Hard Work

by Micah Persell

  Victoria leaned forward. “How so?”

  One of the lawyers placed a hand on Mr. Davis’s forearm for a moment and then removed it. “Her personal matters began interfering with her professional duties.”

  Mr. Davis made that same, disapproving noise. “She had very loose morals. It caused quite a scandal.”

  One of the lawyers laughed uncomfortably. When Victoria glanced at Mr. Kincaid, his eyebrows were up at his hairline.

  She smiled, though she could feel it was a bit tight. “I see.”

  “I know we live in Vegas, but,” Mr. Davis waved a finger, “that doesn’t mean I can afford another expensive mistake when someone in my employ forgets her responsibilities in favor of her vices.”

  Okay. He needed to stop talking. “Mr. Davis, I can assure you—”

  “Mr. Davis will be conducting an extensive background check for both candidates he is considering,” the first lawyer said. “It is part of the process, and it is non-negotiable. We will understand if you choose not to submit to this measure, and we will thank you for your time, but we will be looking elsewhere for our marketing.”

  Mr. Kincaid popped forward. “That will not be a problem.”

  Excuse me? She turned toward her boss. Had she imagined him giving them permission to dig into her private life? She was pretty sure she hadn’t.

  Where was the scrutiny of Mr. Kincaid’s private life? He was, after all, the owner of Precision Media. Wouldn’t Mr. Davis want to make sure he wouldn’t cause a scandal?

  That’s not what’s going on here, and you know it. Only feminine pronouns had left Mr. Davis’s mouth during this meeting. She was being singled out for scrutiny because of her gender.

  Like this is the first time that’s happened. Calm the hell down, Hastings.

  She took a deep breath. What private life did she have? What would a background check turn up? The fact that she was a widow? That she stayed at the office until all hours of the night? This could actually work in her favor. She turned back to Mr. Davis and managed to smile broadly. “That will not be a problem.”

  Mr. Davis returned her smile. “I’m glad to hear it. Because your proposal was quite inspiring.”

  “We’ll get in touch with you at the conclusion of the background check,” one of the lawyers said.

  “And how soon will that be?” Mr. Kincaid asked.

  “That depends.”

  “Ah,” Mr. Kincaid said.

  Mr. Davis pushed to his feet. “That concludes our meeting. We’ll talk soon. Or, whenever.”

  Both Victoria and Mr. Kincaid stumbled to their feet as all six of them began filing out of the room. “Thank you for coming!” she called after their retreating backs.

  But they were already gone. In the open doorway, her assistant stood with a basket of pastries in one hand and a carafe of coffee in the other. His bewildered gaze met hers.

  “Thank you, Daniel. You can give those to the interns.”

  He was too professional to let his feelings show, but she had worked with him long enough to know that he thought this was just as weird as she did. “Yes, ma’am.” He kicked the door closed behind him.

  She received a hearty slap on her shoulder, and she couldn’t prevent a gasp. She spun to Mr. Kincaid, who looked so pleased his chest was going to burst if he kept puffing it out. “The Ricchezza!” He slapped her shoulder again, but this time she was braced for it. “Hastings, this is a very good thing.”

  “Well—” She felt it necessary to be the voice of reason here. “It’s not a sure thing yet.”

  Mr. Kincaid scoffed. “We both know you’re going to ace that background check like nobody else in this business would be able to. Your life is your work.”

  Ah, how comforting that he arrived at that conclusion as well. She swallowed a sigh. “Yes, Mr. Kincaid.”

  He grinned. “Secure this deal, and that corner office is as good as yours.”

  Her entire chest lifted inside. “Yes, Mr. Kincaid.” She had to bite the inside of her cheeks to keep from grinning like an idiot.

  “Well, go ahead and get to work.” He waved at the door. “When we hear back from them, I want everything perfect and ready to go.”

