by Lacey Black
“A little heavy on the details, Blake. I’d like to be able to carry on a conversation with her without thinking about all that nastiness you just spewed.”
Blake and I are no strangers to sharing the details of sexual conquests. We’ve done it ever since we were young horny teenage boys. However, that all stopped the moment his bed was filled with the woman who is now his wife. And I’ve always conveniently left out one specific moment in time where my arms were filled with the only girl I’ve ever really cared for. Sidney.
I turn my attention back to the stack of papers, anxious to get as far away from that memory as possible. But after reading the same line three times, I still can’t concentrate. Something keeps nagging at the back of my mind, and while I’m afraid to ask, I know I’ll never be able to move on without knowing the answer. The burning question is like a noose: tight and refusing to let go as much as I try to shake it.
“What the hell is up with the cheese? Does she have some sort of cheese fetish now that she’s carrying your second spawn?”
His bark of laughter fills the room and brings a smile to my face. Green eyes the same color as mine shine back from across the desk. “A cheese fetish? That’s gross. Carly craves cheese with this pregnancy. She just brought fried cheese curds, mozzarella sticks, and some cheese pasta bake for lunch. She can’t seem to get enough of it, and the only thing it’s doing for me is keeping me running for the Imodium,” he grumbles.
Shit. I had to ask. “And that’s our cue to talk about anything other than your bowel troubles.” I shudder at the direction this conversation has taken.
“Probably a wise decision.”
Returning my focus to the stack of pages in my hand, I ask, “What the hell happened between this morning’s meeting and now that has me rushing into your office.”
“The Diamond.”
The air in the office stills and turns stagnant in my lungs. The Diamond. The one client I have very little to do with. Not that I can’t handle the account, I choose to stay as far away from it as possible. Blake handles this job site, and if he needs to bring me in, I know it must be some serious shit.
“What’s going on there?” I somehow ask through my dry throat.
“I got a call from Spence just before lunch. Apparently the douche who’s running the joint is causing trouble with the guys. A few weeks ago, he was trying to order the night shift around and insinuating that they’re to be his personal bodyguards. They ignored him and reported to Spence the next morning.
“Spence met with the guy and reminded him that they work for us, not him. That he employs our company to provide security for the property, not him personally. He even went as far as to request our services to protect him,” Blake continues with a pointed look. “And he’d pay.” The way he rolls his eyes tells me just how serious the douche was about paying us to protect him.
“After conferring with Spence, we both agreed that personal security wasn’t something we were interested in doing at this time. He seemed to take it well, according to Spence, and has remained quiet as of late.
“However, this morning, he apparently showed up a little intoxicated. Someone from the office called security, and when they intervened, he took a swing at Rocco.”
“Oh, shit. Rocco? I can imagine how that went over.”
Rocco was one of our first hires. He’s ex-Navy Seal, covered in tattoos beneath his uniform, and as badass as they come. At six-foot six and easily two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle, he takes absolutely no shit from anyone. His presence alone is usually enough to keep the idiots from acting out of line, but apparently, not in this case.
“It went over just as well as you think. His fist was as slow as Grandma driving home from church, and Roc’s reaction was to take him down. One swing and he was laid out on the floor.”
I laugh, picturing exactly how that little display went down. “And now?”
“He’s refusing to talk to anyone but one of us. He’s threatening legal action for assault against Rocco, as well as holding the company accountable. He’s a blowhole who’s spewing off at the mouth a bunch of shit that he knows nothing about.”
“He can’t do shit. He threw the first punch. I’m assuming there were witnesses to attest to it?”
“Of course. Chaz was working with Rocco, and two women from the office will support our case.”
Excellent. I hate dealing with this side of the business. Actions have reactions and often repercussions. It never fails that some drunk being a little belligerent or some jerk getting a little grabby can cause a normal situation to escalate quickly.
Plus, the follow-up paperwork is a bitch.
“What do you need me for? Why don’t you just go down and handle it?”
“No can do, brother. I’m off to that meeting with Hunter. It’s already been delayed twice. His new secretary, Alison, called to confirm. I can’t reschedule now.”
Reid Hunter has been trying to meet with Blake to discuss additional security for weeks now. Even though our firm is responsible for sixty percent of his business, we’ve been trying to get the other forty percent. Today is the meeting to work out the details.
“Fine. What do I need to know? I don’t even know who’s running The Diamond now.”
And that’s the absolute truth. Ever since Carlton Rogen passed away from a massive heart attack three years ago, I haven’t the slightest clue as to who’s running the joint. His intention was to always keep it in the family but with his only daughter leaving town a decade ago, I have no idea how that all panned out. From the sounds of it, he had a contingency plan in place to helm the large hotel in the event of his absence.
“Our contact has been Mick Richards.” Blake gives me that pointed look. “The douche.”
“Awesome.” The sarcasm rolls off my tongue easily as I stand and head towards the door.
As with each job we take on, contracts are put in place to protect both Thomas Securities, as well as the client. However, with proper reason and notification, we can pull out of the agreement if necessary. A drunken asshole with a chip on his shoulder the size of Rhode Island, who takes a swing at one of my guys, might be just the reason we need to walk away.
