by Kim Desalvo
“Well,” she said. “I’m glad to know you’re not one of those chauvinistic men who can’t concede to a woman. The only question now is, are you man enough to let me buy you a drink?”
The word ‘chauvinistic’ reminded him of his blow-up with Lexi a few days earlier, and he realized he hadn’t checked his phone for a message from her since he left the office. He still couldn’t understand why she was being so goddamned testy about the whole situation—now that she’d had four days to think about it, couldn’t she see that postponing the wedding was best for both of them? She’d been completely ignoring him, and although at first it was more of an aggravation, now it was really starting to piss him off. She was probably off hanging out with Tia and Dylan somewhere, soaking up the limelight and basking in her own quasi-celebrity. She probably couldn’t have cared less that he’d been waiting on her call. He felt like he was becoming a liability.
“I’m more than man enough for that,” he smiled slyly. “Would you think it was chauvinistic of me to insist that I’m buying?”
“There is a fine line between chauvinistic and chivalrous,” she replied, smiling back, “but I prefer to consider the latter.” She squeezed water from her hair and hoisted herself out of the pool with almost no effort. “Give me twenty minutes,” she said, “and I’ll meet you in the lobby.” He watched droplets of water drip off her fine ass as she sashayed toward the locker room door.
He followed her out of the city to a little pub off the beaten path. At first he was nervous that she’d take him somewhere where lawyers hung out, and he worried that word would get back to Lexi that he’d been out with another woman. But then he realized that he had a legitimate reason for being out with her. Although they hadn’t discussed business at all, nor had he yet questioned the progress of their newly forming international division, he would at some point, and he could always pass off being out with her as work.
She was a regular at the place, which became obvious when she was greeted by name the minute they walked in. “The usual, Tiff?” the bartender called out as they found a cozy little booth in the corner, away from the bar.
“Yeah, thanks, Jimbo!” she called, turning to Ryan. “What’s your pleasure?”
For the briefest of seconds, an image of Tiffany naked imprinted on Ryan’s mind. He shook his head slightly, and turned toward the bar. “Gin and tonic, with a lime—Hendricks if you’ve got it,” he called. The bartender nodded, and he and Tiffany slipped into the booth.
“So,” she began, looking down at his hands. “All cleaned up and no wedding ring. How is it that you’re still single, Ryan?”
He felt a momentary twinge of guilt and pushed it away. He wasn’t married, so technically he was still single, and Lexi hadn’t returned his phone calls in days. He sucked it in, and turned to her. “Work keeps me really busy,” he answered. “I’m on the verge of making partner at the firm, and I just haven’t had the time to get married.” Technically, not a lie, he thought to himself.
Their drinks came, and he squeezed the lime; stirred the clear liquid with the tiny straw before taking a healthy pull. He knew he was treading on dangerous ground here. She was obviously attracted to him, and he’d made no attempt to thwart her advances. She was a client as well, or at least her company was, and he had reason to keep their relationship on a professional level. Still, he was really enjoying being himself with her, and he found it too hard to walk away.
“I understand completely,” she agreed. “I’ve been working on my MBA, spending my time in different departments within the company, trying to get a handle on the whole picture…it doesn’t leave much time for a social life, that’s for sure.”
“So what is your position in the company, actually?” he asked.
“I’m kind of a jack-of-all-trades right now,” she laughed. “Daddy believes that when I take over the company, I need to know the ins and outs of all the different departments and how they work together—and I agree with him. It’s been a real eye-opening couple of years, and I’ve really gotten to know how everything connects. I’ve got a lot of ideas for improvements once I take the helm, and it’s really exciting, you know? Of course, I’ve got a few more years before I get handed the reins, but I’m going to be ready to take Truitt Industries into the next century, that’s for sure. Daddy’s still kind of old school in the ways he manages some things, so I’m really looking forward it.”
Shit, Ryan thought, this really could be a good business venture. She was being prepped to take over the entire company, and he could already see a wide variety of ways they could help each other.
