by Sybil Bartel
He frowned. “I did?”
I bit the inside of my cheek so I didn’t scream. “Mm-hmm.”
His smile was wide. “Cool.”
I sucked in a breath and wiped my expression clean. “So we’re good? You’re comfortable now? Because I have to do a walk-through with the fire marshal. You know…,” I held my breath and leaned toward him, “To make sure there’s nothing illegal here,” I stage-whispered.
His smile dropped and his hand went to his pocket. He grabbed it from the outside like he needed to make sure something was still there. “Yeah, yeah, I feel you. I’m cool.”
I shuffled him toward the elevator. “Great, thanks so much. I can’t wait for tomorrow night. Make sure you’re here by nine. You can mingle with all the buyers, talk to them, tell them your inspiration.” I jabbed the call button and the doors to the dedicated elevator slid right open. Hoping I didn’t catch some flesh-eating virus from his rank clothes, I pushed Franklin inside. “See you tomorrow.” The doors shut and I exhaled.
“Fire marshal?”
My hand flew to my chest and I spun. “Shit, Jesse, you scared me.”
The lines in the corners of his big brown eyes crinkled and his perfect smile lit up his face. “I thought you were going to lose it when he said he wanted a sack of potatoes.”
“Oh my God,” I groaned. “Don’t remind me.” I mentally added heavy object to my to-do list because despite me pushing Franklin out, I didn’t want any problems tomorrow night. If he wanted something leaning on the wall under his painting, I was sure I could come up with at least a sack of dirty laundry.
Jesse chuckled. “How much weed do you think he smokes in a day?” He glanced down as he placed his hammer back in his tool belt and his messy blond hair fell over one eye. When he looked up, he flipped his head and my stomach fluttered.
I smirked to hide my doe eyes. “I don’t know but I bet it’s in direct correlation to how much he gets paid for a painting.” I nodded at the toilet water one. “And that one has an opening bid of twenty-five grand.”
Jesse’s eyes went wide. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He stared at the canvas that was a bigger disaster than the artist himself. “For a painting that looks like it just messed itself?”
I smiled. Neither of us knew shit about art. “Yep. And let’s hope it goes for double that, because fifty percent of every sale goes to the charity.”
Jesse glanced back at me and the softness in his expression was one I used to stay awake nights fantasizing about, until he got a girlfriend.
“Not just any charity, your charity.”
I nodded like it was no big deal but my heart swelled with pride. “Well, someone had to do something.”
“And that someone was you.” He put his arm around my shoulders like he’d done thousands of times before. “Proud of you, Liv.”
I leaned my head into his chest for just a moment and breathed him in. Soap and construction dust and the scent that’d grown from teenager to man. Jesse Emerson had been my best friend since ninth grade. “Thanks, Jess. I just hope tomorrow pulls in the numbers I need to keep afloat.” I’d invested every penny I had and if tomorrow didn’t bring in enough money, I’d be homeless within a week. But more, I’d be a failure at the one thing I swore I’d never fail at again.
“It’s going to be great. You’ll see. How many invites did you send out?”
Invites, ads, flyers, I’d even put posters up at all the nearby pet stores and vet offices. Most of those places wouldn’t net me a buyer who could afford the price of a painting, but it didn’t matter, I was trying to create a buzz. I wanted media coverage and the more people who showed up tomorrow, the more it would drive up the prices with the serious bidders. At least, that was my theory. I’d never actually done a fundraiser before. “A few hundred.”
Jesse squeezed my shoulder then released me. “Well, Jennifer and I will be here.”
Jennifer and Jesse. I even hated how their names matched. “Great, thanks. That means a lot.” I meant it, I swear I did, but it still kinda sucked saying it.
“No problem. And you’re all set, every picture is hung.”
