by Alexa Davis
Nick’s sitting on the couch.
“Have you tried it yet?” he asks. “It’s something my butler told me about—apparently, it was one of the Tsar’s favorites, though I still haven’t gotten Witherton to say how he’d know that.”
“Yeah,” I say, giving my glass a big whiff and then squinting my eyes to hide the tears that form. “It’s really something.”
I walk over to join Nick on the couch, setting the glass on the coffee table, far enough away from him he shouldn’t notice the sharp smell of my drink.
“Tell me something,” he says as I try to get settled into a cushion that has never felt so awkward to sit on.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Were you really sick or did you just not want to see me?” he asks.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I mean,” he smiles, “were you really sick or did you just not want to see me?”
I think a moment and answer, “There’s just no satisfactory answer to that question.”
“You know I like you,” he says. “I don’t think there’s been a lot of suspense there. With that said, though, it’s hard to know how to act when you keep dropping out of existence for days at a time.”
“I know,” I tell him. “I’m sorry about that.”
That’s all I can manage to say.
“So, how do I know that’s not going to happen this time?” he asks.
I shrug and scour my brain for something resembling a verbal response—only I don’t find anything there.
“Well that’s comforting,” he chuckles.
“Oh come on,” I say. “Don’t you get that I like you too, that this is all just a bit overwhelming for someone like me? The only time I’ve even seen millionaires was that time Naomi and a friend of hers dragged me to an NBA game, and then you come into the shop where I work and ask me out. It’s a lot to take in, you know?”
“Would you rather I weren’t as successful as I am?” he asks.
“I’m not saying that,” I tell him. “I’m just saying that … I’m just saying …”
His eyes fixate on mine, and he’s turned toward me, his left arm resting on the back of the couch. The next thing I know, his left arm is around me, and I’m kissing his beautiful lips.
He grunts, and I pull back, already in the middle of an apology. Before I get too far, though, he holds up a hand and says, “I was about to spill my drink.” Nick leans forward, sets his martini on the coffee table, and now he’s kissing me.
I naturally lean back, pulling him with me until my shoulders come to rest between the armrest and the back of the couch. While I may have made the first move, at least physically, he seems more than happy to take it from there.
Nick kisses my neck, whispering, “You’re beautiful,” and I’m covering my mouth to prevent the laugh from escaping me.
He glances up, but I tell him, “Don’t worry about it.” His lips meet mine again. This whole thing is just crazy.
I look over at the clock on the wall to see how much time we have before Naomi gets home, but before my mind can process the numbers, I’m closing my eyes. She said she’d be gone all night. I need to stop worrying all the time.
Nick pulls back and my eyes open again. He says, “This is a bit sudden, don’t you think?”
He doesn’t know what I’ve been thinking about in the shower over the past couple of days, or else he might have a different opinion.
“I need you to tell me something,” I say.
“What’s that?” he asks.
“Is this just a sexual thing, or are you looking for something more?” I ask.
“More,” he says, “always more.”
“Always?” I ask. “I don’t know. I’ve put up a pretty good fight here, and I can’t help feeling like I’m letting myself down a little.”
He has to be frustrated, but he doesn’t let it show.
“Okay,” he says. “Let’s talk about it.”
“See,” I say, “that’s the thing. I don’t feel like talking. I just need to know that you’re not going to up and leave if something were to happen between us.”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“You know,” I answer, my voice soft enough he’s leaning in to hear me, “sexually.”
“Nothing has to happen tonight,” he says. “I’m sure after a while, we may want to talk about it a bit more, but I’m not going to—”
I pitch forward, kissing him hard on the lips. A second later, he’s the one leaning back into the couch.
My arms are tight around him, and I’m on top of him now as he adjusts his position. When he settles, I lower my hips and I can feel the proof of his attraction as my center comes to rest on his.
Nick is running his hands up and down my back and for once in my life, I stop thinking about all the what-ifs. I just give myself over to him.
I lean back a little and start unbuttoning his shirt. Nick brushes the hair out of my face and rests his hand on my cheek as he looks up at me.
With Nick’s shirt now unbuttoned, I part the front to reveal his tan, muscular upper body. I kiss his chest as he starts tugging at the bottom of my wonderfully short dress.
I start working my way down his chest, over his firm abs and all the way down to the top of his pants. Taking a deep breath in, I unfasten the button and pull down the zipper.
Nick’s erection is barely hindered by the fabric of his boxers, and he’s a good deal bigger than I thought he’d be. I’m a bit nervous as I lift the waistband over him.
Wrapping my hand around his shaft, I kiss Nick’s tip. He lets out a pleasured sigh, and I swirl my tongue over his flared ridge.
Finally gathering my courage, I relax my jaw and take him into my mouth.
He’s hard, pulsing in my mouth, and I’m looking up at him. It appears like he’s all right with the fact I can’t fit all of him in my mouth at once. Judging by the way his eyes are rolled back in his head, I’d say he’s more than all right.