  “And it will be.” Victoria turned to leave, and it was only at that moment she remembered that last night, she had fucked a gigolo. And this morning, she had propositioned him again.

  She tripped and caught herself on the back of a chair.

  “Is everything okay?” Mr. Kincaid was suddenly at her elbow, staring at her with his brows drawn.

  She shoved a stray strand of hair out of her eyes and caught sight of her fingers trembling. “Certainly, it is, sir.” She straightened and pulled at her jacket. “I’ll just be heading to my office now.”

  Oh, God. This could be bad.

  She placed a shaky hand over a queasy stomach. She heard someone call her name in greeting, and she nodded in that direction while she kept walking toward her office. Okay, Kip was discreet. Cassidy had contacted him, not her. Victoria had never contacted a prostitution business; she’d talked to Kip directly. And, luckily, he had turned down her offer of extended employment.

  She entered her office, closed the door, and leaned back against it. The background check would most likely not be able to tie her to Kip in any way. This was a nonissue, and she was going to do great things for The Ricchezza when they hired her.

  Everything was going to be okay.

  Except, if it wasn’t, and if someone found out she’d hired a gigolo, she’d just kissed—and fucked—all her dreams good-bye. For one night of pleasure. She groaned and knocked the back of her head against the door.

  She’d been reckless. Hiring Kip had been stupid. She should regret it. She really should. And yet . . .

  Just, please . . . don’t let anyone find out.

  Chapter Eight

  For about the twentieth time since Victoria’s call this morning, Kip pulled his phone from his back pocket and unlocked it.

  Then, cursing beneath his breath, he shoved it back into his pocket roughly enough that the seams would have protested if they could.

  He wasn’t going to take the job. Obviously, he wasn’t.

  He caught his hand straying to his back pocket once again.

  “Stop that.”

  Okay, now he was talking to himself.

  He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and flopped down onto the sofa in his living room.

  Reaching for the remote and jabbing buttons, he flipped through channels, not really seeing anything or landing on a show for more than a few seconds, before he abandoned that endeavor as well.

  “This is dumb.”

  By giving her offer this much consideration, he was giving it the power that he was afraid of in the first place. Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy.

  So, maybe it would help to define what he was actually afraid of?

  He leaned back against the sofa with a sigh. Damn it, he didn’t want to examine that. He had this feeling that if he allowed himself to think about his night with Victoria and why he was so desperate not to repeat it, he’d never be able to cram those thoughts and feelings back into the box he’d been keeping them in since leaving the Desert Oasis.

  And there was the crux of the problem.

  I felt something with her.

  He shook his head. Calling it something was a gross understatement. He’d felt . . . everything with her.

  And he’d never felt that way with a woman before, not since his first crushes in high school before he realized how stupid it was to care about a woman. Before his parents stopped carefully hiding their disagreements from him. Before he knew what, exactly, a woman could do to a man when he was foolishly vulnerable around her.

  Yes, dear old Mom had cured him of all his romantic notions, but not one of his encounters with other women had corrected the issue.

  Given the chance, any woman would walk all over her man. Especially the ones who walked all over people in their profes
sions.

  Like his mother.

  Like, apparently, Victoria.

  Last night, he’d hoped the huge amount of money on the end table had been a fluke. The result of some careful savings. But today? When she’d called and offered him twenty thousand dollars as casually as a normal person would offer two hundred?

  There was no doubt in his mind that she was a powerful woman. No other type of woman would have that kind of money. Which meant that she was powerful professionally. Which meant that power would flow over into every element of his life.

  So, no, he wasn’t just afraid of feeling things for Victoria. He was afraid of Victoria.

  He frowned. Those were two very good reasons to turn her down, but by the lack of satisfaction he was feeling, there was more.

  If that were all, he would be calling her right now and turning her down. There was no reason to hesitate.

  And yet, here he was hesitating. So, what was the other reason?

  His brows shot toward his hairline. “No,” he said aloud to his empty apartment. “No, don’t be this fucking pathetic.”

