by May Sage
Carter just couldn’t wrap his mind around the concept. All he knew was that he was in above his head. Way above his head.
“Carter, did you fall asleep?”
“No. I’m just observing a minute of silence to mourn for your poor neglected pussy.”
Her laugh made him smile, but he was still half in shock. He didn’t think he’d ever gone a month without sex since his teenage years.
The next words coming out of his mouth did so without an ounce of volition in his part.
“Cassie?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything as much as I want your pussy right now.”
Her reply was a sharp intake of breath.
“But if you haven’t had sex yet, it’s because you want it to matter. You want to be special for someone. Hell, you deserve it. I can’t give you that.”
Chapter 12
The response was immediate.
“Why?” Right away, she added hurriedly, as though she instantly regretted the word. “I’m not begging you to reconsider, believe me. I’m just… curious, I guess. I mean…”
“You’re rambling again,” he said, amused.
“Never mind me. Let’s change the subject.”
That was probably the safest course of action, but before they did, he had something to say.
“Don’t, for even one second, think that this is about you; I’m the problem here. I don’t have time for a relationship. I tried, and believe me, it never ends well. I’ll be at the office until ridiculous hours around a launch, and I’ll forget to send anniversary cards, and give it enough time, you’ll hate me.”
He couldn’t believe he’d talked about that, submitting himself to the wave of anger and pain that usually followed.
It had been five years ago; Harris Toys had made him his first billion, he’d been on top of the world, and she had been by his side. Elena. Beautiful, intelligent, perfect. He’d proposed after seven months of bliss. Their wedding had been planned near Christmas, but a few weeks before D-Day, she’d informed her that she was taking off with some actor. She felt unloved, she’d said. Unwanted. He didn’t pay any attention to her. She deserved more.
Those words had haunted him for so long; now more than ever, they ate at his mind, leaving him bruised.
Before Cassie asked any more intrusive questions, he said, “So, what are you up to this weekend?”
There was a pause before she replied, “I’ll be writing tomorrow, and on Sundays, I usually spend some time with my family. My parents, my sister and I have brunch.”
“I see my mother for brunch on Saturdays,” he replied, ignoring the voice that wanted to point out that their schedule fit.
That everything about them seemed to fit.
On Monday morning, Cassie went to work with her Big Girl Panties on. She’d spent the entire weekend replaying her midnight conversation with Carter, and she’d decided that the responsible, mature, sophisticated thing to do was respect his wishes and keep their friendship as platonic and casual as he wanted it to be.
After all, there was a very good chance that he’d said all those things just to spare her feelings; it sounded better than I’m not particularly interested in mousy little girls who can’t walk a straight line without falling on their asses. If that be the case, she should be grateful.
The issue was that if it wasn’t the case, if he’d actually meant what he said… well, that was just stupid. Did he realize how much time she spent not paying attention to people around her? All her friends and family members had threatened to dismember her at one point or another for being late, absent or otherwise disappointing them; she didn’t mean to do it, but writing professionally on top of a day job took up a lot of her time – and in all honesty, when she was at it, the world around her disappeared. She was the last person in the world who’d ever begrudge anyone their passion for their work.
No matter. She wouldn’t push it. He’d just come up with another excuse, and she’d understand that actually, the problem was her. As things stood now, she could dream that he was into her. It made her feel more confident than she had ever been.
“You look great today, Cassie. Good weekend?”
“Yes, it was lovely,” she replied, smiling at Mark.
He looked at her curiously, and at first, she wasn’t sure why. They were out of the elevator when it hit her: it was probably the first time she’d held his gaze – ever. She hadn’t felt self-conscious at all doing it, too.
“Cassie, hey, before you go, I wanted to know if you feel like scheduling that rain check. You know, X-men?”
Oh, yeah. She bit her lip, trying to find a way to say no without seeming too rude.
“I watched it this weekend. Sorry.”
“Right. Well, maybe we should go for a drink, then.”
Damn, he was persistent.
“This was what the ladies call a polite brush off, dude,” a voice interrupted, getting her off the hook.
They turned to a small, voluptuous redhead in a white suit.
Lucy. What was she doing on the ninth floor?
“But what she means really, is never in a million years.”
Cassie attempted to send Mark an apological look, but she just couldn’t help her smile at the executive assistant’s bluntness.
“Sorry, but she’s right. I’m not… interested in dating.”
“She means in dating you,” Lucy added as the man retreated.
“That wasn’t very kind.”
“This guy is a creep,” she said, shrugging. “Anyway, I came down to see if you wanted to be my plus one for the Halloween bash at the end of the month.”
Cassie had heard about it, of course she had: Harris Toys invited the most deserving employees to a Halloween Party entirely paid by the company every year. No one with less than three years of seniority could hope to make the cut.
“Why?”
“Because Carter won’t invite you since his mother is coming, and it’s going to be hilarious if you tag along.”
She had to laugh – the woman was just so endearing, in the most insane sense of the word.
