by Lauren Rowe
Sarah’s face turns bright red.
“I’m monitoring his phone, remember?” Henn says, motioning to his laptop. “‘I’m not a patient man.’ What was that all about?”
Twenty-Seven
Kat
Sarah sputters and stammers for a moment, clearly incapable of responding to Henn’s question, so Jonas grabs her hand and speaks for her, telling the group about how Max demanded a “freebie” from Sarah yesterday at The Club’s offices and then followed up with a creepy-skeevy text demanding she come through.
“What should I do?” Sarah asks the group, obviously wracked with anxiety. “Ignore him? Answer him? Hide?”
“Ignore him and hide,” Jonas says firmly. “I don’t want you saying a fucking thing to that motherfucker.”
“I agree,” Josh says, clenching his jaw. “Ignore him and hide.”
Finally, something I know a shit-ton about. Men.
“No,” I say emphatically, straightening up in my chair. “Answer him and hide. Ignoring him will piss him off, and we don’t want to piss that guy off. We want to keep him calm and confident and predictable.”
There’s a brief silence while everyone mulls over what I’ve just said.
“Dr. Evil’s real boner isn’t for Sarah—it’s for Jonas,” I continue.
“Jesus, Kat,” Jonas says, grimacing. “Please don’t say it that way.”
I can feel Josh’s eyes trained on me, and suddenly, I feel emboldened. I might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer when it comes to brainiac stuff like hacking and world politics and legal research and figuring out how to take down a global crime syndicate, but when it comes to men and PR, I’m flippin’ Einstein, peeps.
“Not sexually,” I say. “He’s got an alpha-male boner for you, Jonas. This is all about a beta silverback wanting to knock off the obvious alpha. He wants what you’ve got so he can win. Hence, his Jonas-boner.”
“For Chrissakes, please stop saying that,” Jonas says.
“So how should I reply to him, then?” Sarah asks.
“We have to keep him off your back and convince him you’re motivated solely by greed and absolutely not by loyalty to Jonas,” I say. “The more he thinks your interests are the same as his, the safer you’ll be. You’ve got to keep him trusting you. If you ignore him, he’ll start getting paranoid.”
Sarah looks at Jonas and he nods like he’s in agreement with everything I’ve said—and when I glance at Josh, he nods encouragingly, a smile dancing on his lips—so I forge ahead. “Tell Max not to text—Jonas is monitoring your phone,” I say, “and he’s just on the cusp of giving you another humongous check. That way, you play right into his egomania and also appeal to his greed. No matter how much he wants his little freebie to satisfy his Jonas-boner—”
“Okay, Kat, that’s enough,” Jonas cautions.
“—he won’t insist on it at the risk of sabotaging the scam. We’ll just make Jonas out to be the bad guy and let Sarah sound like she’s doing her best to manage him and keep the money rolling in.”
Everyone’s staring at me, but no one’s saying a word.
I glance at Josh again and the look on his face right now is unmistakable: I’ve surprised him.
I shrug. “What? There are two things I know well in this life—PR and men.”
Josh laughs a full-throated laugh and beams a heart-stopping smile at me, quite obviously thoroughly impressed.
“Nice,” Henn says, grinning broadly at me.
“Hey, I might be dumb,” I say, “but I’m not blonde.”
Everyone laughs and so do I—but the way Josh is laughing and smiling is making me do more than laugh; it’s making me sizzle and pop like Rice Krispies in milk.
Josh grabs my hand and squeezes it, his eyes blazing at me. “Does everyone agree with Kat on this? Because I most certainly do.”
Everyone expresses enthusiastic agreement with everything I’ve said, and I feel myself swell with pride.
Josh leans into my ear, still squeezing my hand. “I do believe this little fishy just went for a swim in the river.” He kisses the top of my hand.
I look at him quizzically and he smiles broadly.
“Trust me, I won’t,” Sarah is saying in response to something Jonas just said. “Now that I know that creep’s out there watching me, I have no desire to leave the suite ever again. I’ve got to hunker down and write my report, anyway. This is going to be a huge job.” Sarah shakes her head. “This is so crazy.”
