Tailored for Trouble

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  “Not sure. I found you in here after you went to the hospital. You were clothed when I found you, if that makes this seem less indecent.”

  “I see.”

  Taylor wasn’t sure what was going through Bennett’s mind, but right about now, he had to be realizing that he had his hard cock wedged against her tailbone and his fingers intimately stroking her little jellybean of pleasure.

  Jellybean of pleasure? Really, Tay? Well, the word clit didn’t do that spot on her body justice. Clit sounded like something found in an engine or the arming mechanism inside a bomb. “Quick, turn the clit counterclockwise before she blows!” No, clit wouldn’t do at all. And clitoris sounded like a disease one contracted while traveling by steamboat down the Amazon. “Oh no. I’ve caught a horrible case of clitoris in between my toes. Anybody got some cream?” That part of her body deserved a word worthy of its awesome mind-control powers. It could make her sweat and blush and crave with one little twitch. At this moment, it told her to beg Bennett to take her. It told her to roll over and get that hard, huge, velvety cock of his deep inside so it could have its sweet bouncy fun.

  God, she wanted him so badly. Why had she stopped him? “Bennett, I—”

  “Oh fuck.” He pulled his hand away and rolled to a sitting position, placing his feet on the floor, his back to her.

  And…cue mortification. Thank God she hadn’t told him to keep going.

  Even in the dim light, she could see the hard muscles on his broad back that tapered down into a very tight waistline. He rubbed his face and groaned—yeah, it was that groan. The one that would’ve completely turned her on, if she wasn’t completely horrified by his reaction.

  “Don’t feel bad,” she said, her voice cracking. “It was just a dream. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

  He gripped the edge of the bed tightly with both hands, nodded, and blew out a breath before getting up and retrieving his clothes. He didn’t say a word as he slid on his pants and shirt.

  Oh God. He’s never going to speak to me again. But she hadn’t done anything wrong, and as far as she was concerned, neither had he. In fact, he’d done everything right.

  In his damned sleep, no less. She could only imagine what he was capable of when fully conscious and making a real effort.

  He left her room, barefoot, jacket and shoes in his hands. She stared for a long, long time at that door, wishing he’d come back and…well, finish the job.

  Ugh. What? No. This is so awkward!

  She flung herself back on the bed. “I swear that man is going to be the death of me.”

  CHAPTER 10

  A few hours later, Taylor awoke to loud, unwelcome knocking on her hotel room door. She rolled out of bed, landing on the floor with a thump.

  “Gah…” She pressed her hands to her temples. Her head pounded away, and her body still felt the effects of being worked over by Bennett’s hand and left hanging—a hangover of another sort.

  She stumbled her way to the door and pulled it open to find Bennett’s imposing frame occupying the doorway. He wore a stylish navy suit complete with shiny black cufflinks, a crisp white shirt, and silky light blue tie that matched his eyes. Not that she could see them because he wore dark shades. With his silky brown hair slightly mussed and his jaw still unshaven, he had the appearance of very, very bad rich boy.

  Goddammit I want to spank him.

  “Why are you not ready yet?” he asked curtly, towering over her. She wore no shoes, putting her right at his collarbone.

  “Oh. Uhhh…” She flipped a glance over her shoulder toward the clock next to the bed. It was seven in the morning. “I didn’t—wait. Ready for what?” As far as he was concerned, she was leaving today.

  “Ms. Reed, it may be a private plane, but I don’t own the airport. We have a departure window, and if we lose it, I will miss my meeting in Paris.”

  “Paris?” She ran her hands over her messy, tangled hair.

  “Yes. Paris. I have that meeting with Mary Rutherford.”

  “But Bennett, I—”

  He held up his hand to silence her. “You said you had nothing to offer me, but I read your first four modules this morning.”

  She blinked at him. “You did?”

  “You should put a password on your laptop.”

  Her mouth fell open. “You went through my stuff?”

  He straightened his tie. “Well,” he paused for a moment. “We both know I wasn’t myself last evening—they gave me a painkiller of some sort for the stitches even though I told them not to. Sake and medication do not mix.”

  You should try it with vodka. “They gave you stitches?”

  “Three. It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”

  She nodded slowly, the sting of his intrusion growing into a burn. “Glad to hear it. But that didn’t give you the right to snoop through my things. How the hell did you get in my room anyway?”

  He shrugged. “I was knocking on the door and the maid passed by and let me in.”

  “Nice.”

  “Technically, the room is mine since I paid for it, just like I paid for that training. Fifty-thousand if I recall.”

  “Yeah, but I told you; I’m giving the money back. I can’t—”

  “You haven’t given it back yet, so I still have a right to that material. Also,” he paused and made a pissy little sigh, “I think your ideas, though unconventional, are very refreshing.”

  Taylor almost sighed with relief. Not that it made sense to think he would’ve found the fake material—it was buried in one of her folders, while the real one was linked to her desktop—but for a minute, there, she’d worried.

  “That’s nice of you to say, but—”

  “We need to move past this whole thing, Taylor.”

  “What whole thing?” she asked.

  “You know what I’m speaking of.”

  Oh boy. Not really. There were too many options.