She bit her lip.
“Well?”
“Will he be angry?”
“At me? Sure. You? Nah. Come along, you’ll have fun. Good food, free champagne, chocolate fountain…”
“I’m in.”
The redhead seemed surprise.
“What? You had me at chocolate.”
Or more accurately, she’d had her at Carter.
Her good humor dampened when she walked into the open office she shared with the other employees in her department, and found Michelle waiting for her at her desk.
What was the issue, now? According to the clock hanging above the coffee machine, it was just nine thirty-four, which meant that she was early.
“Good morning, Michelle. How can I help you?”
See? Big Girl Panties were super-efficient.
“Cut the crap. Why was Carter’s PA waiting for you?”
One. Two. Three. She counted slowly, willing her mouth to formulate something that wasn’t going to get her fired.
“It was a personal matter, Michelle.”
“Right, she’s in your book club, too?”
Right about now, Cassie was mentally adding up her royalties and wondering whether she really needed the job.
Probably not.
Still, she liked her security blanket.
“No – she just wanted to invite me to the Halloween bash,” she replied with a bright smile that hopefully added, you know, the one you’re probably not invited to, because you suck and no employee under your command has given you a high rating.
Michelle looked like she’d sucked on a lemon.
One point for Cassie, zero for the boss.
Chapter 13
“You’re kidding!” Amelia laughed so much she was half-snorting.
“Nope. I really let him spank me on his desk.”
This.
This why wine should be outlawed.
“I just can’t imagine you doing it,” Erin replied when she managed to pick up her jaw from the floor. “I mean, me? Anytime, anywhere. You’re just so… innocent.”
Cassie smirked, wondering if her old friend would think so if she knew what she did with most of her free time.
“So what now? You’re dating, or…”
She shook her head, and took another sip of wine. Unwise choice, as it turned out, as she found herself replying, “no, he doesn’t want my pussy because it’s unused.”
That was all she recalled of the events of the previous Friday night. Saturday, she found two outbound calls, one that had lasted five minutes, another one that had lasted thirty-nine seconds. Both were to Carter.
Oh, fuck.
He’d also sent a text she couldn’t bring herself to read until she’d had two coffees and pancakes.
You owe me. I shall collect by using you as a buffer. Today, 1pm, the Waldorf. Wear a dress.
Oh fuck. Glancing at the time, she hurried to take a shower and get ready; fifty minutes later, she was running out of the subway station on 51 street, and making it to the Waldorf by five to one.
“There she is!” his mother cooed, greeting Cassie like she was a long-lost prodigal daughter finally returned to her.
Which, admittedly, was probably exactly how she saw this.
Cassie looked the part, today: she wore the virginal white dress Marilyn Monroe would have approved of, and her hair, usually styled, just fell in soft golden waves around her shoulders.
Shoot me now.
Carter didn’t think, he just acted, getting up to push her sit back.
“And you said you were no gentleman,” she teased him, shooting him a smile.
He couldn’t help himself; he just had to bend down and press his lips on her cheek. A simple hello, acceptable in any social settings… but it felt different with her.
Intimate. Meaningful.
“I was so delighted when Carter said you’re joining us, sweetheart,” his mother intervened, thankfully breaking the spell.
He went back to his sit, and relaxed as the two women chatted away.
This felt good.
This felt right.
When she’d drunk dialed him the previous night to tell him that he was silly not to want her unused pussy because it was likely to be tighter, it had taken everything out of him not to get dressed, call the chauffeur and get to her. At the back of his mind, a voice was telling him that no, fucking the shit out of a drunk woman was not acceptable. Annoying voice.
The second phone call, when she’d told him she was going to dream of him as she touched herself, had been his undoing. He’d known then. He needed to see her today – he wasn’t going to last until Monday.
He wasn’t sure when his arm had casually stretched around the back of her chair, but there it was when the waiter came to ask for their order.
She didn’t seem to mind; it didn’t even look like she’d noticed. It was so natural, so easy…
So dangerous.
He had a problem; the first step to recovery was to admit it, right? Well, by the following Thursday he took that step, fully acknowledging that he was fucking addicted to Cassie.
He texted her all day long. All day. Not constantly – they both had jobs to do and all – but every half an hour or so, he just had to send a line, and she always replied promptly. Damn, what kind of an executive was he? He should fire his ass and hers, too.
Then they’d have more time to hang out.
After their discussion from the very first Friday night, when she’d dumped her bombshell about her V-card, Carter had decided that the obvious course of action was to take some distance from her. Consequently, he asked her to come up to his office for lunch. Every. Damn. Day.
He started off with the best intentions in the morning, and then, poof, boom. They all collapsed, obliterated by the impending need to see her and chat.
That was the worst part of the issue. They were just chatting. He would have understood his own condition if he was getting blowjobs on demand, but they discussed her books, X-Men, the usual Marvel vs DC, and other things geeks generally talked about.
