“No, thanks,” I tell him. “I’d rather not.”
I hear a choked laugh behind me from Mr. H-whatever.
“Can I have some clothes? You have plenty to spare,” I tell Warren, suddenly very aware that everything of mine is on display. He seems to notice too, because his eyes slip down before jerking back up again.
I make a half-hearted attempt to cover myself, but really, that nude cruise has sailed. Still, it hardly seems fair that they get to look at me when I haven’t even gotten a chance to properly look at myself yet. As soon as I find a mirror, I’m gonna ogle the shit out of myself.
He finally lets me go, but I find I miss his touch. I also waver on my feet. Luckily, I manage to reach forward and catch myself on the desk before I fall again. He yanks off his suit jacket and shoves it at me.
Ignoring his attitude, I grab it and slip it on. He’s a lot bigger than me, so as soon as I shove my arms through the sleeves, it swallows me up, though the bottom just barely covers the curve of my ass.
“Thanks,” I tell him as I try to do up the buttons. I can’t do it, though. The little fuckers are slippery, and buttons are more difficult to master than one might think. “Huh. Maybe I’m more of a zipper girl.”
Warren sighs, bats my hands out of the way, and buttons it up for me. It’s actually a pretty sexy move, even if he is doing it grudgingly.
When he finishes dressing me, he crosses his arms over his chest. Which is a nice move, because it makes his muscles bulge under his dark dress shirt. “Now, tell me why the fuck you’re in my office and how you got in here, or I’m calling the police and pressing charges.”
Yikes. I definitely don’t want him to call the cops. I’ve floated through plenty of jail cells, and I can tell you, there’s not a lot of love going on in there.
I clear my throat and nervously fidget with the buttons on the jacket. “I got lost?” I answer.
“You got lost,” he repeats flatly, not buying it for a second.
I blow out a puff of breath. Warren doesn’t like to be bullshitted, and he also doesn’t like to feel like someone is wasting his time. So if I want to get on his good side, I need to turn this around.
“Look, I’m going to be honest with you, okay?”
“About fucking time.”
I narrow my eyes at him, making an internal note that I’ll help him work on his tone at a later date.
“I was sent here to match you up with someone.”
Okay, okay. Not exactly one hundred percent true, but it’s true enough. I need to make enough Matches to meet my quota, and my own personal vow insists that he be one of them. Might as well get started.
He stares at me in disbelief, his brown eyes unblinking. “What?”
“You know. Match you up. Dates. Sex. Love.”
Mr. H starts cracking up. “Oh, shit, this is fucking great, Knight!” he guffaws. “You got sent a fucking hooker.”
I whirl around. “Hey! I’m not a hooker!”
Warren glances down at my wrist. “You have triple Xs tattooed on you,” he points out dryly, as if this fact definitely makes me a hooker.
“That’s my cupid number,” I insist.
Mr. H laughs harder at that, even going so far as to clutch his stomach, like this is giving him an ab workout.
Clearly, I’m getting nowhere with him.
Warren sighs. “Look, I’m not interested in paid pussy, and frankly, you’re not hot enough for me.”
I look back at Warren, my mouth popping open. “Man, you are such a dick!” I tell him. I don’t actually know what I look like, but I feel plenty hot, and that’s what matters. “For the last time, I’m not a hooker! I’m your cupid, matchmaker, love guru, whatever you wanna call it. The point is, I’m here to get you Love Matched.”
Instead of laughing—because Warren Knight does not laugh—he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, mumbling something I don’t catch.
“It’s gotta be Leo from Holster’s. Or maybe it was Ken. I could see either one of them setting this shit up,” Warren says over my shoulder to Mr. H.
“I wasn’t sent by them,” I interject. “I’m your—”
“Yeah, yeah. My fucking cupid. I heard you the first time,” Warren cuts me off. “But guess what? I don’t need a dating service or a call girl. I can get pussy whenever I fucking want. You can leave now. Don’t come back.”
