The Wish

by Eva LeNoir

  The fragrance of her perfume, something soft with a touch of spice, got my dick’s immediate attention. I had to shift my stance to avoid being caught doing the erotic salute behind my zipper.

  The combination of her beauty and scent was lethal. Dangerous when in the workplace.

  If not for the hint of a scowl marring her features, she could have been an angel in human form.

  The disconcerting part about living in Los Angeles was that meeting angels wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d fucked a couple just this past year. Granted they were lingerie models, but angels all the same.

  But that damn scowl. It made my dick hard and my imagination run wild.

  This company made dreams come true, so why was she so angry to be here? As if her beauty wasn’t enough of a siren to my libido, not knowing what got her hackles up before uttering her first words, appealed to my curiosity.

  As she made her way to the front desk, my gaze bounced to the man walking beside her. There was something familiar about him. The set of his jaw, the sharp look in his eyes. I knew him. Or maybe of him.

  Given the situation, the woman could be the man’s lover, or she could be his daughter. I was betting on the latter, seeing the air of resemblance that couldn’t be ignored. Which, again, begged the question…Why was she so pissed? Was the idea of her father spending a considerable amount of her inheritance to make his dreams come true too much for her to handle? Had he forced her to accompany him, taking her away from a scheduled spa day?

  Dammit, I needed to know. Not because I wanted to fuck her. I didn’t. At least that was the lie I told myself as I carefully watched her approach Mark’s desk, from a few yards away. But it was also the not knowing that would gnaw at my concentration and prevent me from working diligently. I could understand a debilitating sadness in her eyes, that would be comprehensible. Anger did not compute and the not understanding would drive me insane. That would, in turn, piss off my partners and possibly get my ass kicked in a not-so-friendly game of beach volleyball at our weekend get-away home we bought together.

  My mind was a blessing and a curse. When I latched onto an idea, a conundrum, a puzzle, I couldn’t let go. I needed answers, solutions, and outcomes or I’d go crazy trying to figure it out.

  That’s how I made my first million. I got an idea, the idea bloomed. I researched and taught myself everything there was to know about computer science, and within a year, I developed an app that changed the world.

  A foodie app that made every working mother and stay-home dad happy as larks. Not to mention, it made me a rich bastard.

  “Good afternoon,” Mark greeted our clients. I took a step back and pretended not to eavesdrop.

  I was only staying for a couple of minutes; I would figure out who this was and then go on my merry way. I was the boss, after all, it was my duty to know what was happening in my company.

  “Good afternoon. We have an appointment with…” I looked up from my file as the man paused in his speech. He was searching out the name of our consultant.

  “Ms. Wallace?” he asked, obviously not trusting his memory as he looked up and smiled. From the tremors in his hands, I would have guessed Parkinson’s, but it didn’t feel right; he seemed too young for that.

  “Oh, yes. Mr. Hughes? Madeleine Wallace will be right with you. Please take a seat and I’ll let her know you’re here.”

  Mark was a great concierge. He was polite, respectful and most of all efficient.

  That was why I hated what I was about to do.

  Stepping back up to the desk, I spoke softly.

  “Do you have their file, Mark?” The surprised look on his face was worth a million bucks. I rarely took cases anymore unless they were personal, in which case, I went all out. To be fair, our foundation was a well-oiled machine, and my services were only needed in administrative tasks and showing my pretty face at various fundraisers throughout Los Angeles with Luca and Ethan at my side.

  I didn’t know these people, had no personal vested interest beyond the fact that they were potential clients, which put this proud and fascinating woman in the no-touch zone.

  And yet…

  She intrigued me and I knew my brain would obsess over her and her anger management issues unless I got my answers and then shipped them back off to Madeleine. She was an excellent counselor and would do her best to help them in this difficult time.

  “But…”

  “Mark,” I said, raising an eyebrow to show my impatience.

  “Yes, I have a copy here with me but Mad…”

  “I’ll take care of Madeleine,” I reassured him as I reached out and waited for him to hand me the file.

