by Penny Wylder
“Wow,” I say, standing up straight and taking a second look up and down her body. I don't try to hide the fact I'm checking her out, I gladly let her know that I like what I see. “I would never miss this. I mean look at you—damn.”
“Thank you.” Her voice is soft as she pitches her chin into her chest and smiles. “I was hoping this wasn't too dressy, you didn't really say where we're going.”
“You look perfect.” Opening the door for her, I can't stop myself from biting my knuckles and growling. “Absolutely perfect. We don't need to go to dinner, we can just go upstairs to your place. . .” Waggling my brows, I give her a playful smile.
“Stop, this is a business meeting, remember?”
“Of course, nothing but business,” I say seriously.
She steps forward as she gives me a look that says you're full of shit, and I notice something in her hands.
“What's that you got there?”
“Oh,” she says, holding it closer to her chest, and looking down. “I tried to show you yesterday, but you were a little preoccupied.” Tipping her head, she glares at me under hooded lids. “This is the holy grail to get this done right. Everything we need for the plan is in here.”
“The what?” Cocking a brow, I keep my eyes on her.
“The plan.” She looks up at me as she says it again. Seeing the confusion on my face, Sylvia brushes it off. “It's nothing, I'll explain it all later, don't worry about it right now.”
I stare blankly. I'm not aware of a plan, and I didn't realize that any of this required research and directions.
We don't need a breakdown of anything, I'm good with just letting it all play out on its own. She's thinking way too much about it. It's simple in my eyes. Find one little bird to send word to those wonderful journalists and let them do the rest.
All we have to do is smile and wave. Boom, problem solved and she’s the next Mrs. Phade Manson.
Sylvia bends over and climbs into the backseat, so I take the chance to check out her ass before it disappears as she sits. She scoots over so I can climb in next to her, and I can't take my eyes off her.
She crosses her legs, and I'm tempted to feel how smooth they are. Her hands fold on top of the binder, and she takes a deep breath as she keeps her face looking out the window. I watch her tits rise, and they stay there suspended in air as she holds her breath.
“Nervous?” I ask her, thumbing my bottom lip.
“No, why?” Her face whips in my direction as her lips thin. She looks almost offended at my suggestion.
Smirking, I relax back in the seat. Reaching to my right, I grab two glasses for champagne. “Yes you are, it's written all over your body.”
“What are you, a body psychic? You have the power to tell me what I'm feeling, and that what I'm telling you is wrong? Who do you think you are?”
Passing her a glass of champagne, she snatches it from my fingers and takes a big gulp.
“No, that's not it at all. I'm not trying to tell you how you feel, or how you should feel. I'm just telling you what I see, that's all. You don't need to put on an act for me, I'm not the paparazzi.”
Rolling her eyes, she swallows as she nods. “Right, you have an answer for everything. You know this pretentious attitude of yours is what got you in this position to begin with. Maybe you should just listen more and talk less. We all don't want your opinion, nor do we need it.” Huffing loudly, she turns her face back to the window.
I'm not trying to upset her or make her angry. I just don't want her to feel like she has to hide from me. I'm not here to judge her; unlike those vampire paparazzi, who print every dumb opinion for the ass bags of the world.
If we're doing this, let's do it right. I don't hide shit from anyone, even strangers. You meet me, you know exactly what you're getting.
Eyeing her quietly for a moment, I lean over and refill her glass. “I didn't mean to upset you, I just want you to be comfortable with me, that's all,” I say with a smile. “You really do look amazing, I mean that.”
“Don't get any ideas, Phade. We've been over this. It's just business.” Messing with the binder on her lap, she pulls it in against her stomach. She's holding it like it's the bible, or some type of historical document that needs to be protected.
Pressing my palms into the tops of my knees, I look over at the giant blue binder. “So, what's in that thing anyway? My life history? The evolution of Phade Manson? Because whatever it is, it looks like a lot.”
