Tempt Me

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Tempt Me Page 7

by S. E. Lund


  "Thank you, but I've wanted to live here all my life," I replied, my voice wavering. "But I really am having a great day. I have no money and no ID. And I may be homeless, if I can't get someone to accept a wire transfer for me."

  He frowned. "You really have no money? No ID?"

  "Yeah, someone stole my fantastic custom-made and designed backpack with slots for everything. There was a GoFundMe campaign by the creators, and I was one of the early adopters. It had a slot for a laptop, a tablet, an iPhone, your passport, a built-in wallet, places for pens and notebooks... There was even a built-in battery charger so like a fool, I put everything inside."

  "Jesus. I saw those advertised on the internet. I was almost going to buy one for myself."

  "They're great, but it had everything I owned of value in it. Wallet. ID. Computer. Even my cashier's check for my first and last month's rent for my new apartment."

  "Crap. Do you have any friends in town who can help? Any family? Business associates?"

  I sighed and ticked off imaginary numbers on my fingers. "Nope. Nope. Nope."

  "Damn," he said in a low voice. "Sorry," he added. "That's really rough. Manhattan is great, but it can be a hard place to live."

  "I'm going to my first meeting with my new boss and I'm going to have to ask her if she'll accept a bank transfer for me. I won't be able to eat or pay for my new apartment otherwise. The police officer who interviewed me said he didn't think I was the type to do well dumpster-diving and sleeping under the Brooklyn Bridge."

  He laughed. "I would have to agree. You most definitely wouldn't do well living on the streets."

  I laughed in return and then, when the moment passed, I exhaled heavily. "Maybe the local soup kitchen has room in the lineup."

  He watched me for a moment and then he crossed his arms. "I can front you some cash until you can get your ID."

  "You?" I glanced at him to see if he was serious. "That's so nice of you to offer, but I don't want to impose on a stranger. Especially a stranger I almost sent to the ER yesterday."

  "I hate to see you ask your new boss to accept the money transfer on your first day. You should be doing everything you can to be seen as competent and capable."

  "And being robbed in Grand Central Station would signal that I'm not?"

  He shrugged, grinning. Then he grew serious. "It would just mean you were her problem instead of the solution to her problem."

  I glanced at my Fitbit, which told me I had exactly three minutes to make my meeting.

  "Oh, damn," I said. "Speaking of my boss, I'm supposed to be meeting her in three minutes."

  He removed a cell from a pocket over the bicep of his riding suit sleeve. "Be my guest."

  "Thanks," I replied, then I opened up a browser window and signed into my Gmail account. Then, I sent her an email.

  Sharon – it's me, Ella. Just a quick note to let you know that I'm currently stuck on the elevator somewhere between the tenth and twelfth floor. I know you have a meeting so just in case they don't get us out before then, you'll have to go by yourself. So sorry!

  Luckily, she got it right away and sent me a response.

  No problem. That damn elevator. I'll be glad when they get the other one working. Good luck. It took two hours the last time someone got stuck. See you as soon as you get here. If I'm in the meeting, just have Tate show you in.

  I handed the cell back to him and sighed. "She said it might take two hours to get us out."

  "That sounds about right."

  I closed my eyes. "Two hours in this elevator... I hate elevators."

  "You're really very safe. Safer than driving in a car. Or a bike." He grinned.

  I sighed. "Well, there's nothing I can do. I'm going to miss my first meeting with my boss on my first day of work. What else can go wrong?"

  "Shh," he said. "Don't tempt the gods." He shook his head, his gaze moving over me. "You look like you need a drink."

  I laughed, but the idea of a glass of beer sounded really good to me. "I need something, that's for sure."

  "When you're finished today, I'll take you for a drink and meal at Frank's Pub down the street. They have great food. Call me when you're done for the day."

  "I don't have a cell."

  He nodded. "I have a burner if you want to use it. "

  "I couldn't impose on you."

