by Tracey Ward
The screen lights up again, this time with a text message.
This is your work phone, Jace tells me. You need it.
I shake my head, my fingers shaking as I type him back. You can’t buy me a phone.
Work phone.
I can buy my own phone.
I know, but if you were going to you would have done it already. I can’t handle that you don’t have one. It keeps me up at night.
Drink some Nyquil. It’s cheaper.
Nothing’s cheaper than free.
This phone was not free.
It was for me. And now it is for you.
The price isn’t the point. The point is that I don’t want to be his charity case. I don’t want to be anyone’s little pet project. Cam and I fought about it forever when I first moved in with him, and only after he agreed to let me pay him rent did we finally reach an arrangement we could both live with. I don’t think there’s a world where I can come to that kind of agreement with Jace Ryker. Taking anything from him feels like taking advantage. It feels like freeloading, and that’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.
You have to have one, he types, filling my silence. Just while you’re working for me.
I bite my lip, wavering inside the way I did in the stairwell when his fingers were—
Nope. I have to stop that thought right there. That is not a safe memory. Not now. Not ever.
I don’t feel good about this, I tell him.
You don’t feel good about a gift?
I thought it was for work.
It’s whatever you need it to be to take it. It’s a business tool from your boss, if that’s how you need to look at it. Just say ‘Thank you, Mr. Ryker’ and we’ll all move on from it.
I don’t answer him right away. Apparently he can’t handle that. The phone starts to ring again.
I sigh, answering it with a decisive swipe. “Hello, Mr. Ryker.”
He chuckles quietly, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. “I take it back. Don’t call me ‘Mr. Ryker’.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Ryker.”
“Nope.
“If you don’t take this phone back, yes.”
“Am I in trouble? Because I can take being in trouble, Greer. It’s one of my favorite places to be.”
“I don’t know how much I believe that.”
“Keep the phone,” he deflects, cajoling me with the gruff baritone of his voice. It sends the hair on my arms standing upright. “Just while you’re working for me. I need to be able to get in touch with you.”
“Why?”
“Because I like talking to you.”
Dammit, I think unhappily. Meanwhile, my heart is racing. It’s flying and singing like a Disney princess in the woods with all the animals dancing at her feet. I’m fucking frolicking inside, all because he likes to talk to me.
I’m doomed.
I look at my face in the mirror across from me. I look pale, my eyes wide open. “How did you get the phone for free?”
“It was in a gift bag at an Elton John party.”
“You know Elton John?”
“You don’t?” he asks sarcastically.
“Oh, of course I do. I was just hanging out with him last weekend at his villa in the south of France.”
Jace is silent. There’s something about it…
“He actually has a villa in the south of France, doesn’t he?” I ask warily.
“I don’t know, but I do.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Easy,” he chides lightly.
“Are you for real? You have a villa in France?”
“I have a house. I don’t think it classifies as a villa. I’ll look into it and get back to you on that.”
“Oh yeah, do. This is super important.”
He chuckles. “I can tell. Anyway, I have a drawer full of them. People hand them to me like business cards.”
“Why?”
“They want me photographed using it. It’s free advertising. Last year I wore a Calvin Klein jacket to a movie premiere and they sold out of it within two hours of the pictures hitting the web.”
“That’s insane.”
“Right? The jacket was kind of itchy.”
“But people bought it because you wore it?”
“Happens almost every day.”
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
“You get used to it. Especially when there’s a line of underwear in Japan with your face on it. Not much bothers you after that.”
“There is not a line of underwear with your face on it,” I laugh.
“One for every day of the week. Google it, if you’re feeling brave.”
“I don’t have a computer.”
He groans emphatically. “You’re killin’ me.”
I smile, happily biting the edge of my lip. “I know.”
“Seriously, you aliens need to do better research on blending in. Your take on ‘normal’ is about three decades late.”
“You’re giving me a hard time about normal? Mr. I-Party-With-Elton-John? You think that’s normal?”
“More normal than not having a cell phone.”
“Can’t let that go, can you?”
“Not until you agree to keep it.”
I take a quiet breath, my eyes latched onto my reflection. She looks scared. No two ways about it. There’s something terrifying about being on the phone with Jace Ryker. About working with him. Accepting gifts from him. Something excruciating about his hand on my leg. His palm hot on my ass. His fingers brushing against my core. His dark eyes unexpectedly hopeful as they stared up at me. Like he was asking a question I wasn’t sure I have the answer to. He’s a surprise. He’s weird. He’s everything that scares me to the nth degree. I should hang up this phone right now. I should toss it out the window and drop out of the show.
But I don’t and I won’t, and there’s only one semi-good reason why; I like him.
“Okay,” I agree softly. “But only while I’m working with you.”
“We’ll see.”
“Jace,” I scold.
He chuckles again, a low rumble on the other end of the line that I feel down into my toes. “I like the way you say my name. Like you’re pissed off at me. It’s cute.”
“Maybe I am pissed off.”
“You’re not,” he corrects, his tone dripping with confidence.
