An incredulous laugh bursts forth before I can stop it. Apparently letting her down easy before didn’t work.
“Let me set you straight on a few things.” All laughter in my voice dies as I continue. “First, your family needs mine. My family does not need yours. There’s no amount of influence or power that you could add to my family’s legacy. My family’s name, businesses, prestige, and considerable wealth all stand on their own. We are at the top of the social and economic food chain here. Never forget that.”
Her face starts to turn pink, and the corners of her lips and eyes pinch. She knows I’m right, and it infuriates her.
“Second, the reason we were even set up in the first place is because our fathers are best friends. Do they entertain thoughts of marriage after all these years? Sure. But that’s only because we continue to carry on with this farce of a relationship.”
“This relationship is not a farce.” Her voice is as tight as her expression, and I know it’s only a matter of time before she has a meltdown.
“Bullshit.” My words are delivered with calm intensity. “If you think about it, you’re the one who constantly ended things over the years. We barely saw each other while you were in school, and by the time you graduated, I was too busy taking over Montgomery Holdings. I highly doubt getting together for the occasional lackluster fuck—always initiated by you, by the way, when you realized you let go of the one-way ticket to your dream life—constitutes a real relationship. We’re nothing but a convenience to each other to have at family and company events, and the relationship label has only stuck on this long because we haven’t corrected anyone. Again, we’re convenient, but that’s it. There’s nothing real between us.”
I pause and watch her as she processes my words, her color rising with each passing second.
“You,” she chokes out. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she visibly collects the small amount of composure she’s desperately clinging to. “This is a phase. I can wait. If you want to go fuck,” she shudders as if the word is dirt in her mouth, “other women and get it out of your system, then go ahead. I’ll wait for you.”
She doesn’t negate anything I’ve said—which speaks to her character—and it takes supreme effort to keep my jaw from dropping in disbelief. If I didn’t know the kind of person she truly was, I’d almost feel sorry for her.
“Get what out of my system?” I can’t help but ask, my mild curiosity getting the better of me.
Rachel’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “All the nasty, degrading things you like in the bedroom.”
I stare at her and wonder how we ever fucked in the first place. I’ve gotten her off because the only place I’m really not an asshole is the bedroom, but sex with her has always been so clinical and unadventurous.
“We didn’t even touch the surface of what I like. Yet another example of how we’re not a perfect match. You can’t handle me in the bedroom, and you can’t handle me outside of it either, Rachel.”
She shudders as if she can’t comprehend all the things I’m into. “Well, go do all that and get it out of your system. I have no idea why you want to slum when you have me, but get this itch of yours scratched. This is the longest we’ve been apart. Everyone thinks we’re still together, but we need to move on from this before they start to worry.”
It doesn’t escape my notice that she ignored the latter half of my statement. All patience has officially died, so I bang the final nail in the coffin of this long-dead relationship.“I’m going to do all that, but it’ll never be out of my system. The only things I want to move on from are you and this sham. We are not getting back together this time. You better start telling people the truth. I’ll be civil toward you at family get-togethers and in public, but we are over. Now please, see yourself out of my office and out of my life.”
My words are callous and cold, but I know they won’t phase her. She’s more concerned about appearances and marrying up the ranks, and I think she knows it’ll never happen with me. What sucks for me is that, on paper, I’m the pinnacle of all she hopes to achieve.
“You do not break up with a Hartford,” her usually composed voice shakes out. “You do not break up with me!” Each word comes out louder than the last, and she ends her declaration on a shriek as she leans forward to grab the nameplate off my desk.
Dammit, I should’ve cleared my desk off after the last time.
“We are not over. We are over when I say we’re over!” she shouts, her icy veneer finally shattered to hell.
She lobs my nameplate at me, and thank God for her terrible aim and lack of athleticism. The heavy gold weight flies past me and bounces off the window with a dull thud. I send up a silent prayer for the sturdiness of industrial glass.
“You and your tantrum can see yourselves out before I call security. If you try to come back, you’ll be escorted out as soon as you step foot inside my building.”
“We aren’t done, Lawrence! Our fathers are going to hear about this!” she screams as she storms away, her red hair an accurate representation of her rage and indignation.
I shake my head as she stomps off like an unruly toddler who had their toy taken away. At thirty-two, I’m way too old for this shit.
“Talk to our dads all you want, but it won’t do anything. We’re done,” I call out with finality.
She doesn’t turn back. Instead, she slams my door shut, and the jarring sound echoes in the now silent room.
I groan, lean back in my chair, and direct my gaze out the long wall of windows in front of me. The view I have from my executive office is worth millions, and I try to take comfort in the picturesque sight. San Diego is bathed in orange light as the sun sets, and the warmth and brightness reflecting off my windows mocks me because it doesn’t penetrate to where I’m sitting.
Sighing, I look back at my computer. I have a lot of work to do, and it’s still early enough that I can finish up here instead of taking it home. As if fate is intervening, my cell chimes with an incoming text right as I start to reach for my keyboard. I look down and see it’s from my best friend.