  “Okay, you’re the boss.”

  “That I am.”

  Mark handed over the file, perfectly combed hair and usually sunny disposition taking a bit of a hit. Mark was a creature of habit and control. This was too unusual for his type A personality to handle. Quickly, I scanned the information that had been previously filled out online. Over my shoulder, I could hear them whisper fighting but couldn’t quite make out their conversation. My eyes swiftly read through the information, coming to a stop at the name Robert Hughes, of Hughes Incorporated. Jesus, the man was a legend and he was here. In my offices.

  Turning around, I walked over to our future clients and introduced myself.

  “Mr. Hughes, Ms. Hughes. My name is Marlon Brooks and I’ll be personally handling your case,” I said, using my most trustworthy professional voice and reaching out to shake their hands. Mr. Hughes had tremors, sometimes jerks of his hands, much like Parkinson’s, but in his file it said he suffered from Huntington’s Disease. I didn’t think our foundation had ever dealt with that specific disease so I would need to research the timelines to make sure we could adapt accordingly.

  Madeleine.

  Madeleine would do the research. I was here temporarily, I reminded myself.

  When I reached out to shake his daughter’s hand, the softness of her palm nearly brought me to my knees. Visions of her running those silky hands down every inch of my body had me squeezing her much harder than was deemed necessary. Or polite, for that matter. But when she looked up with eyes the color of aged whiskey on a clear spring day, I knew. I wasn’t nearly done being in her presence. And by the way the hazel darkened from her dilating pupils, there was no mistaking I had the same effect on her. The slight part of her mouth as a breath escaped her lips told me she, too, had noticed the instant chemistry rippling between us. But all too quickly, she regained her senses and dropped her impassive walls as though our meeting was inconsequential.

  Right.

  This is how it’s going to go, then?

  “Mr. Brooks is it?” she asked, her voice like a melody that I was sure would sound fantastic screaming for God’s mercy while I fucked multiple orgasms right out of her.

  Madeleine was in no way taking this case. Not because I wanted to fuck Ms. Hughes to within an inch of her life. No, that would be unprofessional. I wanted to make sure that one of the most influential businessmen in the state, possibly the country, was being given the royal treatment. Who else could do that but the founder himself?

  Madeleine would not be happy about this, but as Mark so correctly pointed out, I was the motherfucking boss.

  “Please, follow me into my office.”

  Chapter 2

  Jaidyn

  My entire life, I had been exposed to beautiful, powerful people. In fact, I’d been dating one such man for the last five years. The omnipresent, circling vultures never ceased to remind me of Calvin Carmichael’s appeal. I knew the power of beauty in this town; having been paraded around throughout the years at fundraisers and galas with my father or on Calvin’s arm, I could attest to the fact that it was much less glamourous than the media would have us think.

  I was immune to that shallow part of my world. Beauty was just lucky DNA. Plastic surgery was more reliable as many of father’s acquaintances could
attest.

  But standing face to face with this man, I realized I was bearing witness to a whole new species.

  Marlon Brooks.

  His name was both regal, in that movie star kind of way, and rugged with its harsh ‘r’ and ‘k’.

  Just like the man before me.

  At five feet seven inches, eleven with my heels on, I wasn’t exactly petite, yet I had to crane my neck to meet his intense, bordering on hungry, stare.

  But when he shook my hand and I dared look up into his eyes, I was struck by the imperfect sublimity of his features. He didn’t come from money, that was evident by the slight bend of his nose, probably broken a time or two in his life.

  Instead of the customary clean-shaven, million-dollar face, Marlon Brooks wore a beard like a knight wore an armor. It was clean and well-kept but a barrier, nonetheless. I wanted to run my nails through it, feel it glide between my fingers, scrape across my thighs to that place where status meant nothing, and pleasure was the ultimate goal.

  I could picture him, stern, as he faced off his opponents in a conference room or, sexy, as he pleased his lover in his bedroom.