I bristle at his assumptions. He’s right, yeah, but how does he know that? “You don’t know I’m not. You don’t know me.”
“What do you think I’m trying to do right now, Greer?”
I hesitate, that woodland-forest-princess number blasting in my chest again. “I honest to God don’t know,” I whisper.
“You think I’m trying to fuck you.”
“Maybe, yeah,” I chuckle at his bluntness. “Are you saying you’re not?”
“No. I’m definitely not saying that. But if all I wanted was sex, I wouldn’t have sent you a phone. I would have sent you a room key.”
“So you don’t want me to come over right now?”
“Fuck yes, I do,” he answers emphatically. “But I’m not asking and you’re not really offering, so it’s not worth talking about.”
I sink down onto the rug, settling in with my back against the bathtub. “What do you want to talk about then?”
“You.”
“Weird, because I want to talk about you.”
He grunts. I hear movement on his end, like the rustling of clothes. His voice has a faint echo to it and I wonder where he is. The dance studio? An arena? A bedroom bigger than this entire apartment?
All of these things seem likely with him.
“I talk about me all day,” he complains petulantly. “I’m sick of me. I like you. I want to talk about you.”
“I don’t.”
“Why not?”
I close my eyes, feeling sad. Feeling scared. “Because I don’t want to lie to you,” I answer quietly.
His responding silence is long and de
ep. “Do you lie to people a lot?”
“Not a lot, but enough to feel like shit about it.”
“Why do you do it then?”
“Because the truth will make me feel even shittier than the lie.”
He hesitates, his breath a whisper over the line telling me he’s still with me.
I grimace, feeling so vulnerable it hurts inside. “It’d be easier just to fuck me.”
I’m relieved when he laughs. “It’d be a lot easier, yeah,” he agrees, his voice echoing louder than before.
Suddenly a lightbulb goes on in my mind.
“Are you in a bathroom?”
“Are you psychic?” he demands. “Or a witch? An alien witch? Is that what you lie to people about? Because you can be real with me about that. I dig it.”
I smile, shaking my head even though he can’t see it. “No. I can hear the echo.”
“You have an echo too.”
“I’m in a bathroom.”
“No shit?”
“No shit,” I laugh.
“I thought maybe you were in a studio.”
“I thought the same thing about you!”
“I could be in under ten minutes. You?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Too dangerous.”
“Come on, Greer,” he taunts seductively. “It’d be worth the risk.”
I want to. Fucking hell, do I want to. I haven’t been laid in over six months, and the temptation of having sex with Jace Ryker is too much to bear. It’s physically frightening how badly I want to. But I can’t. I can’t because I was serious – he’s dangerous. He’s a heartbreak in the flesh. He’s California, I’m New York. He’s a millionaire, I’m a peasant. He’s the Plaza, I’m street meat. We’re lightyears apart even when we’re standing in front of each other, and there’s no way that won’t ruin me. I can’t have sex with him. I just can’t.
But I can compromise.
“I’ll meet you halfway.”
“Where is halfway?” he asks curiously.
I reach out to close the bathroom door. I throw the lock, just in case. “In the bathtub.”
I can hear him breathing on the other end of the line, thick and slow. “Yours or mine?”
I chuckle, sliding my shorts off onto the floor. “We’re not having sex. We don’t leave the rooms we’re in,” I clarify. “You stay where you are, I’ll stay where I am, and we’ll take a bath together. No face to face. No pictures. Just talking.”
“Naked, wet talking?”
“Yes.” I press the phone against my shoulder, hooking my thumbs in my underwear. “Could you be into that?”
“Greer,” he says, his voice leaden with desire. “I am so fucking into that.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jace
I can hear water swirling in the tub around her. I’m picturing it in my mind and I’m cursing myself for not having a better imagination. I’m struggling with so much of her. Her tits, her ass, her pussy – all of that I can fill in for myself, but the little things don’t come easy. The arch of her small feet. The color of her nail polish. The curl of wet hair around the seashell spiral of her ear. I’m not getting it right and it frustrates the fuck out of me.
“How hot is yours?” she asks.
I shift, laying out to get more comfortable in the jetted tub. I’ve left it still, enjoying the quiet. All the better to hear her with… “Hot. My skin is turning red. You?”
“Kind of cold, actually.”
Images of her full breasts floating on the surface of the water, her chilled nipples tight and peaked, makes me sweat. This girl is killing me.
“Too bad you’re not here,” I lament, childishly pushing the issue. “I’d share my warm water with you.”
“No face to face, remember?”
“That’s a fucked up rule.”
“I’m not changing it.”
“No, we’re compromising. I know.” I dunk my hand in the water, lifting it back out to watch the drops run off my skin. “So what do two people in bathtubs talk about?”
“I always wonder that when I see those commercials.”
“The ones for the boner pills with the old people and the sunset?”
“Yeah. What do they say to each other? How’d they get those tubs out there? Can their neighbors see them?”
“Can their neighbors join them?”
“Do they have enough pills for everyone?”
“There’s a story there that we’re not being told.”
“Like with your music.”
