Indigo Nights: A Sexy, Contemporary Romance

by Louise Bay

  “Look, I’m not proposing marriage. Just dinner.” I loosened my tie.

  “That’s what Haven said.”

  Who the fuck was Haven? “Who?”

  “My sister-in-law.”

  She had a brother. Interesting. Apart from her name, it was the first bit of personal information she’d given me. “She told you I wasn’t proposing marriage?”

  “She told me to have some fun, and that I didn’t have to marry you.”

  “I like her; she gives excellent advice. Usually I save marriage for the second date. So dinner. Where are you staying?”

  “The Langham. But no, reason one trumps them all. I have to prep.” Her words were clipped, decided.

  “Prep for what?” I asked.

  “I have a thing tomorrow. A TV thing.”

  “Are you trying to be deliberately mysterious? Because, let me tell you, it’s working.” I couldn’t remember the last time I had so much fun just talking. If she wouldn’t have dinner with me, perhaps she would stay on the phone and just swap stories.

  Beth

  I stood in front of the window watching the river and clutching the phone to my ear. Maybe I should agree to dinner with Dylan. As he said, he wasn’t proposing marriage.

  “I’m not trying to be mysterious. It’s nothing, just something silly.”

  Truth was, I was a little embarrassed about the TV thing. I was almost certain nothing would come of it so I didn’t want to make a big deal of it, then look like an idiot when I flew home with my tail between my legs. I didn’t want to feel the disappointment or the shame because I knew the cure for both was booze. I’d avoided those feelings for a long time, so I wasn’t sure how I’d cope with them sober. Problem was, I was already invested, so if it didn’t work out, I was going to have to work through that. My baking was important to me. It didn’t deserve the association that it had with my sobriety. It meant more to me than that.

  “Tell me.” Dylan wasn’t giving up very easily—and I was quite enjoying his persistence.

  “I’m just going to WCIL studios tomorrow to film a trial segment for their Saturday morning show. I’m sure it will be a disaster, but I just don’t want to make it worse by not preparing. Does that make sense?”

  Dylan took a deep breath. “Yeah, of course. You’re going to try out for a presenting job?”

  “Oh God no, nothing like that. As you know, I like cake.”

  “I had noticed that.”

  “I also really like to bake.” It wasn’t a secret but I hadn’t mentioned the YouTube thing to anyone outside my London family. Dylan was so interested it seemed silly not to tell him. “I just put up a couple of videos of me baking on YouTube and WCIL called me about doing something similar on the Saturday breakfast show.” I fell back onto the bed. “I just want to give it my best shot.”

  “I get that. So, you like to bake?”

  “I love to bake—and eat what I bake, and I love other people eating my creations.” I grinned up at the ceiling.

  “Maybe, you’ll bake for me one day. I should let you go. You have a busy day tomorrow.”

  As much as I wanted to prepare for tomorrow, I also wanted to continue talking to Dylan. But he wasn’t looking for a friend; he was looking for a hookup.

  “Okay. You must be tired from your flight.”

  “Have sweet, sweet dreams. And good luck, I hope it works out for you tomorrow.”

  He ended our call and I gazed up at the ceiling. I guess that was how this went—If I wasn’t agreeing to meet up with him, then there was no point in just chatting. Problem was, I wanted to hook up with him again. I wanted a little orgasmic fun. He was a sure thing who could make me come. Perhaps I’d suggest a hookup tomorrow night, after going to the A Chicago Saturday’s studio. I was going to stop by an AA meeting straight after—I wanted to make sure I was keeping my sobriety as my priority, however exciting or disappointing my day had been. The orgasm thing was becoming a little addictive. I jumped off the bed, feeling like a woman with a plan.

  In the bathroom I examined the array of bath products, and chose a lavender oil that promised relaxation. I was pretty sure Mr. 8A would be more effective, but as I’d turned that down, a bath would have to do. I sprinkled the contents of the bottle into the bath and stepped in.

  I grabbed a clip and put up my hair, and slid into the bath, feeling the oil-soft water against my skin. Delicious.

