The Decadent Gift: An After Dark Novel

by Blakely, Lauren

  A sexy little purr.

  Nina arched a brow above the frame of her red glasses. “Only you could make the phrase talking points sound deliciously sensual.”

  I grinned, then blew on my burgundy fingernails. “That’s my job, girls. Make everything sound enticing.”

  “You are the best at leading the denizens of this city to the enchanted forest of naughty,” Lily added.

  I winked at her. “Because everyone wants to be led. I’m a tour guide into the magical land of dirty fairy tales.” That was an apt description of the type of marketing work I handled. Plenty of my clients wanted the typical splash and fanfare of a marketing campaign, like the casinos, celebrity chef pop-up restaurants, and new designer boutiques we handled. But others, such as the occasional gentleman’s club or high-stakes players’ games, required a more unconventional approach to reach the right clientele.

  “What’s the game, then? And what are the rules and the stakes?” Lily asked as she dipped her roll in soy sauce.

  I tipped my forehead in the direction of the bride squad. “The game is this—what are they up to tonight?”

  “The bride and her posse?” Nina asked.

  “Yes. Let’s make our best guesses as to the agenda for their Thursday night,” I said in a low voice. “The rules are simple. Whoever makes the best case, wins.”

  “You and your love of bets,” Nina said with a smile and a shake of her head.

  “Me and my bets,” I echoed.

  “What are the stakes?” Nina asked, a skeptical note in her voice. “Better not be a free latte, because I already have one of those coming tomorrow thanks to my coffee-shop loyalty card.” She preened. “I got my tenth punch today. It’s okay to be jealous.”

  I laughed at the pun she might not have intended. “You’re all about getting cards punched lately, aren’t you?” I teased, unable to resist tweaking my good friend, who shed her virginity mere months ago with her next-door neighbor.

  She’d chosen well. Adam was now her fiancé.

  Nina shot me an oh no you didn’t look. “You really went there?”

  “She really went there,” Lily added as she laughed.

  Nina rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. Yes, after I punched my V-card, I set to work on my coffee-shop bucket list,” she said in a singsong voice. “I’m working through latte drinks now instead of sex positions. Anyway, back to your game, dirty fairy godmother.”

  I set a hand on my chest. “C’est moi.” I exhaled, returning to the rules. “For stakes—how about winner chooses dessert for us to share?”

  “Dessert is a vital item on a girls’ night out menu,” Lily said, and Nina nodded her agreement.

  I set down my chopsticks, nodded to the bride pack, then imitated the Jeopardy! countdown clock. “For choice of dessert, Alex, this is what the crew will be doing tonight . . .”

  Nina whipped her gaze around, studying the ladies, a serious look in her brown eyes.

  Lily stared too, her brow furrowing as she seemed to take mental notes on the women, her reporter’s radar surely firing. “What is a bar crawl, a limo ride, and a nighttime pool party?” she declared.

  Interesting picks. But why had she chosen those? The why was critical in any marketing pursuit. “And your reasoning?”

  “One of the ladies is wearing a bikini,” Lily said, stating the facts. “But the series of drinks tells me it’s going to be a long night at the bar, and long nights at the bar usually involve limos. And limos are fun with friends.”

  “True that.” I pointed to Nina. “Your turn.”

  “I’m rolling the dice in a different direction. Since they’re giving off a man-candy vibe, I say, what is Magic Mike Live, Chippendales, and a round of slots along the way? Probably at the Aladdin slot machine.”

  I raised my brow at Nina’s addendum. “That’s oddly specific.” I wiggled my fingers, urging her to serve it up. “I need more detail on the Aladdin bit.”

  “Have you seen Jafar on the slot machine by the roulette table? He’s hotter than a desert day,” Nina said, a naughty glint in her brown eyes.

  Picturing the villain on the machine, I hummed my appreciation—for her answer, and the slot machine hottie. “Jafar doesn’t always get his due. Of all the villains, he’s probably the most bangable,” I admitted.

  “Live-action Jafar, that is,” Lily put in, licking her lips.

  “Yes,” I said, laughing as I pictured the recent flick. “I’m definitely talking about live-action Jafar. I can resist the cartoon one easily. But Mr. Tall, Dark, Handsome, and Decidedly Nefarious is hard to look away from.”

  “Let’s raise a glass to all the hot villains,” Nina said, then turned the game back to me. “Your turn, Kate. What do you imagine they’re up to?”

  I drew a deep inhalation, putting on my observation hat. The one I loved wearing. Because this was my world—what-ifs and scenarios.

  I rolled through some in my mind. Would they go for a traditional bachelorette party–style night, with bawdy girl-centric activities? Perhaps a night of dancing and clubbing? Or something a little wilder?

  As I hunted for clues, the bride squeezed the maid of honor’s shoulder, then draped an arm around her. She shot her a sympathetic smile.

  Interesting.

  Typically, the bride squad bestowed all its attention on the bride. But this was a reversal, and it was all the info I needed.

  “What is hot sex with a stranger?”

  Lily blinked.

  Nina emitted a “Whoa.”