My lips purse. “Just for that, I’m gonna hope that you fall in love with someone who has really annoying habits,” I threaten him. “Like nail chewing. Or picking wedgies out of her ass in public. Or dry heaving every time you come.”
He frowns at me before shaking his head. “I’m sure,” he says dryly. “Now get out.”
“See!” I say, taking a step forward and getting into his face. I point a finger right at his nose because it seems like a good way to get him to pay attention. “This is why all your dates fail! Because your asshole starts leaking right out of your body! It’s like you can’t even help it. You’re too hot for your own good, but you know what? Just because you’re sexy doesn’t give you the right to be a jerk. You should start using your dick instead of being one.”
“Oh shit, she did not just say that!” Now Mr. H is practically howling. I think even tears are coming out of his eyes, he’s laughing so hard.
“Not helping, Harvey,” Warren says.
Ha! I knew his name started with an H.
My internal victory doesn’t get much attention though, because Warren’s face hardens, looking so scary that I immediately drop my finger in case his fury makes him bare his teeth and bite it off. “Listen, you little—”
He gets cut off when his office door suddenly starts to swing open.
Uh oh.
Chapter 7
The door is opening, and my flight instinct kicks in, making me instantly flex my wings to fly away. Of course, I don’t have the damn things anymore, so my flight instinct sucks.
“Shit!” Warren curses under his breath at our precarious situation.
Before I can even blink, he’s shoving me over to his desk and pushing me under it, his legs blocking me from escape.
“Hey!” I squeal, but he kicks me with his foot to silence me. The fucker actually kicks me on the arm to get me to shut up. Okay, so it was more of a tap with his foot, but still. I am shooketh and offended...eth.
“Mr. Knight! There you are,” I hear an older, masculine voice with a Southern drawl sound from above me. “I got in a day early for our meeting. I hope that’s alright. Your secretary let me in.”
“That’s perfectly fine, Mr. Abner. How was your flight in? Not too bad, I hope.” Warren’s voice is cool, collected, and totally calm. He doesn’t sound at all like he has a mostly naked cupid shoved under his desk.
Warren moves, and then he’s sitting down, his legs spread wide in front of me. My neck is bent forward as I awkwardly keep hunched over in the tight space, but thankfully, the desk is solid on the other side, so the new visitor can’t see me unless he comes around to where Warren is.
The two of them carry on with idle chit chat for a bit, talking about airports and food and sports teams. I get a little distracted as I wiggle my toes and play with my nipples again, but when the conversation drifts to business, I get bored and wonder how long I’m going to be stuck under here.
That boredom then quickly moves on to me getting more pissed off. This fricken shithead shoved me under a desk after calling me a hooker, acted like an ass, threatened me, and then foot nudged me like I was a naughty puppy. He may have me at his feet, but that doesn’t mean he can walk all over me.
With a devilish smirk, I decide to take advantage of this situation. The thing about Warren Knight is that I know him. Maybe better than anyone else, because I’ve seen him behind closed doors when no one else was around, and I’ve seen him drop the mask he wears. I’ve followed him for two whole months, never going a day without watching him for at least a few hours at a time. Don’t judge.
All of my dedicate
d watching has put me at a great advantage. I know that whenever he’s a dick, people always back down and let him win. But that’s just not gonna work on me. See, I’ve seen this guy jerk off more times than I can count. Once you know their O face, their mean face just isn’t as impressive.
I think it’s time someone in his life doesn’t let him win.
Reaching down, I carefully untie his shoes, my touch light enough so that he can’t feel it. When I have the black laces undone on both shoes, I tie them together. It takes a few tries, but I finally manage a solid knot. Then I go higher.
Gentle, but firm enough to make him feel it, I start to run my hands against his shins. Right over the fabric, I let my fingers graze him up and down, my touch slow and methodical. Surprised, he jolts in his chair, and I snicker to myself.
He quickly tries to recover by making it look like he was just straightening up, before diving into more shop talk about some real estate he wants to buy from Mr. Abner. I stop, making him think my assault is over, but just when I see him relax, I start trailing my hands over him again.