  I ran through the recipe for tomorrow’s show. I was going to do Muffin for Two that Haven and Ash always swore cured their hangovers. Feeling smug about not having hangovers when your girlfriends were suffering was one of the best things about being sober.

  Someone knocked on my door and I sat up straight in the water. Shit. I’d not ordered room service. Who could it be?

  I climbed out of the bath and pulled on a robe. There was another knock. “Coming,” I replied.

  I opened the door to a man with a trolley covered in plates. He clearly had the wrong room.

  “Room service.” He grinned at me.

  I smiled back. “I didn’t order room service.”

  Ignoring me, he pushed the trolley into my room, nearly knocking me over in the process. Perhaps he hadn’t heard me.

  He worked quickly, unloading six silver-dome-covered plates onto the small dining table in the corner of the room.

  “Sir, I didn’t order this.”

  “Yes, it was ordered,” he replied. Jesus, I’d have to call room service to explain. I didn’t seem to be getting through to him. He handed me a cream envelope, bowed and scurried away, pushing his trolley.

  The envelope was addressed to Miss (I hope) Beth Harrison (in case you’d forgotten your first name isn’t Airport). I grinned.

  Inside was a card.

  My Sweet Beth,

  Good luck tomorrow. I hope this provides some inspiration. I hope to see you before you leave.

  Dylan James

  My heart tightened. I was pretty sure I wasn’t leaving the US without my seventh orgasm courtesy of Dylan James.

  I lifted the lid of one of the silver domes and found what I was expecting: the most spectacular cakes in Illinois.

  I grabbed my phone.

  Beth: Unexpectedly, I have a great deal of cake to eat. Care to help me finish it off tomorrow night?

  I’d barely had time to take a breath before a response buzzed into my hand.

  Dylan: If you’re free, there’s nothing I’d rather do.

  There were a number of things I’d rather do than eat cake when Dylan was in the room. I tapped out a response.

  Beth: Perhaps we could do cake AND orgasms? Just a thought.

  Dylan: I take it back. That’s what I’d rather do.

  Butterflies flitted about in my stomach. He was cute. And so goddamned sexy.

  Beth: I’d like to do you, too.

  I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

  Dylan: Careful, or I might not be able to wait until tomorrow.

  I could almost see the stern look on his face.

  Beth: Until tomorrow.

  Dylan: Sleep well, my sweet.

  I fell back onto my bed, grinning. One-night stand sex with Dylan had been amazing. Being able to look forward to amazing sex with him added a whole new level of happiness that buzzed in my fingers and toes.

  Who knew casual sex could be this fun?

  I was looking forward to seeing him.

  Cake and orgasms—life didn’t get much better than that.

  I sat in the busy lobby of the television studio, watching people rushing about. TV screens provided a backdrop to the reception desk and created a constant soundtrack to the live chatter and conversation all around me. Lots of women carrying iPads and talking on phones passed left and right, leaving me tired just watching them. I was used to calm, controlled environments. Even when Maggie and Sophia were screaming, it always felt safe. It might have been my second visit here but it didn’t feel any more familiar.

  A woman approac
hed me. “Beth Harrison?”

  This was it. I took a deep breath and stood. “Yes. Hi.”

  “Hey. I’m Amber, Bryan’s assistant.” Bryan was the executive producer of A Chicago Saturday and the guy I’d met previously. “I’ll show you to your dressing room and Bryan will come see you in a few minutes. His last meeting is running a bit long.”

  “Sure, that would be great.”

  Between fantasizing over Mr. Dylan James—he really was quite the distraction—I’d rehearsed and rehearsed. Something I never did for my YouTube videos, but with those, I also had the opportunity to redo the bits that didn’t go so well when no one was watching. I wasn’t going to have the same luxury today.

  As we headed down a long, white corridor, Amber leaned into me and handed me her card. “Call me anytime if you need anything. Think of me as your assistant when you’re here.”

  “Thank you. But I’m only here for a test. There’s nothing—”

  “I’ve seen your YouTube channel. Believe me, if it’s up to us, you’ll be back.”

  I smiled. It was a nice thing for her to say, whether or not she meant it.

