“Of course,” said Pepper, her professional tone making her even more sexy than usual.
“And Mr. Mack,” said Moira. “We’ll be in touch.” One more lingering gaze before she got up and left, the tension in the air letting up just a bit as soon as she was gone.
Penrose was up next, standing and moving his fingers over the buttons of his well-tailored suit. “Well then,” he said. “I’ll let you two get to it. This is your baby, after all.”
“It most certainly is,” said Pepper.
“And it goes without saying, Pepper,” he said, “that I expect this particular baby to be healthy and bouncing indeed.” He arched his eyebrows, making it clear that he was very serious about the subject. For a quick moment, I saw an expression of worry flash on Pepper’s face—something strange from the normally totally composed woman.
“Of course,” said Pepper.
And then he was gone, and just like I’d wanted from the moment I’d stepped into the office, it was just me and Pepper.
“Let’s…go to my office,” she said. “We can work out the details.”
“That’s where the devil lives,” I said. “Or so I hear.”
“So corny,” she said with a smile as she got up, my eyes going right to that gorgeous booty of hers.
I followed her through the bustling halls of the office, soon arriving back at that door emblazoned with her name. She opened it up and let me through first, and this time I remembered to actually take the scene in. I let out a whistle as I did. The office was killer—spacious and a hell of a view.
“Nice, nice,” I said. “They sure know how to take care of you here.”
“I’m sure your office is just as impressive,” she said.
“Nah,” I said. “It’s just a make-do place downtown for when I need to do the occasional face-to-face. Most of my time’s at the courthouse or meeting with kids.” I strolled over to the very clean desk and hopped onto the edge. “So,” I said. “We still need to get the details worked out.”
Her gaze moved over me where I sat. “Well,” she said. “I was going to ask you to make yourself comfortable, but it looks like you didn’t need my help with that.”
I patted the side of the desk next to where I was seated.
“You know,” she said. “I have these perfectly good chairs that would be even better for that.”
“I like to keep things casual,” I said.
“Is that right?” she asked. She appeared to mull the idea over for a moment before shaking her head and smiling. Then, she came over to the desk and sat down right next to me. As soon as she put that perfect ass on the desk all I could think about was peeling off those work clothes and, ah, going over the finer points of the project.
“OK,” she said. “There’s still the matter of the contract, but everything’s on the level—I can assure you. And I’m sure you’ve got a contract lawyer who’ll be more than happy to confirm it.”
“That’s right,” I said. “But there’s one thing I’m wondering about. You know, going forward.”
She turned her head, her eyes absolutely glittering in the sunlight. “Yeah?” she asked. “What’s that?”
“I’m wondering…just how closely you and I are going to be working together.”
“Do you…have a preference?” she asked. “I could take a bird’s-eye approach, or—”
“Or?”
“Or…we could work very closely,” she said, swallowing after her words. “Very closely. Intimately, even.”
Neither of us said anything for a moment, the sexual tension going from “oh-so-palpable” to “stratospheric” over the span of about five seconds.
And, of course, our lips went right to one another’s.
The kiss, like every single one that we’d had so far, was so fucking hot I could hardly stand it. Our hands clamped onto one another’s bodies, sexy little grunts and groans sounding out from Pepper as we kissed harder and harder. With a sweep of my hand I knocked what little was on the desk onto the ground, clearing a space for me to lay her down.
She was right there with me, and soon I had her on her back, my hands moving along her curves as I reached up her skirt, curious to see just what she had on underneath her professional exterior.
“Are we really going to do this?” she asked, taking her lips from mine, her eyes wide and her hair tussled. “In the office?”
“I think they call this multitasking,” I said with a grin.
She bit down her plump lower lip in indecision. “OK,” she said. “But we have to be very—”
As if right on cue, a firm knock sounded from the door.
“Fuck!” hissed Pepper as she exploded off the desk with speed that was actually pretty impressive.
She was soon on her feet, her hands a blur at her head as she put her hair back up. I took a quick look at the hanging mirror before doing the good old “cock-in-the-waistband” trick to hide the enormo erection that was, again, going to go unsatisfied.
“Shit-shit-shit,” said Pepper. “Play it cool.”
With a nod, I signaled that I was ready. She then opened the door, revealing the trim frame of Moira, her eyes looking especially scheming and foxlike.
“Hey,” she said, stepping inside. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything…”
Of course, her eyes trailed down to the one thing we’d forgotten—the mess of papers around the desk from when I’d swept them off.
“Nope!” said Pepper, trying way too hard to look cool and collected. “Come right in! I mean, you already did that, but you know.”
Moira said nothing, instead blowing past Pepper and approaching me.
“Just realized that I forgot to give you my contact information,” she said.
“That’s right,” I said, taking out my phone and unlocking it. “You did.”
Without saying a word, she slipped the phone out of my hands and, with a few tappy-taps here and there, followed by a selfie that she saved as the contact photo, she handed it back.
“There,” she said. “Just in case you forget what I look like.”
