by Kara Chase
“We’ll see about that,” I return, looking into her eyes and seeing the fucking fire that’s burning in there. Yeah, she’s fucking intense.
But so am I.
“War then,” she proclaims, going up to her feet and patting down the front of her dress. Pursing her lips, she turns around and storms out.
“War,” I repeat as I watch her walk away, all that whisky burning a hole in my stomach.
This isn’t any different from before. Despite having fucked her, despite all this shit in my head, disorienting me from my work and my life, it’s all the same from when she showed up claiming what’s rightfully mine.
If she wants a war, she just bought one.
Chapter Eighteen
Lucien
The 53rd floor of the Trident is a plush as fuck members only restaurant. It’s Michelin starred for the last six years and the only way to dine in it is to be with a resident of the building. It’s more exclusive than the oldest of private clubs in Manhattan.
All of this means that when I need to sit down and clear my head, this is where I’m going to be finding myself.
I stroll in through the hallway as I get off the elevator and give out a low whistle.
This place is luxurious - even by my fucking jaded billionaire standards.
And tonight, I’m meeting Derek Tate - basically the man who helped sponsor me to come live here.
See it’s not enough that you have lots of money. A current resident has to vouch for you. And Derek and I go way back.
If there’s ever anyone in the world that I wholeheartedly respect, it’s motherfucking Derek. That dude...I don’t know. We’re like two peas in a pod.
I like to say that he’s my brother that I never had. We first met when we were brokers on the UBS trading desk on Forty-eighth and Park Avenue.
At first we were rivals. Always trying to get in on the bigger deal than the other person. We scrapped for every single client and butted heads to get the best deals on the Street. By the end the month, we’d sit down with our dealbooks and a bottle of scotch.
See, I think that’s when we started becoming friends. We realized that we had a lot of shit in common. We both liked working out. We both chased endless amounts of tail. And we both never kept one pussy around for too long.
We both had a crazy work ethic that meant a lot of 16 hour days and weekends. You gotta remember this is before the days when Analysts and other junior staff were mandated to take one weekend day off each month.
It’s fucking gay to say it, but that’s when our friendship bloomed. Both of us would get into work at 6:30 am. We’d cross the street and get an Egg McMuffin from McDonalds. Or even a hot dog from the street carts still setting up.
Derek was always fucking impeccably dressed. I guess you had to be your best when your job involved you talking to high net worth individual.
As we advanced, I moved up on the Trading Floor, leading the pit bosses and looking over the quants.
Derek began to make his name making big deals. He courted institutional investors and began to be the seal of approval whenever any of the big banks wanted to deal with us. When Derek moved, he brought me the offer too and asked if I wanted to work as a Managing Director at Morgan Stanley.
We made the move and landed on our feet at Morgan Stanley. Within a year we were both Managing Directors with our own fiefdoms generating billions in revenue. It wasn’t a surprise when we both traveled to Carter Jeffries - this time me taking him with me.
The only time we split ways?
When Carter Jeffries’s CEO departed, he could only pick one. The Board split along some pretty divided lines and Derek got the job by two votes.
I wasn’t disappointed.
Really.
I mean if there was anyone who could do the job better than me, it was Derek Tate. Sure, we were still going to be fucking competitive. But I couldn’t begrudge him the good work he’d done so far in getting the top spot.
Derek even helped me shop myself around Wall Street. He made quite few introductions and I was asked if I wanted to take the top spot at Lazard or go into a Chairman track at Goldman. But after a while, I knew what I had to do.
I had to start my own shop.
Derek was one of the first investors in Lucien Parker Investments and we kept in touch just as much as I built up the hedge fund into one of the premier places to park your money.
And every month, we sat down with a bottle of scotch, and our balance sheets - trying to beat each other’s earnings and then talking shit and going to a strip club.
I look out the floor to ceiling windows as they overlook Central Park and think about dinner tonight with Derek. He’s going to get a laugh out of the situation I’m in - sharing an apartment with Vivian.
But he did get me here this far. For fucks sake, maybe he’ll have some words of wisdom about what I can do to get out of it.
“Enjoying the view?” a feminine voice says behind me and I grimace as I recognize it.
“What are you doing up here, Vivian?” I ask, turning around to see her in a shimmering blue wraparound dress that pushes up her tits and showcases her perfect ass and legs.
“I could ask you the same thing, Lucien,” she says, parsing her words. “But if you must know, I’m here to have dinner with a friend of mine. Actually the lady who sponsored my application to buy the apartment.”
I notice the elevator opening and Derek walking out.
“That’s funny,” I say with a scowl. “Since I’m here to meet my friend Derek who did the same for me.”
“I can’t believe anyone would sponsor you, to be honest,” Vivian says archly.
“I can’t believe any of your friends would want you so close to them either,” I retort.
Vivian exhales loudly and I can tell I’ve exasperated her but I could care less. Hell, maybe if I exasperate her some more she’ll fucking move out.
I see Derek approach us. He’s got a giant grin as he takes Vivian in.
Against all others, I feel myself tense up. I’m going to have to tell him that Vivian’s off limits.