“It’s totally insane,” Henn agrees, exhaling happily. “Isn’t it awesome?”
Henn and Sarah begin chatting about their strategy for gathering the mountain of data and documents Sarah needs for her report and my attention drifts to Josh. He’s staring right at me, his eyes smoldering.
“Hey, Josh,” I whisper. “Can I talk to you for a minute over there?”
“My pleasure.”
We move to a sitting area in the corner of the suite, away from the rest of the group.
“What’s up, Party Girl with a Hyphen?” Josh asks. He leans back in his chair, making himself comfortable.
“I got a really interesting email from my boss a little while ago,” I say.
“Oh yeah?” he asks. “What’d it say?”
“It seems I’ve somehow managed to secure a huge new account for my firm—an account I’ve apparently been working on while I’ve been here in Vegas, all while getting shitfaced and barfing on your shoes—an account that’s so big and important and lucrative my boss told me to ‘stay in Vegas as long as needed.’”
“Wow. Sounds like a big account. Congratulations.”
“What did you do, Josh?”
He bites his lip. “Not a whole lot. I just picked up the phone and called a friend, that’s all.”
“Josh, what’s going on?”
He smiles broadly. “It seems one of the owners of the hottest nightclub in Las Vegas, a good friend of mine—a guy named Reed?—remember him?—well, Reed met you the other night and you two got to talking and you wound up blowing him away with a thousand amazing ideas for raising the visibility and branding for his club. And now, understandably, he wants you personally, and only you, to work on a massive PR campaign for his club all month. He’s redoing all the branding, at your suggestion, which is a huge job. Of course, he understands what a major inconvenience it is, having your personal, undivided attention for so long all the way out here in Vegas, so he was very happy to pay a ridiculous premium for your exclusive services—up front.”
I’m speechless.
“Pretty straightforward.” He beams a huge smile at me.
“But... is there an actual campaign? Something I actually have to do in exchange for this payment?”
“Well, there’s no actual PR campaign,” he says. “But, yes, you have to do something in exchange for the payment. Of course.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And what would that be?” I feel heat rising in my cheeks.
“Well, obviously, you’ve gotta help us topple the Evil Empire and save the world.” He shrugs. “You’re a fucking PR-genius, Kat. If I didn’t already know that about you, you sure proved it in spades a minute ago.”
I blush.
He puts his hand on my knee and leans forward like he’s gonna kiss me, and my breathing catches in my throat. He leans closer, his eyes burning, and I close my eyes, bracing myself for his warm lips against mine. But, nope. No kiss. Instead, I feel the sensation of his fingertip pressing lightly against the cleft in my chin.
I open my eyes.
His blue eyes have darkened.
“We all need you here, Kat—you just proved that. And speaking for myself personally, I have no desire to save the world without my Party Girl with a Hyphen by my side.”
Twenty-Eight
Kat
For hours and hours, Sarah and I have worked alongside Henn, gathering and assembling evidence for Sarah’s report while Josh and Jonas have worked tirelessly on the other side of the room, researching,
analyzing, and formulating the big-picture strategy for whatever the heck we’re finally gonna do with the report when it’s done.
“Dudes, I’m turning into a pumpkin,” Henn finally declares, his face the picture of total exhaustion. “I can’t uncross my eyes.”
“Go crash, Henny,” Sarah says. “You’ve already given us plenty of stuff to work with for the rest of the night.”
“I won’t sleep too long. There’s still an ass-load worth of shit to do. I just need a power nap.”
“Hey, Americanos and Red Bulls can only stave off the physical needs of the human body for so long,” Sarah says.
“I’ll see you pretty ladies later.” He stumbles away, bleary-eyed.
“What about you, Kitty Kat?” Sarah asks. “You need a break?”
“Hell no,” I answer. “I’m an evidence-assembling machine. Just give me another task and I’m on it.”
