Their Virgin Secretary

by Shayla Black

  She found something about that so sweet.

  Did she really want to stay here alone tonight? Sir bounced into the tight space, skidding to a stop at Tate’s feet. If they left, she would be alone with an overly hyper puppy. “You can stay the night. I need someone to fix the door.”

  He nodded, looking so relieved. “I’ll get it done in the morning. Kellan said he’d secure it for the night, and Eric is going to walk through the house once more. We’ll make sure you’re safe.”

  From everything but them. “Thanks.”

  “And we’ll talk in the morning. Belle, you can’t just run away from us. Leaving without a word wasn’t fair.”

  She could still feel how vulnerable she’d been standing there naked while they debated the merits of her virginity. “Humiliating me wasn’t fair.”

  Tate started to pace, a familiar habit but one that spoke of his frustration. “I didn’t humiliate you. I was happy about your…news. A little surprised, but happy. I would have been gentler if I’d known. I’ve never slept with a virgin before, Belle. I should have studied how to do it properly. I’m sure I could find a book or two that explains how to make it as pleasant as possible. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m…well, I have a large penis.”

  He was going to kill her. She so would rather deal with Eric’s logic or Kellan’s authority than Tate’s brutal honesty.

  She held up a hand. “Stop. I understand your reluctance, but you know damn well that wasn’t Kellan’s problem. Let’s just get some sleep and we can deal with this tomorrow.”

  “All right.” He leaned his good shoulder against the doorway, way too close to her for her peace of mind.

  At their feet, her puppy hiked a leg.

  “Sir, don’t you pee on the floor.”

  Tate’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

  Then comprehension seemed to set in. He snorted as she held her puppy. “Ah, hello, Sir. That is absolutely the meanest thing I’ve seen in a long time, Belle. You can’t name the dog Sir.”

  He couldn’t tell her what to name her puppy. She wasn’t about to let him take away her little revenge. “I already did. And I need to start house training him. Can you walk outside with me while he does his thing?”

  Tate grinned, and Belle’s heart did an unwanted flip. “Sure, baby. And I’ll let Kellan wonder a little longer about the mystery Dom Kinley said you left Dallas with. He deserves to stew for a while, but he’s going to spank you for naming that little thing Sir. Is it really a dog? Have you checked to make sure it’s not a rat with a bit of extra fur?”

  He wasn’t that ugly. “Be nice to my dog, Tate.”

  Tate opened the back door for her. “Yes, ma’am. That’s a beautiful animal you’ve got.”

  At least one of them was listening.

  She let Sir down, and he ran around the courtyard, looking for a good place to handle his business. She stood by Tate, feeling safer than she had in hours.

  She was in so much trouble.

  Chapter Nine

  Belle woke to soft light filtering through the filmy curtains covering the windows. She glanced at her phone. One of the pluses of having her bosses show up was Eric’s knowledge of fuse boxes. All the plugs worked again, so she’d been able to charge her phone while it sat on her nightstand.

  Nine a.m. Wow, she rarely slept that late. She stretched and nudged Sir, who had managed to hop up on the bed with her. She’d tucked him into his little dog bed on the floor, but he’d chosen to cuddle up with her instead.

  Despite having three gorgeous men in this house, she’d slept with the dog. Yep. Her life was surely looking up.

  Stop it, Belle. You can’t think about sleeping with them. Absolutely not. No way.

  She had to be strong because she wasn’t going to be a doormat, a novelty, or a friendship wrecker.

  But would Kell drive five hundred miles to walk over a doormat he’d already wiped his feet on? Would Eric come all this way just to rubberneck at the silly virgin again? Would Tate actually tag along with them to declare his undying love once more if he thought their relationship was over? Belle doubted it, but even so she couldn’t pretend that Saturday night in Dallas hadn’t happened—or that it hadn’t crushed her. In fact, that event had been a turning point. She needed to do more with her life than pine over them. Today, she would start.

  As she climbed from bed, she glanced around the room she felt sure had been her grandmother’s. The high ceilings with elaborate crown moldings and the fireplace gave the room such grandeur and elegance. All she had to do was rip down the yellow floral wallpaper that looked like spring had puked and the tacky green marble mantle and hearth. Otherwise, the lines of the room were classic and clean. The door to the balcony overlooking the courtyard invited her outside to bask in the bright autumn morning. Belle pictured sipping coffee there and never hearing the sounds of the city or seeing anyone go by. It would be her own private escape.

  She needed a distraction, a creative outlet, something to launch her new career that would fund her life away from her former bosses, a project that would help her focus on something besides her broken heart. This place fit the bill. With enough money and a lot of elbow grease, she could make it something to be proud of again. As she made the house a home again, she could unravel the mystery of the past that had shaped her departed loved ones. Already, the snippets she’d read of her grandmother’s journal hinted at the woman’s life. The initial entries Belle had read had waxed positively poetic about how sweet her baby boy was and how much she loved being his mother. But soon, she’d begun repeatedly apologizing to him in her writings.