“You’re the best, seriously. I couldn’t have pulled this together without you.” I went on tiptoe and hugged him. “I know how busy with work you are and transitioning to the northern office.” My heart broke just saying it. Minus the time he was deployed, Jesse and I had lived in the same city since we were kids. He was a construction project manager for a firm that built high-rises in Miami, which was how I was able to use this space for the show. But his boss, who ran operations in northern Florida, decided to relocate to Miami. He asked Jesse to take over the Orlando office. I was super proud of him, but I selfishly didn’t want him to move.
He hugged me back hard then pulled away. “Hey, you’re not getting rid of me yet. I still have a couple more weeks before I move.”
“How’d Jennifer take the news?” The last time we’d spoken about Jesse moving, I was shocked to find out he hadn’t told his girlfriend.
His face clouded over. “I’ll tell her soon.”
If it was any other night besides the one before my fundraiser, I would’ve paid attention to the tight set of his jaw or asked what he was waiting for. Jennifer would jump at the chance to relocate with him. Any woman would. Jesse was the perfect catch. Gorgeous, kind, considerate, and he made great money. But I didn’t ask. “So, see you tomorrow night?”
He stared at me a second then shook his head like he was shaking away a thought and smiled. “Yep. Call me if Mr. Potato Sack needs a good ass kicking.”
I laughed. Jesse was a lot of things, but he wasn’t an ass kicker. He’d talk you down and reason it out. Despite his tall frame and solid muscles that came from years of hard manual labor, he wasn’t a fighter. “Get out of here before I find something else for you to do, like fill sandbags.”
He smiled briefly then his expression turned serious. “Your brother would’ve been proud of you.” He kissed my cheek and walked to the elevator like he hadn’t just gutted me. “Night, Liv.”
I stared at the elevator long after the doors closed.
My brother wouldn’t have been proud of me. I’d let him die.
I took the brunette by the hair. “What’s my name?”
“A-A-A-Alex.”
“What?” I barked.
“Alex,” she whimpered.
I didn’t give a fuck what she called me. “Say it again,” I bit out even louder.
“Alex!”
“Who controls you?”
“You do.”
“Who makes you come?” Technically, she made herself come. I never actually touched her beyond pulling her hair or spanking her ass.
“You do.”
I bent to her ear. “Never fucking forget it.” I released her as if I was disgusted with her, but I couldn’t care less. She paid cash at the beginning of every session and her script was always the same. “Get in the fucking shower. I’m done with you.”
She scrambled on her hands and knees as if she were my sub and I’d told her to crawl, but she had no fucking clue what a real sub was. Most of my clients didn’t. They read that book, decided they wanted a little dominance, then I’d get a call. I was bossy as fuck, I’d make them come a few times, then I’d take their money. But true BDSM? Not my gig.
The second I heard the shower turn on, I was out. Easiest three grand I’d make all week. But the thought didn’t turn me on. I didn’t even check my account or look at my schedule for next week as I walked out of the hotel.
For the past two days, all I’d been thinking about was the look on Irina’s face when I’d told her we were done. I’d expected her I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude but all I’d gotten was sad eyes and silence. That only reaffirmed my decision to get rid of her before she became a problem, but the incident kept replaying in my head.
I didn’t give a shit that I wasn’t going to see her again. I wasn’t even going to miss her. Except I kept thinking I sh
ould feel something for a client I’d fucked every week for three years, but I didn’t. The only thing I felt, when I wasn’t being apathetic as fuck, was relief. And that was fucking with my head.
I drove home, showered, changed and forced myself to focus on my next client. Trina Howards. Ten grand for two hours at some fucking charity event for veterans. The irony wasn’t lost on me. The Marines had given me a backbone and taught me how to be commanding as fuck. I’d walked away when my service was up without looking back once, but here I was going to a fundraiser for vets when I’d sworn I’d never meet a client outside the bedroom. I blamed the loss of income from dumping Irina on my shit decision to agree to this event, but it was bullshit.
I had a waiting list as long as my cock. I could’ve pulled a few names and made more money fucking than ten grand for a charity event. But I didn’t. I was driving to a half-finished penthouse to look at paintings because I wasn’t about to admit that after three years of screwing my way through Miami’s wealthiest women, I was burnt out.