  Amber wasn’t wearing a scrap of makeup but looked beautiful with her shiny chestnut hair and wide mouth. “Listen, you didn’t hear this from me.” She stopped abruptly and herded us both into a room with a couple of chairs and a huge mirror in front of a built-in dressing table. “But Bryan can be a bit of an asshole. Don’t take it personally. And don’t let it put you off. The rest of us are great.” She grinned at me as she headed toward the corner of the room, opening a refrigerator. “There’s water and soft drinks in here, as well as fruit.” She pointed to a basket on the low table in front of the chairs. “I can get you coffee, if you’d prefer.”

  “Thanks, I’m fine.”

  “Make yourself at home—”

  The door opened and Bryan appeared, holding his hands out wide, his head cocked to the side. “She’s here. Our sexy cake maker. You look stunning.”

  I glanced at Amber, who raised her eyebrows.

  “Thanks so much for inviting me. I’m excited to get started.”

  “Great. Well, after you’ve spoken to hair and makeup, Amber can show you the set and make sure you have anything you need. Then we can start to talk about cameras and all that good stuff. I think I said on the phone that I want to make this very intimate, so it looks like your internet stuff with just a touch of gloss.”

  I nodded. I wasn’t sure how a TV studio could be intimate, but that bit wasn’t up to me. I needed to let go a little and allow the people around me to do the worrying. Even though I’d been discussing things for weeks, it all seemed so incredible that people were talking about me baking, on television. “Sounds great. You just tell me what you need.”

  “Honey, just be your sexy self.” Bryan’s cell chimed, and he waved. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  “Okay.” I turned to Amber. “Hair and makeup.”

  She shook her head. “Just tweaks, they’ll be in a second. I’ll pop in when they’re done in an hour or so.”

  Apparently tweaking took an hour. Wow. Way to make a girl feel special.

  My phone buzzed in my increasingly sweaty hand.

  Dylan: Good luck today, my sweet. Remember you thought sober sex was a hurdle—things are never as tough as you think they’re going to be.

  I grinned and my shoulders fell as my muscles relaxed. How had he known the right thing to say at just the right time?

  Dylan

  The natural light in my office was beginning to dim as I sat with Raf going through what had happened in London with a new potential acquisition we were looking at. I was distracted by thoughts of Beth, and I kept expecting Raf to call me out on my lack of focus.

  I didn’t understand why I was unable to put Beth to one side, why she brought out a side of me that made me want to protect and possess her. I’d fucked a lot of good-looking women, so I knew it wasn’t just that. Perhaps it was her openness, the fact that she had opened herself up to me in a way most women didn’t. She made it more than sex because every touch was full of vulnerability. And she didn’t seem to want anything from me other than for me to be careful with her. My wealth or power didn’t pique her interest, which puzzled me, but allowed me to imagine her as something more than just a lover.

  “I’ve been looking at the strategic reports,” I said. Raine Media had become more interesting to me knowing Beth was potentially going to be working there.

  “Oh, right. We’ll go through them in detail tomorrow. We have some time in the morning.”

  “Yeah, that’s fine. I’m not so sure we should write off Raine Media. Perhaps we just haven’t devoted enough attention to it.” I held my breath, expecting Raf to see straight through my conflict of interest. I liked the link that Raine Media created between Beth and me. If we sold it, who knew what would happen to Beth’s deal. I wanted a few days with her, some time to work out what the fuck I was doing, to organize my thoughts. But I knew I should come clean. Raf and I had a strict policy against mixing business with pleasure. When we first started out we nearly went under because I pushed to acquire a company that my ex-fiancée’s brother was involved in, and Raf had reluctantly agreed. It had gone badly wrong and almost ruined us. It nearly meant the end of our business and our friendship. We survived partly because my ex-fiancée dumped me and because we vowed never to mix our personal lives with our business lives again.

  Raf shrugged and stood up. “Not sure about that. Like you said, media isn’t our sweet spot.”

