by Kara Chase
“Yes, yes, the law. The big mighty American law,” he interrupts, putting out his cigarette and immediately fishing another from his breast pocket. “The Condo bylaw says that you have thirty days to make a decision, and that is all. I don’t care about anything else.”
“Mr. Snodgrass,” I tell him, with my voice lowered. I grit my teeth, annoyed by the presumptuous tone the bastard has in his voice. “Please, show me where it states in the bylaws that I only have thirty days to make a decision.”
“Very well.”
I notice a hint of an evil smile dawning on his lips and as he reaches into a drawer to grab a binder, I see a mischievous glint in his eyes.
What the hell is this guy up to? I’ve seen enough men with this exact same look on their faces to know that Edwin is up to no good.
This isn’t about the law, the bylaws, or something like that...no, this is something else entirely.
“Here, take a look.”
He opens the binder, turns it around, and pushes it across the desk toward me. Curious, I grab it with both hands and lean into it. As I start scanning through the document in front of me, I feel my eyes widening of their own accord.
Well, shit.
I wasn’t expecting this.
“So, Ms. Sweet...as you can see, we probably want the same thing.”
God, the confidence in his voice is almost palpable.
“If there’s anything I can do to help you get rid of Lucien, I’d be more than happy to help.”
Without saying a word, I simply get up from my seat and nod quietly.
This didn’t go the way I expected it to.
“Take me home,” I tell my driver as he holds the door open for me.
I might not be a billionaire like Lucien, but I’m important enough to have my firm provide me with a luxury car and a driver. The best way—no, the only way—to beat the New York elite into submission, you have to look like the elite.
During the ride back to the apartment, I can’t stop thinking about what happened in Edwin’s office. The fat asshole really pulled one over me. And now, what the hell am I going to do?
These thoughts are still swirling inside my head when I exit the car and make my into the Trident.
I’m lost in those thoughts by the time I step inside the apartment, my mind working at a hundred miles per hour, trying to work out a solution. Shit.
Right now, all I want to do is kick my heels off, grab a fine bottle of white wine, and drink all these problems away. Maybe I’ll have some playtime as well.
God knows it’s been fun to imagine Lucien’s naked body and relive all the memories from that night together, and maybe that’s exactly what I need right now.
“What the hell?”
The dining table on one side of the living room has been covered with a green cloth, and five men are sitting around it, a low lamp hanging from the ceiling. There’s a pack of dealt cards laying on the cloth, and a mountain of poker chips in front of each men.
Lucien is sitting at the head of the table, that shit-eating grin of his dancing on his lips.
The air is thick with cigar smoke, and I actually have to squint for the second time in the day because of it.
I can’t believe Lucien just set up a poker game in our living room.
My living room, I mean.
“Hey, Viv,” he greets me casually, and I notice he has his scotch glass turning to the side to accept a glass of scotch from a woman.
Wait, a woman? What the hell?
Making a controlled effort not to let my jaw drop, I notice three scantily clad women serving drinks. They’re dresses are so tight I’m surprised they can even breathe. Their tits are pushing the fabric to its maximum capacity, and they seem as if they’re about to spill out at any given moment.
“Lucien,” one of the woman coos as she sets the glass in front of Lucien, casually bending over as she does it.
Her dress is so short that I actually glimpse the pink thong she’s wearing. Jesus Christ.
This asshole has taken it too far this time.
Walking toward Lucien and his poker buddies, hands on my hips, I stare each one of them down. Then, knowing that it’ll annoy Lucien, I flash a seductive smile at one of the men.
He’s on his early thirties and seems to be built like a NFL player. Dashing smile and all.
Yeah, if Lucien wants to play, then let’s play.
“What the—” I start and only manage to stop myself by biting my tongue.
Only now have I noticed that these obnoxious assholes are using my Nora Roberts novels as coasters. I see the circular marks from the alcohol already staining the covers, and I feel my blood boiling inside my veins.
I swear to god, I might just have to kick all of their asses.
“Something you wanna say, doll?” one of the men asks me, flicking the ash from his cigar distractedly.
I watch as the ash tumbles down onto the floor, a large chunk of it actually landing on one of my pink throw pillows. I only bought these horrid pillows to piss Lucien off, but come on!
“Call,” I hear Lucien say as he pushes half of his chips to the center of the table.
As the dealer —another woman in one of these miniaturized versions of a dress— turns the final card, Lucien bites down on the unlit end of his cigar and claps his hands together.
“Fucking-A.”
Reaching toward the center of the table, he pulls the gigantic stack of chips toward him.
“You’ll all be broke by the time I’m done,” he tells his buddies, completely ignoring me.
He’s acting as if I’m not even here.
I almost consider going back to the room and cranking up Britney Spears on the stereo, but I stop myself from doing it. Lucien will acknowledge me.
After a few seconds, he finally leans back on his chair, and he grins, blowing out a cloud of smoke in my direction.
“What you doing standing there, baby?” he says. “Why don’t you pull up a chair so you can watch me kick these guys asses?”
“Oh, I’m going to pull up a chair alright,” I respond, returning his grin.