“No, it's nothing like that. This is our play book. A step by step guide to our engagement. When we met, how we met, all of it.” Touching the cover, she opens it slightly, then drops it back down. “This is going to be our story, the one we use. I have it all separated into key points, with labeled sections and cheat sheets so it's easy for you to follow. Every detail matters. You've been in the paper way too much. Now it's time for us to counterattack.”
Furrowing my brows, I crook my jaw. “So, that entire binder basically tells our history that you created?”
“I guess you can put it that way.”
“Huh,” I grunt, rubbing my jaw. “I've never had someone plan everything out for me like this before.”
“Well,” she says with a serious tone. “You've never been in a position like this before.” Playing with the cover, she moves her eyes to the window. “And neither have I.”
“You mean your father hasn't forced you to be engaged to other fighters before?”
“Step-father,” she quickly corrects me, letting out a scoff. “And no. Are you kidding me? Do you really think this is normal for me or something?”
Shrugging, I hold out my arms.” I don't know; you tell me, you're the one holding a binder full of directions. It certainly doesn't seem like this is your first time.”
Her eyes jerk back in my direction, forehead crinkling with light lines. “Daniel doesn't usually go through this much trouble for one of his fighters. You should be grateful he's putting this much energy into you at all, because I wouldn't if I were him. You keep going the way you have been, and he's going to lose more than just his good name.”
Thinning my lips, I shake my head. I'm not sure what to say right now. Why should I be grateful for my own talent? If Daniel hadn't signed me, someone else would have eventually.
I made my own destiny, no one handed it to me on a silver platter. Daniel has the cash to open certain doors, to parade me around like some golden goose he bought. But it's my skills, mine and mine alone, that win each and every fight.
“Maybe it should be the other way around.”
“You think Daniel should be thanking you?” Her head jerks back on her neck as her eyes open wide. “You can't be serious. Why should he treat you like you're special? There'll be other Phade Manson's in the future, you're not the only special thing that deserves attention.”
“There will never be anyone else like me, I am the name—the muscle—the man. As for Daniel, we both know that he's going straight to the top with me, but without me, he'll fall flat on his face.” Veering my stare, I hold my eyes on hers. “I'm going to cement Daniel in this world, I promise you that.”
“You really think that?” she asks, her voice full of disbelief.
“If you don't, then you obviously don't know how good I am at what I do.” Brushing my knuckles across the outside of her thigh, I let my eyes settle on her face. “I excel at everything, one of those things you learned firsthand.” My smile spreads slow and steady as I watch my words sink into her brain. “I know that pussy didn't forget this cock.”
Sylvia just glares at me, her eyes moving to my cock briefly, then flicking back up. I'm pretty sure I pissed her off. Her eyes go dark as they still on my face. Flaring her nostrils, she stays quiet as she inhales a deep breath.
But in that stare I see something else. I see lust. I see need. I see memories and a body that knows exactly what it feels like to have me inside. A body that wants more.
The hair on her arms stands up as a visible shive
r runs down her body. Her chest snaps outward, her breathing intensifies.
Licking her lips, Sylvia pulls her bottom lip deep into her mouth. And fuck me, that pouty little frown only makes my dick pulse and my balls tighten.
My eyes move down her legs, tracing her calf muscles. The heels make her legs look endless, giving me miles of skin to run my tongue over. I find myself wondering what color panties she's wearing, or maybe it's none at all?
I want to break you, I want to make you crumble and then put all your pieces back together so they fit my world and my world only.
“Don't even think about it,” she says, catching my stare.
“Think about what?” Holding out my arms, I try to show her that I'm harmless.
“Don't play with me. I know what's running through your head right now.”
Chuckling, I rub my chin with my thumb, and turn my face to look out the window. “We're here.” I say, seeing the sign for the restaurant. “But just so you know, and there isn't any confusion, playing is my favorite thing to do.” Smirking, I wink.