“I can imagine,” he agreed, noticing that he’d downed his gin and tonic and was holding up his glass toward the waitress to indicate a refill. “But the important thing is; do you like what you do?”
“Oh, I love it!” she gushed, an excited flush coming up and coloring her cheeks. “I especially like being a woman in power, and showing the men how it’s done sometimes.” She smiled coyly. “Although I’m sure you don’t know anything about that.”
“Don’t be so sure,” he said. “I was kind of the little guy when I came into the firm,” he admitted, accepting another drink and taking a sip before continuing. “I didn’t come from money or family influence, and I worked my way up against more than a few odds…I think I know what you mean—aside from the ‘being a woman’ part of it, anyway.”
“Ooh, a self-made man—the intrigue grows,” she said, scooting close enough to him that their legs were touching. “Where’d you go to school?”
“UCLA,” he said proudly. “Graduated second in my class.”
“And yet you’re in Chicago,” she said. “California didn’t agree with you?”
“Oh, it agreed with me just fine,” he said, noticing that her hand was suddenly resting on his thigh. “But I was born and raised here, and my family’s all here, so I decided to come back.”
“Very noble,” she said, taking a sip of her chardonnay. He took a generous pull of his own drink, and realized that he had a very pleasant buzz going already. He’d completely depleted his body during their workout, and realized that he’d never eaten dinner. The alcohol was going to his head rather quickly, and he found himself covering her hand with his own, almost unconsciously.
By the time he finished his third gin and tonic, he was feeling downright sloshed. Tiffany noticed, and said, “What, I can drink you under the table, too?”
“I didn’t have any dinner,” he said by way of excuse, “and you did kind of kick my ass tonight at the gym.”
“I think you need some coffee before you head home,” she whispered in his ear. “I know a little place close by. Walking distance, in fact.”
“Lead the way,” he said, very conscious of the fact that he was in no condition to get behind the wheel. A little walk might clear his head, and he could definitely use some coffee. It was only Tuesday night, and he had a pretty full schedule tomorrow. He looked at his watch and saw that it was nearly ten. It was going to be a long rest of the week, he figured.
Tiffany took his hand as they walked, and he wrapped her fingers in his; for support, he told himself, as he was a bit wobbly on his feet. When she stopped in front of a large brownstone building and started digging in her purse, his heart skipped a beat. He’d let her lead the way and hadn’t paid much attention to where they were walking, but they’d apparently reached their destination, and there wasn’t a coffee shop in sight.
“Home sweet home,” she said on a breath as light as air, leading him up the stairs to the front door. He followed her up, ignoring the warning bells going off in his very foggy brain. She turned a key in the lock, and led him up another set of stairs to her top level apartment. “I have some great organic Columbian that should do the trick,” she said as she swung the door open.
But the moment they entered the apartment, she stopped, and stared at him with drooped lids. “I’ll just get the coffee started,” she breathed, but then she took a step forward, taking the
initiative and pinning him back against the wall, pressing herself against him and stepping up on her tiptoes; rubbing demandingly over his groin. Her mouth found his, and he kissed her back, all his anxiety and anger pushing its way through his tongue and into her mouth, his hands running roughly up her sides, stopping to caress her small but perky breasts through the thin fabric of her sweater. Goddamn, she wasn’t wearing a bra, and he felt her nipples tighten immediately under his fingers, and couldn’t resist giving them a bit of a tweaking and a rough pinch between his thumb and forefinger. He watched her eyes roll back and her lips purse in the most alluring of ways, and he couldn’t help but do it again, just to see her reaction.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, her hand skimming down to cup him between his legs, squeezing gently at the raging hard-on that had amassed there. Before his foggy brain could even assess the situation, she pulled her sweater over her head and granted him full access to the decadent breasts that lie beneath. He reached around and cupped one hand around her tight ass, crushing her hips against him, and caught one swollen breast with the other, tweaking the nipple again with his thumb before bending down to take it in his mouth, reveling in the breathless gasp he heard against his ear as he gently nipped with the edges of his teeth.