Then I turn to the dealer.
“Deal me in, will you?” I say. “There’s a man in here who needs to be shown who the boss is.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lucien
I wasn’t fucking expecting this.
How the fuck does this chick have the balls to go and ask to be dealt in?
Shit, this is going to be interesting.
I lean back on my chair, just watching as she kicks off her heels and grabs a bottle of scotch out from the hands of a server. She takes over one of the empty chairs around the table, places her elbows on top of the green poker cloth, and pours two fingers of whisky into a glass.
“So, what’s the buy-in?” she asks, looking around the table as casually as if she was addressing a classroom of young kids.
The guys I brought over are some of the most cut-throat guys working in the financial services industry, and she’s almost talking down to them.
“Ten thousand. Think you can swing that much?” Michael says with a deep laugh.
He’s one of these Wall Street guys who seem to have taken up Gordon Gecko as his role model—the dude even has the slicked back hair thing down.
“Ain’t no thang,” Vivian replies in an almost bored tone.
With a quick wave of her hand, she motions for the girl sitting at the center of the table to deal her in. With her chips neatly stacked in front of her, she palms the cards as the dealer serves them up, and then leans back on her chair again.
“I hope you guys don’t mind losing 10k tonight. I saw a pair of Louboutins I wanted to buy, and I might do it with your money,” Vivian says.
“Shoes?” Anthony, one of Michael’s sidekicks, scoffs. He grabs a cigar out from the open box sitting on the side table, and lights it up. “What is it with women and shoes? Shouldn’t you spend that on an oven or something?”
The other gu
ys laugh at Anthony’s joke, but Vivian seems as cool as ever. She waits for the laughter to die down, and then she leans slightly toward Anthony.
“I prefer shoes. The pointy kind. I hear it hurts the most when you kick a guy in the balls…especially after you take all of their money.”
I almost fucking choke on the scotch.
Holy fuck, Vivian doesn’t play around. No wonder she has a reputation as a lawyer. I wouldn’t want to face a deranged chick like her in a courtroom.
Even one as hot as she is.
“She got you there, Anthony,” Michael laughs, and then everyone joins in.
Hell, even I can’t help but laugh. Just look at Anthony’s face—the guy is as red as a fucking tomato. I bet he wasn’t expecting for Vivian to have a comeback ready for him.
Well, alright.
As fun as this is, I can’t lose sight of the goal. I’m not here to crack jokes with Vivian—I brought all these motherfuckers around just so I could make her feel uncomfortable and ready to fucking bolt out of the apartment.
Time to shut this shit down.
I pick my two cards up and quickly glance at the flop, the three cards resting at the center of the table. I got an ace on my hand, and there’s another on the flop. If I move fast, I might just push everyone out of the pot and win this hand.
“Raise,” I say when it comes my turn, pushing a large chunk of chips toward the center stack.
One by one, they all start to fold…all but Vivian. Of course—she can’t back down from a fucking challenge, can she? Guess I’ll have to take her 10k then.
“You shouldn’t have raised, Lucien,” she laughs, and then just pushes all of her chips toward the center.
What the fuck?
“Do you even know what you’re doing? You’re gonna make me feel bad about taking all of your money,” I tell her, and I’m not even fucking joking right now.
She probably doesn’t even know how to fucking play poker. I’m almost embarrassed to be playing against her.
“If you’re afraid, you can just fold.”
“I call.” I’m starting to feel a little pissed with her cocky attitude. It’s a good thing that if I win this hand, she’ll be out of the game. “Alright, let’s see it.”
“I got a shot at a flush,” she grins, placing her two cards down on the table.
Fuck me. This doesn’t look good to me.
“I’ve got a pair,” I say.
“You sure you do? Oh, you mean the cards, right,” she laughs again, and the rest of the guys join her, laughing like fucking retards as they sip on my fucking whisky.
Man, this had everything going right before it went so fucking wrong.
How the fuck does Vivian always manage to find a way to ruin every fucking thing?
“Here comes the turn,” the dealer says, turning one of the cards. Okay, so far, so good. “And the river.”
As the final card is dealt, my heart fucking drops.
Vivian made her fucking flush on the river.
“Thank you, Lucien,” she says, reaching for all the fucking chips and pulling them toward her. “I really wanted those shoes. I’m glad you’re buying them for me.”
She grins at me from the other side of her mountain of chips, and then she has the gall to fucking reach for my box of Cuban cigars.
“You mind?” she continues and without waiting for my reply, she picks one of the cigars up.
She puts it in her mouth and then grabs a match and lights up. She does it like a fucking pro too—it’s crazy how comfortable she is around us. It’s almost like she’s one of the guys.
And the fucking retards are enjoying her presence, too. They’re laughing like idiots at all her jokes, and she’s taking all their money while they’re too fucking busy glancing at her cleavage. I’m betting that by the time the night’s over, Vivian will have all of their money stashed in her purse.
I don’t know if I should be impressed or just fucking pissed.
“Alright, I’m taking a break,” I find myself saying, slowly going up to my feet.