  I owned my answer, and not simply because stranger sex was one of the best kinds. “The bride wants to find a hot guy for her maid of honor. She wants to get her friend laid tonight. I can sense it. That’s what their body language is telling me.”

  Lily narrowed her eyes at the bride and maid of honor, and Nina did the same, both watching intently. A few seconds later, they snapped their gazes back to me. “Damn. You are good,” Lily said. “I’m getting that vibe too.”

  “Yeah, I’m just going to say it now. There are no two ways about it—I’m voting for you as the winner,” Nina said. “And you better pick a good dessert.”

  Lily raised a hand in question. “I like your answer. But would the bride stop at just the maid of honor? Why doesn’t she arrange for hot sex for all the single members of the bridal party?”

  Nina waggled her chopsticks, reaching for a roll. “If she’s a magnanimous bride, she should make sure all her available ladies-in-waiting are taken care of,” she added, pointing her eel roll at me. “And I’m happy to find a hot guy for you if that’s what you’re getting at . . .” she trailed off, like she wanted me to jump on the tantalizing offer.

  I shook my head. I wasn’t truly tempted. “I’m not angling for either of you to supply me with a man.”

  I didn’t have time for relationships or their attendant complications, not when I had a kick-ass job demanding more than 100 percent of me.

  A job that paid well, I might add.

  Being well paid was a critical necessity, considering the way my ex had left.

  Lily wiggled her eyebrows at me. “But someday we can set you up?”

  “You have such a matchmaker in you. But you know the answer to that. I’m not in the market for accouterments.”

  Nina laughed. “Is that what we call sex? An accouterment?”

  I smiled, patting my bargain-basement Coach purse. “Like a fabulous handbag or a great new pair of shoes.”

  “So, sex is an accessory,” Lily said, deadpan.

  “It dresses up any night, any weekend, any event,” I said, stopping to take a drink of my wine. “Or so I hear. It’s been a while.”

  Nina shot me a sympathetic look. “You’re almost there though?” She knew I’d been man-free for the last year as I worked to claw myself out of the pile of debt my ex left behind in my name.

  Such a lovely parting gift.

  I held up my hand, crossing my fingers. “Just a few more thousand, and I’ll be done.”
>
  Lily patted my forearm. “You’ve done an amazing job.”

  I shrugged. “Didn’t have any other choice, but I’m glad the end is in sight.”

  That was why I dove into every work challenge Trish tossed my way. The better we did, the more I earned, the closer I came to moving all the way on from the grip of the past and the specter of my own mistake in getting involved with Damon.

  I should have seen it coming.

  Should have studied Damon a little better, observed him more closely.

  Maybe if I’d been more cautious, I wouldn’t have wound up saddled with his money problems while he was off gallivanting in the Caribbean. Or wherever it was that asshole exes went to gallivant.

  “And that’s why this meeting tomorrow is important. This campaign might give me just enough to be done with Damon’s baggage. Your ideas for the bachelorette party’s plans might be useful when it comes to market research tomorrow. So thank you for helping,” I added.

  “I’m glad you have some fodder for your girls’ night out meeting,” Nina said, then checked the time on her phone. “Especially since ours is about to turn into a mixed night out.”

  “And on that note, I need to pop into the ladies’,” I said.

  I grabbed my purse and excused myself for the restroom.

  Along the way, my phone buzzed with a text. Stopping in the hallway, I slid my thumb across the screen, a sliver of a smile tugging at my lips when I saw the name of the sender.

  Jake.

  He’d been the best man at Lily’s wedding, since Jake was great friends with Lily’s husband and they ran a law practice together. Jake and I were friends, too, and had grown closer in the last few months. We’d worked on a few projects together recently when some of Trish’s clients needed entertainment lawyers.

  Jake: On my way to meet everyone now. Just need to take these gloves off first.

  Kate: Are they your driving gloves, Jake? You’re so fancy.

  Jake: Yes. You found out my dirty little secret. I wear leather driving gloves while tooling around town in my Rolls.

  Kate: How very dapper.

  Jake: That’s me. Dapper and dandy. Anyway, they’re the boxing gloves because today has been a helluva day in the ring.

  Kate: Ooh, tell me about all your fights. I presume you pulled no punches?

  Jake: They don’t call me the hard-ass for nothing.

  Kate: They call you that because your ass is hard?

  Jake: Oh, hey. You noticed my ass. Excellent.

  Kate: I was simply speculating on the nickname.

  Jake: Don’t try to deny it now. You’ve been checking out the goods in the trunk. Understandable, since this ass is carved from stone.

  Kate: Stone is cold and unpleasant.

  Jake: Things no one says about my ass.

  I inserted an eye-roll emoticon, then finished with . . .

  Kate: Is there a list somewhere of things said about your ass? Admit it—you made that list yourself.

  Jake: Don’t need to. I believe you’re that list’s keeper.

  Kate: Now you’re the ass.

  Jake: That may be true. In any case, I just finished birthday shopping with my sister for my mom, and I’m on my way over. I know you’re counting down the minutes. I’d bet money on it.

  Kate: You’d lose that bet.

  Jake: Doubtful. Highly doubtful.