I pulled up to a valet that was clearly set up for tonight and cursed. If my car got scratched, I was charging Trina triple.
The valet opened my door and I gave the zit-faced kid a once-over. “You ever driven a McLaren before?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want her left in front, not parked close to anyone else and if shit isn’t fucked-up when I come back, I’ll tip accordingly. Do we understand each other?”
“Absolutely, sir.” He nodded toward a black Navigator with the windows tinted out. “I think your date is waiting. She said you drive a McLaren.”
Christ. “Thanks.” I walked to the Lincoln and stood a few feet from the back door. Half smile, all attitude, I crossed my arms.
Trina didn’t even wait for her driver to open the door. She burst out of the SUV looking like she’d already had a few. “Alex!”
Fuck me. She’d had more than a few. “Trina.”
“Hellooo,” she cooed, stumbling in her heels.
I didn’t reach for her, or smile. “You start without me?”
She teetered over and grasped my arms as she leaned into me. “Yes, but….” She breathed alcohol breath all over me and turned serious. “Do you know what it’s like to get all prettied up then wait for a man you’re paying to pretend to like you? My self-esteem needed that drink, or three.” She nodded theatrically.
“Babe, you’re hot.” It wasn’t a lie. Money bought all sorts of shit, like personal trainers and plastic surgery.
“You think so?”
Damn, if I was going to play therapist, I needed to up my rates. “Want in on a little secret?”
“Okay.” She bit her lip.
I leaned down to her ear and lowered my voice. “Guys get off on a confident woman.”
Her shoulders squared and she lifted her chin. “You’re going to love fucking me later.”
“You’ll love it more.” Guaranteed.
Throaty and honest, she laughed. “You’re right.”
I shook my head but that time, my half smile was real. “Let’s go look at your art.” With a hand on her back, I led her into the lobby and we were directed to the penthouse’s elevator.
Once we were alone inside the elevator, she copped a feel. “How long do we have to stay?”
I didn’t bother pointing out this was her gig. Women didn’t pay me to be a passive fuck. My clients wanted alpha and I didn’t know any other way. “You’re going to look at every piece.” I pulled her hand off my dick and held it away from my body. “Pretend to deliberate over a couple then buy three of the most expensive ones.” I pushed her against the wall and leaned close but I stopped just short of my body touching hers. “Then I’ll take you to the Setai and fuck you sober.” I tightened my grip on her hand. “But only if you’re a good girl and keep your hands to yourself.” I narrowed my eyes. “Can you manage that?” I wasn’t stupid enough to let a client grope me in public. “Otherwise, I’m out.”
“Ohhh, playing hard to get?” She smiled but it was slightly off. “Don’t forget I’m paying you.”
I let my gaze drift over her mouth, her fake double D’s and her narrow waist. Then I lingered at the juncture of her thighs. It took two seconds to make her squirm. “Do you know why I’m the best?” I asked quietly.
Every ounce of indignation left her voice. “No.”
I drew a single finger up the outside of her thigh and lifted the hem of her dress a few inches. “Because not only do I know how to make you come so hard it hurts.” I met her hungry gaze and dropped my voice as I enunciated each word. “I don’t need you.” I abruptly stepped back and the elevator doors slid open. “Ready?”
She shivered and pressed her legs together. “Oh, you’re good.”
“Like I said, the best.” I guided her out of the elevator with a hand at her back.
“You’re a cocky little—”
I gripped her nape and stopped her. “I assure you, there is nothing little about me.” I dropped my hand, forced an amused smile and we walked into the party.
It was like every other bullshit charity event. Posers, older women in heels, money and a solid display of Botox—with one exception.
Her ass was fucking perfect.
Small waist that swelled into round hips and an honest-to-God heart-shaped ass. The whole package was wrapped in a tight black dress, fuck-me heels and legs that went on for days.
Damn.
“Mingle, babe. I’m getting us drinks.” I didn’t give Trina time to answer. I was already making my way toward those sexy curves because I needed to see the face attached to that body.