Pepper appeared to still be in something of a daze as Moira turned on her heels and sauntered out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
“Well, shit,” said Pepper.
“Well, shit.”
19
PEPPER
That night, the cut-short office encounter still fresh on my mind, I was back at what was apparently my new favorite hobby—drinking wine and painting. Or sketching, or whatever it was. This time the wine was a very succulent pinot noir, from…um…Tuscany?
Truth be told, it could’ve been a glass of warm Kool-Aid with a shot of Everclear dumped into it. Between Noah and the new project and Moira and everything else, a pleasant little buzz was about as close to a holiday in the sun as I could imagine.
The girls were all there, Shania and Sam and Katy mixed in with the other women our age as we sketched in silence, the teacher floating around the room and occasionally uttering an “oh, very nice,” or a “simply lovely!”
Praise wasn’t what I was into—I needed pure escapism.
The model was, thank god, a different one than the guy before. He was a stud all the same, with giant shoulders that looked like kettlebells and a big black beard—even had a few tattoos on those bulging biceps of his.
But unlike before, I wasn’t interested in making eyes with this guy, or finding out that he had a girlfriend after the fact. No, all I could think about was Noah and what we both wanted but kept getting busted in on trying to accomplish, right as things were getting good.
I grabbed my wine and took a sip that I could only describe as “determined.” I set it back down and went right back to the sketching.
Noah and I had been interrupted so many times by this point it was almost starting to seem like the universe was playing some kind of bizarre prank on the two of us.
Or was it something else? Was it a sign that whatever it might be that he and I had been wan
ting to do wasn’t a good idea? What if we’d blown our chance? Hooking up with the rock star backstage and moving on with my life would’ve been as simple as it gets—just do the deed and keep the memory nice and fresh for whenever I needed something to let my mind linger on while I had some fun, Hitachi-style.
But each time we’d tried to get after it since, things had only gotten more and more complicated. First his family nearly walking in on us, and then one of my freaking colleagues. Hell, even the long arm of the damn law had to tell us to cool it.
And once the lawyers were done doing their thing, Noah and I would be officially professionally linked. He and Moira would be working together, and I’d be overseeing the whole project—another layer of complications on top of all the others.
So, I knew what the smart thing to do would be: Accept that the no-strings-attached sex ship had sailed, make it clear to Noah that our relationship was strictly professional from here on out, and focus on the massive, career-defining project I had in front of me.
Hell, with that taken care of I could even afford to spend a little brainpower getting myself mentally prepared for the reunion. It was the most straightforward, responsible thing to do.
Problem was that there was something about Noah that made me think about nothing but being very, very irresponsible.
“Ugh!” My cry cut through the art-gallery-like silence of the studio, everyone’s attention focusing on me for a brief moment—even the model’s.
“Something wrong, Pepper?” asked the teacher.
“No,” I said, trying to ignore my embarrassment. “Just, um, trying to get the lines right.”
That answer seemed to satisfy everyone in the class, who soon went back to their drawing. But I was still frustrated, my mind still fixed on Noah and the reunion and everything else.
Before too long, however, the wine and the activity did their work. I’d managed to lose myself in the process, one hand feverishly moving over the paper while the other brought the wine glass up to my lips again and again. By the time the teacher called the class for the day, I had a nice little buzz going on, one that made all my problems seem a little less daunting.
The teacher breezed through the room, giving her approval and constructive criticism here and there. When she arrived at my station, however, her response was a touch more…measured.
“Interesting,” she said, her head hovering over my shoulder as she peered at my picture through her thick, red-framed glasses.
“‘Interesting’ means ‘bad,’” I said. “Give it to me straight.”
“No, no,” she said. “The work is actually pretty good. But your representation of the model is…certainly an interesting interpretation.”
I was confused as hell until I laid eyes on the picture. Sure enough, I hadn’t drawn Mr. Big Shoulders. I’d drawn a different guy.
A certain lead-singer guy.
And, to be honest, it wasn’t half-bad. Drawing was hardly my talent, but I’d done a good enough job to actually be able to recognize the guy in the picture as Noah. Got those gorgeous green eyes down pat, and the technique on the stubble was quite impressive.
Not to pat myself on the back. Ahem.
Anyway, back to the embarrassment.
“Someone get a little mentally sidetracked?” asked Katy with a smile.
“Oh god,” I said.
Before anyone could poke any more fun, I’d grabbed the picture, rolled it up, and finished my wine. The class was dismissed, and moments later I was making my way out front with the rest of the girls.
Of course, the three of them flocked around me.
“Let me see it!” said Katy as she reached for the rolled-up paper.
“No way!” I said. “Plan is to pitch this thing into the nearest dumpster.”
“Not a chance,” said Shania as she came in from the other side to try to take it.
I ducked away, but Sam was right there where I’d backed up to. She grabbed it and had it unrolled in front of her eyes like some ancient scroll before I’d even had a chance to scream out a word of protest.
“It’s, uh, actually not bad,” said Sam as she held it up.