Cooper: Hey asshole, you finally gonna come out with me tonight? There’s a new bar in Oceanside I want to check out. It’s ladies’ night. I need my wingman, and your grumpy ass needs to get laid.
The debate on whether or not I should go is short-lived. The man has a point, and I could use a break from the grueling hours I usually work. I text him back, and we agree to meet in an hour, which means I can squeeze in another twenty minutes of work before heading over. I eye the suit I’m wearing and figure it’ll do, especially if I ditch the jacket. Halfway between San Diego and Laguna Beach, the location of the bar may not measure up to the Gaslamp Quarter I would normally frequent, but the nightlife is still pretty lively.
Between the two of us, we should have no shortage of female attention tonight. I’ve been so busy I haven’t been able to enjoy being single again, and I’m fine with rectifying that immediately, especially after Rachel’s untimely visit. Truth be told, the residual tension I’m feeling can either be worked out or fucked out, and I’d much rather fuck it out. It’s been way too long.
3
Perrie
“I can’t believe you convinced me to go out tonight,” I huff, adjusting my cleavage in the almost too-tight dress my personal assistant slash best friend insisted I wear. She’s way more than Rachel has ever been or will ever be to me. If it wasn’t for the leather jacket I threw on over it, I’d be all skin. “What happened to a nice, quiet night in with wine and zombies, huh?”
“You and your zombies,” Blake says with a laugh. “We have those types of nights every other night, Perrie. Lately you’ve been all work and no play.”
She has a point, but those nights are my favorite. Most of the time, we stay so late at work that it makes sense to turn my office into a makeshift movie theater while we finish our projects. We’ve been binge-watching our way through every zombie movie and television show ever created, and I can’t get enough.
/>
Still, I have fun. Sometimes. Not as often as I’d like to, but still.
“I play,” I argue, holding a finger up as if that further validates my point.
“Yeah, with yourself, which doesn’t count.”
I double over in laughter. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“But I’m right, and you know it.” Blake’s brow rises in challenge.
“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “But I do date, sometimes. It’s just that no one gets me off better than I do, and some nights—heck, even mornings—it takes me forever to kick guys out. So me, myself, and I are all I need.”
“Until the craving for a nice, raw penis sets in, right?”
“Right.”
I catch the taxi driver’s eye in the rearview mirror. His eyes are widened in surprise, probably at our unfiltered conversation around a stranger, so I wink in response. His cheeks redden, and his eyes focus back on the road.
Sigh.
Guys are too easy sometimes.
“With any luck, maybe we’ll both find someone to take home tonight.” She smirks, a dreamy look filling her eyes, and I know exactly who she’s thinking about.
One of the main reasons I was easily swayed to forego zombie night? The owner of the bar is apparently the hottest dude on this planet, and after stalking his Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter for any signs of a relationship and finding none, there was no question of whether or not we were coming tonight.
“Maybe,” I say with a shrug. “But since it’s a new bar, the creeps will be out in full force. Besides, you and I both know there’s only one man you want taking you home.”
“Ugh, I know,” Blake groans. “But what if he doesn’t even realize I’m there?”
“There’s like a zero percent chance of that happening, and if it does, we’ll just have to make him realize. We’ve got this wingwoman thing down, so fear not, Blakey. The two hours you spent getting ready will not go to waste.”
“You’re right, you’re always so right,” she says, nodding her head more to herself than me. “Besides, on the bright side, if that is true, it just means I’ll get to have my pick of any other guy there tonight.”
“Exactly. There’s a silver lining to everything, isn’t there?” I smile at her.
“You bet your smokin’ Latina ass there is,” she says with a shimmy.
Blake is charismatic, to say the least. She lives life as carefree as possible, and her fearless personality is my favorite thing about her. We match, which makes for a seamless friendship, unlike some people I know.
I cringe, remembering the text I still have yet to respond to.
Rachel: We should hang out this weekend! The boyfriend and I had a quarrel, so I’m dying to let loose. Let me know! xx
The boyfriend. She really had referred to him that way. To say there were a few eye rolls as I read that short message earlier would be an understatement. And her version of letting loose is us staging photos so that she can post them on social media or send them to him as a way to win him back.
Her tactics are elementary, but they’ve clearly gotten her this far, so they must have been working well in her favor.
The driver pulls up to the bar, and Blake and I hop out of the taxi, leaving the driver a hefty tip for his stoic demeanor.
The place is more lively than I thought it would be, especially for it being so new, but on a Friday night, I really shouldn’t be all that surprised.
We share a look and give each other a quick hand squeeze for encouragement before walking into the crowded space. It almost resembles a club more than a bar, but that just means tonight is about to get a whole lot more interesting.
“This place is so much more than I thought it would be,” Blake says excitedly from beside me.
I laugh in response, browsing the setup. “I spot a table with two open seats that we need to snag before anyone else.”
After speed walking toward the spots and bumping into nearly every person on our way there, we both sigh in relief as we plop down in the chairs.
“Score one for us,” Blake announces.