  “I’ve only had about two hours of sleep, so you’ll have to spell it out,” she said.

  “There is no need for you to feel…uncomfortable. The kiss was merely a reaction—an impulse. As for last evening, it was merely the effects of the drugs.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him that neither of those were the real issues. If anything, they only made her want to stay.

  “I realize,” he said, before she had the chance to respond, “that I haven’t shown much enthusiasm for the training you’ve developed, but I’m a man of few words. I think it has merit, but more importantly, I need this. I need this deal with Mary, Taylor. It’s critical to another project I’m working on.” He removed his sunglasses and showed her the sincerity in his expression before she could throw any objections at him.

  She beamed into those beautiful, slightly bloodshot pale blue eyes and forgot her words. All she could think of was how he made her insides all squishy and irrational every time he looked at her.

  “Please?” he said starkly. It was the Bennett Wade version of begging—it wasn’t really begging or asking at all.

  Probably because the man never had to ask for anything.

  “You have my word,” he added, “I’ll never touch you again.”

  She couldn’t come up with any appropriate words to respond to that. Disappointment, maybe?

  He must’ve read something into her silence—something bad. Or, perhaps, he’d perceived her to be offended.

  “Not—” he held up his hand “—that I don’t find you attractive. But I think we both know we’re…different. Not compatible. At least, not in that way.”

  Okay. The man had ventured down a path requiring some explanation, because if she had to guess what he’d meant by “that way,” it was that she wasn’t good enough for him. Why did she think that? For starters, his penis had found them extremely compatible just a few hours ago. His hand didn’t seem to mind her either. So whatever he referred to wasn’t of a sexual nature. That left two other primary areas of compatibility in a relationship. A, intellectual. B, social
.

  Not that she wanted a relationship with him.

  She tilted her head. “Which way do you mean, exactly?”

  “Well,” he said, “you’re…” he waved his hand up and down, gesturing toward her body. “You’re…you. And I’m…me.”

  Quick, give me something to clean before I kill him. “If you mean you’re an egocentric bully, and I’m not, then I agree.” She tried to shut the door in his face, but he caught it before it closed.

  “No. I meant—you are a woman who seeks a certain level of…”

  She parked one hand on her hip. “What? Less assholiness?” Was that even a word?

  “No. Of intimacy—emotional intimacy.” He shook his head. “Goddammit. Why the hell am I even having this conversation? I do not owe you any explanations. We are not in a relationship. Nor will we ever be because you work for me, and I don’t fraternize with my employees.”

  “Ohhh…” she seethed, shaking her head from side to side. The bastard really did see himself as too good for her. She held up her index finger. “First of all, I don’t work for you—I work with you—get that through your…” what had his mother called it? “Your thick mule head. And second, you may not be fraternizing, but your cock sure enjoyed playtime with my ass, so get the hell off your high fucking horse, Bennett.”

  As the vulgar words passed her lips, a mature-looking woman with white hair (likely a tourist from the way she dressed) passed by, shooting Taylor a startled look.

  Oh, the shame. To make matters worse, her choice of words had made it sound like they’d, well, had anal sex.

  “Umm…What I meant wasn’t that you put your,” her eyes darted down to his groin and then back up to his eyes, “your—you know—in my you know. I meant that—”

  “I got the point, Ms. Reed. I was there, remember?”

  Oh yes, and she would never forget. Eveeeerrr. Because it had been so dang hot.

  No. It was a mistake.

  He took a sharp breath as if trying to gather his composure. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you in any way, Taylor. I merely wanted to point out that we are different people with different goals and needs. Can we at least be aligned on that much?”

  “Yes. We can.”

  “Good. Now may we move past this? I meant what I said about needing you for this deal—”

  His phone buzzed away in his pocket. He slid it out and glanced at the screen. “Christ. We’re going to miss the window. Come on. It’s time to go.”

  “But I really need to—”

  “You can have a spit bath on the plane and take a proper shower once we get to Paris. I can’t miss this meeting. Get your things and let’s go.”

  “Bennett, you’re not listen—”

  “Ms. Reed,” he said sternly, “we can finish the conversation later.”

  “If you interrupt me one more time,” she growled, “I swear to God I’m going to punch you right in that ten-pack of yours.”

  He looked at her, shocked.

  “I can’t go with you,” she said. “Not until I know why you lied to me about Lady Mary.”

  “I did not lie to you. I simply withheld information, which is common practice when you’re in discussions with another party regarding a merger. There’s a little thing called a nondisclosure agreement.”

  “Okay. Fine, but you still misled me as to why you wanted my help. You could’ve said it was to win over someone—not because you had any interest in truly becoming a more compassionate leader.”

  “If I were any more compassionate, I’d be living in a fucking cardboard box.”

  What the hell did he mean by that?

  He went on, “But all this can be discussed on the plane.” He turned his body to the side and motioned her toward the elevator.

  Taylor simply stood there.

  “Fine, then you give me no choice but to go without you.” He started walking away.

  Oh, no. We are having this conversation.

  She stepped out into the hallway, leaving her door ajar. “Did you bet your friends a million dollars you could fuck me?” she blurted out. Bennett stopped but didn’t turn. His shoulders rose and then fell.