  Her grandmother never once mentioned the child’s father. The journal started the day of the baby’s birth and lacked all mention of a man or her romantic life. Belle had to wonder how hard it had been to raise a child alone back then, when the stigma had been far greater. Her grandmother had clearly possessed backbone.

  But how had a single mother afforded this grand house? According to the records Mr. Gates had sent her way, Marie Wright had paid cash for this house in 1960. No mortgage. Even then, this real estate would have been spectacularly expensive. Belle had never heard a whisper about her grandmother inheriting money. Had she been the mistress to a man who’d left her pregnant and given her the money for this house to ease his guilty conscience? Belle didn’t know a lot about the woman, but somehow that scenario didn’t seem right.

  “Maybe Grandma really was psychic and she got stock tips from the dead,” she murmured to Sir. “If not, she had to have read a whole lot of palms to buy this place. What do you say we explore it today and start adding to our to-do list?”

  Sir wagged his tail and headed out of the room, more likely because he needed to scurry downstairs and heed nature’s call than because he understood her.

  As she stepped into her fluffy slippers, Belle kind of hoped the men had overslept or had rebooked an early flight back to Chicago. She wasn’t looking forward to the coming confrontation, so the less time they stayed, the better. But she owed it to them to at least hear what they’d come all this way to say. Those three men had been better than good to her for over a year. One disastrous personal catastrophe shouldn’t undo all her professional goodwill. The very least she could do was give them the courtesy of an exit interview and tips on finding a new assistant.

  The idea of some other woman taking care of them made her heart clench and pang, but Belle did her best to ignore it. She’d made her choice to move on and find another happiness.

  Sir scampered down the stairs on light feet. She wasn’t quite so nimble, wincing at every creak she made with each step. On the second story landing, she peeked around, wondering where the guys had slept last night. According to the information she’d received when she inherited the house, it had four other bedrooms. No doubt, they’d all been dusty and not ready for guests. Guilt niggled her. Last night, as soon as she’d finished talking to Tate and Eric and they had restored the electricity, she’d ru
n to her bedroom and locked herself in. Otherwise, Belle had feared she would be too tempted to see if there was any hope they could somehow reconcile. But no. She had to strip away her little-girl dreams and stop wishing for a happily ever after.

  Running out on them probably made her a coward, but Belle had been so relieved to see them. She hadn’t wanted to give them the wrong impression or lean on them. They made it so easy. Comfort her after a nightmare, secure a screen door, fix a breaker, check the windows… She’d had a long list of things to do and now? Poof. They were done. Last night, some part of her had craved nothing more than to let them shoulder her problems, but it would be unfair to rely on them now—to give Tate false hope, to wheedle Eric into giving her more elbow grease, to force Kell into the uncomfortable position of setting her aside again. Her heart probably couldn’t take it either.

  When Belle started down the second set of stairs, the smell of coffee wafted up from the kitchen. Damn. There went her hopes for a peaceful morning.

  She really should have showered before leaving her room. But she still needed to clean the bathrooms and wash towels. No clue if the hot water heater was even working. With a sigh, Belle turned back, thinking a cold shower might do her some good, when the door to the kitchen swung open and Kellan stood, hands on hips, staring down at Sir.

  “We need to have a talk, dog. I saw you sniffing around my dress shoes. Don’t even think about it.” He lifted his dark eyes from the canine and looked her over. Heat flared there briefly. Then he banked it. “Good morning, Belle.”

  No skipping out now. Eric might not press her to talk immediately. She could invent a reason to convince Tate that she needed to go upstairs. But Kellan would either tie her to a chair…or follow her upstairs. God knew what would happen then.

  “Good morning,” she murmured. “I was just going to grab some coffee before I showered. I bought some things from the convenience store down the street, but I haven’t made it to the grocery store yet. I’ll go out in a few minutes to find us some breakfast.”

  That would take a chunk of time. Today was Monday, so she had to believe the guys intended to get back to work and Chicago soon. They wouldn’t leave Sequoia alone at the office for long, surely. So if she could survive a couple of hours without pining for them too obviously, then she would be alone again. Rattling around all by herself in the empty house would be unnerving, so Belle promised herself that she’d call today to get a good security system. And find a nice bottle of wine because she was probably going to cry herself to sleep tonight.

  Kellan shook his head. “Eric’s already been to the grocery store. He cooked bacon and eggs. They’re waiting for you. It’s going to be a little simple for a few days, until we can get the oven working properly. You should get in there. Tate’s already had a plate. He’ll go back for seconds and thirds. Eric claims he eats like a hobbit. I don’t know what that is, but apparently it’s always hungry.”

  Kellan wasn’t big on fantasy films. Tate really did eat somewhat like a hobbit. He was constantly snacking, but somehow that didn’t affect his perfect body.

  Belle walked into the kitchen and found utter chaos. The big table was covered by paperwork and computers. Cords slithered across the tables like snakes entwined with one another. Cups of coffee cooled in between all the other clutter. Someone had placed a TV on the counter. Currently, the little device spit out news and stock quotes while Tate and Eric both spoke into their cell phones.