She pulled down the zipper of his jeans and shoved her hand into his shorts, grasping him tightly and tugging him by his member toward the bedroom. I shouldn’t be here. That one fleeting thought crossed over his brain and slid away even as he tossed his shirt to the floor in her hallway. It was like he was watching the whole scene unfold, rather than being part of it, and as much as his mind tried to make sense of it all, his brain was at least three steps behind the instinctive reactions of his body.
They fell onto her bed and his body stretched across hers, her breasts pressed against him and her breath raged in his ear. The alcohol and the anger coursing through him drove him on, and he fumbled with the button on her pants, dragging them down her legs, and then shedding his own. She drove him on with her breath and her words, urging him to “fuck me now!” and he obliged her, driving deep and fast, fascinated by the newness of it all, the urgency of it all, and as he thrust into her over and over he thought, Fuck Dylan Miller! Fuck the bitch who doesn’t take my calls! Fuck the partnership! Fuck everything! And he pounded on her, frenzied by her gasps of pleasure and the pressure building in his groin, and he drove harder, driven by a crazed need, until he literally exploded, crying out with her on their shared climax and then falling onto her, breathless and utterly drained.
For a minute he just laid there, his brain recuperating and trying to make sense of what just happened. Then the guilt hit him like a brick wall and he was immediately speechless; afraid to move and afraid not to. Tiffany finally whispered, “You keep up just fine, Ryan—I’ll go and get that coffee started now,” as if he’d just held a door for her or passed her the salt in a restaurant. He stumbled into her bathroom and hung his head over the sink, unable to look at his image in the mirror. He’d seriously screwed up his life in just a few short drunken minutes, and he knew he could never go back. As he splashed cold water over his flaming face, one thought echoed over and over in his mind—oh fuck me, fuck me.
Chapter 29
Tia glanced up and smiled as Dylan walked into the kitchen and then stopped; her hand suspended over the platter of cheese and fruit she was artfully arranging. “That’s not even funny,” she said, stifling a giggle.
“Didn’t you say that you’d love me no matter what kind of hair I had?” he teased, rolling the little tail of the mullet around his index finger and giving her a coy smile.
“I may have to retract that statement,” she smirked, bumping off his pucker-faced advance with her hip. “You can just go ahead and take it off now—none of us will be able to focus on the wedding menu if you have that dead possum on your head.” The chef they’d hired to accompany them to the island was coming over to prepare a sampling of dishes for them to taste, and Lexi and Jessa were adding their palates to the decision-making process.
“You’ll be able to concentrate just fine,” he said, “because I won’t be here to distract you.”
“You’re not staying?” she pouted, sticking out her lower lip and dropping her eyelids. “Don’t you want to taste all the gourmet goodies that Neil will be serving up?”
“I trust you ladies to make exactly the right choices. I can assure you that on our wedding night, the food on my plate is going to be the very last thing on my mind. We could have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and I wouldn’t even notice. All I’ll be able to think about will be taking you to bed for the first time as my lawfully wedded wife.” He sidled over and pulled her to him, placing a soft and lingering kiss on her lips.
“Then why are we bothering with all this?” she said, sliding her tongue along his lips. “Let’s just go for the PB and J, ditch the mullet, and go practice that scenario right now. Just give me five minutes to make the phone calls.” She ran her hands down the soft fabric of his shirt and unzipped his jeans, sliding her hand inside.
“Mmm,” Dylan moaned, cupping a hand behind her neck and deepening the kiss. “Talk about not playing fair…I’m going to ask you to hold that thought for later on, most definitely. But even though I’m not concerned about we’ll be eating, I think our guests might be expecting a bit more than a school lunch on our wedding night, and I intend to give it to them. Besides, I won’t be able to add much anyway; we both know Jessa’s gonna get her bossy on and take over the whole thing.”
Tia snickered. Jessa was doing an amazing job with all of the details, big and small, and they were both incredibly grateful for her expertise. “You’re right about that,” she agreed, “but I’ll still miss you. Where are you running off to?”
