Strip Poker: Bad Boys Club Romance #2

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Strip Poker: Bad Boys Club Romance #2 Page 18

by Olivia Thorne


  And the way she came! Jesus, it was hot. I’d been with multi-orgasmic chicks before, but not like this. She was loud, she was passionate, she was wild. Digging her fingernails into my back as she screamed her head off, bucking her hips against mine to drive me deeper inside her – makes me hard just thinking of it.

  We capped off the day with a fantastic dinner – lobster and champagne – and watched the lights of the city start to glow as the sun went down.

  And then we had sex for hours.

  And talked.

  And had more sex.

  As I drifted off to sleep that night, with her in my arms, a thought popped into my head:

  I think I’m starting to fall for her.

  Which was ridiculous. I hadn’t fallen in love with anybody since I was a teenager.

  But I think something deep down inside me knew it was true…

  …because it scared me a little.

  61

  Monica

  I woke up in Vic’s bed on Monday morning to the sound of my cell phone.

  I lifted my head and blearily looked around. At first I didn’t know where I was – there was barely enough light in the room to make out my surroundings.

  Then I remembered how I’d just had the best 24 hours of my entire life.

  What day is it…?

  Started work Friday… then Vegas…

  Bradley Middleton’s party Saturday…

  Sunday… mmmmmm…

  Monday.

  My eyes flew wide open.

  Oh SHIT.

  I stumbled out of bed, trying to find my purse.

  “Mm? Wha?” Vic asked sleepily as I flailed around his darkened room.

  “My phone – I can’t find my phone – ”

  “Come back to bed,” he murmured.

  “It’s Monday morning!” I cried out, now fully awake, searching for the muffled ringtone. “What if that’s your uncles calling me?”

  “So what if it is?”

  “I have to answer!”

  “Tell ‘em to fuck off for me,” he mumbled.

  Just as I found my purse, the phone stopped ringing.

  Great.

  I checked the screen. Sal Cortelian.

  Not only that, it was 9:17 AM.

  If he knew what I’d been doing with his nephew the last 36 hours, my job would be over by 9:20.

  “Be quiet for a minute, I have to call your uncle back,” I ordered Vic.

  “Can we do it doggy-style while you talk to him?” he joked as he lay there, eyes shut.

  “No. Behave.”

  But before I could hit redial, Vic’s phone buzzed on the nightstand by his bed.

  My stomach plummeted.

  There was no way it was a coincidence.

  “Dammit, it’s supposed to be on ‘Do Not Disturb,’” he grumbled as he rolled over and fumbled for the phone.

  “Do you have any emergency contacts?”

  He looked at me blearily. “…oh yeah…”

  He rolled over and looked at the screen.

  “Yeah, it’s Sal,” he said in disgust.

  “Answer it!”

  “No. He knows never to call me this early,” he yawned. “Can’t reward bad behavior.”

  Funnily, that was advice Vic’s uncles should have followed about him.

  “He’s calling you because he can’t get ahold of me!” I said, panicked. “Answer it and put it on speakerphone, but don’t let him know I’m here.”

  “No,” Vic said grumpily.

  “ANSWER IT!” I shouted, totally freaking out.

  “Jesus, okay,” he muttered, looking at me like I was a crazy person. Then he grinned. “By the way, I like what you’re wearing.”

  I was completely naked.

  I pointed savagely at the phone, and he swiped the screen as he continued to grin. “Uncle Sal! Why the fuck’re you calling me so early?”

  “It’s after nine in the morning,” Sal Cortelian’s prickly voice said. The hairs on the back of my neck rose in fear.

  “Yeah, but I’m on, like, permanent Hawaii time, so it’s 6AM for me.”

  “Saturday night you said you convinced Bradley Middleton to sign with us.”

  “Yeah, we’re supposed to go in to his office sometime today,” Vic said as he scratched his chest.

  “Did you get him to sign ANYTHING? Some sort of letter of intent?”

  An alarm started going off in my head.

  Apparently it started going off in Vic’s head, too. “…no…”

  “I TOLD you to go back there and GET HIS SIGNATURE!” Sal raged.

  “What happened?”

