by Emily Snow
That I wanted to make sure the woman I was preparing to throw money at could market cages and cuffs with the same enthusiasm as clocks and shitty, over-hyped coffee.
"I wanted to see your reaction,” I finally admit in a gravelly voice. “I needed to see it because I want to be sure you can get my product out there without acting like a nun in the Red-Light District.”
She mouths my last several words and then releases a breath and drags another in. "Don't you think my reaction might have been a little—oh, I don’t know—calmer if you had told me we were going to a sex club."
"It's not a club," I correct. "It's a private residence."
“Whatever you want to call it, I was completely blindsided, and you know it."
I take the exit toward my shop. "You've got to admit, at some points you seemed pleasantly surprised." She issues me a dark look that I immediately reciprocate. "The Voyeur Room. Or have you already forgotten so soon?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." But she does, and she squeezes her knees together at the reminder. My cock stirs inside my jeans. "I've seen that look enough times to know what thoughts were rolling through that brilliant mind of yours. You were curious. And curiosity is a beautiful thing. Despite the saying, it really didn't kill the pussy."
She gasps, and I let a grin split my face as I wait for her to form a comeback.
"Okay, for starters, you’re a raunchy person. And secondly, what makes you the expert on knowing if a woman is thinking about sex? Telepathy? Or, even better, all the time you’ve spent on the other side of that glass getting it on?”
I shrug. "I've never been on the other side of that glass."
"But you're not denying that you've gone to those—"
"No, I'm not denying I’ve gone to those parties and done naughty, filthy things that would make your toes curl," I interrupt. From the sudden twitch in her eye, I can tell dozens of images spiral through her mind all at once. Maybe she’s wondering what room I indulged in? What fantasy?
And with whom or how many?
If she asks, I’ll tell her everything because I don’t think Lucy Williams will be my employee after tonight.
She’s too prude. Too scandalized. Too …
Fuck, I wish she’d stop blinking at me and doing that thing with her throat.
“So when I say I know that look, love, I know what the fuck I’m talking about,” I say and hope she’ll respond with something other than fluttering her eyelashes and making swallowing noises that test my patience.
Focusing her attention on a fingerprint smudge on the windshield, she clears her throat and smoothes her fingers through her long ponytail. "You don't know anything about me," she finally informs me.
I laugh.
Then I turn the music back on. I’d rather listen to My Darkest Days sing about casual sex than hear Lucy pretend I haven’t known her for the last fifteen years.
We ride in silence for the next five minutes, and I barely shift the car into park before she stumbles out, slamming the door behind her. I’m right on her heels. She refuses to turn around. I yell out her name, so she finally pauses at her car door.
“What?”
"I'll see you Monday morning. Nine on the dot." I lock my car, and the beep is like a trigger, tightening her body. I’d planned to call it a night, but a few hours with the woman has left me wanting to blow off some steam. "I'm assuming since you're thirty minutes early for everything, you'll be right on time. And if you’re not going to be here … let me know now."
She balls her hands into fists then turns her head just enough to glance at me out the corner of her eye. She flinches at my expression because I’m not smirking. There's not even a ghost of a smile dancing on my mouth. Instead, I just want an answer from her.
"Goodbye, Jace," she whispers before she climbs into her Jeep and speeds off.
“Why so serious, E?” The breathy voice draws my attention up from the sketches on my desk. Sonora stands in the doorway of my office, her red hair piled on top of her head and a black trench coat wrapped securely around her body. I’d be willing to bet there’s very little—or not a fucking stich of clothing at all—on beneath it. “You didn’t message back after that last text saying you were here, and I got worried about you.”
“It’s not polite to let yourself in. Especially when you don’t even work here.” She responds with a shrug and saunters inside.
“The front door was unlocked.” She eases onto the edge of my desk, crossing her legs toward me. “It’s three am, Jace. Why are you still here?”