Shit, I don’t know how many whiskies I’ve downed, but I need some fresh air. As Vivian starts cracking another joke, I make my way toward the balcony and take a deep breath as the cool night air embraces me.
Leaning against the rails, I place the cigar in my mouth and let the smoke rise up in the air patiently. I look over the brightly lit city, dozens of skyscrapers surrounding The Trident. Of all the fucking penthouses in the whole city, why did I have to pick the one that comes with a crazy chick?
“Alright, alright. Since you guys are being nice, I’ll bring some more over,” I hear Vivian say from the kitchen.
She walks through the scantily clad servers without batting an eye and goes straight toward the fridge. She’s taking some beers out when I notice Anthony getting up from the poker table and, unsteadily, going toward the kitchen.
I never liked him. Didn't want to invite him at first but Dale insisted that he'd behave.
It looks like Dale was wrong.
Still with the cigar in my mouth, I watch as he walks up to Vivian, a stupid grin on his face, and stops right in front of her. She tells him something, but I can’t hear what from here.
He laughs at whatever she has said. He reaches for her, but she pushes him back, with both of her hands pressed on his chest.
Anthony tries it again. He places one hand on her waist and with the other, tries to reach for her ass.
Vivian moves fast; the palm of her hand lands on Anthony’s cheek with a loud smack.
Rage takes over Anthony’s face. Before I can even process what the fuck’s happening, he cocks his arms back and slaps Vivian with his open hand.
Motherfucker.
Someone’s about to fucking die right fucking now.
Without even thinking about what I’m doing, I let the cigar fall from my mouth to the floor, and then I rush back inside the apartment. I go straight toward Anthony and grab him by the scruff of his shirt.
He looks surprised at first, but then he narrows his drunken eyes into two evil slits. He makes as if he’s about to take a fucking swing at me, but I’m too fast for him.
I bend my knees, move under his swinging arm—and then I introduce his face to my fucking fist.
When he doubles over, I grab him by the hair and knee him in the fucking nose. He tumbles back like a fucking drunk giraffe, clutching his broken nose and wailing like a fucking pussy.
My blood is fucking boiling right now.
What kind of motherfucker does that to a woman?
To Vivian?
“Party’s over, motherfuckers,” I announce.
One look at me, and everyone gets it.
Michael and the rest lift Anthony from the floor and without saying a fucking word, they drag him out of the apartment. The girls follow after them, and I only feel my pulse easing when I hear the door closing behind them.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Vivian
“Are you okay?” Lucien asks me, following me to the kitchen and wrapping his arms around me.
“Tell me you’re okay, doll,” he continues, his voice so soft and gentle it makes my poor heartache.
“I’m...fine,” I finally manage to say, although I’m still trembling.
How did it all get so out of hand? And what Lucien did...I’ve never been rescued like this before—never let anyone rescue me like this before, never needed anyone to.
But I have to admit, it feels...good. If it were any other person, maybe I’d feel more like myself, feel more insulted that they’d think I couldn’t handle this myself.
But it’s Lucien.
“Thank you,” I whisper, instinctively putting a hand on his chest. I can feel the fast beating of his heart.
“If we’re going to compete for this apartment,” he starts, still in that gentle tone of voice, “we’re going to need some ground rules. No putting the other person in danger. Ever.”
The way he says it almost feels as if
he’s admonishing himself.
Oh, who am I kidding?
That’s exactly what he’s doing. It’s as if...as if he cares about me.
“I need to tell you something about Edwin,” I find myself saying, ready to tell him all the truth. I’m willing to do it, and I’m willing to do it right now. “Something—”
“Vivian,” he says, placing a hand over my lips me. “I don’t give a shit about Edwin.”
With that, he simply kisses me. He crushes his lips against mine, and everything I wanted to tell him dies inside me. The words fade in my throat and as I close my eyes, I embrace the moment.
I take my right hand straight to his crotch, and turning my hand around, I curl my fingers around his hard cock. Just thinking about how it felt to have him inside me…words fail me.
I never experienced something quite like it. To say that my first time with Lucien was the best sex of my life would be putting it mildly. The orgasm I had last time was mind bending, and I simply can’t wait to experience something like it again.
I can’t believe I want him this much. Maybe it’s still the adrenaline rushing through me, maybe it’s something...all I know is that I need him.
I need him bad.
“Hungry, are you?” he teases me, pulling back from my kiss as I feel his cock pulsing hard against my hand.
“I sure am,” I reply, running my tongue between my lips.
I’m about to go down on my knees right in front of him, ready to pull his cock out and slide it between my lips, when he lays his hands on my hips and stops me from moving.
“You’re not the only one hungry around here,” he continues, that mischievous grin of his making me feel butterflies inside my stomach.
What does he mean by that?
Moving his hands around my waist, he slides them over the curve of my ass, and then pushes me up to the kitchen counter. Forcing me to part my legs, he takes his hand down to the hem of my dress and hikes it up to my waist; then, going down on one knee in front of me, he starts kissing my inner thighs softly, laying his lips over my tender skin.