  “Who told you?”

  “Charles. The night of your charity ball. Right before I slapped him.”

  “So that’s why he was badmouthing you and why you left, crying. I should’ve known. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Don’t change the subject; did you or did you not take six million dollars from your friends, who were my clients, and let them believe we’d slept together?”

  Still facing the opposite direction, Bennett shook his head. “It was thirty-five million. One million from each man in the pool.”

  Thirty-five? “Oh, God,” she gasped her words. “How many were my clients?”

  “All of them,” he replied in a quiet voice.

  “Oh.” She didn’t know what to expect, but it hadn’t been that. Perhaps she’d secretly hoped he’d say it was a lie. All of it. Or that it was only a misunderstanding of some sort. But she’d not expected him to confirm her worst fear. “So that was the reason you came to Phoenix. Because of the bet?”

  Bennett’s head fell forward. “Yes. I was going to be in Phoenix anyway, but yes.” He hissed out a breath.

  Oh…And, of course, a man like Bennett didn’t need the money. So it had been for sport. A race to see who could get her in bed first. Just some sort of challenge to make life a little more interesting.

  She felt the cramp of humiliation in her gut, the ache of rage in her head, and a deep sadness in her heart. It was bad enough that those horrible, rich bastards had only seen her as some sort of trophy fuck and had laughed behind her back as they all tried to get her to crack open her legs. But this? Bennett was one of them?

  “Then I think we’re done,” she whispered.

  He nodded, still refusing to look at her. And then he disappeared down the hall.

  Taylor returned inside her room, sat down on the bed, and began to cry.

  CHAPTER 11

  It took about an hour for Taylor to talk herself off the ledge overlooking the dark ominous ocean filled with pity and low self-esteem. Yes, the sting and hurt were still alive and kicking, but the modicum of pride she clung to wouldn’t allow them—those horrible, horrible men—to damage her like this.

  That boat might’ve sailed. Truth was, she’d never be able to face her ex-clients, who were never real clients. And anyone she knew professionally probably laughed behind her back because they’d heard the rumors. To make matters worse, she’d come all the way to Tokyo with Bennett Wade, probably making it seem like her “services” included way more than simple consulting.

  Oh, God. I can’t believe this. She had no idea what she was going to do. Yes, you do. She sighed and looked at her bank account balance on her cellphone. You’re going to file for bankruptcy.

  Dressed in jeans, her comfy black flats, and a soft gray sweater, she grabbed her rolling suitcase, laptop bag, and purse and headed for the elevator. She’d checked out of the room already—yes, and said goodbye to her fancy toilet, which oddly now spoke in a male voice (Had Bennett changed it for her?)—and used the remaining balance on her last credit card to book a flight home. Two thousand eight hundred fucking dollars. She was now officially broke. A loser. A failure.

  No! Don’t you go there, Tay. Don’t you jump into that pity-ocean with the little pity-fish and pink pity-seashells. As she made her way toward the subway—a much cheaper option versus a cab at rush hour—she reminded herself that many people went through life and didn’t even try. She’d at least attempted to do something. Failed big-time, but she’d taken the risk.

  Oh really? You settler! You settled for a job you didn’t want, you settled for dating men who didn’t make you feel anything, and now you’re settling again. You’re letting those rich a-holes get in the way of something you really wanted to do: help others. There were millions of people in the world who worked for these companies that made them f
eel…well, unhappy, undervalued, invisible, and disposable.

  She shook her head. Sadly, those in a position to change things weren’t interested. They mostly just seemed interested in being a-holes. Still, that doesn’t mean you give up, does it?

  She didn’t know. Right now she was an emotional void and needed time to figure it all out.

  Suitcase in hand, she stared at the giant map of the Tokyo subway and groaned as hordes of people—Japanese men in gray suits, woman in conservative work outfits, young people in the latest Tokyo fashion reminiscent of MadMax extras with hair that defied the definition of hair, and the hodgepodge of normal folk—passed her by.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” This looks like the subway threw up another subway and then had a bastard child with a plumbing blueprint. The little blurb on the tourist website said the Tokyo subway wasn’t so different from New York’s “once you got the system down.” But you’d need a damned engineering degree to figure it out.

  She used her finger to trace the pink line to the purple line that connected to the light rail to the airport. Okay, you got this. I am a woman of the world.

  She rolled her enormous suitcase over to a machine that resembled a space station console and purchased her ticket. She then did an entire lap around the upper platform, weaving through the flowing crowd, trying to avoid people tripping over her suitcase. Where is it, dammit? Unable to read Japanese or find an elevator anywhere, she had no choice but to lug.

  With two hands, she carefully maneuvered her wheelie beast down several flights of stairs. Honestly, she’d packed heavy because she’d assumed she would be flying private and thought she would need business clothing for different climates; but she probably could’ve done without the seven pairs of jammies and the daily workout clothes she knew she’d never use.

  When she finally got to the train platform, she stopped. “No. No way.” The waiting train was so tightly packed that the people looked like cartoon characters who’d been flattened with a steamroller—cheeks, lips, and chins smooshed against the windows.