I gesture to the sketches I’ve been working on since Lucy left. I had expected to be long finished with the design for B’s newest toy, but my thoughts have focused on hazel eyes and pouty red lips. Fucking Lucy Williams.
“I like to work,” I say, although Sonora’s already fully aware of that. “Why are you still out?”
Rolling her blue eyes so dramatically my attention zeroes in on the smudges of eyeliner at the corners, she tilts her head to one side. Her hair spills from its knot. “You know why I’m still out. You should go home.”
“No plan to go home tonight.”
Her mouth parts in a silent O, and she looks down at her lap for a moment. “The woman you brought to B’s—”
“Is my new marketing director,” I correct her, the muscles in my neck straining because she’s brought up Lucy. I’d hoped to wrap up the night without giving that woman another thought, but now I have a vivid image of her in my head that won’t piss off. I lean back in my chair and scratch my chin. “My plans have me going … elsewhere.”
“Fun.” Sonora’s smile doesn’t touch her eyes. She shifts on my desk, lowering her foot to the center of my thighs. Bumping my cock lightly with the heel of her pump, she casts me a look that would make a weaker man go fucking crazy to find out what she’s hiding beneath her coat. “I was hoping—”
I grab the inside of her ankle, and she gasps. “You know me better than that.” We’ve been friends since I met her through my first client—my ex-girlfriend—and I have the same rule for Sonora that I try to maintain for my employees: No fucking. No intimacy. Nothing but friendship.
“You’re an ass, Jace Callum Exley, but you’re a wonderfully talented ass.” She draws her foot from my lap and crosses her legs in the other direction. She clenches her fingers around the hem of her coat. “By the way, your new marketing girl is … very beautiful. Andrew couldn’t keep his eyes off her when you showed him how to—”
“Why the fuck are we talking about her?” I interrupt and she twists to stare at me like there’s a bag of dicks growing out of my forehead. “Shit, I’m sorry. It’s been … a long day.”
“I can tell.”
“Tell Andrew my marketing girl isn’t one for cuffs.” I hate the thought of that prick Sonora was with earlier tonight staring at Lucy. Talking about her. Thinking about her. I hate it even more that I see red at the thought of him doing any one of those things, which are all harmless. “She’s here for work, not to meet him or his bride.”
“I never said they wanted to meet her, just that he mentioned she was beautiful right before we started to play,” Sonora says cautiously. Her eyes crinkle as she flicks her tongue over her lips. I think of Lucy doing the same, and I groan. “Jace—”
“Don’t start.”
“I thought you don’t do employees ever since that Michaela fuckery.”
“I don’t.” I massage the bridge of my nose between my fingers and release a sharp breath. What the fuck is wrong with me tonight?
“You should.” She laughs as she slides off my desk. “I know I would.”
“She quit tonight.” And I’ve not been able to get her out of my fucking head since she left.
Sonora offers me a sympathetic frown. “Then there’s nothing standing in your way of sleeping with her, is there?”
“She’s not my type, and I’m sure as shit not what she’s looking for.”
I don’t remember Williams being
involved with anyone in school, but I’ve got a clear picture of the kind of man she’d go for—a stuffy hedge fund manager, for example. One who takes his lattes with an extra shot of boring before he plays Scrabble and argues abstract words.
Sauntering to my office door, Sonora peeks over her shoulder and shifts an eyebrow. “Well in that case, offer her more money to work for you. The woman’s obviously a keeper.”
“Get the hell out of my office.” But I grin, and she winks just before disappearing around the corner, loudly advising me to wrap up the work and my cock for wherever I’m headed next.
If she only knew.
For the next half hour, I sketch in silence, until I’m finally satisfied with the design for B’s table. As I leave my office, I can’t resist sending Lucy a message.
Are you still upset, Williams?
By the time I get into my car, she’s already read it.
SEVEN
LUCY
"What exactly do you mean when you say he makes sex toys?" Jamie asks. "Like things that go buzz in the night? I thought you said he was a welder."