“Coolio Iglesias,” Sarah says. “Let’s turn on some music—that always helps me get my second wind.” She flips through her music library on her laptop. “Oh, yes. My girl, Audra Mae—now there’s a voice that inspires greatness.” She presses play on a song and a freaking hurricane of a female voice blasts me and jolts me back awake.
“Who’s this?” I ask. “Oh my God. She’s incredible.”
“Audra Mae and the Almighty Sound,” Sarah says. “‘The Real Thing.’”
“Holy shitballs,” I say. “I’m gonna make this my ringtone. I’ve got goose bumps.”
We listen to the song all the way through, and when it ends, I want to hear it again.
“Play it on a loop, Sarah,” I say. “I’m already addicted. Gah!”
“Right? I know. She sings right from her soul.” She glances at Josh and Jonas across the room, their noses buried in Jonas’ laptop. “Hey, how are you boys doing over there? You’ve been going nonstop for hours.”
“Just coming up with a foolproof plan to fuck the bad guys up the ass, baby,” Jonas mutters, typing something on his keyboard.
“Jonas, your eyes are bugging out of your head—maybe you should take a short break—like, go work out or something?” Sarah says.
“There’s no time for that,” Jonas says, not taking his eyes off his screen. “I’m on a mission from God here, baby.”
Sarah begins to say something more, but Jonas cuts her off.
“Because I love my baby more than life itself.”
Sarah takes in a sharp breath. “Holy crappola,” she whispers.
“Holy shitballs,” I reply, my heart racing vicariously for her. “Is that the first time?”
She shakes her head. “No, but definitely the first time in front of other people.”
“Aw.” I grab her hand. “Our little boy is growing up.”
Sarah smiles broadly. “That gorgeous man never ceases to surprise me.”
“I could say the same thing about that gorgeous man’s brother,” I say.
I stare at Josh for a long beat. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt today, a rarity for the ever-fashionable Playboy, and he looks hot as freaking hell. Jesus God, everything about that man—from his taut muscles to the slight wave of his dark hair to his sly smile, even the dragon on his bicep peeking out from his short sleeve—is drawing me to him uncontrollably.
But, damn, he’s stubborn. And guarded, too—deceptively so. He comes off as so open and easygoing, but he’s hiding darkness under there, I can feel it. I try to imagine Josh fucking me in a bunny suit, but that doesn’t ring true. More than likely, he’s into S&M, right? He’s gotta be some kind of a dom—into whips and chains and butt plugs. I imagine myself calling him “master” in a doggie collar and my clit pulses. I could work with that. Or, whoa, wait, maybe he’s a sub? Holy Not What I’m Hoping For, Batman. Not at all. That’s the thing—it could be anything. It’s killing me not knowing.
“Kat?” Sarah says.
“Sorry,” I say. “Got distracted.”
Sarah gives me a document and asks me to scour it for any references to international money transfers.
“Sure thing,” I say. But the words on the page are beginning to blur. My head is bobbing on my neck like I’m a drowsy truck driver. I didn’t even study this hard in college, for crying out loud.
For the hundredth time tonight, I glance over at Josh across the room. He’s engaged in an animated conversation with Jonas about... What the heck are those two jabbering about now?—I strain to listen over the music on Sarah’s laptop—oh, which NFL quarterback is the greatest of all time. Well, that’s an easy one: Joe Montana. Everyone knows that. Duh. Surely, my dad, mom, and three out of four of my brothers would say the same thing.
“It’s a no-brainer,” Josh says. “Joe Montana.”
I smile broadly to myself. Josh would fit right in with my family.
“That’s the conventional answer,” Jonas says. “But I’d argue Peyton Manning has recently overtaken the top spot.”
I roll my eyes. Well, that’s plain ridiculous.
“No way,” Josh says from across the room. “That’s fucking ridiculous.”
I smile to myself again. Great minds think alike.
Jonas keeps arguing his (ridiculous) position until, suddenly, without warning, Josh reaches up, midsentence, and flicks Jonas’ forehead with his index finger.
Jonas abruptly stops talking and puts his hand on his forehead. “Ow.”
