Satisfaction Guaranteed: A Standalone Romance (Always Satisfied Book 1)

by Lauren Blakely

  “Let me get you some white instead.” He flags down the waiter and asks for a glass of chardonnay.

  The waiter brings it over, and the three of us raise our glasses. I take a hearty swallow. Hell, maybe I ought to get drunk tonight. Nothing makes disappointment go down quite like alcohol.

  We peruse the menus quickly and place our order. When the waiter leaves, Doug remains eminently pleased.

  “What could be better?” Doug asks, a satisfied grin on his face. “Can you think of anything better than this?”

  “I can’t,” Sloane answers, and her smile matches his, but I can detect hints of surprise and a little bit of discomfort in it. “I definitely can’t think of anything better than this. I just didn’t realize that you were going to have Malone here at dinner.”

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Doug asks her, narrowing his brow.

  “I’m pretty sure I would have remembered it.” Her tone is light, but I get her meaning. “But then, I didn’t even know about your idea till earlier today.”

  Ah, that must be for my benefit. She doesn’t want me to think she knew about this when she kissed me.

  Doug spreads his arms wide, like he’s a magnanimous king. “I thought it’d be a great opportunity for all of us to get together and chat, see how we envision things working in the next year. My darling daughter,” he says, dropping a kiss to her forehead. Then he gestures to me. “And you’re practically a son.”

  Sloane jumps in like a leopard, so I don’t have to. “He’s not your son.”

  “And yet I care for Malone like he is,” Doug says, looking at me with import in his eyes.

  “And you know I’ve looked to you like a mentor,” I say, emphasizing that word, because I don’t think of him like a father, though I suspect he wishes I did. Just because my dad is gone, and has been since I was eighteen, doesn’t mean I need a replacement. Doug’s been my business go-to guy, and I’ll forever be grateful for the role he’s played.

  “Regardless of what we call it, my two favorite people are here,” Doug says, then downs the rest of his glass. “And now I must excuse myself to the little boys’ room.”

  He exits, and the tension between Sloane and me tightens like a tourniquet.

  I wish Sloane didn’t look so delectable, wearing jeans and a simple white blouse. Her hair is swept up, revealing her neck, a neck that she loves having kissed.

  Must wipe thoughts of her erogenous zones from my mind. Besides, I need to know something. I want to be certain she wasn’t aware of her dad’s plans the other night. “Did you know what he had in mind? When I saw you?”

  Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “I didn’t know he wanted to do this till this afternoon. It was a surprise to me. He gets an idea in his head, and he thinks he’s doing it the best way, because he knows how much I need this. But I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

  That’s when something new and unpleasant occurs—the idea that she’d rather I not be here. “Is it a problem? Do you want me to leave?”

  “No,” she says in an instant. “We’re going to be working together. We should be able to work together. I can try not to be around that often,” she offers, “if it makes things easier.”

  “Why would it make things easier?”

  “If things are awkward.”

  “Why would things be awkward? Because of Plant?”

  Her brow creases. “Plant?”

  I wave a hand dismissively. “Bumper. Salad. Petunia. The guy you were having dinner with the last time I saw you.”

  A laugh bursts out and she clutches her stomach. “Basil,” she says, choking on the word as she laughs. “His name is Basil.”

  “Basil. Well, there you go. I was close.”

  “Basil is a good friend. He’s a DJ. He’s into music. You’d like him.”

  Doubtful.

  “And you’re staying with him?”

  “No. Nor was I dating him.” She stares at me like I’m a curiosity. “Are you jealous?”

  I could play this one of two ways. Lying gets me nothing. The truth at least makes this night more . . . illuminating, and I’d really like some more light shed on this woman. “Yep. The full-on, one-hundred-percent, red-blooded kind.”

  She swallows. “That’s interesting.”

  “And do you think that makes things awkward?”

  She licks her lips. “It would be awkward if you were still seeing Clove.”

  It’s my turn to knit my brow. “Who on earth is Clove?”