  “He’s taken another deal, put together last-minute by a group of VC firms!”

  Vic and I stared at each other, wide-eyed.

  “No,” Vic said in disbelief.

  “Yes,” Sal said, his voice dripping with disdain. “And guess who arranged the deal?”

  I didn’t know, but Vic did, because a look of utter horror engulfed his face.

  “NO.”

  “Yes. Domenico Arias.”

  “MOTHERFUCKER!” Vic roared, and threw the cell phone across the room where it clattered against the wall.

  I couldn’t help myself – I yelped in surprise.

  “Hello? Hello?” Sal’s voice called out from the floor.

  Vic stalked over and picked up the phone. “Yeah, I’m here,” he said darkly.

  “Who was that other voice I heard?” Sal asked.

  I looked at Vic in panic. He waved me off. “Nobody.”

  “It didn’t sound like ‘Nobody.’”

  “Hey Bambi, say hello to my Uncle Sal,” Vic called out to me.

  “Oh – never mind. Get over here – I haven’t been able to reach Monica yet, but once she’s here, the three of us need to talk.”

  The sentence was heavy with unspoken threat.

  “Yeah, I’ll be there soon,” Vic said.

  “Not soon, IMMEDIATELY – ”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Vic said, and hung up the phone. Then he pointed at me. “Get dressed.”

  “I have to call your uncle back!”

  “Fine, but then we’re leaving.”

  “We can’t show up at your uncle’s office together!” I protested.

  “We’re not going to my uncle’s office.”

  “Where are we going?”

  Vic grimaced. “To see a fuckin’ welcher.”

  62

  After I made the very unpleasant call to Sal Cortelian – and acted the whole time like I had no idea about Bradley Middleton’s betrayal – Vic and I rode out on a boat to the marina.

  “This is a bad idea,” I said as we climbed into the limo.

  “This is a GREAT idea.”

  “You’re not going to do any good by antagonizing him.”

  “I’m not going to antagonize him, I’m going to reason with him.”

  “With what, your fists?”

  “No, with words.”

  “By calling him a welcher?”

  “Nooooo, by reminding him of our gentlemen’s agreement.”

  I shook my head. “I still think we should just go to your uncles’.”

  “What, so we can stand there and let them rip us a new asshole, when we could be snatching victory from the jaws of defeat?”

  “Or possibly making matters worse.”

  “Trust me, okay?”

  I looked at him dubiously.

  He gave me a sly smile. “As the last two 48 hours can attest, I can be very persuasive.”

  Oh GOD.

  “You are NOT going to pull any of this double entendre crap around your uncles, are you?”

  “NO – come on, give me at least a little credit.”

  I sighed and stared out the window, watching the streets of San Francisco race by. Then a thought popped into my head. Though I tried to suppress it, a snort of laughter escaped.

  “What?” Vic asked.

  “Didn’t you say something Saturday night about it being bad luck t
o celebrate prematurely?”

  “Do NOT even start,” Vic said crossly.

  63

  Twenty minutes later we walked into the open-air atrium of Bradley Middleton’s company. It was all pale wood and gleaming steel, with a curving staircase that led to second-story offices with all-glass walls.

  The offices were a hive of activity, with twenty-somethings in meetings, at desks, drawing on whiteboards, and scurrying to and fro.

  By contrast, the lobby was a serene area with a bunch of plush sofas and an indoor grove of bamboo. There was also a receptionist’s desk, behind which stood two burly security guards.

  Uh-oh.

  As soon as Vic walked in the front door, the guards marched out from behind the desk and planted themselves between us and the stairs.

  “Sir, you can’t come in here,” the bald guard said.

  “I’m an investor in this company,” Vic said. His authoritative tone was clear (even if he was lying): You must be new – get the hell out of my way. “And I’m late for a meeting.”

  Vic tried to brush past the guards, but the bald guy put a hand squarely on Vic’s chest. “No sir, you’re not, and you’re not on the visitor’s list.”

  Vic stepped back. I could tell he wanted to slap the guy’s hand away, but he was still playing it cool. “You don’t even know who I am.”

  “Yes I do, Mr. Cortelian, and I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “Look, I just want to talk to my friend – ”

  “Sir, am I going to have to call the police?”