For a short beat, it’s not clear if Jonas is gonna throttle Josh or laugh uncontrollably, but then Jonas’ features contort into unmistakable amusement and he lets out a belly laugh, causing Josh to burst out laughing, too. All tension averted, Josh leans back, spreads his legs, and shifts his dick in his pants.
“Dumbshit,” Josh mutters, shaking his head.
Jonas chuckles.
“Peyton Manning.”
“Sorry,” Jonas says, still laughing.
“You should be, bro—you fucking should be.”
The boys laugh together a bit more and then finally refocus their attention on Jonas’ laptop.
My jaw is hanging open.
My chest is tight.
My pulse is pounding in my ears.
I can’t take my eyes off Josh, though all he’s doing is staring at a laptop.
Audra Mae is singing from Sarah’s laptop into my ear, and suddenly, I realize her lyrics were written for me—for this moment. I want Josh. And I’m coming for him, just like Audra Mae is coming for her man in the song.
Josh had better watch the fuck out.
Forget what I said about wanting to take a break from our battle to the death. That was before this moment—before Josh correctly named Joe Montana as the all-time best NFL quarterback of all time. Before Josh defended his (correct) position with a perfectly timed forehead-flick, expertly diffusing potential tension with humor. Before he shifted his donkey-dick in his pants for the umpteenth time, making my crotch burn and my pulse race. Before Audra Mae and the Almighty Sound entered the room and belted out my own feelings into my ear. And, most of all, that was before Josh Faraday paid some ungodly amount of money to my boss so I can continue saving the world here in Las Vegas with him and keep my job in Seattle, too. “And speaking for myself personally, I have no desire to save the world without my Party Girl with a Hyphen by my side,” Josh said. Holy hell, I get goose bumps just thinking about him saying those words to me.
I want him. I want him. I want him.
And not just sexually, either—I’m way past simply wanting to bang Josh now (though God knows I want to bang him more than I want to breathe). I want Josh to be mine—in every conceivable way. I want his body. I want his heart. I want his soul. And, goddammit, I want his secrets, too.
Josh says I’ve been demanding something from him that I can’t or won’t give him in return? Well, he’s got a point about that, actually. But what if I did unexpectedly have something to give him in return for his secrets? What if I had secrets of my own to give him—and what if I turned the tables on him and gave them to him first?
“If I had an application, I’d give it to you,” I told Josh last night outside my room after the Henn-kissing debacle.
“Easy for you to say,” Josh replied. “You don’t have one.”
But what if I did? That would change everything, wouldn’t it?
“Hey, Sarah,” I whisper, leaning into her shoulder.
“Hmm?”
“Do you happen to have a copy of an old Club application lying around?”
Sarah pauses what she’s doing and looks up. “Um. No, all the applications I had were on my laptop that got stolen.”
“And Henn hasn’t been able to access member applications yet?”
“Not yet.” She puts down the document she’s reading with sudden emphasis and looks at me like I’ve suggested we try to sneak up on the President of the United States and give him a wedgie. “Katherine Morgan, even if we could get our hands on Josh’s application, you absolutely can’t read it without his permission.”
I roll my eyes. “I know that. Jeez. Gimme some credit.”
Sarah’s looking at me like she doesn’t buy a word of my bullshit.
I pause. “Okay, yes, I’d read that effing application in a heartbeat if I could get my grubby little hands on it,” I say.
Sarah laughs. “I know.”
“But I’m not trying to get Josh’s application through Henn—I wanna get it directly from Josh. And to do that, I need to see the questions he answered—the questions everyone answers when applying to The Club.”
Sarah presses her lips together. “Why?”
I ignore her question. “Do you remember the questions?”
“They’re burned into my gray matter for eternity. Why do you want them?”
“Would you email them to me, exactly the way they’re worded on a standard application?”
Sarah smirks. “Are you by any chance planning to write answers to these questions, my dearest friend?”
A smile spreads across my face. “Why, yes, that is the plan, my lovely, darling friend.”