  She crinkles her nose, a touch derisively. “Who knows? Whoever the latest woman is who falls at your feet when you sing.”

  I smile. “There’s no Clove. No Jane. No Cindy. No Madison. There’s no one.”

  “If there’s no Basil and no Clove, why is there all this . . . tension?”

  Checking the hall to make sure the coast is clear, I lean closer, my eyes locked on hers. “You know why there’s tension.”

  “Why?” Her voice trembles.

  Yup, the illumination is indeed growing brighter.

  “Because you kissed the fuck out of me the other night, and because I’m still thinking about it. And because if your father wasn’t in the bathroom, I’d kiss you even harder right now. So hard you’d see stars. You’d grab your purse and say, ‘Let’s get out of here right now.’ Because you and I have unfinished business, and you know it.”

  She shudders, and a gust of breath seems to pass her lips. Her cheeks flush red, and I love, fucking love, the effect I have on her. Even though I shouldn’t love it. I definitely shouldn’t love it at all. But I do, and I love it more when her tone reveals the truth—it’s breathy and hot as she says, “Is that how you’d kiss me? Like we have unfinished business?”

  I lean back in the booth, never taking my eyes off her gorgeous face. “Sweetheart, you know exactly how I want to kiss you. You know exactly what we’d be capable of in bed.”

  Her shoulders rise and fall as she peeks behind her. We’re alone still. Her voice goes softer. “If we were in an alternate universe right now, you could do all those things.”

  I groan audibly. This woman is going to make it so damn difficult at work. “And maybe in some alternate universe we’d be in my building, the door falling shut, and you’d grab me and wrap your legs around me in the stairwell.”

  Her breath hitches, but she shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

  I tilt my head to the side. “That’s not what would happen?”

  The smooth sole of a shoe runs across my pant leg. She’s playing footsie. “No, you’d toss me over your shoulder, carry me up the stairs, and take me against the door.”

  I grin wickedly. “And then on the counter.”

  “And then the couch,” she adds. “Or wait, how about up against the window?”

  “That can be arranged. I have floor-to-ceiling windows.”

  Her eyes dance with mischief. “And is there a view?”

  “Of all of lower Manhattan, sweetheart,” I say, and there is nothing awkward at all anymore.

  “Take me to your parallel universe, please,” she says.

  I’m about to say Let’s get out of here now, as if we’re on a date, as if it’s only the two of us.

  And it hits me.

  I’m doing it again.

  I’m flirting with her.

  Caught up in the vortex of Sloane Elizabeth. She’s a hurricane of sexuality, a storm of lust and desire, and I want to be caught in the eye.

  “We should stop.”

  She blinks and squeezes her eyes shut, then opens them. “Yes, we should.”

  I have to be an adult. I have to be mature. I’m thirty-five years old, and I can’t let hormones control my actions. Those days are behind me.

  “Let’s just agree that it was one kiss on the street, and it can’t happen again.”

  “It definitely won’t happen again.”

  Doug returns to the table, and I manage to be incredibly well-behaved for the rest of the evening. Tonight, I’
m not simply the smart one. I’m the good one.

  Even though I’ll be thinking about that alternate universe later when I’m home alone in bed.

  And probably tomorrow morning in the shower too.

  And honestly, that’ll be the trick to surviving having her in such close working quarters. For the next goddamn year of my life.

  Water streams over my head. Images dance before my eyes. Yup, this is exactly what I need to recalibrate.

  Steaming-hot water, a very active imagination, and that fantastic ability I happen to possess: being able to picture Sloane naked.

  Sloane stepping into the shower.

  Sloane wrapping a hand around my neck, tugging me close for a kiss.

  Her hand sliding between our wet, slick bodies. Finding my dick, hard and aching for her.

  A sly smile, a murmur, and that look in her eyes. The one that says Let me get down on my knees.

  “If you insist,” I’d say, and I jerk harder, stroke faster as Shower Sloane takes me in her mouth, brings me to the back of her throat, and wraps her lips so nice and tight around my shaft that my vision goes hazy. Pleasure barrels down my spine, rushing hot and fast. I’m there, over the edge, shuddering. I slam a palm against the tiled wall, cursing.