The limo stops and the valet comes, pulling the door open, and leaving her no time to lash out at me. I can see it in her eyes though, her fiery tongue, ready to spit facts and tasks in my face.
I step out, turning back to offer my hand to Sylvia. She hesitates for a second. It's brief, but that second of hesitation makes my heart drum and my stomach curdle.
I don't want her to be mad at me for telling the truth or calling her out on bullshit. We're both adults, why dance around shit at all?
She can try to convince herself all she wants that this little charade is necessary, that without Daniel's brilliant idea, and her designing the building blocks for it, my entire world will fall apart.
The truth is I don't need anyone, I just like having people around me; and right now, I want Sylvia wrapped around me. All I want is more. She's a drug and I'm devising a way to get my next high.
Sucking in a deep breath of air, I rake my fingers through my hair. I don't want the night to keep going this way, with us arguing, so I bite my tongue and keep my hand out for her.
“Thanks,” she says softly, looking down at the ground as she finally takes my hand and lets me help her out.
“Chivalry is alive and well.” Smiling, I fold my arm behind my back and bow to her. Standing up straight, I bend my arm into my side. “Shall we?” I ask, holding my chin up high.
Sylvia smiles, a real, heartfelt smile, hooking her arm in mine. “You're a piece of work Phade Manson, you know that?”
“If I weren’t a piece of work, I'd just be like everybody else. That would make for one boring life.” Tipping my head toward the entrance, I flash a smile. “Come on, I'm starving.”
The hostess is already waiting for us inside. She smiles as we walk up to the hostess stand, glancing between us. “Welcome, Mr. Manson, right this way, your table is ready.” I touch Sylvia's lower back very gently, barely applying any pressure.
Goosebumps explode down her arms, and I feel her shiver against the pads of my fingers. I love those little bumps and seeing that reaction. I love watching her not have control over what her body shows me.
She can't hide the goosebumps, she can't stop the shiver, she can't mask the desire in her eyes or the way her body leans in, not away.
A small smile perches on my lips as I walk slightly behind her to the table. I'm tempted to touch her more, to see how many more goosebumps and shivers I can draw out of her body.
My eyes keep going to the exposed skin of her neck. I'm doing all I can to not just sink my teeth into her neck and nibble the tender flesh. She looks so delicious, so edible, so goddamn fuckable, it's killing me inside.
On the outside I'm staying cool, I'm maintaining this control and keeping myself sane. But inside, everything is burning like there's an inferno blazing throughout my body. My brain is like a fucking war zone, and unfortunately I'm not winning this battle.
I want to relive what we had the other night, feel her body on mine, feel my body in hers. We shouldn't be at a restaurant, we should be at my house, fucking till the sun comes up and neither of us can walk.
In my mind's eye, I'm throwing her over the closest table, tearing her dress up to her tits, and fucking her until she falls to her knees because she's lost all feeling in her legs.
“Here we are,” the hostess says, holding out her arm to a private, two person table tucked in the back. “Your waiter will be right with you.”
“Thank you,” I say politely.
Sylvia takes her seat, watching the hostess as she leaves. “Do this often?” she asks. Her tone is dry and cold, like a jealous girlfriend.
Ooh, sassy little thing.
“Not really, why?”
“Well, first off, they know you, and second they had a table ready for you. You're not new here, that's for sure.”
“Everyone knows who I am, Syl, from you, down to the damn cafeteria lunch lady in an elementary school five hundred miles away.”
“Please don't call me that. Sylvia is good.”
“Excuse me, sorry—Syl-vi-a,” I say, exaggerating each syllable. “Better?”
“Yes actually, that's much better. I don't think we know each other well enough to use nicknames.”
“Nicknames? I didn't realize that the first three letters of your name qualifies as a nickname. You didn't seem to mind me being balls deep inside you when neither of us knew each other's name.”
“Excuse me?” her jaw grinds down hard as she speaks through clenched teeth. I swear, if her eyes could shoot razors, I'd be sliced to pieces.