“I’m going to order us some drinks,” I say, standing up, but as I do, a waitress carrying a tray of what looks like two vodka tonics approaches our table.
“Two vodka tonics, courtesy of the two men sitting at the far side of the bar,” she says as she places our drinks on the table, a sugary sweet smile on her face.
She walks away, and Blake and I both share a look before searching the bar for the men who might’ve sent these drinks over. The bartop is the most crowded spot in the whole place, so we’re unsuccessful in our search.
We shrug, grab our glasses, and clank them together.
“Let the fun begin,” I say, pulling the thin straw between my lips and taking a large sip.
It’s midnight. Where the time went, I’ll never know. I’ve been dancing by myself—well, mostly, except when a brave man wraps his arms around my waist and I politely turn him away—since Blake left me for a guy who was so not the bar owner.
I giggle at the thought.
For the first hour, she turned away any and every guy who approached her, but when she finally asked a manager and realized the owner wasn’t even here, she threw caution to the wind and let one of her many suitors take her home.
I, on the other hand, am not willing to settle on just anybody. I’m tired of the same old routine. It gets old quick, and I want something—no, someone—more exciting. My body has itches, yes, but if history is any indicator, then I know if I settle on just any random attractive guy, then the itch will one hundred percent return fifteen minutes later just as fierce.
Why? Because most men I pick up in bars or clubs or at the grocery store always lead me to asking myself, “Why? When did men become so boring, selfish, and quick in bed?”
The answer? Well, it was clearly the men I chose to bed, which is why I’m being much pickier tonight.
Sometimes all a girl needs is a proper lay to push her through and keep her going in life.
Is that so hard to ask? I plead with the universe.
Clearly, I answer for her.
I swivel my hips and turn, and the lukewarm drink in my hand nearly falls free of my grip when my eyes land on someone I know will be worthy of my time.
Even from where I stand I can tell his body is trim, thanks to the tailored suit—sans jacket, of course—that clings to his form. He’s laughing, one hand gripping the neck of his beer bottle while the other slides through his dirty blond hair, shaking his head at something the girl beside him says.
She’s trying too hard, that much is obvious. Her fingers keep reaching toward his chest, but he somehow keeps dodging her attempts.
It’s quite entertaining, actually.
I smirk, eyes trained on the scene unfolding in front of me. I’m a safe distance away, maybe ten feet or so, but I can’t help but step a bit closer.
I watch as he looks over the girl’s head at who I presume is his buddy. They’re polar opposites from what I can tell. Where he’s light, his friend is slightly darker.
Huh. Blake’s going to be sad she missed this.
Blondie’s back is to me, so I can’t make out his face, but I can only assume he’s asking for his help, for an extraction to take place.
Effortlessly, I watch as his friend swoops in between them and refocuses the girl’s attention.
Blond dude with the tailored suit positions his body so that it’s finally facing me, and a breath of shock escapes my body as I’m taken aback by my reaction.
I really need to get this itch of mine scratched because to be affected, if even a little, by some random dude I haven’t even seen up close yet? Yeah, I need to get this damn thing taken care of stat.
And, ironically, who better to enlist for the job than none other than hot bar dude himself?
I finish the contents of my drink and set it on a nearby table, eyes focused on the prize.
I straighten my posture, fix my boobs, and flip m
y hair back, mustering every ounce of confidence I can. I’m much more practiced when alcohol isn’t coursing through my veins, but I can do this.
I take a deep breath, steadying my overactive heartbeat.
Finally, when there are no more steps to take and I’m standing in front of him, I look up, willing his eyes to lock with mine. And they do. A crystal blue gaze connects with my cocoa-colored ones, and I am gone. So gone, it’s pathetic.
His jaw is lined with a five o’clock shadow, and for a moment I wonder what it’d feel like between my legs, cool sheets coating our naked bodies.
Whoa. Okay. Chill, Perrie. A grip would be nice right about now.
A question lingers in his stare, but just as he opens his mouth to speak, he glances down at the lit screen in front of him. His brow furrows, and his lips tighten.
“Something you don’t like?” I ask, surprising myself. But I can’t help it. I want his attention on me. All of it.
He pockets his phone and aims a small, annoyed smile my way. “More like someone.”
I pull at my bottom lip, his deep voice doing little to dull the urge to jump his bones.
“Need a distraction?” I offer, tilting my head to the side.
His smile widens, and his eyes darken.
With that small transformation, I can’t help but think of how familiar he looks. There’s a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach, and somewhere deep in my mind, my sober self is yelling something inaudible. I shake them both away, focusing on the man standing in front of me.
He tilts his head down, lips lingering by my ear. I shiver, my body preparing for whatever secret he’s about to share.
This night just became my favorite.
4
Sterling
“Considering we’re both avoiding Rachel, I’d say we both need it. What type of distraction are you proposing, Perrie?” I whisper, my lips a hair’s breadth away from brushing against the delicate ear of the dark-haired vixen in front of me.
Don't Let Me Be Yours Page 2