Turned out, they liked the same stuff, with just enough difference to make things interesting.
“Shut it. The X-Men would definitely win against the Avengers. They have Phoenix. She can destroy whole worlds.”
“Duh – Hulk? Or better yet, Thor? You know, the god of Thunder?”
Each time they bickered, her cheeks went red, passionate little thing that she was, and all he wanted was to kiss her silly until she forgot how to speak.
Somehow, he didn’t.
Three weeks later, after the late-night drunken call, the lunch with his mother, he couldn’t help it. He changed the game, making it infinitely more dangerous.
“I have the new X-Men.”
Her mouth popped open.
“I thought it wasn’t out for three weeks?”
Carter just shrugged.
“Well, I know someone who knows someone…”
“Can I borrow it?”
The answer should have been yes, of course. Have at it. Enjoy.
Instead, he found himself saying, “I was going to watch it today. We could do that together.”
He pleaded insanity. No other explanation seemed sufficient.
No woman had ever set foot in his home, other than his mother, Lucy and his cleaning lady. It was his and Buddy’s place; when he wanted to entertain, he went to the women’s homes or a hotel room.
But he’d invited her. Worse yet, he didn’t want to take it back, on the contrary; he looked at her, willing her to say yes.
“Sounds good. Shall I cook, or should we grab a takeaway?”
“I don’t mind calling for some food…” as he wasn’t a saint, he added, “but if you really don’t mind cooking, hell yes.”
“Okay, no worries. I love cooking.”
The very thought of her in his kitchen, preparing food of him, was making him want things he shouldn’t think of. Things he couldn’t have.
“We’ll probably need to go grocery shopping first, though. I use my fridge for beer, and that’s about it.”
She rolled her eyes, muttering something probably unflattering about men.
“Okay, so shall we go right after work?”
Cassie wrinkled her nose.
“I like to have a bath at six, I always feel icky. And getting into comfortable clothes – you know, yoga pants. The usual stuff for move-watching.”
He should have said it was fine, they could meet up later.
“You have to come shopping with me, I’ll have no clue what to get. How about, I send Lucy out to get you yoga pants, and you can take a bath at mine, mh? I’ll need to feed Buddy and take him for a quick walk before the movie anyway.”
“Buddy?” she repeated.
“My puppy. It’s a German Shepherd. He’s four months old and weighs more than your average Labrador. He’ll probably be bigger than you in a year or so.”
He wondered if that would be it, what he really needed: a concrete reason why this thing between them was not going to go anywhere. If she couldn’t stand dogs, he knew he’d write her off.
She yelped – actually yelped – and started a series of “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! I’m so jealous, I’ve always wanted a dog – a big one, too! They are the police dogs, right? The ones with black and gold?”
The universe hated his guts.
“Buddy is sable, but yes,” he sighed, wondering if he should just throw in the towel and marry the damn woman.
Then, he remembered what happened the last time he’d tried that.
“The packaging is just a ruse to convince you to pay more for the same thing,” Carter insisted.
“But this one looks so much better! I’ll pay the damn bill.”
“You’ll do no such thing, Cassandra Franklin,” he growled. “I just can’t believe you want to spen
d thirty dollars on a strawberry bubble bath when there’s one for five on the same shelf!”
“Well, the cheap one might give me spots.”
“Chocolate might give you spots.”
“Now you’re just being nasty.”
Cassie rolled her eyes and pulled the shopping cart away, now that he’d relented and dropped the nasty cheap thing back where it belonged.
“You’re just adorable,” an old woman said, beaming at her. “How long have you been married?”
“Jesus!” Carter exclaimed, stalking away as fast as his feet could carry him.
Cassie just laughed out loud, explaining to the surprised lady, “we’re just friends.”
“Ah, I see. Friends. I remember when my Malcom and I were just friends, too. I give it a year, dear.”
If only.
They argued over five items – he wanted pancake mix, she couldn’t believe he wouldn’t try to do it from scratch.
“If that’s so important you’re staying until morning and cooking the damn pancakes!” he yelled.
“Fine!”
After which, he swore, leading them away.
“Great. Now you need a fucking toothbrush.”
Then, there were king prawns and little shrimps. She assured him that the cheaper option would still be lovely with her risotto, but he didn’t want to hear of it. He won that one – and the wine, too.
“I only need it for cooking.”
“You’ll use a glass, max, and I hate waste. If I’m supposed to drink wine rather than beer, it has to be a decent one.”
One hour, later, Carter was two hundred dollars poorer and they were on their way to his place in a cab.
She loved that, like any other New Yorker out there, he took cabs, rather than parading around with a driver.
Cassie also loved his apartment. The simple, modern décor felt homey – the walls were light grey or blue, and most of the furniture, white. There were dashes of various shades of blue here and there; curtains, cushions.
She loved his kitchen. Granit counter top, the very best appliances; she almost cried – it was completely wasted on a man who didn’t cook.