“That came out wrong.” Sipping my water, I smile behind the glass before speaking again. “I'm just saying, there's a lot about me you don't know, so let’s change that. For starters, I'm not a dinner date kind of man, I can tell you that right now. So this—” I say, spinning a finger between us— “is special, and you should consider yourself lucky.”
Rolling her eyes, she lets out a laugh. “Right, I'm lucky, like the other sixty women were lucky too? Do you give all the girls that line? Does it work?”
“I'm serious. I don't date.”
“You expect me to believe that?” Sylvia pushes the plate setting to her left, laying the binder down in front of her. “A world famous fighter like yourself, and you expect me to believe you don't date? Come on, do I look that gullible? I've seen the newspapers, same as the rest of the world. I know exactly who you are, Phade Manson. Why do you think we're here doing this?”
“Whether you believe me or not, I don't really give a shit. What you see in the papers is a twisted, manipulation of what actually happened. I can't control what they spin me into, but I know who I am, and it's not the man they say it is. The truth will always be the truth, but it's up to you to see it.”
Her eyes dance around mine, and I know she's thinking something, but I can't tell what it is.
The facial expressions are there; the eye roll, the jaw drop, her lips speaking without words. The subtle movements are small and faint, but they aren't saying shit about what's running through her head.
I can see what she's feeling; the anger, the annoyance, the lack of trust, but the thoughts behind them are a mystery.
Pursing her lips lightly, she looks down at her binder. “All right,” she says, tapping the cover with the tips of her fingers. “How about we get our story down first, and then we can adjust things as we need to.” Folding open the cover, she keeps her eyes down. “I'm thinking we tell people we met at a charity event, like I said before—”
Cutting her off, I unroll my silverware from the napkin and spread them in order. “And like I said before, that won't work, because that's not me.” Knife, spoon, fork; I fix them on the napkin until I'm happy. “I don't do charity events.”
“Phade,” Sylvia dips her chin into her chest as she peers up at me, her lashes fanning her eyes like canopies. “The whole goal is to change your image.” Folding her hands on the top of the first page, she leans forward.
“That's what Daniel wants.”
“Fuck what he wants.” I can't stop the hint of anger in my voice. I don't give a shit what he wants, this isn't about him.
I've known since day one that Daniel is a man set on himself. He doesn't care about me at all. Daniel could give a flying fuck about the mouthy newcomer who packs a punch. All Daniel wants is more for himself. Period.
So, if getting what he wants means trying to make me give up something that I love, he'll take it right from my hands.
“He's your boss.”
“Yeah, and?”
“That doesn't mean anything to you?”
A waiter comes to the table, disrupting our conversation. We both fall silent as he takes out his notebook to write down our orders. I order a rum and coke, simple but effective in giving me the buzz I want.
I'm not here to read pages from her book, I'm here for her. And I'm hoping by the time the night is done, she's sitting on my cock in the back of the limo.
Sylvia orders a hot decaf tea and more ice for her water. I'm watching her quietly as she reads the menu, trying to decide on dinner. Her eyes scan each page, but she keeps going back to something on the first page.
“What are you thinking about getting?”
“I'm actually thinking the salmon.”
“Let me ask you something.”
“Ah shit, now I'm afraid.” Laying down the menu, she wriggles uncomfortably in her chair.
“Afraid? Afraid of what?” Chuckling, I push the menu to the side.
Sylvia taps her nails on the binder as her lips crook unnaturally. “I don't know, I have no idea what you're going to ask me. I don't like personal questions…And you've already shown me you don't have a filter, so. . .” Pausing, she rolls a hand in the air.
“Relax, it's not bad. It's just that I see you with that binder, I hear you talk about what Daniel wants, and it just makes me wonder. How did he rope you into this? Why are you doing his dirty work?”
“I'm in PR, this is my dirty work, not his. He gave the order, and I'm the one to make it happen. This is what I do, it's not hard to understand.”
“How come I've never seen you in the office before?”