  Laughing, I shoved the phone into the side pocket of my purse. I was not counting down the minutes until I saw him.

  Or the seconds.

  Please. I had other matters on my mind.

  Even though the man did have a terrific rear end.

  Not to mention a handsome face.

  And a fast mouth.

  Damn him. Damn all the what-ifs I entertained about him.

  3

  Jake

  My back was tight, my muscles taut. Hell, my mind had high-tension cables running through it.

  That was par for the course for the last several weeks.

  I left the office on a Thursday evening, the sun already set, the city lit with miles of neon, glitter, and glitz.

  I drank in the New York skyline, the Eiffel Tower, the pyramid and its eye as the Lyft took me toward the Strip. A place I loved. Too bad it’d been a while since I’d enjoyed all this city had to offer. But this evening I was coming up for air.

  It had been some time since I’d had a night out with my friends.

  But first, shopping.

  I tried to shed another long day as I headed to Caesars to meet my sister.

  Christine had demanded my presence as a shopping companion, since our mom’s birthday was next week.

  After the driver dropped me at the massive hotel, I made my way through the casino, enjoying the sound of games and slots until I reached the stores, scanning for Christine. My sister leaned against the wall outside the perfume store, dressed in black, her brown hair piled high on her head, a pair of silver glasses on her face, looking every bit the badass businesswoman she was. She founded and ran Hamilton-Carey, a cruelty-free beauty products company that supplied several of the hotels on the Strip.

  She narrowed her eyes above the frames, like she didn’t recognize me. Staring down her straight nose, she acted as if she were seeing me for the first time. “Wait. Is that you? In the flesh? As I live and breathe?”

  “No. It’s my hologram twin.”

  “Ah, that makes more sense,” she said. “I was thinking ghost, but hologram tracks.”

  “Fine. I’ll play your game.” I sighed like I was genuinely annoyed, but I wasn’t. I was, however, curious what the smarty-pants meant. “What exactly are you saying?”

  She studied my face, peering at my eyes, my nose, my ears too. She patted my cheek. “It is you. I just wasn’t sure what you looked like. Now, I see you’ve aged ten years in these last few months.”

  I scoffed. “Thanks. Good to see you too.”

  She laughed, tossing her head back, having a blast at my expense. She slugged my arm. “Just giving you a hard time. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you that I wasn’t sure I’d recognize you,” she said, gesturing toward the shop.

  We entered the land of olfactory overload, a bright white store with too many bottles of eau du toilette. But Mom liked her perfume. And moms deserved whatever they wanted for their birthdays.

  Mom had a collection of favorite scents, so here we were, looking to add to it.

  “It’s only been a few weeks since I’ve seen you, Christine.” Defensive was my natural state of mind. “Don’t you recall that I saw you when we were watching a Warriors game at your place with Carson?”

  As we wandered past some celebrity scent created by a singer with only one name, Christine tossed me a skeptical look. “Hello? That Warriors game was three months ago. We watched it on Valentine’s Day. And I live two miles away from you. You haven’t seen your nephew recently either,” she said, but there wasn’t any accusation there. More like sadness, and that made me sad too.

  Was she right?

  My brow furrowed as I flipped back through the calendar in my head.

  April, March, February.

  Holy shit.

  It had been a long time.

  Too long.

  Next to the Chanel, I bowed obsequiously. “Apologies, oh great sister of mine. I am a dick. Work has been insane. We had some new clients with all sorts of rights reversions, and it has been a hell of a crazy time.” Business at the firm was good. Almost too good. In addition to the rights reversions, we’d inked new deals for TV shows and struck partnerships for on-air talent. Things were booming when it came to entertainment law.

  And when I’d gotten into law school, I’d vowed to never complain about too much work.

  Hell, I’d made that vow when I entered college too.

  This was how I lived my life.

  Christine and I knew all too well what the other side of the equation was like. We’d seen it happen to our dad growing up. Watched him struggle to make ends m
eet as an appliance salesman when we were kids. He’d weathered too many storms with zero business. Too many nights coming home without nabbing so much as a single dishwasher sale. I’d never bitch about having too much to handle, especially since all the extra work I’d taken on helped fund my parents’ well-deserved retirement.

  Dad’s days with his new running club, training for a 5K.

  Mom’s time to garden, read, and relax.

  And perfume. Lots of perfume.

  Christine shot me a big-sister look as she squeezed my arm. “I know you have a ton going on, and it’s awesome. No one works harder than you. But you need balance. You’re working too much, Jake. I don’t get to see you. Carson wants to see you. He loves his uncle. He asks about you, wants to know when you’ll come by. He has a soccer game on Sunday.”

  That tugged at my heart.

  I loved that rug rat. I wanted to see him, play pinball with him, shoot hoops with the kid. Christine’s husband had died a few years ago, so I did my best to help out with her son, now eleven, when I could. “I’ll pick him up after school tomorrow and play pinball with him.”

  Christine laughed. “I’m not angling for a school pickup.”

  “Too bad. You got one. And I will go to his soccer match this Sunday. I promise. Forgive me,” I said, pressing my hands together in prayer as we wandered past an Obsession display.