I walked right up behind her and leaned toward her ear. No perfume. Just soap, shampoo, and pure intoxicating woman. “Buy you a drink, beautiful?” Anticipation made my mouth water as I waited for her to turn around.
Jesus Christ.
She was fucking gorgeous. Deep blue eyes, dark brown silky hair pinned up, her tits matched the luscious swell of her hips and her scowl made my dick come to life.
“It’s an open bar,” she said dryly.
Fuck me. A grin spread across my face like it was Christmas morning. Goddamn, I loved a challenge. “Did I say here?” I winked.
She forced a smile. “Check out the paintings. There are plenty left to bid on, Mr.…? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“I didn’t introduce myself.” Five minutes alone with her. That’s all I needed to turn her into a client. But the second I thought it, my smile faltered.
“Right. Well, enjoy your evening.” She pivoted and walked away.
Sucker punched, my eyes glued to that ass, I didn’t notice Trina come up.
Her hand wrapped around my arm like a vise grip. “Where are our drinks?”
Forcing myself to look away from the brunette, I glanced pointedly at Trina’s hand. “Rules, babe,” I warned.
She dropped her arm but pushed her fake tits against me and smiled. “Better?”
Ten grand, I reminded myself. “Wine?”
“I have a bottle at my place,” she flirted.
Christ. “Two choices. The Setai or another hotel.” If she kept this up, I was dropping her too.
She pushed her bottom lip out. “But the wine here is probably warm.”
“You’re not here to drink. Which paintings did you pick?” I scanned the crowd.
“I don’t need any new art.” She pouted. “I’m ready to go.”
Graceful, with a reserved smile, the brunette moved from one couple to another. I thought about bagging Trina’s ten grand and ushering her back to her driver but quickly dismissed the idea. I wasn’t walking out of here until I at least knew the brunette’s name.
I glanced at Trina. “You can find at least one.”
“Are you going to help me pick it out?” She batted her eyelashes.
Someone needed to tell women everywhere they should never do that. “You going to pay me to be your art consultant?”
She dropped the baby voice
. “Just get me a drink.”
This was why I never took my services outside the bedroom.
I snuck into the back hallway and leaned against the wall. Hands shaking, I pulled up the app that was tracking all the bids. Two swipes and I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment as it loaded the totals. Please, please, please let this happen.
“Taking a breather?”
My eyes popped open and I gasped when I saw the numbers before I lifted my head toward the sexy male voice.
Incredibly tall, too many muscles and way too gorgeous to be real, the guy who’d tried to hit on me earlier lifted his eyebrows. “Was it something I said?”
His suit was custom, his attitude was one-hundred percent douche and his smile said he owned it. “You wish.” I looked back down at my phone and refrained from pumping my fist in the air. Triple, triple my minimum need and the bidding wasn’t set to close for another hour.
“I don’t have to wish, gorgeous. I get what I want, always.”
I scrolled on my phone to double-check all the bids to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. “Good for you.” Holy shit. I could triple the number of animals I took in to train. I could hire someone to help me.
“Your boyfriend sexting you?”
I glanced up. Okay, he was hot as hell, I’d give him that. Piercing blue eyes, black hair, perfectly chiseled features, and he wore his suit and his attitude, it didn’t wear him. But I was spot-on with my earlier assessment. He was a total douche and I was done pretending to be polite. He wasn’t going to buy anything. He’d been too busy keeping his date’s hands off him to even look at any of the paintings. “Yeah, and if you don’t mind, I’d like a little privacy so I can get off.”
Brilliant and consuming, he smiled. It would’ve made my heart flutter if I went for his type, which I didn’t. Ever.
He tipped his drink at me then took a sip. “By all means, don’t let me stop you.” His shoulder hit the wall and he sank a hand into his pocket like he was settling in to watch a show.
“Shouldn’t you get back to your girlfriend?” The woman he’d walked in with looked twice his age, but hell, who was I to judge? Maybe he liked cougars.