  Hell, that came on faster than I expected.

  Then again, in my defense, I was pretty damn pent-up.

  But now I’m all good, and ready to tackle the year ahead.

  9

  My sister lands a devastating side snap kick that radiates through my bones. I counter it with an arm lock. She narrows her eyes, red billowing from the corners. I know that look.

  She’s a bull in the ring, dead set on charging me. But I also know how to deflect because I’ve been taking this Sunday night class for as long as she has.

  We parry and spar for several more minutes until the session ends.

  The instructor strides over and squeezes Truly’s shoulder. “Well done. It’s almost as if you two wanted to kill each other for real,” Natalie jokes.

  “You should see us when we get really mad,” Truly says.

  Natalie laughs. “I’ll do my best not to incite your ire. But you guys are doing great.” She taps her chin. “We have a tournament coming up. My kids are doing it. You guys should do it too.”

  Truly gives her a curious stare. “Are you saying you think I should fight your kids? Because I’m good, but I wouldn’t want to run into your kids in a dark alley. They’re tough.”

  “As they better be. They have been practicing martial arts since they could walk. But think about it.” Natalie tightens her blonde ponytail. “After all, Jason is doing it,” she says, mentioning my best friend.

  Truly’s navy eyes widen. “Jason’s in the tournament?” Her voice pitches up the slightest bit.

  “Do I detect a note of interest in the tournament now?” Natalie asks with a tilt of her head.

  “I second that question,” I say, raising my hand.

  Truly scoffs, shaking her head. “My only interest is in kicking his butt. Speaking of, where is he tonight? Afraid of getting destroyed?”

  “He’s at a wedding,” I answer. “But your interest in his whereabouts is duly noted.”

  “Oh, please. As if that’s even a thing.”

  Natalie chuckles softly. “Interest or not, think about the tournament. You’d be great, Truly.” She turns to me. “You’d be fine too, but I do want more awesome women showing up. Girl power and all.”

  “You are the poster child for girl power,” Truly says admiringly, since Natalie teaches martial arts—she started in karate and moved to jujitsu recently—and also runs a construction business with her husband, one of our cousins.

  “And on that note, this girl needs to get back out there,” Natalie says as the next class shuffles into the studio.

  We leave, and I narrow my eyes, studying my sister. “So, tell me when this interest in my best friend began.”

  “On the fifth of never.”

  “You’re in the full-blown denial stage. Got it.”

  “There’s no denial. It was merely a curiosity since he’s better at jujitsu than you, and I like to spar with people who make me stronger.”

  I ignore the dig, savoring the chance to needle her. “So it’s safe to say it made you sad that he wasn’t in class today?”

  “Sad that I couldn’t destroy him.”

  My sister took up jujitsu a few years ago, dragging me along and saying any self-respecting single woman in New York City needed to learn a martial art. I agreed wholeheartedly, and I enlisted Jason to join us. He’s usually a Sunday night regular.

  As we turn the corner onto Sixth Avenue, she shifts gears. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

  She knows the deal. I updated both Mom and Truly after the Friday night fiasco, otherwise known as My Big Lesson in Not Counting Chickens before They Hatch.

  “I’m ready and eager for Sloane’s first day. It’ll be a walk in the park. A piece of cake. A cinch.”

  She shoots me a doubtful stare. “I’m going to give you a week till you cave. You do know you have high levels of manwhore in you?”

  I scoff. “Please. I’m no manwhore. I’m picky. I’m like those people at the farmers market who take a long time with peaches, apricots, and apples.”

  She pats my cheek. “You’re cute with your fruit euphemisms. Like I said, you’re good for seven days. Wait. No. I’m being far too generous. Better make that a day.”

  “While I appreciate your unerring faith in me, it’s unnecessary. I have a foolproof plan.”

  “Do tell.”

  “It’s easy,” I say as the sun dips in the sky. “I’ve been working on the necessary skills.”