The other two girls gathered around it.
“No kidding,” said Shania. “You been practicing?”
“Practicing drawing, that is,” said Katy with a smirk.
“OK, OK,” I said, grabbing the picture and rolling it back up. “Enough fun at my expense.”
“It’s cute!” said Sam. “You’ve got a little crush.”
“More than a crush,” said Shania. “They’re work buddies now.”
“Work partners,” I quickly added, despite knowing things were a little more complicated than that.
A lot more complicated, actually.
“Come on,” said Katy. “It’s obvious as hell that you’ve got a total crush on this guy.”
No sense in trying to lie about it—the girls had me dead to rights. I stopped in my tracks and let out a sigh, the girls gathering around me like hungry sharks waiting for some chum to be tossed into the water.
“OK, maybe so,” I said. “And at first I was kind of excited. I mean, the guy asked me on a date and everything.”
“Sure,” said Shania.
“But…” I went into it, telling them about the many foiled attempts Noah and I had made to get busy. “And on top of that,” I went on, “now I’ve got the book and the freaking reunion to worry about.”
“Well, that’s easy,” said Shania. “Just invite him to the reunion.”
“What?” I asked, as if she’d momentarily slipped into speaking Farsi or something.
“Invite him to the reunion.”
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“Pep,” said Katy. “You’ve had a crush on this guy since we were in high school. And he’s not just any guy, he’s Noah freaking Mack.”
“True,” I said. “He is most definitely Noah freaking Mack.”
“Well, solve the problem of being nervous about the reunion by taking him with you,” said Shania. “I bet you anything he’d go along with it.”
“Oh!” said Sam, her eyes lighting up. “You should try to get Lover Boys to play!”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it. “I seriously doubt that’d happen,” I said. “From how Noah talks about the band, that show was a one-and-done kind of deal.”
“That was before he had a book coming out,” said Katy.
“What,” I said. “Are you suggesting that he’s thinking about sales?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “Maybe not a ‘PR’ kind of thing, but more that he’s feeling nostalgic, might not want to let the good old days slip away so easily.”
“Maybe,” I said. “And while showing up with Noah on my arm would be a hell of a way to make an entrance, I’m just trying to focus on making sure this book doesn’t crash and burn.”
“You’ll be fine,” said Sam, carefree as ever. “And the book will be great—you know it will. You need to spend less time worrying about work and more time worrying about the more pressing issue at hand.”
“Hell,” said Shania. “That’d be all I’d be thinking about if I were you.”
She wasn’t wrong about that. I was doing my best to keep my head in the game, to stay focused on work and more practical matters. But as the four of us made our way to the parking lot, all I could think about was Noah.
I knew there was only one way to get him off my mind.
I had to scratch the itch. And scratch it good.
20
NOAH
Moira slinked into the bar like something out of a film noir. Not one of the good ones with Humphrey Bogart, though. No, one of the knockoff ones with a lead I’d never heard of and a script that wasn’t as good.
But she was trying, all right—no doubt about that. She was dressed in a painted-on dark blue cocktail dress, her eyes fixed on me from the moment she stepped in. Her hips swayed as she walked, and a small smile played o
n her lips, her body lit up by the dark blues and deep reds of the bar’s neon lights. A silver MacBook was tucked under her arm, the only thing about her entrance suggesting there was indeed work to be done.
She was all seduction right from the get-go. Little did she know that after five years with Lover Boys, I’d seen about every facet of the female seduction process, and I’d built up a hell of a thick skin for it. These days I needed something more than a pretty girl in a skin-tight dress who was all but throwing herself at me.
I needed someone different.
Someone like Pepper.
I didn’t have a chance to give the matter much thought. Moira slid into the seat not across from me but just to my left. The smell of one of those sickly sweet ’80s LA perfumes coiled around me instantly.
“Evening, rock star,” she said as she latched her eyes onto mine. “You’re looking…ready to go.”
Great—less than ten words into this conversation and she was already flirting.
“Evening,” I said, keeping my tone clipped but professional. “You ready to get started?”
“Why?” she asked, her eyes going slightly wide. “You in a hurry or something?”
More in a hurry to get away from the bad vibes. But I couldn’t say that, of course. And there was the matter of us being here to do work I’d agreed to do.
Moira’s eyes flicked down to the table in front of me.
“No drink?”
“Not yet,” I said. “Wasn’t in the mood.”
“Well, let me put you into it,” she said.
Before I had a chance to respond, she turned, raised her hand, and got the attention of one of the passing hipster waiters.
“A margarita on the rocks for me,” she said. “And, hell, make it two.”
“Scratch that,” I said. “Make mine a gin and tonic.”
The waiter nodded and was off.
“You really take me as the margarita type?” I asked with a smirk.
“I dunno,” she said, her too-cool-for-school attitude just slightly jostled. “Seems like a party-guy kind of drink. And margaritas are fun—something about tequila makes you want to just have another, and then another, and then…well, who knows?”
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