I chuckle quietly, lowering my hand back into the water. “I’ll tell you the story if you’re so eager to hear it.”
“Is there a dragon in it? I don’t do stories without dragons.”
“Nope. No dragons.”
“Never mind, then.”
I pause, not sure if she’s serious or not. She sounds serious. I miss her face. If I could see her face I’d see her mouth, and her mouth tells me everything; even the things she doesn’t say. It rises and falls with her mood, tensing with her nerves. Going soft and warm with her desire.
“I was joking,” she laughs. “Tell me the story.”
“I don’t think I want to now.”
“Please?”
“That word doesn’t work on me.”
“What does?”
“Bribery.”
“I don’t think there’s anything I can give you that you don’t already have.” I open my mouth to tell her what she has that I want her to give me, but she cuts me off immediately. “Nope. No. I heard it when I said it. I know what you want, and that’s not part of the compromise.”
I grin. “This is a new transaction.”
“This is getting confusing.”
“It’s simple. I’ll talk about me if you talk about you.”
“I told you,” she reminds me tiredly. “I don’t want to talk about my life.”
“I’m not asking you to talk about your life.”
“Then how am I talking about me?”
“I want to hear you,” I tell her slowly, announcing my terms very carefully.
She’s quiet for a long time and I wonder if she doesn’t understand me. Or if she’s pissed off at me. There’s only a small, hopeful part of me that even considers that she might agree. But I’ve gotta try. My libido demands it.
Every piece of me is stunned when she says quietly, “Deal.”
“Deal?”
“Yeah. Deal.” She shifts in the water. I can hear it moving around her, lapping at her skin like white silk. “You go first.”
“Deal,” I agree heavily. I lick my lips, grinning to myself. “I grew up in Washington.”
“I already know that. If you tell me things I already know, I start putting clothes on.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. I didn’t know the rules.”
“It’s your game. You should know there are no rules.”
My grin is growing into a smile. I’m loving what a little hard-ass she can be. “Alright. Something new… My dad wanted to be a country singer. It’s why he pushed me into the life when I was a little kid.”
“And I’m grabbing a towel,” she scolds.
“Hold on! I wasn’t finished. I was going to say he still dreams about it, but it’s never going to happen for him. He doesn’t have the talent. He’s pissed that I do.” I rub my face with my wet hand, running it through my hair to smooth it back against my scalp. It feels heavier than it should. Like gravity is increasing on me. “He’s suing me for royalties to about two albums worth of music.”
Greer scoffs. “Oh my God.”
“Yeah.”
“Can he do that?”
“He’s doing it, so yeah. It looks like he can.”
“Do you think he’ll win?”
“Eh,” I buzz at her harshly. “Sorry, you’ve exceeded your info limit. Please deposit two moans into the machine for more.”
“Two moans, huh?” she jokes nervously. I can hear the hes
itance in her voice. “Is this what you charge the press?”
“You’re getting some seriously exclusive access here. Two moans is cheap, trust me.”
She breathes in and out quietly. It’s the only sound on the line. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
“You want some help?” I offer quietly.
“Help how?”
“I can narrate for you.
She laughs lightly. “Can you do a Morgan Freeman?”
“If that’s what it takes to get you off.”
That stops her. It’s real. It’s putting to words what we’re not really saying, and it hits home with her hard. That’s not an accident on my part. I want to be clear with her. I want us to both be on board with what’s happening here.
“We’re really doing this?” she whispers.
“That’s up to you.” I lower my voice until it’s intimate and serious, a total departure from my norm. I do it because I want this. I want it so fucking bad. I want more, I want her and everything she has, but if this is what I can get, this is what I’ll take. And she wants it too. She’s just nervous, something I think I can help with. “Do you want to do this, Greer? Do you want to put your hand on your stomach and imagine it’s mine? Do you want to glide your hand up under your breast, take it in your palm, and squeeze just at the edge of pain? Do you want to roll your nipple between your fingers, bringing it to life? Letting the hot water swirl around it like my tongue. Like I’m licking you. Sucking you.”
Greer gasps and it’s goddam glorious. It’s petite and perfect. It’s an angel’s cry. It gets my heart hammering in my chest, my ears reaching out, searching desperately for more.
“That’s one,” I tell her quietly. Proudly. “Do you want me to keep going?”
“Yes,” she breathes, her voice higher than before. Straining slightly. “I put you on speaker phone so I have my hands free.”
“Good. Put your other hand on your pussy.”
It’s silent for a second. I think I’ve lost her, pushing her too hard too fast with the P word, but then the water is moving. I hear it dripping as she reaches for herself.
“I’m there.”
“Don’t go inside. Not yet. I want you to tease yourself.”
“No. You want to tease me.”
I grin. “You’re right. I do. I want to tease you first. I want to run my fingertips over your lips, light like a feather. I want to run them down the middle, along the outside, then back up again until you’re bucking against my hand. Until you’re begging me to split you apart and dive inside.” Her breathing is quickening. I let her touch herself for a few seconds before asking, “Are you still touching your tits?”