  “Vic,” I said, fighting to remain calm, “let’s go.”

  “No, everything’s fine – BRADLEY!” Vic suddenly bellowed up at the second floor.

  The guards closed in. “Sir – ”

  I was starting to panic. “Vic, come on – ”

  “BRADLEY, GET YOUR WELCHING ASS OUT HERE RIGHT NOW!”

  “Sir, I’m not gonna ask you again – ”

  The glass door to the office complex opened up, and Bradley stepped out on the second-floor balcony overlooking the lobby. He looked just as dorky as before, with his white t-shirt under his unbuttoned long-sleeve polo shirt and a pair of rumpled khakis.

  “Hi Vic,” he said with a forced smile.

  “Hey buddy!” Vic said in a fake cheery voice. “How’s about we sign that paperwork?”

  “No can do, Vic.”

  Vic’s fake smile became even tighter. “And why’s that?”

  “I talked to the lawyers, and, well…” Bradley jerked his thumb over his shoulder and rolled his eyes, like Those guys, always spoiling everybody’s fun… “Turns out that legal agreements made while one party is intoxicated aren’t legally binding, so…”

  “So let’s do the deal now while you’re sober, BUDDY,” Vic said between clenched teeth.

  “Naaaah… I got a better deal.”

  Vic lost it.

  “YOU WELCHING SON OF A BITCH!” he roared as the two security guards held him back. “WE HAD AN AGREEMENT!”

  “Intoxicated, remember?” Bradley said. “Plus, there was nothing on paper – it was strictly an oral agreement – ”

  “You’re going to be entering an oral agreement with my dick if you think you can back out of this!” Vic shouted.

  Bradley shook his head with patronizing exasperation. “Come on, Vic, get serious – if you lost, we were going to draw on your face in Sharpie and post it to Instagram. That was supposed to be your legally-binding negotiation?”

  “If I’d lost, I would have gone through with it!”

  “I have investors, Vic. I can’t go to them and say, ‘Oh, hey, lost a poker game Saturday night – here’s the new direction of the company for the next ten years.’”

  “Then you shouldn’t have made the fucking bet!” Vic bellowed. “A bet is a bet, and an agreement is an agreement!”

  We were drawing quite a crowd. It seemed like the entire company had lined up behind the glass walls of the office and were watching the spectacle with wide eyes – but no one dared step out onto the balcony with Bradley.

  Well… no one who worked there.

  The glass door hissed open with a pneumatic sssss, and I heard the Italian-accented voice before I actually saw its owner.

  “And a win is a win, and a loss is a loss.” Domenico walked up next to Bradley, looking malevolent and dashing in an expensive suit and dark blue tie. “You have lost this one, Victor. Don’t be a sore loser – just accept defeat and walk away.”

  Vic went apoplectic with rage. “You lying, thieving – ”

  “You know,” Domenic interrupted, “it has always been amusing to me that your name is Victor, when you are so obviously not one.”

  “You cock-gobbling Italian son of a bitch – I’m going to pound your skull into your scrotum – ”

  “Guys?!” Bradley addressed the security guards impatiently, like Come ON, DO something!

  The two guards started pushing Vic back towards the door. “Sir, you’re going to need to leave, NOW.”

  Vic suddenly became entirely calm and walked along with them. As he did so, he looked at the bald guy. “Say, do you guys carry guns?”

  Baldy looked at him dubiously. “No…”

  “Good.”

  Vic spun around, elbowing the two guards in the gut, and ran for the stairs.

  “COME HERE, YOU PANSY-ASSED LITTLE WELCHER – AND YOU, YOU SMUG FUCKIN’ GUCCI-WEARING ASSHOLE – ”

  “VIC!” I screamed.

  Bradley, terrified, hid behind Domenico, who merely looked amused.

  Vic didn’t get halfway up the stairs, though, before the guards tackled him at the feet and began to drag him bodily down the steps. Thump, thump, thump.

  “I’M GOING TO GET BOTH OF YOU IF IT’S THE LAST THING I DO!” Vic screamed as they dragged him across the tile floor. “AND THAT’S A PROMISE!”