  “But neither were tires, and look where that ended up.” I should just be honest with him, but what would I say? I banged a girl who might work at the TV station? I wasn’t sure there was anything to tell, yet. “We can talk about it tomorrow, but I thought maybe I’d go visit next week. Talk to some people on the ground to see if it can be salvaged. I think it deserves another three months.” Not being honest with Raf felt like I’d just stepped off a ledge into a black hole. I hated lying. My palms started to sweat.

  Raf looked at me with a furrowed brow. Could he smell bullshit? I was usually the more ruthless of the two of us. I didn’t often fight to hold on to a business that hadn’t made material progress within six months of us purchasing it. I was usually the one chomping at the bit, wanting to get rid of the dead wood. Raf was the optimistic one, the partner who got me to be patient and give things more time.

  “If you think that’s the best decision then I’m happy to support you. What did you see in the numbers that I missed?”

  I’d not seen anything worth saving in the numbers.

  “It’s just a feeling,” I mumbled, trying to be nonchalant.

  “A feeling? You had a feeling? Wow, I’ll get Marie to draft a press release.” He swept his hand across the cityscape behind me as if reading a headline. “Hard as Nails Billionaire Dylan James Has a Feeling. This is going to go viral.”

  What had I been thinking, handing Raf ammunition like that? “I was thinking of the publicity we’d get if we sell it so quickly. You remember what the press was like when we bought it; they told us we knew nothing about media and would bleed all the creativity out of it. I don’t think we can just drop it. We need to think, be smart about it.”

  “And of course, you have a feeling,” Raf said.

  I shook my head, trying to suppress a smile. “Get the fuck out of my office before I get the feeling to rip your balls off.”

  Raf chuckled. “That’s more like it, my friend.”

  “I mean it. Fuck off. I need to wrap things up and leave.”

  “You’re leaving work?” Raf looked at his watch. “It’s six. Are you going part time? Do I need to reassess your salary?”

  “You’re a regular comic genius this afternoon. I have a meeting.” I didn’t want to open up to Raf about Beth. Not yet. I was continually busting his balls about his revolving door of women, so he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to bust mine. Besides, since Alicia, there hadn’t been much to share.<
br />
  “Oh, right. I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

  I pulled out my phone to see if I’d received a message. Beth hadn’t mentioned a time to meet. The easiest thing would be just to send her a message or call, but something was stopping me. I guess I wanted the ball in her court—I wanted her to want to see me.

  As I began to log off, a new message came in. I didn’t recognize the sender’s address.

  Long time, no see, stranger. How are things going? Want to grab a coffee sometime?

  Love,

  Alicia

  I closed the email, and then opened it again, clicking on the sender field to see the full email address.

  My ex-fiancée was emailing me as if we were old college friends. As if she hadn’t dumped me for a richer guy, and we’d not seen each other in a decade. Why was she getting in contact after all these years?

  I hovered over the delete button, and clicked. I wanted to forget about it and get lost in thoughts of Beth.

  Beth’s hotel was just a few blocks from the office, so I grabbed my coat and stepped into the cold. I couldn’t stop grinning as I imagined having Beth to myself again.

  In just a few minutes, I was entering the lobby bar. I found myself a seat on one of the stools, turning it kitty corner so I could watch the door. I ordered myself a soda water with a twist of freshly cut lime, took out my phone and began to work through the emails that had gone unanswered earlier in the day.

  I sensed her before I saw her.

  As I glanced up, she was grinning from ear to ear at nothing in particular, entering the lobby in high heels, a figure-hugging top and a full skirt that showed off her tiny waist. Men and women turned their heads as she clipped over the marble floor, heading in my direction.

  An uncomfortable and unfamiliar swelling in my chest threatened to wind me. I felt a sense of pride looking at her. It didn’t make much sense. I wasn’t sure what I was proud of. Perhaps that she was turning heads, or just that she was so goddamned sexy. It was uncomfortable because she wasn’t mine to feel proud of. But for the next few hours, I was going to do my best to make her mine.

  Just for one evening.

  She stopped in her tracks. Had she seen me? I sat forward in my seat but she spun around. She hadn’t spotted me. Then she clamped her phone to her ear. Who was she calling?