  "No seriously. You can use it until you get your money transfer and a new cell."

  I stared at him, shocked that he was being so generous.

  "That's really nice of you, but you don't have to," I said, a surge of gratitude going through me. He was gorgeous, and he was nice. And he was asking me to go out with him. That was a date, right? Or, at least, a sympathy invite.

  "I know I don't have to, but I want to. I have a weakness for damsels in distress. They bring out the hero in me." He grinned, giving me a brilliant smile.

  "I wouldn't want to deny a man the chance to be a hero," I said. "How could I resist?"

  "Resistance is futile."

  Just then, the elevator jerked back into action and we ascended past the twelfth floor.

  "Oh, thank God," I said and closed my eyes. "I might just make that meeting after all."

  "Thank the elevator gods," he said with a chuckle. "Usually, this takes a lot longer. You're blessed."

  "I am." I smiled at him, feeling like I just might make it through the day after all.

  "I'm serious about the cell and that drink and meal. Considering you lost all your earthly goods, it's the least I can do."

  "It might take a couple of days to pay you back."

  He shrugged. "When you get some money, I want that pencil. I must have that pencil!"

  I smiled and held it up. "It's yours – once I get some money."

  "Look. Come up to the apartment and I'll give you the cell."

  "Okay," I said finally and only because I really needed a cell phone.

  We went up to the top floor of the building. We left the elevator and there was only one apartment on the floor. Josh opened the door and pointed inside.

  "Come on in," he said. "I'll get you that cell."

  "Holy cow, is this your apartment?"

  "No," he said and waved a hand. "The company owns it. I just have access because I know the owner of the company."

  We went inside and I stood in awe. The apartment was amazing. Floor-to-ceiling windows on all sides, looking out onto the Manhattan skyline. High-end furniture and decorations. It was worth millions, even to my unsophisticated eye for real estate.

  I watched as he went to a drawer in the most amazing kitchen I had ever seen in my life – huge, with chef-level appliances. Now, my father had a great income from his position as a governor and the business he owned before he went into politics, but this – this was wealth above and beyond anything I had ever seen up close.

  "Aren't you intimidated being in this place?" I said, walking around, running my hand over the marble fireplace hearth. I stood at the window and looked out over the city. "It's fantastic."

  "The view is good," he said. He came over to where I stood and handed me an iPhone.

  "This is a burner phone?"

  "Not really, but it's an old model. It's been factory reset and I put a new SIM card inside so it should work. You can use it until you replace the one that was stolen. The phone number's in the contacts under This Phone. I put my contact info in as well so you can text me when you're ready to go for that drink and dinner."

  "Thanks," I said and held it up appreciatively. "This is a godsend. I can phone my landlord and get back into my apartment. At least I won't be homeless until Monday night."

  "Seriously," he said and looked at me from under a frown. "I know it's crazy, and I just met you, but if you need money, I could probably help you out." He went to the kitchen once more and opened a leather wallet. "I have a couple hundred that should keep you afloat until Monday."

  He came over to me and held out a couple of hundred-dollar bills.

  I glanced
at the money, not sure if I should take it but he pushed the money into my hands.

  "You actually carry that much money around?"

  He shrugged. "I went to the bank today to get money out for the week. If you can't get a cashier's check by Monday, I can front the rest to you. Worse comes to worst? You can stay here. I'll okay it with the owner first, of course," he said. "I'm sure he'd be pleased to think he was helping you out."

  "My rent is five thousand dollars."

  "I could probably get that together."

  "You have five thousand dollars just lying around?"

  He shrugged. "I have some savings, shall we say. Interest is pretty lousy these days, so I won't miss out if I don't have it in the bank for a couple of weeks until you can get things back to normal and get that bank draft."

  I shook my head and looked at him, the money still in my hand. "Why are you being so nice?"

  He shrugged. "Maybe I'm just a nice person?"

  "I think you are," I said, and finally put the money away in my sweater pocket. "Seriously. Thank you so much."