He tries to shove me away, this time using his feet, but I grin as I easily bypass the jerky movements.
Unfortunately, I don’t expect him to bury a hand beneath the desk and pull me between his knees to get me to stop moving, so I fall forward with a surprised puff of air as he locks me in place.
He closes his knees around me, trapping me between them in order to stop my movements. I can tell by his posture that he thinks he’s won now. His thigh muscles look particularly arrogant.
Please. He thinks this will stop me?
I squirm, trying to get an arm free, but his thighs just press tighter around me.
Wow. Okay. I spoke too soon. His thighs have every right to look arrogant, because they’re really fricken strong. I can’t get free no matter how much I try.
I stop struggling, pursing my lips to the side as I consider my next move.
Instead of trying to get my arms up, I simply let my hands drop around to the underside of his calves, and then I pinch the shit out of him.
He jerks again, his thighs coming apart for a split-second as he covers up his yowl of pain. The release is short-lived, but it’s all I need to get my damn arms free.
I’d raise a fist in victory if I had enough room, but for real, this desk space is cramped. You’d think a billionaire could afford to get a desk with better underneath space for occasions like this.
Mr. Bachelor Asshole tries to lock me into place again, but I already have my arms lifted out of reach, so when his knees lock around my torso, I welcome it like a damn hug.
He wants to hide me under his desk and trap me between his legs? Then I guess he won’t mind if I make myself right at home.
Excitement makes my pulse jump as I place my hands on his thighs and slowly start sliding my palms up, up, up.
His skin flinches under my touch, and I see an immediate reaction happening at the front of his slacks. Ha! I knew he liked me.
He shifts in his chair again, but he’s no longer trying to kick me away or hold me hostage with his knees. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s inviting me to keep going, because his legs go wide like his dick is opening the doors for VIP access.
I snort.
“What was that?” Mr. Abner says.
Warren coughs. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Oh. Well. Uhh, as I was saying…”
My hands continue to move up his thighs, all the way to his belt. But I don’t undo it, and I take extra care not to touch the outline of his now very hard cock.
I wink at it. I’m not really sure why. I’m just smug about my ability to make him so hard so fast, and I want his dick to know I appreciate the interest.
But I also want to tease Warren some more, so not even a graze of a finger comes into contact with his growing member. Instead, I press against his stomach, and I feel the muscles jump beneath my touch.
Warren coughs again, but even though I’m still smiling mischievously, I’m feeling excited too. And I mean that in a very vagina-driven way. I’m getting all hot down there. It feels great.
I graze over the buttons of his dress shirt, circling the lowest of them where it’s tucked into his pants. When I trail a finger right beside where his dick is growing like a chia pet, I hear him make a strangled coughing noise.
I would’ve laughed, but before I can open my mouth to do so, Warren suddenly reaches down under the desk and seizes my wrist, making my hand land right on his hard, thick cock.
The unexpected movement causes me to accidentally knock my head against the wood of the desk with a bang that’s way too fricken loud, right as an equally loud curse flies from my lips.
The voices immediately stop talking.
There’s a long, awkward pause in conversation.
Another cough.
A chair squeak.
I hear Mr. Harvey try to choke back amusement again, but he’s doing a terrible job at it. He ends up just sounding like a chortling baboon.
But Warren doesn’t let go of my wrist, and I don’t move my hand from his cock.
“Do you...are you...umm...occupied?” Mr. Abner asks, sounding shocked.
Another long pause. My whole face feels like it’s on fire with embarrassment, but it’s kind of adding to the heat between my legs. When Warren’s cock jumps beneath my palm, I realize that I was accidentally stroking him. Whoops.
I should stop, but...oh, what the hell. It’s the first penis I’ve had the pleasure of touching, so I just keep doing it. At least his erection is giving me his full attention.
“I, ah, wasn’t expecting you so soon, Mr. Abner,” Warren finally says.