Something about this situation leaves me slightly unsettled. And, unfortunately, I’m afraid this is only the beginning.
Chapter Three – Just Another Day At The Office
Sidney
After my meeting with Bridezilla, I’m left restless and anxious. This was not how I pictured my life turning out. This wasn’t anywhere close to the master plan I established for myself a decade ago.
When I was forced to leave my Las Vegas life behind at the age of seventeen, I put every ounce of energy I had into my studies. My senior year at North Atlanta High was spent in the library. No friends, no clubs, no hobbies. I studied. The result of my efforts was a 4.0 GPA and a scholarship to Brown University where I received my degree in applied mathematics. I had even started working for my PhD. Two years in to the program, I was forced to abandon my dreams when word arrived that my father had suffered a heart attack and died almost immediately. Everything I was working for was gone.
Like my father.
I never even had the chance to talk to him. I never got to yell and scream about how his childish behavior destroyed our family. I never told him that even after I was forced to uproot my life, leaving behind not only him but my best friend as well, I still loved him. I never told him. And that’s something I’ll always live with.
From the moment I received word that I was accepted to Brown, my schooling had been paid for. My father went to great lengths to make sure I had everything I needed in that respect. My tuition was paid, I had a fabulous apartment in a respectable neighborhood in Providence, Rhode Island, within walking distance to school, and an allowance to buy groceries and school supplies. Of course, he never attended either graduation, but he was always there, ready to write a check.
My fath
er was a mess of contradictions. In business, he was brilliant. Driven. A force to be reckoned with. He took a floundering business and turned it into a five-star luxury hotel and restaurant. In everyday life, not so much. He made half of his decisions on the fly and the other half with his dick. For a while, he only cared about keeping up appearances and pretenses, but even that grew tiring as they neared the two-decade mark in marriage.
When I was in high school, he started caring a little more about parties and a little less about family dinners. He missed more meals than he attended and never made a single Scholastic Bowl competition. I wanted for nothing, though. I always had the best designer clothes and shoes. My haircuts were done in a salon as part of an all-day pampering package. My first car a brand new Mercedes.
Growing up, I craved any hint of normalcy I could find. Hence, my connection to our neighbors, the Thomases. Well, primarily, the youngest Thomas boy, Luke. Though I guess you could say I felt connected to his parents as well. They seemed devoted to each other and their children. They had their own support system. I had a mom who hid her pain behind booze and a father who was sleeping his way through Vegas.
A knock on my office door pulls my thoughts out of the muddled mess that is my life. “Come in.”
“Hey, girl. I was just going to grab some lunch. Wanna come?” my assistant Cassidy says in her singsong voice.
My assistant of two years is gorgeous. Cassidy stands three inches taller than my five-foot, four-inch body. Her eyes are the color of the ocean and her blond hair is long and thick. She has more curves than a road course, and a booty that could make JLo cry. Cassidy is the epitome of a beautiful and sexy woman, and I’m jealous as hell of the only woman I call my friend.
“I’m starving. We should go somewhere where we can have a small salad,” I say, keeping my grin under wraps.
“Absolutely. I know just the place. We can see it from across the street when we’re seated at that little Chinese restaurant on Porter.”
Grabbing my purse from my desk drawer, I head towards the door. “You and I are soul mates. You know that, right?”
“Of course I know that. You’d be lost without me,” she quips with a beautiful pearly-white smile. “Besides, a good friend never lets you eat a spinach salad with vinaigrette dressing when you can indulge in beef egg rolls and teriyaki chicken.”
I lock my office door and follow my friend towards the back entrance. “And lest we forget the fried shrimp and sweet and sour mushroom noodles.”
“Oh, I never forget those,” she murmurs in a voice low and deep. It reminds me of sex. Not mine, of course. Heaven knows I can’t recall the last time I embarked in a friendly romp in the sheets.
The restaurant is only a matter of minutes from the hotel. It’s well off the beaten path and is usually frequented primarily by businessmen and women or those who have been told about it. It’s not a place heavy on tourists.
After we’re seated at our table, Cassidy jumps right in asking questions about Bridezilla’s changes. “How do you go from a classic, elegant wedding to a gangster 30’s and 40’s themed wedding? I don’t get this woman,” she says while dipping a Rangoon in soy sauce.
“I wish I could figure her out. It’s like she researches things on Pinterest and just decides, ‘huh, that would be fun’ without even considering if that style is right for her. I heard her mother say that she changed her mind three times on the bridesmaid dresses–after they were ordered.”
“Can you imagine the cancellation fees and the rush shipping charges she’s accruing?”
“I’m sure Daddy is paying a pretty penny for this wedding,” I reply just as my cell phone starts ringing.
The phone screen reads the one name I could care less about seeing. Mick Richards. It’s the second call I’ve silenced from him in the last hour. My job requires me to deal with him at different times throughout the day, but on my lunch–and on my personal cell phone–isn’t one of them. In fact, I’m pretty sure there isn’t enough alcohol in Vegas to help me deal with him. He’s a constant nuisance at my job, and lest we forget his complete disregard for personal time, such as after work hours and weekends.