  Twenty thousand dollars.

  The amount that would, once and for all, end any excuse he had to stall opening a business.

  He’d have to start putting actions behind his plans. And if he failed . . .

  He gritted his teeth. “I won’t fail.”

  Leaning over to his left hip, he grabbed his phone from his pocket once more. This time, he got beyond unlocking it. He made it all the way to her contact information. Even pressed send.

  Though he fought himself no less than five times to keep from hanging up as the phone dialed into his ear, he stuck it out.

  Like a fucking man. Because that’s what he was.

  The phone stopped ringing.

  But no one said anything on the other end. Kip frowned and pulled the phone from his ear to check that, yes, he had called the right person. He pressed it back to his ear.

  “Victoria?”

  “Kip?”

  Her voice sounded entirely different from this morning when she had propositioned him. During that phone call, her voice had been husky. As though she were remembering in vivid detail all the things he’d done to her last night. Now, on just the single syllable of his name, she sounded as though she were asking if it was him, and hoping it wasn’t.

  Why the change?

  Why did the thumping of his heart suddenly sting a little?

  “Yes, it’s me.” He couldn’t keep the next words inside, no matter how hard he tried. “You did ask me to call you back.”

  “That I did.” She sighed heavily. “But, Kip—”

  “I’ll take it,” he blurted. “I’ll take the job.” He shoved the words desperately from his mouth, needing to cut off whatever it was that she had been preparing to say, which he knew, instinctively, was some sort of retraction of her offer.

  Which would have been perfect—freeing him from everything he feared. And, yet, his heart was pounding. His mouth was dry. He waited in the echoing silence in the wake of his nearly shouted words for what she would say, hoping against hope it would simply be acceptance.

  “Shit,” she muttered so quietly he knew he wasn’t meant to have heard it. Louder, she said, “I really want this.”

  He frowned. “Then it’s a good thing I said yes. Right?”

  She sighed again, and this time, it was so weary, his heart ached all over again. “It’s been a very trying day.”

  Kip glanced at the clock on his cable box. “It’s only two o’clock.”

  “Two? Damn it.” She groaned. “I forgot to eat again.”

  He was on his feet before he realized it, reaching for his wallet and keys. “Meet with me. In person.” He shoved his phone between his shoulder and jaw. “Let’s eat and chat about your day and the particulars of our deal.”

  She was silent on her end of the phone.

  He licked his lips. “Please, honey.”

  He clenched his eyes closed. Shut up, Kip. Just shut the fuck up. Maintaining a modicum of dignity would be nice.

  “All right, Kip.”

  There was a rustling on her end. No doubt, she was gathering that laptop bag she carried as though it were a purse. He found himself smiling as he opened his mouth to suggest a place to eat.

  She beat him to it. “Let’s meet at Sally’s.”

  He tilted his head. “Sally’s?”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “Yeah.” He laughed as though he couldn’t believe what she was suggesting. “Honey, all the best restaurants are on the Strip. Sally’s—”

  “No Strip!”

  Her words were so forceful they immediately shut him up. He could feel his molars grinding together, and his grip on his phone became painful.

  “Let’s not meet on the Strip,” she said again, this time with a semblance of courtesy. “I just . . . really need a break, and the Strip’s not far enough from . . . my office.”

  “Fair enough.” Bossing me around already. Are you sure you want to do this? “Sally’s it is.” He could tell he was talking louder than normal, but how else was he supposed to get that inner voice to shut up?

  He clicked end. He reached for the doorknob, but as his hand closed over it, he paused.

  He brightened.

  This was good, actually. Strike good. This was great! If she bossed him around—treated him like he expected her to—there would be no more risk that he would feel anything for her except the professional distance he so desperately needed.

  Do your worst, honey. I’m depending on it.

  • • •

  She sat in her favorite booth at Sally’s and drummed her fingers on the chipped Formica table.