“I,” Dylan said, plucking a fat grape from one of the platters and popping it into his mouth, “am going to poker night.” He stuck the grape in his upper lip and made a face before chewing it enthusiastically and flashing her a crooked smile.
Tia laughed out loud. “Poker night—really? You’d rather sit around a musty basement eating potato chips and jarred salsa and drinking beer than hanging out with us and enjoying gourmet food and fine wine? I’m starting to wonder about you, Miller.”
“The proper term is crisps, my love, and they just happen to be one of nature’s perfect foods. I promise I won’t go hungry, and I’m glad I can still keep you guessing.” He kissed the top of her head and shrugged into his coat as the buzzer sounded, announcing the arrival of the girls. “So then, you ladies have a great time, and pick us a brilliant wedding feast, right?” He spoke to the doorman through the intercom and hit the button for the elevator. “I’ll probably be late, but I’m hoping you’ll wait up for me.”
“Count on it,” Tia said, blowing him a kiss. “Have fun. Enjoy your crisps.”
“I plan to do just that.” He grabbed a duffel bag off the sofa table and tucked the mullet into it, then added a bottle of bourbon. The elevator door opened and Jessa and Lexi stepped off, both carefully balancing a load of bags and boxes. Dylan helped them get the packages arranged on the tables and kissed them both on the cheeks. “Have a lovely time, girls,” he said, heading back to the elevator.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Jessa asked, hands on her hips.
“I’m going to take some boys to school in the fine game of Texas Hold ‘Em,” he grinned, waving as the door slid shut.
“Poker night—really?” Jessa said, shaking her head.
“That’s exactly what I said,” Tia replied. “Guess we’re doing a girls’ night in.”
“Fine by me,” Lexi said, tossing her coat over the back of the couch and shaking some blood back into her arms. “Fewer palates means fewer arguments. What time’s the chef getting here? I’m starved.”
“In about an hour. I’ve got some snacks in the kitchen to hold us over until then.”
“Then let’s get this party started, shall we?” Jessa replied.
The drive
r pulled up to the Wrigleyville brownstone and raised his eyebrows as Dylan reached into the duffel and pulled the mullet over his head. “Inside joke,” he said, adding a pair of glasses and checking his reflection.
Trent, one of his regular Chicago drivers/security guards, just shook his head and smiled. “Whatever floats your boat, man,” he said. “Want some help with that keg?”
“If you could just get it to the front porch for me, that’d be great,” Dylan answered, moving to the back of the car and pulling a five gallon cylinder of Goose Island from the boot. May have gone a bit overboard with the snacks, he thought, as he slung a cloth bag over his arm and balanced a party tray the size of a truck tire on his palms. He hadn’t been able decide what he wanted at the deli, so he just asked for the works; and judging by the weight of the platter, he got just what he asked for. The girls could have their canapés and petit fours; he’d be more than happy with pastrami on rye and some greasy fried potatoes.
Sean waved through the window alongside the door, his face splitting in a grin when he saw Dylan in the fake hair and glasses he’d been wearing the first night they met. He pressed his lips together in a failed attempt to put on a straight face as he opened the door a crack and said sarcastically, “Yes? Can I help you?”
“Uh, I hear there’s some illegal gambling going on here tonight,” Dylan whispered from the corner of his mouth with his best Chicago accent. “I’ve got a few bucks in my pocket…”
“Bloody hell,” Sean replied, poorly imitating Dylan’s own British lilt. “Sorry dude, but the loser party’s across the street. Only cool cats allowed at this shindig. I’m afraid I can’t let you in.”
“Oh…well that’s too bad,” Dylan grinned back. “I guess I’ll just take my five gallons of Goose Island and my enormous tray of cold cuts and find another party then.”
“Now hold on; don’t be hasty…did you say five gallons of Goose? Where are my manners?” Sean pushed the door open and motioned him in with an exaggerated sweep of his arm. “Do bring your copious amounts of food and drink into the parlor straight away, won’t you?”