  After a moment of indecent ogling, I regained my composure not because I was in a long-term committed relationship, I wasn’t blind after all, but because this was business. And I didn’t have to be my father’s protégée to know that one never mixed business with pleasure. Although, holy mother of Jesus, I bet it would be fun to do business with that man.

  Following close behind him as he escorted us to his office, my gaze followed the line of his perfectly sculpted back, right down to the cut of his slacks that told the story of a man who liked keeping his body in shape.

  My mouth went dry just thinking of what exactly was hidden beneath what looked like a custom Brioni suit.

  “How was your drive up from San Diego?” Marlon’s words had my gaze snap back from where I watched his ass only to find him slightly turned towards us while speaking. Any hopes I’d had that my perusal of his god-like figure had gone unnoticed died as soon as he threw a devilish wink my way. He was enjoying my inappropriate behavior.

  Could anyone blame me, though? It was like asking a chef not to appreciate perfectly executed Profiteroles.

  “Surprisingly easy,” my father said, oblivious to the mating dance going on right in front of him.

  When we reached Marlon’s office at the end of the corridor, he waited outside his door and like a gentleman, and indicated for my father and me to enter before him.

  As I passed, he lowered his head slightly, keeping his eyes on me with a hunger that immediately got my fingers and toes tingling with arousal.

  Jesus, did he bathe in testosterone?

  “Have a seat,” he said, as we entered a corner office. The simple flick of his hand gestured to the opulent chairs. As we faced his mahogany desk, I immediately remembered why we were there. My father had, apparently, lost his mind so this was no time to lose control of my hormones.

  “Thank you,” my father and I said at the same time.

  Marlon Brooks’ office was elegant in its simplicity. Two bookshelves, a central desk and a breathtaking view of the City of Angels. With a quick look around, I found little personal effects. A few books on the shelves between ivy plants spreading their green limbs along the shelves. Just over his shoulder, I could see a framed photo of him and a small-framed Black woman. They had their arms around each other, and her smile was one filled with love and pride, like a mother. Next to it, was a more fun-filled image of three boys barely old enough to know much of the world, their arms around each other with their backs to the ocean. Maybe sixteen but no older, with grins that spoke of love and eternal friendship. They were all different, yet it was obvious they shared some type of unbreakable bond.

  I focused my undivided attention back to the man who sat across from us.

  After a three-hour drive, with traffic, I could see the signs of Dad’s fatigue. I hated that instead of resting at home, he had insisted on this long car ride, but arguing with Dad had always been futile, and I didn’t see that changing any time soon.

  “So, how can I help you?” Mr. Brooks asked, intertwining his fingers as he rested his forearms on the desk. My eyes drank in the movement like water to a wilting flower just as I reached his wrist. There, sitting on a French cuff were cufflinks that said more about this man than anything else in his office. Resting near each wrist were, what seemed to be, a sterling silver and red surfboard cufflink from the 1960’s. It was the only dash of color on his otherwise imposing self. The streak of fun in his otherwise no-nonsense décor.

  Somehow, those two little surfboards felt more like him than the rest of his meticulously groomed exterior.

  Looking up to meet his eyes, I was taken aback.

  They were impossible to ignore or discount. One iris was surrounded by a green so vivid, it reminded me of the ocean as it nears the shores, deep and inviting. But the other was a combination of blue skies, green seas, and soil from the land. Three different colors swirling around the eye of the storm. I couldn’t look away, the sight stealing my breath.

  “My father,” I started, straightening my spine and jutting out my chin, “has decided, unilaterally I might add, that he wants to,” I turned to my dad, searching for the right words that convey the ridiculousness of this entire charade.

  Dad held my stare for a few seconds, his love shining so bright making my heart break just a little more.

  “I’m dying,” my father cut in, his words shattering my fantasies with their debilitating truth.