I hadn't planned to go out today—preparing for my workweek on Sundays has always been a ritual for me—but I laid awake for far too long last night because all I could think about was my new boss. My very sexy and verifiably kinky new boss. When Jamie texted this morning asking if I would meet her halfway in Framingham for breakfast at a place called Planet of the Cakes, a restaurant she'd randomly picked because the Yelp reviews called them pancake connoisseurs, I jumped at the chance. I needed to get out of the house before my mother had the opportunity to grill me about my evening.
I still haven't figured out what the hell I'll say to her. Mom can see right through bullshit better than anyone I've ever met, and I don’t think I can bear the disapproving smile that will greet me if I tell her I accepted a position marketing kink. Or what she’ll say.
“Three degrees, Lucinda, and a job history at one of the best marketing firms in San Francisco, and you're pitching … intercourse toys?” Mom would demand and then I would question all my life decisions up until this point. Again.
"What I mean by sex toys," I start softly, leaning in to Jamie so the couple with their teenage kids at the next table won't hear me, "is metal cages and chrome butt plugs and spinning stainless steel tables."
"Oh my," she says with an enormous grin.
"I can't believe you're smiling and making The Wizard of Oz jokes when I'm sitting right in front of you telling you my new job is marketing sex toys!"
"Calm down," she says in the same voice she uses on newborns at work. She takes a bite of her eggs, chews them slowly as she gathers her thoughts. "What's so bad about promoting ... toys?” She dabs at the corners of her mouth with her paper napkin. “You've done it before—granted those were building blocks and Jack-In-A-Boxes—but now you have a chance to broaden your horizon. You can sell ... other jacks."
I fist my hands around my own napkin, twisting until it tears.
"What's wrong is that he took me to a party where they were being used right in front of me. He didn't say a damn word—" The mother at the next table over shoots me a lethal glare, and I mouth sorry before lowering my voice and continuing. "He didn't say a word about where we were going or what we would be doing because he wanted to see my reaction. I felt like a complete dumbass because I'd been too eager about finally being offered a job to see the signs."
My best friend sighs and lowers her fork to her plate. "You're not a dumbass, Luce." She examines the front of her Victoria’s Secret sweatshirt to make sure she hasn't spilled any food. "You're the smartest person I know, and that's saying something because I'm effing brilliant."
I don't feel smart. Not even close to it. Despite a lifetime of stellar grades and several degrees, I feel like I’ve hit another all-time low.
"I mean, yeah,” Jamie says. “I thought about asking if he at least took you to dinner first, but then I figured you'd just punch me in the throat. And since we’re on throat punches … I’ve got to ask. What was it like?”
Like nothing I ever imagined. Like the most erotic moment I’ve ever experienced—only it wasn’t happening to me. Like I should probably start looking for a new job. I release a noise that borders a hysterical sob. “Does it matter?”
“Umm, yes. You went to an adult slumber party and didn’t even think to send your best friend a text or a snap or anything.” I tilt my head to one side and give her an incredulous look. She lifts her hands defensively and laughs. “Fine. I’ll stop. Look, Luce, I think you should calm down and—ohhh shit."
Her brown eyes are intently focused over my shoulder, trailing someone or something across the restaurant. "Let me guess, cute, squishy baby?"
I flinch at the apologetic expression she sends my way. I've seen that look before, and it's always followed with a dose of horrible news. Sure enough, I twist around in my seat and nearly fall out of my chair. It’s Mr. Extreme himself, being led to a seat by the windows. He's not alone—there's a petite woman and a big muscular guy towering over them who reminds me of The Rock with a mohawk. When the woman pulls her slouchy gray beanie off and shakes out her short platinum hair, I realize it’s Daisy.
"Why is he here?" I hiss aloud. I feel the color leech from my face when slate-blue eyes lock on mine. A grin slinks across his devilishly handsome face. That smug, evil bastard. Daisy and The Rock 2.0 also turn to stare. The receptionist lifts her hand in a cheerful wave, so I raise my chin in acknowledgment before I face Jamie.
