasts. My nipples are already tight points, and I can't help the satisfied sigh that escapes when his mouth covers one, and his
tongue circles the hard peak. Heat arrows straight to my clit and I arch into his mouth, quite certain I could get off from just his mouth on my tits. I want to grab his head, run my fingers through his sandy hair, but he has both my hands pinned to the desk as he takes his fill.

  "Stockton," I plead, squirming.

  He lets go of one hand only long enough to open his pants. I reach for him, stroking the head already slick with his arousal. His breath comes out in a hiss, and he pulls the lace thong I'm wearing to the side and thrusts in. We both groan. It's primal, animal, monkey sex, and I let him loom over me and pin my hand to the table again, surrendering completely to his command. I can feel an orgasm building low in my belly, the ball of energy winding up like a baseball pitch, ready to let fly. His thrusts are deep and hard, but angled in such a way that he manages to stroke my clit with no letting up. "Don't. Ever. Call. Me. Sir," he grits, punctuating each word with a thrust.

  It's more than I can take and my orgasm explodes, crashing over me like a tidal wave. I can't help but cry out, but almost immediately I dissolve into a fit of giggles, a feeling of pure light and lightness chasing the past week's dark mood away completely. "I'm definitely calling you Sir. Sir," I tease. blinking up at him.

  His mouth twitches. "Brat," he chides. He pushes a stray hair behind my ear. "I'll just have to teach you another lesson." He pulls me to sitting and helps me put myself back together before doing the same. I follow him into the bedroom so I can use the mirror to primp. I eye the bed. "Have you ever?"

  He catches my eye in the reflection. "No. Never."

  I'm surprised, and I can't help the slow grin that spreads across my face. "I think I might have to work late tonight."

  I hear my phone ringing from the other room, but I'm too relaxed to rush for it. "Whoever it is will call back," Stockton says, coming up behind me and kissing the sensitive spot below my ear. Stockton pulls a tie from the closet and heads back out into the office. "I have a meeting in Toronto on Thursday with a potential new client. I think you should come with me."