  “Don’t you dare pull that clause on me. That is not the intent of the verbiage, nor is it the language. I will sue you so hard, your children will still be feeling it when they turn eighteen. Do you understand me?” Tate was a sweetheart with her, but he got pissed off when people used his words against him. Belle swore sometimes that he grew claws and fangs when he went into lawyer mode.

  “No. No, I can’t make that date. We need to settle this. I understand that we have science on our side, but they have a sick little girl with asthma holding her teddy bear. Have you looked at the visuals on this one? No one is going to listen to a bunch of boring medical journals. We’re going to lose.” Eric ran a hand across his head in an obvious sign of frustration. “We need a different strategy pronto.”

  Belle stared at her formally grubby kitchen. Every surface she could see appeared to have been wiped clean, then utilized as office space.

  She turned on Kellan. “What the hell is going on here?”

  He smiled sardonically. “Welcome to the New Orleans branch of Baxter, Cohen, and Kent. I think it’s going well for a startup, don’t you?”

  She gaped at them. They could not be serious. In fact, she could think of a dozen reasons that was impossible—starting with the fact that they didn’t have licenses to practice law in Louisiana. Not only that, they could not run a business out of her kitchen. What about their office and life back home?

  Eric put a hand over his phone. “Belle, baby, did you get the latest numbers from the EPA on the Hanover case?”

  She’d put them on his desk last week. Unfortunately, his desk was in Chicago. “This is my kitchen. There are no latest numbers on the Hanover case here.”

  Kellan reached over her toaster and pulled some paperwork off what appeared to be a damn fax machine. “Here you go. I had Sequoia fax them. What a surprise. He sent a note protesting the use of fax machines and said to pass that on to you, too. Apparently we shouldn’t use hard copies because it’s bad for the environment.” He turned back to her with a sigh. “Give me one good reason I can’t fire him.”

  Belle half heard Kell. What had these crazy men done? Instead of using their heads and realizing they couldn’t possibly run a practice from her house, they’d bought every piece of office equipment known to man and set it up in her kitchen. She was fairly certain she glimpsed a copy machine in the butler’s pantry. “Given his connections, you know you can’t. Don’t forget, you have a very nice office in Chicago. Then Sequoia wouldn’t have to fax you anything. Much comfier chairs there as well. This doesn’t make a good office.”

  Eric covered his phone and murmured, “But you’re here.”

  Belle didn’t want to, but she melted a bit.

  “See that you do, you piece of crap,” Tate yelled into his phone, then paused. “Sure. Yeah, tell your mom hi for me.” Another pause. “I doubt Wednesday will work. It looks like I’ll be here for a while and the Internet sucks, but I’ll see what I can do. Good luck on the raid.” He frowned as he hung up the phone. “Sorry, that was Phil from Greene and Associates. He’s such an ass, but he’s in my guild. We’re supposed to raid Jondor on Wednesday.”

  Most lawyers made deals on the golf course. Not the new geek. Instead, they made contacts in role-playing games online.

  “There’s something deeply wrong with you.” Belle shook her head, trying not to smile.

  Eric grinned, and before she could stop herself, her heart skipped a beat. “Hey, you should be glad you weren’t around for his LARPing days. You think online games are weird, try a hundred geeks dressed in medieval wear, throwing little bags at each other and calling them spells.”

  Tate flushed. “I was trying to sleep with a girl. At least LARPing was more fun than those foreign films Belle made me see.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t make you do anything. You showed up at that festival and said you were a huge fan of Siberian cinema.”

  Tate groaned. “Babe, not even Siberians watch that shit. Seriously. It made me want to open a vein and bleed out.” The sexiest smile heated his face, taking him from boyish to such a man. Then his voice dropped to an intimate growl. “But I was trying to sleep with a girl then, too.”

  Just like that her pussy clenched. Oh, they couldn’t stay—or she’d do something she would regret. “You’re going back to Chicago today, right?”

  “Of course not.” Eric frowned. “We need to put the HVAC unit on the list of items to have serviced. It seems to be malfunctioning. You look awfully cold.” His glance lingered on her, and Belle had
no idea what he was hinting at. “I’ve also felt icy spots in the house.”

  Belle wasn’t worried about being chilly now, not when she was getting hot just being near them. “It’s on my list. I’ll take care of it.”

  She wasn’t about to fess up that her room had gotten so cold the night before that she’d seen her breath. Surely, that had been a freak occurrence.

  Fighting a smile, Kellan’s stare caressed her chest before taking a slow path back to her face. “I believe Eric is referring to your nipples, Belle. They’re very hard right now. If you’re not cold, then you must have been having some juicy dreams.”

  She gasped and folded her arms over her chest. “The state of my nipples are none of your concern.”

  “I could warm them up for you,” Tate offered. “Hands or mouth? Your choice.”

  She ignored him. “What am I supposed to do with all this stuff when you leave? You are flying back to your jobs and responsibilities soon, right?”

  “Nope,” Eric replied. “Like we said, you’re here, so we’re opening a practice in New Orleans. Unless you’re ready to go home with us.”

  She held out a hand. “You were serious? No! You can’t do that. This is my home now. Yours is in Chicago. And have your forgotten than you’re not licensed to practice law in this state?”