"What are the odds?" I whisper, breathless and hating the way my heart thunders so intensely at the mere glimpse of that asshole.
Jamie starts to say something but then flicks another glance at Jace and company. Her dark, curly hair swishes around her cheeks as she moves her head from side to side. "Honestly, I have no words. And you know I don’t run out of things to say very often."
No, she doesn't, and I find that I'm also at a loss for words. How on earth did Jace end up in the same restaurant as me on a Sunday morning? Why the hell isn’t he sleeping in until noon with whatever woman he took home after I left him last night?
Unless, Daisy is that woman.
A tremor surges through my hands as I bring my coffee to my lips, and I barely register the liquid is so hot it singes my tongue. Jamie plays with the prongs of her fork, and once again, she stares behind me wearing an astonished expression.
"Your eyes are wide," I point out robotically. "He's coming over here, isn't he?"
"And smiling like the delicious deviant that he is," she confirms.
I don't have to turn around to know the precise moment he arrives—I can smell him. My body automatically reacts to the tantalizing earthiness that is Jace Exley. Although I'm prepared for it, a shock still rips through me when he clears his throat.
"Morning, Williams," he says. "Mind if I sit?"
I'm a split second away from telling Jace to piss off, but then, without an invitation, he pulls out one of the extra chairs and turns it so the cushion faces the front of his body. He sits down, casually draping one leg over either side. I drink in a mouthful of air when his foot bumps the side of mine.
It’s not fair that the slightest touch from this man has the power to electrify my heart and body and mind. He obviously notices that I snatch my foot from his because he gives me a dazzling grin before he darts it in Jamie’s direction. "Armstrong, right?"
"Jamie," she says then skims her tongue over the tiny space between her two front teeth. "We had chorus together senior year." I already know this. In fact, I vividly remember her complaining about his awful singing whenever we passed him in the hallway. Then she'd make a comment about how she forgave him for his terrible voice because he was so beautiful and hearing him speak made up for him being tone-deaf. My best friend's weakness for beautiful men is almost greater than her penchant for fawning over squirming newborns.
"Right." His mouth widens as it finally clicks exactly who she is. "Yeah, yeah, I used to part
y with your sister. Becca or—"
"Bella," she corrects, resting her elbow on the table and leaning forward. Holy shit, can she stare at the man any harder? Doesn’t she know that giving him this type of attention is like feeding a mogwai after midnight?
"Yeah, Bella." The corners of his lips curve into a smile that makes me draw in my cheeks. It doesn't make any sense that the gorgeous ones always have to be complete dicks. "She was always fun."
Knowing the type of parties Jace is into, I wonder what kind of fun he's talking about. Jamie must be thinking the same thing because she glances at her phone lying face down in the center of the table. It's almost a given she'll send a text the moment he leaves just so she can ask her twin about her affiliation with Mr. Extreme.
He turns to focus his undivided attention on me, and I narrow my hazel eyes. Dressed in black leggings, rain boots, and an old Brown t-shirt, I look like ass ran over. Skimming his eyes from the top of my messy black bun to the swell of my breasts beneath my shirt, he gives me a satisfied look.
"What are you doing here, Jace?" I ask, my voice deflated.
"Eating breakfast. That's what most normal people do in the morning, isn't it?" After I twist my lips to one side, he throws his head back and laughs, giving Jamie and I an excellent view of the tattoo on his neck and another peeking out of the neckline of his tee shirt.
Tom always hated tattoos—he called any form of body art ridiculous and had given me hell about the tiny lime green ribbon I got on my shoulder in honor of my father. The thing is, I don’t want to imagine Jace Exley without the ink that covers his bronze skin. Even when I’m furious at him, I can’t deny that they make him so much more irresistible.
"I'm staying five minutes away from here. I come here most Sundays, so I guess the question is, what are you doing here?"