Now yeah, I know I just said that Vivian’s off limits, but before you go on thinking all sorts of things, I want to make sure you know exactly what I mean.
Sure, we fucked. But I mean, so fucking what?
I’m not in love with her or anything.
You go me?
She’s mine because...well...what if I want to fuck her again?
I mean I’m pretty sure I will.
But still.
She’s all mine.
Fucking mine mine mine.
Derek comes up to us.
“Hey Lucy!” he says out loud and I flinch. He’s been calling me that since our UBS days. Doesn’t he fucking realize I’m a titan of the financial services industry?
“Oh, does the King of Wall Street not like his fucking name?” Derek ribs me before turning to Vivian. “Name’s Derek Tate.”
“The CEO of Carter Jeffries?” Vivian asks with an arched eyebrow. “Vivian Sweet. Pleasure to meet you.”
“I’ve heard that name before,” Derek says as he shakes her hand.
“We sued Carter Jeffries last year for $540 million,” Vivian says without batting an eye. “I led the proceedings.”
“That’s it,” Derek says, not reacting at all. “I hope you guys didn’t spend it all in one place.”
“Let’s get our table, Derek,” I say, wanting to cut off any burgeoning conversation. I flag the maitre d. She comes over.
“Will it be the three of you?” she asks us.
“Oh no,” Vivian and I say at the same time. We pause and Vivian continues. “My friend is coming up just now.”
The maitre d looks pained.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Parker and Ms. Sweet, the restaurant has a strict policy of only one table per apartment,” she says.
It takes a moment to figure out what she just meant.
“You mean we can’t dine separately?” Vivian asks
.
“Actually, that’s true. If you’re up here, you need to be together or someone needs to leave,” Derek clarifies.
Vivian and I look at each other.
“Unfortunately, we’re full today and have just the reservation for you, otherwise I could make reservations for your friends.
“I’m not leaving,” I say stubbornly. This is my home.
“I’m damned if I’m leaving either,” Vivian says with gritted teeth.
“Well, that’s pretty much left us at an impasse,” Derek states. I see the elevator open and a stylish and elegant - no take that back - hot as fuck - brunette walk out in a shimmering black dress. I see Vivian raise her hand and the two of them exchange glances.
“Miss,” Vivian says to the maitre d. “That’s my friend. We’re ready to be seated.”
“What about Mr. Parker and his friend?” the maitre d asks.
“Let them go eat in the kitchen or wherever,” Vivian says. “Like the dogs they are.”
“That’s not too fair,” Derek says. He looks at Natalie. And then at me.
“Say, what about this,” he asks the maitre d. “There’s four of us. Why don’t we share a table?”
Natalie, Vivian’s friend nods her head happily at this.
Vivian’s face has gone white.
I’m starting to wonder how much of a shitshow this evening is going to end up being.
“It’s settled,” Derek says, and claps his hands. “Let’s all get to know each other, shall we?”
Great.
This might as well be my last fucking meal.
Because I guarantee by the end of it, I’ll be wanting to kill myself.
No. Wait. I take it back.
No way I’m making it that easy for Vivian.
Fuck it.
Let the games begin, shall they.
Chapter Nineteen
Vivian
Dick’ll make you crazy.
Don’t believe me? Get the best cock of your life and then remember what a dick he can be?
You don’t know whether or not to drop your panties first before you run for the hills.
I mean if I wasn’t so fucking stubborn, I would totally leave this restaurant right now, right? Exclusive and shiny and food that melts in your mouth delicious has nothing on this little thing I used to remember having a modicum of…
Sanity!
Because no such fucking beast exists around Lucien goddamn Parker. Just thinking about how riled up he has me now has my panties wet but if I didn’t have such a flawless new manicure I’d be balling my hands into fists.
But, alas, a gal’s gotta endure so much to be around such a man. Not that I’ve ever met anyone like Lucien before.
I consider myself lucky.
And now this Bro Montana fuck he’s brought along, tossing their assholish behavior back and forth like a damn football has me truly understanding why women have hit men with their purses in the past. I don’t want to stomach a second of it.
Still, I won’t go down this easy.
I give him a classic Vivian Sweet smile. The one that says, never you mind, you’ll be my bitch in just a moment.
I cross my legs and prepare for war.
Vivian Sweet never backs down from a fucking fight and she gives as good as she gets.
See, thinking that makes me want to bite my lip, remembering what good Lucien could give. I don’t want that kind of shiver right now, I brush off the thought. I mean, real talk, you know that’s why I’m so frustrated right now. I can’t stand how good he felt inside me.
I won’t lie that fighting with him is the most infuriating thing I’ve ever experienced but it does bring out that thrilling rush of being totally at war.
I bring a water glass to my lips and take the teensiest sip. Yeah. Think I’m some simpering little sissy. You’ll never see me coming.
Lucien raises an eyebrow at me and I know he’s wondering what I’m up to now.
Natalie clears her throat and I remember myself again. “So, this is Lucien?” she asks.
Yeah it doesn’t even sound innocent. It’s not. I’ve told her all the pertinent details.