Dropping my phone back in my bag, I return my focus to Cassidy. “Didn’t you go out with Rocky Friday night? The fighter from the thing with the guy?” I recall her constant chatter a few weeks back about meeting a UFC fighter when she was ringside and on a date with another man. To hear Cass tell the story, she watched Matt Heller get into the ring, their eyes met, and it was instant sparks and orgasms. She was so engrossed in Matt’s fight that she completely ignored the investment banker she arrived to the match with.
“Ohmygod, Matt Heller is fucking dynamite, Sid. He picked me up at my condo and fucked me against the wall before we could even get to our dinner reservation. He is an animal–inside and outside of the ring,” she giggles, her cheeks pink with excitement.
“Wow, that was…graphic.”
“Oh, don’t be a prude. I think you could use a good fucking against the wall, my friend. You need some tall drink of sex to walk into your life and just pour it to you. It’s great for the confidence. And the complexion.” I hear a gasp from an older woman at the table beside us.
“I’m not sure I see the association between sex and a complexion, but I’ll take your word for it,” I reply in a hushed voice.
“Seriously, Sid, you need someone to make you forget all about what’s his name.”
Don’t I know it. Unfortunately, working under my stepmother from hell and Mick the Dick isn’t helping any. They’re both a constant reminder of what could have been and what won’t be anymore. First they uprooted my life with demands of joining the family business, and now I’m in too deep to walk away.
Jacobi. I could never leave.
Just as I get ready to explain why I don’t need the troubles that come with a man, my cell phone rings again. Digging it out of my bag, I notice the number. Again. What the hell is he doing calling me again on my lunch break? Rolling my eyes, I drop the phone back into my bag without answering.
“Is that who I think it is?”
“Yeah,” I mumble, taking a sip of water.
“What the hell is Mick the Dick doing calling? Doesn’t he have somewhere else to troll?” Cassidy asks, upset and defensive in my honor.
That’s a real friend. She’s the one who will show up at your house in the middle of the night with her shovel and not ask a single question while she helps bury the body. Of course, that’s figuratively speaking. I have horrible aim and pass out at the sight of blood, so there’s no killing going on at my house.
“Probably not. He saves his best trolling for yours truly,” I mumble, recalling the recent late night phone calls that I have conveniently left out of my conversations with Cass.
“He deserves to be kicked square in the balls by a mule. Or maybe have his dick stuck in an electrical socket,” she says loudly, causing several heads from surrounding tables to turn our direction.
“As nice as ball kicking and the electrocution via penis sounds, can you keep it down? I don’t think the entire restaurant needs to hear about all the ways you’d love to torture a co-worker,” I say, pushing my plate away, stuffed to the gills.
“What-the-fuck-ever, Sid. He’s no co-worker of mine. He happens to work at the same place I do. He happens to be second in command. But I take my orders from you. He comes down to my domain acting all high and mighty, and he better be wearing a nut cup,” she adds with a mischievous little glint in her eyes.
“Does Matt Heller know you have this violent side to you?”
She looks at me with a smirk. “Oh, he knows. We trashed half of my living room while I was impaled by him, riding him like a fucking bucking bronco on meth. The man is not only hung like a horse, but he has enough stamina to go ten rounds in the ring.” Cassidy leans in and drops her voice. “And I’m not talking about the fighting ring, either. That man gave it to me good, and then ordered fo
od and had it delivered. He fed me lasagna naked in bed before starting all over again. He’s lucky I even let him leave the next morning.”
I can’t help the blush that’s sweeping through my pale complexion. One of the many joys of being a ginger. Not only do I burn upon slight sun exposure, but I can’t control the ever-present blush that always seems to creep in at the most inopportune times. And freckles only seem to enhance the color. It’s so embarrassing.
“And where is Mr. Hung and his magic penis? Why isn’t he spending every moment of his day worshipping you and feeding you grapes and bonbons?”
“He’s training, but we’ve talked every day since he left Saturday morning. I think we’re going to get together later in the week. He invited me to the gym where he trains so he can show me a few moves in the ring. I hope that’s code for getting naked and doing me from behind against the ropes,” she says with a wistful look on her face.
“Geezus, have our conversations always been this sexually detailed?”
“No way. When I was having mediocre sex with the investment banker, I barely even remembered it, let alone talked about it for days on end. This guy…this guy brings out the animal in me.”
“Well, good for you. At least one of us is having stellar sex,” I say, pulling out my credit card to pay for lunch.
“You could be having stellar sex, too, my friend. But you aren’t going to find it in your office, hanging out with bridegrooms who are already taken, or at home in front of the computer watching Orange Is The New Black on Netflix.”
I keep my eyes cast downward, and my mind sputters and shuts down. I can’t even come up with a response to her invasive statement because everything she said was true. Even though her comment stings a little, I’m just not looking for anything right now. I’m still barely treading water over my last relationship fiasco, and there’s no way in hell I’m interested in starting something with someone who will take me for another emotional and financial ride to hell and back. No thank you!
“Listen, Cass –” I start to say when I’m interrupted by the ringing of my cell phone. Again.