  “Dad!” I gasped, fingers gripping the thick arms of the chair, my heartbeat threatening to break my ribs. My father patted my hand and ignored my outburst, continuing his story.

  “I’m dying,” he repeated, pausing slightly in case I chose to protest once more, “and I want to live life, w-with my daugh-daugh-ter before I go.” He was breathing through his nose, his teeth grinding, his hand squeezing mine a little harder than was comfortable.

  “I made a list and I need to have everything planned and organized for the both of us.” He let out a slow breath as he finished his instructions.

  “I understand,” the man across from me said, his empathy made clear within the rough and sensual timber of his voice. Surprisingly, it didn’t feel like pity or condescension. It was difficult to imagine someone as seemingly young as Marlon Brooks could begin to understand the pain of our situation. Yet, nothing felt forced; the sincerity in his eyes was real.

  “Mr. Brooks,” I interrupted, “before we really begin,” I continued but was, myself, cut off.

  “Marlon, please.” He said, the corner of his bearded lip rising in a confident smile.

  “Mr. Brooks,” I repeated, putting the emphasis on the first two letters of his name. He was trying to professionally seduce me, and it wouldn’t work. “My father has a number of specific requirements anytime he travels. What happens if my father’s condition deteriorates while we are on this,” I gestured the office, my father, and even Marlon to accentuate my point, “ridiculous adventure?”

  From my periphery, I could see my father slightly jerking his head from side to side and it had nothing to do with his illness. He was irked with me, probably even disappointed with my lack of an open mind. It didn’t matter, though.

  “If we have an emergency, how quickly can plans be changed?” I continued, eager to air out my concerns. “And, no offense, you look quite young, Mr. Brooks, do you have enough experience to take on a big project like my father?”

  “None taken, Ms. Hughes.” Marlon said, laughter dancing in his strangely hypnotic eyes.

  “And finally, why are we not speaking with Madeleine Wallace?” It all came out in a singular breath forcing me to take in a gulp of air. Throughout my tirade, it was impossible to look away. His gaze was too intense, his presence too imposing to be ignored.

  Marlon Brooks was amused as he leaned back in his chair and studied me for a minute before responding.

  �
��First, I will address your last question. Madeleine Wallace is my employee and I had to redirect her to another client whose needs fit her line of expertise.” I felt properly chastised but sat straight with my shoulders back like I owned the room. “Secondly,” he said, raising his left hand and showing his index and middle fingers in case I didn’t understand words. “The Dream List Foundation has an inexhaustible list of partners dealing with most illnesses. We have contacts across the globe and can have any number of machines and medication sent to you, no matter your location.”

  I was about to say something when he cut me off before I even began.

  “Thirdly,” his bare ring finger joined the other two, “If you have an emergency, our contract will show that we have contingency plans in place, no matter the situation or location.”

  I closed my mouth, raising my chin in defiance.

  “Lastly, Ms. Hughes,” he said, leaning forward on his forearms, his cufflinks tapping the wooden desk, and pinning me with a look of pure sexual dominance that rocked me straight to my core, “my name is on every contract that we implement.” His stare never wavered, not until his words hit home. He was the owner of this shindig.

  “Oh.” I blinked, shaking my head, feeling the heat returning to my cheeks and looking at my dad hoping he hadn’t witnessed his daughter’s arousal live and in high definition. He seemed too young to have such a successful business and too full of himself for it to be a non-profit. As though he’d been reading my erotic thoughts from the moment we’d met, he raised a single brow, focused the intensity of his gaze solely on me, and asked with his panty disintegrating timber of voice:

  “Now, how about you tell me how I can be of service to you?”

  Well, damn, that was a loaded question and I had a list-full of answers.

  Chapter 3

  Jaidyn

  It’s funny how memories pass through us. Not as a continuous stream of thought, like a favorite film we watch over and over, but more as snippets of lost time. They come at random intervals where they tend to unravel your attempts at holding yourself together. They act like petulant children, demanding our attention and screaming until we can no longer ignore them.