  "You can start paying me back by coming for a drink and meal after your first day at work. How does that sound?"

  "It sounds perfect." I turned around one last time. "Well, I better go to my office or I'll be late for my meeting." I went to the elevator, feeling slightly better now that I had a cell and some cash.

  "Hey," he said when I got inside the elevator. "Nice to meet you, Ella. Hope you're have a better rest of the day."

  "Thanks, Josh," I said as the doors were closing. Through the door, I heard him shout, "Message me later. We can go to the pub down the street for supper."

  "Okay," I replied, but I had no idea if he heard me.

  So, Josh's boss owned the penthouse floor and let him use it to store his bike and get changed in the morning. Josh himself was willing to front me money instead of me having to ask my boss. Part of me thought the offer was too good to be true, but maybe he was just a super nice guy.

  I rode down the elevator, a skip in my heart rate at the thought of how nice he was to offer financial help. It skipped a little more at the prospect of going out for a drink and food with him after work.

  Hell, even just talking to him was more than I had done with a handsome man in – well, since Jerkface.

  It felt nice.

  Chapter Ten

  Joshua

  Getting trapped in the elevator had never been so enjoyable. A pretty woman named Ella. Five four, one hundred and twenty pounds, long auburn hair and a light spray of freckles over her nose, big green eyes that I could imagine closing in the throes of passion while I made her orgasm for the third time...

  Yeah.

  Even with the troll pencil and Iron Man notebook – hell, because of them – she was someone I would definitely do.

  I should have told her the truth about who I was, but for some reason, it tickled my fancy for her to think I was a bike courier. I was used to the women I met knowing I was one of the richest men in Manhattan, and it did something to them. They saw dollar signs.

  I didn't blame them – I would, too. But it meant I could never just meet a woman as myself – plain old Josh. Not the Joshua Macintyre Jr. – son of MBC's Joshua Macintyre. If she had known who I really was, she would have probably acted differently. She was, after all, just a bright-eyed young woman in Manhattan for the first time, working at her first real job. Sure, it was an unpaid internship, but it showed she was more interested in getting skills and making connections than money. At least, long enough to make an impression.

  A lot of people started off by volunteering or doing unpaid internships, impressing their superiors, then getting in with the companies as paid employees. I respected that kind of initiative.

  I also felt bad for her – robbed of all her money, ID, and electronics on her third day in Manhattan. She said she was from New Hampshire, which wasn't anything like Manhattan, either in population or the pace at which life took place. She was inexperienced in the ways of the city and its dangers. She didn't know that you had to watch for bike couriers – and cyclists and skateboarders – threading through the narrow channels between cars in the heavy traffic. She didn't know not to leave her backpack unattended, even if only for a few moments while she examined a map to help an innocent-looking old woman in the subway station. Now she was facing the prospect of starting over, getting all her ID re-issued, and getting access to her bank accounts so she could pay for her apartment.

  It was daunting.

  I felt sympathy for her plight and was happy I could help. In fact, helping her made me feel useful. Handing her a couple of hundred bucks was nothing – pocket change for me. Fronting her the money for her rent was also nothing. It was a rounding error in my account books. I wouldn't miss it if she didn't pay it back – but I was sure she would. She had that air of conscientiousness about her. She'd probably get the money right away and the five grand would be back in my bank account in no time flat.

  Unless I was totally wrong and she was just a really smart grifter.

  But she didn't strike me that way.

  While I should have been honest and told her who I was, I enjoyed the anonymity the cover story of being a bike courier gave me.

  I was trying to be helpful when I suggested that I could front her money, but at the same time, I was thinking how much I'd like her in my bed. Even when I offered to let her stay in my apartment, I could tell that, homeless or not, she wasn't the type to have wild sex with some guy she had just met in an elevator.