I work my lips back to the tip of his shaft, making a loud smacking sound as the suction breaks, and I give Nick a wicked smile while my hand grips and slips over his shaft.
“Come here,” he says, and I crawl over him again until he’s pulling my head down toward him, kissing me deeply.
Nick’s hands around me now, he unfastens my bra, the cold air of the air conditioner hitting my skin. Nick’s face turns a deeper shade, and he lifts his head to kiss my breasts.
His lips and his tongue are concentrated heat, and I’m so wet there’s nothing left for me to do but slip off the tanga. So, I manage to leave Nick’s incredible touch, though only for a second, and a moment later, I’m naked on top of him, my hand going between his legs.
“Are you sure you’re ready for something like this?” he asks. “You’ve been pretty reserved—”
“I think I’ll be all right,” I tell him.
He doesn’t argue as I run the tip of him against my waiting pussy.
For a moment, I press him against my clit. “We should probably go to the bedroom, though,” I tell him.
“Naomi’s not on her way home, is she?” he asks.
“No,” I answer. Kissing him on the lips, I whisper, “But that’s where the condoms are.”
The whole way to the bedroom, Nick’s hands are on my hips or cupping my breasts. When we get to the doorway, he bends down, works an arm under my knees, another under my arm, and he picks me up and carries me into the room.
I giggle and kiss him, and he lays me down on the bed before him. For a few seconds, I lie here, bare and open, and he gazes over my body.
The most difficult part about being woefully insecure is not letting him know it. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone.
“Where are they?” he asks, his eyes now focused between my legs with such intensity I’d swear I can feel it.
In my sexiest, most casual way, I point to my dresser, saying, “Top drawer.”
I may have been in the dry
spell to end all dry spells, but that doesn’t mean a girl doesn’t hold out some hope.
Nick grabs the box and opens it. He takes a condom from inside and comes back over to the bed as he opens it.
“Here,” I say, holding out my hand.
He gives me the condom, and I move into a halfway decent position to put it on him. Placing the condom over him, I kiss his chest and his stomach.
Now properly sheathed, Nick tells me to lie back. I do, and he leans forward and puts himself between my legs, hesitating a moment at my opening before sliding himself inside of me.
My mouth is open, but I can’t speak. I can hardly breathe.
He goes slow, easing himself in, bit by bit. Once he’s covered in my dripping juices, though, the tempo steadily increases.
My legs are hanging over the side of the bed, and Nick is bending down to deliver dozens of eager kisses to my lips, my neck, my breasts.
I’d close my eyes if I didn’t think I’d wake up.
Nick lifts my legs, so my feet rest against his chest, and I almost feel like a virgin again, only this time, there’s no blinding pain.
He’s so deep in me now, and I’m writhing in delight on the bedspread as he enters me again and again. Right as I’m getting to where I feel like my body can’t contain all of the pleasure he’s giving me, though, I hear a door somewhere else in the apartment open and close.
My eyes go wide.
“Hold on,” I whisper.
He stops. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Did you hear that?” I respond.
“Yeah, it sounds like Naomi just got in,” he answers. “Why?”
“Yeah, she knows you’re here, and she’s not above walking in here, pulling up a chair and asking you if you know Benedict Cumberbatch while we’re having sex,” I tell him.
“I’ve met the guy, but I wouldn’t say I know him,” Nick answers. When I don’t laugh, though, he nods, saying, “All right. There’s plenty of time.”
We barely manage to cover up before I hear the sound of Naomi picking my lock.
Chapter Six
Reverb
Nick
“Mr. Scipio, you know we all trust your vision, but what are you doing?” Cal, the only member of the board not to have called to bitch at me before now, says. “We can set up an office anywhere, but the world is in New York. You’ve got to get back here.”
“Is anything going wrong, or are you just wetting yourself thinking it might?” I ask. I like to think of myself as a good man, but in the world where I live, kindness is almost always mistaken for weakness. Of course, in that world, most of the time kindness is a weakness, so who knows?
Cal sighs. “Do you have an idea when you might be heading back?” he asks.
Across the presidential suite, Ellie’s slipping out of her bathrobe and into her regular clothes. I probably should have offered to have them cleaned or have one of my many assistants run out and get her some new ones. We haven’t left the room in almost a week.
“To be honest with you, Cal, I think I might just stay here for the duration,” I answer.
“You can’t do this, Nikolai,” Cal says. “You’re risking the company on a pipe dr—”
I hang up the phone.
“Everything all right?” Ellie asks as she slips back into the same dress she was wearing when we had to sneak out of her apartment a few nights ago to avoid Naomi.
Ellie wasn’t kidding about her sister, either. The woman didn’t knock or even say anything before she picked the lock and showed herself into Ellie’s room. Getting out of there wasn’t easy.
“Yeah,” I answer. “I’ve got to head down to the office for a little while, though. Apparently, people are starting to notice I haven’t been around that much the last few days.”
“Hey, don’t look at me,” she says. “I just suggested we get out of the apartment. You’re the one who said we should come here.”