  Things got worse when the cops showed up, but that’s an entirely different story.

  64

  “You FOOL!”

  Vic and I were standing at the end of the table in Cortelian Capital’s penthouse boardroom. Twenty feet away, Frank Cortelian glowered at us from his chair. Sal Cortelian was leaning on the table with his bony arms, his eyes blazing in anger.

  I felt like a terrified kindergartener called on the carpet in front of the class.

  Vic – who looked way worse for wear after his scuffle with the security guards and cops – was far more mellow. “I’ll admit, it was a lapse in judgment.”

  “A lapse in judgment? A LAPSE in JUDGMENT?!” Sal raged. “You were attempting to assault a billionaire and prospective client! We might have been able to negotiate with him and secure some level of investment in his company – but now?! Not only will we never do business with Middleton or any of his associates ever again, we are the laughingstock of Silicon Valley! Worse, we are a scandal! Do you think anyone will ever want to do business with a firm that sends muscle-bound thugs to terrorize them when negotiations go south?!”

  “It wasn’t ‘negotiations,’” Vic said indignantly. “I won the bet, fair and square.”

  “YOU DON’T DO BILLION DOLLAR DEALS ON BETS!” Sal screamed.

  “I have before,” Vic said, and started counting on his fingers. “The Lupux deal, the McGuire deal, the – ”

  “THAT’S BESIDE THE POINT! Your past luck doesn’t excuse your present incompetence!”

  Vic shrugged. “Well, you’re probably better off in the long run.”

  “How is THAT?!”

  “He’s a weasel. He totally welched on a bet.”

  “YOU… are an IDIOT.” Sal turned to me, and I could see the fires of hell flashing in his eyes. “And YOU – ”

  “Sir, I am truly sorry – ”

  “YOU were supposed to be overseeing him! This is what happens on your second day on the job?! A scandal that will likely result in criminal charges – ”

  “He’s not going to press charges,” Vic scoffed, waving away the possibility like it was ludic
rous.

  “ – not to mention millions of dollars of bad press? Did this happen through incompetence, or just gross dereliction of duty?”

  “Sir… I know that the situation looks really bad, but – ”

  “You were supposed to be exercising judgment and oversight! There is no oversight here, and the only judgment I see is BAD judgment! Tell me, what would you say if you were running a company and one of your subordinates allowed such a travesty to happen on their watch?”

  I knew more than Sal did – the fact that I’d actually slept with Vic – and I couldn’t escape my feelings of guilt.

  “…I would probably fire them,” I said quietly.

  Sal’s gaze bored a hole through me. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have my own security team throw you out of this building right now!”

  “Because it was my fault, not hers,” Vic said.

  I looked over at him in gratitude. It was a touching effort on his part –

  But Sal wasn’t having any of it. “I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to her.”

  “Well I’m talking to you,” Vic snarled.

  “Your entire position, your yacht, everything you have at our discretion, is on the line,” Sal roared. “I would advise to shut your mouth FOR ONCE in your life.”

  Vic went silent, but the look in his eyes was pure murder.

  Sal turned back to me. “Well? Where’s my one reason?”

  “I can’t give you one,” I said. “Not one that wouldn’t sound like an excuse, anyway.”

  “Then perhaps you should see yourself out,” Sal sneered, pointing a bony finger at the boardroom doors.

  “Hey!” Vic started angrily –

  But I spoke over him. “I have something to say.”

  “What?” Sal asked in the most withering voice imaginable.

  I straightened up and held my head high. “Vic was a masterful negotiator. He took advantage of Middleton’s weakness – his pride. He talked him up beautifully. He gained his trust, convinced him of the value of his proposition… and then he executed flawlessly. If the only issue is that we didn’t get him to sign a contract, Middleton wasn’t going to sign a contract at midnight during an alcohol-soaked party. He never would have. It’s ridiculous to think otherwise. But Vic got a rock-solid oral agreement with dozens of witnesses present. He may be unorthodox – extremely unorthodox – but he succeeded where normal negotiations wouldn’t have stood a chance. Vic did everything right. It’s Middleton who stabbed you in the back, but you’re putting Vic on the firing line, and that’s not fair.”

 

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