All of them.
“Satan in a suit, yep,” I say with a fake smile.
“To think they used to call you that,” Natalie says with a laugh and gives a very genuine smile to the person bringing us drinks.
“I earned my title by working for it. Ask Derek,” I say with a sideways glance around the room. We’re the only foursome out tonight in the crowded lounge that looks like we’re ready to flip the table and start choking each other.
Which is totally normal. This whole situation is what’s so weird.
Still, I can’t help myself. I will have that fucking apartment. I earned it. No one rolled out the goddamn red carpet for me, I have my career out of ripping the silver spoons out of spoiled shit heads like these types. I belong at the Trident because I busted my ass for it.
Derek’s eyes are all over Natalie. Great. Just what I need, one of my nearest and dearest friends needing to direct Lucien’s douchebag friend away from her sights.
But they actually dare look amused at Lucien and I.
That’s frustrating as hell, but even I can recognize the absurdity of the apartment situation. Us having to share a table is the icing on this cocked up cake of up having to share an apartment.
The server, clearly treading lightly around the four of us, dares to ask what we want to start with. As if I have an appetite for anything but Lucien’s tears when I’m victorious. He can leave. I wanted to have a nice time with Natalie, and I want the damn apartment.
“We’ll take one of everything, why choose?” I say. “Lucien’s got enough to foot that, we’re not splitting today’s check,” I say with a saccharin voice.
“Absolutely, I know how much Vivian just wants a big, strong man to take care of her,” Lucien says, exaggerating his words and giving me this look that has probably melted the panties off a lot of lesser bitches.
“Let me know if you see any real men,” I mutter.
The server scribbles, nods, and scurries off.
Derek laughs. “I’m right here, but I think this is best suited toward you to,” he says, lifting his drink, raising in toast with Natalie, who lifts hers as well.
They’re grinning at each other like this is all so amusing.
Well fuck me. “Lucien, I know you won’t be used to this, but Natalie and I won’t be excusing ourselves to puke up whatever item we chew 40 counted times first. So don’t think about telling the staff to abscond our seats when we go for a model bathroom break.” I sneer at him. I feel the venom protruding from my gaze and my words. No one gets under my skin like Lucien fucking Parker.
“Wow,” Lucien raises his eyebrows. “I figured you kept such a tight ass running away from all the worthless pricks you date.”
“Takes one to know one.” I raise my drink to that. It’s true. My side eye catches how Natalie is stroking the stem of her martini glass looking at Derek.
Christ.
I grab her arm a little tighter than I mean to and her eyes widen. I give her the look.
The what the hell look, and she leans back in her seat a little.
I want to calm down.
But then the food arrives and Lucien says, “put it in front of her.” Pointing at me. “She’s got an eating disorder we’re going to be, and why not do it with class?”
Fucking really?
“Yes, I need something quality to put in my mouth after some recent events,” I say. I let my fork lift up a barely one inch long sliver of something divine, but I exaggerate my pleasure when it passes between my lips.
“Bigger than what I’ve gotten used to from the last prick,” I say, shooting venom at him.
Lucien barrel laughs at this comment.
So yeah he wasn’t endowed in any small way but so what.
“Yeah, of course,” Lucien laughs. He gulps his drink. “I’m having flashbacks with all this wet
goodness pouring down my throat.”
The involuntary shiver passing through my body at that. Yes, I came like a damn waterfall showing off or something. Did he have to remind me of that?
Without thinking about it, I’ve reached out and squeezed what was a baguette into breadcrumbs. I release it and I think I legitimately hiss at him.
Yes, a real hiss comes out of my mouth. Damn.
“You didn’t seem to think I was a recovering anorexic when you were enjoying what’s under this dress,” I say, rolling my eyes at him. “Ungrateful, how typical of you. Why do you have to be so predictable?”
Lucien’s hand grazes my thigh under the table so feather light I almost think I’m imagining it, but then he squeezes it.
“You know I’m anything but predictable, doll,” Lucien says. There’s a softness in the gruff timbre of his voice that unfurls slowly inside me like a night-blooming goddamn flower. I can’t handle this effect he has on me. But then that smug fucking face makes me pull back in my chair what feels like a mile. The sound my chair makes leads to a lot of eyes on us.
That’s when he waves over the server again only to order...everything.
Everything on the menu. What in the hell?
One thing to start with it all. But he’s making himself pay for everything the chef could possibly make at a very small table.
There’s not going to be room at the table, much less our stomachs.
I can see actual sweat beading on the server’s brow but she nods, smiles, and scurries off again.
“More drinks too!” Derek says downright jovially.
“Of course,” she chokes out.
Because that’s what this fucking party needs. More alcohol is only going to make this go better, right?
I mean, what usually happens when you add alcohol to an open flame?
Maybe when we make it to dessert I’ll order Lucien a creme brulee and we’ll prove out that theory with our next round of drinks.
Chapter Twenty
Natalie
Okay so let me just take a moment to describe this scene that’s going on in front of me because it might not be believable to even myself unless I tell someone and it’s enshrined in posterity.