  Sally’s was a faded and well-worn fifties diner that had been around since long before Victoria could remember. The food was greasy; the health department grade posted by the door was definitely not an A.

  She loved this place. That it was far away from The Ricchezza, her place of work, and any place a normal person would frequent—well, those were just bonuses.

  No one else was in the restaurant besides the one, tired waitress who had come to take her drink order several minutes ago. So no one was here to watch her and report back to Mr. Davis.

  It was the most relaxed she’d been since taking Kip’s call about a half hour ago.

  Who’d have ever thought that, after his obvious reluctance this morning, he would accept her offer?

  Right after she’d been informed that she would be the subject of a strenuous background check.

  Fucking Murphy and his damn laws.

  The tarnished brass bell hanging over the diner’s door tinkled, and Victoria’s gaze was on it in a shot.

  As he ducked into the diner, the mid-afternoon sun shone off Kip’s hair, nearly blinding her, but there was absolutely no way she could be sure that his amazing looks weren’t at fault instead of the sun.

  It physically hurt to look at him; an ache settled at the apex of her thighs and shot all throughout her body, making her squirm in her seat.

  His blue-eyed gaze scanned the diner, and his frown deepened. She looked the diner over again, too, noticing with increased clarity how run-down it was, and she winced. She wasn’t exactly proving she was a good provider, was she?

  She knew the minute he felt her presence in the diner, even though he hadn’t looked at her yet, because his shoulders stiffened imperceptibly beneath his light blue polo shirt. Like she was a lodestone and his gaze a magnet, he looked her way without hesitation.

  He was still for a moment, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking as he simply stared at her. A muscle ticked in his jaw; his chest rose and fell. Then he smiled.

  It wasn’t the same smile he’d given her last night. Or at The Bar for that matter.

  He walked toward her, and Victoria caught sight of the waitress stopping in her tracks and staring at Kip gape-mouthed as he made his way across the diner.

  She understood the feeling, but
. . .

  He’s mine. Back off.

  The thought startled her into straightening her spine. She gripped her ice water and took a sip, nearly choking on it as her gaze focused on Kip’s groin and the way it moved behind his pants as he walked.

  God, the man was big. She followed the length that had been deep inside her last night as it dipped to the right and traveled several inches down his pant leg.

  By the time Kip stood right in front of her, she was nearly panting with need. She pressed her thighs together, but it didn’t help. “H-hi.”

  His smile, now that he was closer, was tight at the corners. That’s what made it different from last night.

  Why the change?

  The way she’d barked at him on the phone. She closed her eyes. Her hands curled into fists in her lap. “Kip.” She looked up at him. “Allow me to apologize for earlier. For how I spoke to you on the phone.”

  Something flashed in his eyes. Surprise? He shrugged with one shoulder. “It’s okay.”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s not.” She gestured to the chair opposite her. “Can I explain it to you?”

  He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. A moment later, he was sitting down at the table, but not in the chair she’d pointed toward. He sat right beside her.

  Immediately, she was overwhelmed by his close presence, which he made more potent by leaning toward her and threading his arm over the back of her chair. He stared into her eyes, and some of the tightness left his smile.

  “Does it matter?” he asked.

  Usually, explanations had no place in apologies. At least that was her personal belief. Either you thought your actions were justified and you offered an explanation, or you knew they weren’t and simply offered an apology. However, in this case . . .

  “Yes, actually.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Enlighten me, then.”

  “It has to do with why my day was trying.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Does it?”

  She quickly placed a hand on his forearm. “Not that I lashed out because I had a bad day. God, that would be horrible.”

  He shrugged. “Yes. But it would also be understandable.”

  She flexed her fingers against his skin. “Look, I just found out I’m going to be under a lot of scrutiny because of my job. My propositioning a”—she looked around the restaurant and then ducked toward him—“gigolo could not have been more ill-timed. That’s why I suggested we meet far off the beaten path.”