  “And those are?”

  I mime putting on a pair of shades. “I’m going to look at her through a professional lens only. The same way I look at Jonathan or at Sam. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Well, that ought to be a piece of cake. Wait, no. A cinch. Actually, make it a picnic.”

  The trick is indeed about eyesight. It’s about how you see things, how you approach the task at hand.

  Focus is literally everything.

  It’s focus that got me through college with straight As. It’s focus that saw me through veterinary school at the top of my class. It’s focus that won me my first job, and it’s focus that brought me to where I am now—well-respected, successful, and with clients who have a high regard for how I treat their four-legged family members.

  Today, I must be the best at resisting an irresistible woman.

  As I head into work, I say hello to Jonathan and Sam, breathing a sigh of relief that Sloane isn’t in yet.

  Jonathan and Sam give me eager what happened eyes.

  “So? Am I making my special strawberry cupcakes with shots of frosting in the middle to celebrate?” Sam asks with a hopeful grin. “I baked them for my mom the other night, and even she liked them, and you know how picky that woman is.”

  “She is the nit-pickiest,” Jonathan seconds, then stares at me, raising his thumb up then down, waiting.

  They don’t dislike Doug, but the reality is they’re my people. I brought them on board, trained them, and worked closely with them to improve the practice. We have a rhythm to our day, an ease.

  I sigh. “It’s not happening yet,” I say, then dive into a quick explanation of what went down.

  “Does this mean Doug will be around more?” Sam sounds more concerned than I’d expected, maybe nervous too. “He was down to two days a week.”

  “He’ll probably be here a little more often. Is that a problem?”

  Sam gulps, shaking her head quickly. Too quickly. “No. It’ll be fine.”

  I stare at her. “I don’t believe you.”

  She glances around, making sure he’s not here. “It’s just that . . . well, I started when he was cutting back. I hardly see him, and when I do, it’s like running into the school principal. He’s so much older, and serious. I don’t know how to talk to
him.”

  Laughing, I lean against the wall next to her desk. “Just talk to him like you talk to clients. You’re great with clients.”

  “Because they’re not the big boss!”

  I tap my chest. “Hello! I’m your boss too. You talk to me just fine.”

  “Because you hired us,” Jonathan puts in. “And despite your weird taste in music, you’re mostly a cool guy.”

  “Gee, thanks. Also, old standards are not weird.”

  “They’re kind of weird. But you know what I mean,” he adds with a casual shrug. “You’re easy to talk to.”

  “Plus, you say yes to things like pizza Fridays, and you give us movie tickets,” Sam adds.

  I blow on my fingers. “I am kind of amazing.” Then I take a more serious tone. “It’s going to be fine. I’ll still be here, we’ll keep working on our plans for the practice, and you can still ply me for movie gift certificates, and because I’m such a pushover, I’ll probably keep saying yes.”

  Sam puts on a big, gleaming grin. “Cool. Can I also have a gift card for that new coffee house? Because they have awesome pour-overs.”

  “You’re such a hipster,” I say, shaking my head. “Also, Sloane is twenty-nine, so she’s close to your age. I’m sure you can discuss your dubstep Scandinavian EMD music with her.” I shudder at the thought of such tunes.

  Sam pumps a fist. “Yes! Woman power!”

  “Look, the bottom line is this: we want you to be ruler of this place someday,” Jonathan says.

  “And we’ll keep working toward that,” I say.

  “And when you’re in charge of everything, can you pay for me to go to vet school? Pretty please?” Jonathan takes a quick breath, like he’s nervous to make this request.

  But it’s a no-brainer. That’s exactly what my dad would do. I clap his shoulder. “If you stay on board, yes, I will do that.”

  His eyes turn to moon pies. “Shit. Are you for real?”

  “Sure. You’re damn good at this. I know you’ve been studying for vet school. It’s a huge undertaking, but incredibly rewarding, and I believe you’d be a great vet.”

  “And you’d pay for it? Hell, I just threw that out there, just in case, but I didn’t think you’d catch it.”