I smile. “I think we’re both to blame,” he says. “Not that blame is the word I’d use here. Although you’re the one who wrote that sign and put it up on the door.”
“Sign?” she asks, looking around. “What sign?”
I groan. “The one that says, ‘Do not disturb or you’re fired’?” I ask.
She claps her hands together, laughing.
“Why do you get such a kick out of hearing me say that?” I ask.
She’s still tittering as she says, “I’m not sure, to tell you the truth. It’s probably something to do with you actually being able to threaten people with something like that and the fact that, in some small way, I managed to snag a bit of your power for my amusement.”
“The power not to be disturbed,” I say and snicker. “You know, I was going to make a joke there, but that’s a magnificent idea.”
“All right,” she sighs.
“We’re still on for dinner tonight, right?” I ask.
She’s eyeing me like she thinks it’s a trick question. Slowly, she says, “Yes.”
“Great,” I tell her as I’m getting my shoes on. “I can’t wait. If you need anything, you know where I am. If you get hungry, give a call down to room service and,” I say, finishing tying my shoes, “I’ll be back later.”
“Have a good day at work, dear,” she says. “I’ll stay here with the kids.”
I smile and shake my head, and I’m out the door.
As soon as the latch clicks behind me, my heart starts pounding. I held back when I was on the phone because Ellie was in the room, but the truth is I’ve been incommunicado long enough things are starting to get missed.
Don’t get me wrong, as far as I’m concerned, it’s worth it. All the same, though, if I don’t get us back on the right course, we’ll start losing real money. We start losing real money, and people are going to lose their jobs.
I get down to the ground floor of the hotel to find the conference room in upheaval. People aren’t speaking into phones; they’re yelling at them.
The tents around the edges of the room are gone, and in their place are makeshift plywood offices. At the moment, they don’t look much better than the tents, but at least we won’t have to worry about someone tripping over a pole and de-officing someone anymore.
It had happened six times before I insisted on a change.
“Sir!” Malcolm, head of the Mulholland Project, says. “We’ve lost another twelve points. We need some decisions or things are going to start unraveling.”
“They already are,” I tell him. “Twelve points?” I ask.
“Since the market opened,” Malcolm says. “People are losing confidence because you’re …” He starts scratching at the back of his neck with such force I almost expect to see blood on his hand when he brings it back around.
“Because I’m here and not in New York,” I say. “Okay, do we have any projections on how bad this is going to get?”
“It’s hard to say with any certainty,” he says, “but the longer you’re here, unable or unwilling to take meetings back home, the line’s just going to keep going down.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Do me a favor and schedule me a flight back there sometime next week.”
“Next week, sir?” Malcolm asks.
“Yeah,” I answer. “After that, I want you to give a call to your friend in the times and let him know Daddy’s coming home soon. That should stop the hemorrhaging, at least.”
“Got it,” Malcolm says and walks away. “You don’t want to take the private jet?”
I smile. “I think I’ll start using that when it’s a necessity and not for every trip,” I tell him.
I get about two more steps into the room before Marly from my legal team stops me, saying, “We’re having a hard time getting around the board on the final plans for the new headquarters.”
“I have a majority vote,” I respond. “What’s the problem?”
“They’re calling your capacity to remain as CEO into question,” she says.
“Anything I should worry ab
out?” I ask.
“Not yet,” she answers. “Still, we can’t keep them in the dark much longer or this whole thing’s going in the loss column, and I don’t know how many of us are going to survive something like that.”
“As long as I’m here, you’re here,” I say. “You know that, Marly.”
“That’s the problem, though,” she says. “If things don’t change, it won’t be long until—”
“Find Malcolm,” I tell her. “He should be about done booking my flight back to New York.”
“You’re going back?” she asks.
“Find him,” I tell her.
I manage to get to my desk without further interruption, but I don’t get a chance to sit.
Malcolm’s back already and Marly’s close behind him.
“Sir,” he says, “I booked you a flight out of here on Tuesday morning.” I love that he works that quickly. “It should put you back in New York by early afternoon. There are some things we need to go over before anything else happens, though.”
“Marly?” I ask.
She looks up from the notepad she’s scribbling in and says, “I’ve got it, sir. I’ll put in a quick call to my friend at the Post.”
“You’ve already called the Times?” I ask Malcolm.
“Not yet, sir,” he says. “I wanted to run a few things by you, first.”
“Could it wait a few minutes?” I ask.
“I can’t make the call until we speak, but yeah,” Malcolm says. “Just let me know when you’ve got a free minute.”
He starts to walk away. “Hold on,” I say.
“Yeah?” Malcolm responds.
“Why can’t you make the call until we talk? Marly just went to call hers,” I say.
“I know,” Malcolm says. “The thing is, you know how Ambrose wanted that exclusive into the acquisition of Middlemarch Tech?”
“With a name like that, no wonder he went into writing,” I muse.
Malcolm nods slowly, saying, “Yeah, anyway, he’s been breathing down my neck about wanting an exclusive, and I don’t think he’s going to do us any more favors until we give him something.”