  I usually didn't give up easily when I saw something I wanted, whether it was a new vehicle, a new bike, or a new woman – at least, not without a fight. As down as I was on love, I was totally up for sex. I was already busy thinking of how I'd seduce her.

  If she took me up on the offer of using the spare bedroom in my apartment, which I honestly hoped she would, I'd be a perfect gentleman. I would do nothing more than offer myself as someone who could help her get back onto her feet again – after I graciously offered to take her off her feet in my bed.

  I wasn't going to be controlled by a woman ever again, no matter how sweet and sexy she seemed. I'd learned my lesson well and would make sure to find a wife who truly loved me and wanted my children. But until then, I sure would enjoy the pretty women I met along the way.

  I had a shower in my penthouse apartment and then went back to Macintyre Publishing's temporary office, thinking about Ella and her very bad first day of work. When I arrived in my office, Keith came in right behind me.

  "Look at you," he said, slapping me on the back. "Grinning like you're right in the mind for a change. Who is she?"

  I frowned and gave him a dirty look. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

  "You're smiling in a way that suggests you just met your next girlfriend. Don't tell me it was the pretty woman in the elevator..."

  "You're nuts."

  Irritated that he could read me so well, I went over to my desk and pulled out a file from the drawer, a little more roughly than was needed. Keith's words got under my skin, even though I knew he was right. I was smiling while I thought about pretty little Ella. Specifically, smiling at the thought of her shudders of pleasure while I fucked her senseless.

  "Come on, man, spill," he insisted, standing in front of the picture window. "Tell me about her. Kaitlyn said you were caught in the elevator with her for about twenty minutes."

  "You don't know what you're talking about – as usual. I was thinking about our upcoming editorial meeting," I lied, not wanting to give in too soon. "Money makes me happy. Having a sense of purpose in life makes me smile. The idea of renovating this old building makes me happy. That's all."

  "Yeah, right. Tell me another one. That smile is reserved for one thing and one thing alone: pussy. And I happen to know that you haven't had enough lately. So, spill. Tell me about her."

  I laughed finally, because he was right. As usual. Keith knew people. It was his superpower, as we liked to joke. H
e had done his undergrad in commerce before joining the Navy. We served together and when we got out, he joined the publishing company as my chief financial officer.

  "She..." I said, remembering her. "She is just about the prettiest little thing I've seen in a long time."

  "I knew it," he said and practically jumped on me, punching me in the shoulder. "Who is she?"

  "Chill out, man," I said. "What are you? A high school freshman?"

  "Nah. I've been saying you need to find someone new for a while. Get someone to lick your psychic wounds, and other things."

  He grinned at me and I couldn't help but smile back.

  "She's not going to be licking any psychic wounds."

  "Oh, yeah? What's her name?"

  "None of your damn business," I replied, smiling at his eagerness. "And don't you go nosing around her either," I said and pointed at him.

  "Hey, you're going to LA next month. While the cat's away..."

  He was right, of course. I was planning on going over to our offices in LA and set up the new office there. Stay there for a week to oversee it. Maybe spend some time with David in the hills around the city, getting right with myself. I didn't have to; I could easily catch a flight there and back anytime I wanted. Still, I didn't like the idea that Keith – or any of the guys in the building – would be hitting on her in my absence.

  "Seriously, she's off limits. If anyone's going to do her, I got dibs."

  "And how are you going to keep me away from her, when you're in LA?"

  I knew he was just ribbing me, but it was still rubbing me the wrong way.

  "Look, I just met her, and offered her the use of my spare bedroom, because she's currently homeless and I hate to see her being taken advantage of any more than she already has been. She's – well, she's kind of naive."

  "Shit, man, you move fast. I was thinking you'd be asking her out for coffee or drinks, not to live with you. Speaking of taking advantage..." He grinned. "Is she going to take you up on the offer?"

  "I hope so," I replied, opening a file, hoping he'd get the hint that I had work to do and stop with the ribbing. "You know my weakness for damsels in distress."

 

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