I’d facepalm at his reply, but…I’m kind of busy with the dick.
“Right. Well. Apologies. My mistake for coming in a day early and interruptin’ y’all,” Mr. Abner quickly says, his Southern drawl more pronounced than ever now that he’s all flustered. “Umm...I think I’ll just look over these figures from my hotel room, Mr. Knight. I’ll be back tomorrow during my, umm, scheduled meetin’ time.”
Making sure I still have Warren’s attention, I move my hand down to swipe over the head of his cock. He jumps, his knee hitting the desk with a knock.
“That would be great,” Warren says hoarsely.
“I’ll walk you out,” Mr. Harvey quickly offers. “I’d love to take you to a dinner and a show. It’ll be the company’s treat,” he adds, doing damage control. “We heard you’re an Angels fan. We have box seats for tomorrow’s game if you’re interested.”
“Well now, I could never pass up an opportunity to watch America’s favorite pastime,” Mr. Abner says jovially, sounding appeased.
“Great, let’s get you all the info, and I’ll bring a car around to take you to your hotel,” I hear Mr. Harvey saying, their voices and footsteps getting further away. Mr. Abner is laughing at something Harvey says by the time the door closes.
Then Warren is on his feet and yanking me out from under the desk and pulling me to my feet.
I come face-to-face with him in all his beautiful, stern glory.
He looks furious.
He looks turned the fuck on.
I smile at him in total victory because I just won this round and we both know it.
My eyes flick down to his hard dick before swinging back up to his brown, hungry gaze. “Not hot enough for you, huh?” I say with a shit-eating grin. “Your dick says otherwise. But unfortunately, I have some bad news. Now that I’ve met you officially, I’ve decided you’re not nearly hot enough for me.”
His mouth parts slightly in surprise, and he blinks like he didn’t hear me right. “What?”
I shake my head in mock disappointment. “I know. But your personality is a real downer. And your face? Eh. I’ve seen better. Your dick doesn’t look that big, either. He felt okay, though.”
He sputters, like he doesn’t know which part to address first.
Before he can figure it out, I twirl around an
d move past him, maneuvering around the desk, making sure his jacket is still covering my ass. “I’ll bring you a date tonight at six. Be ready, and remember, try not to be such an asshole,” I call over my shoulder merrily. “Oh, and I’m keeping the suit jacket. It smells lovely.”
He finally gathers enough wherewithal to move by the time my hand is on the doorknob, but it’s too late for him to realize I’ve knotted his shoelaces together. He goes flying face-first onto the marble tile, and then it’s Mr. Asshole Bachelor Dud doing the flailing starfish move.
Sucker.
I laugh all the way out to the elevator, not paying any attention to the stares I get for my dress code violation or the wide-eyed whispers that follow me.
I’m suddenly feeling way more excited about the personal vow I made. It’s gonna be a tough job getting Warren Knight to fall in love, but I’m just the right cupid-human to do it. I’ll be back in the Veil in no time.
Chapter 8
“That smells really good.”
I’m standing outside next to a food truck called Fettuccine Afraid-O, and my mouth is watering at the deliciousness that keeps wafting out of it.
In the last fifteen minutes of standing here, I’ve memorized the “scary” pasta menu and looked at each dish coming out with longing.
Their food is not only decked out with ghost-shaped meatballs and “bloody” vampire sauce, but it also seems to be a block favorite. It looks like every working person within a five mile radius has left their offices to come eat here, and I don’t blame them. The zombie brainbread looks to die for.
The people in line keep moving up, one after the other, leaving the front of the cart laden with limp noodles and giant balls of meat. I’ve never been so jealous.
“You want to order something, babe?”
I look over at the voice to see a dude dressed in gym clothes with a water bottle hanging from a lanyard around his neck. Behind him is a guy in Armani, and behind him is a guy so hipster, he’s wearing two holey beanies, despite it being a warm summer day in SoCal. Gotta love the clothing diversity in this city.
Can't Fix Cupid Page 5