Bossy Nights

by Liv Morris

  I cradle the back of my neck and close my eyes. “Okay, I’ll meet you there. I need to go home and change.”

  “Better throw back a few shots before you get here,” Lucas adds with a laugh. “We’re at least three drinks ahead of you.”

  Drinks mixed with hot, willing women. This is going to be a big mistake, but I’m not going to sit around by myself tonight. I have an itch that can only be scratched by the touch of a woman’s hand, the feel of her lips, and the softness of her skin. Lucas is right. I need to get laid.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll catch up with you lushes.” I grab my jacket off the back of my chair and head out into the night.

  18

  Tessa

  “It’s been over thirty minutes, and he still hasn’t texted me back,” I say to Maggie on the phone. I’m leaning against the headboard in my hotel room with the white comforter surrounding me like a cocoon. “I shouldn’t have listened to you. Now I’ll never hear from him again.”

  I pull the phone away from my ear and glance at the screen, double-checking in case a text arrived within the last couple seconds. Nope. There’s been nothing from Barclay since I mentioned my stupid drink date. Big mistake.

  “He asked what you were doing tonight for a reason,” Maggie says in her usual, easy-breezy way. “Believe me, he wants you, and probably freaked out that he’s not your date.”

  “Remember, he kicked me to the curb.” At least, that’s how it felt yesterday when he drove off and left me standing on the sidewalk. It still stings.

  “Then you find chocolate-covered strawberries in your room. He comps all your food at the hotel. Gives you the direct emails of executives to help you find a job,” she rattles off the ways Barclay’s shown he might care for me, but it doesn’t make his goodbye any less painful. “I have good money on him showing up before the weekend’s over. After all, he owns the hotel, along with the keys to the rooms.”

  “Like he’s going to just bust in here. Believe me, we’re over before it even started. I know it’s the virgin thing. Different guy. Same scenario.”

  “He’s into you and will come around. Please, just trust me, Tessa. You’ll kiss your Prince Charming, but first, you have to meet a frog named Trevor for a drink.”

  “He’s more a toad.” I close my eyes and shake my head. I hate having to meet Trevor, especially after Barclay’s warning, but I’m going to keep my word so he’ll stay silent. “Promise you’ll remember to call me at nine o’clock with horrible, date-ending news. I don’t care what you have to make up. I can’t be in that guy’s presence more than thirty minutes, tops.”

  “I’ve got your back,” she says, and I pray she does.

  We end our call. Now, it’s time to get ready for this stupid drink date. I decide to wear my dark skinny jeans and a cream-colored top with pink lace overlay. It’s sleeveless with spaghetti straps. The bodice cuts across my breasts, showing a non-slutty amount of cleavage, and the hem flows free around my waist. I slip on a pair of nude strappy heeled sandals to complete the look.

  I wore subtle makeup for job-hunting today, so I need to up my game for the evening. I apply some muted brown eye shadow for depth, and swipe on a little blush for a healthy pink glow. Next, I comb through my hair with my fingers, then give myself a once over in the bathroom mirror.

  There’s a lot of bare skin showing and I don’t want to give Mr. Spears the wrong idea, so I grab my cream twill jacket to cover my shoulders. It’s stylish and fitted at the waist. For the finishing touch, I add a sheer pink lip gloss. Good enough.

  As I grab the door handle to exit my room, I hear a text coming in on my phone. It’s probably Maggie. I glance at the screen and lean against the door, my heart fluttering. Barclay.

  Not happy about your date.

  Holy crap. Not only did he answer me back, he told me how he felt. I smile because I worried he didn’t care, but he must, or he wouldn’t be unhappy.

  I feel all bouncy inside with nerves and indecision, but my date with Trevor isn’t a real date like he probably thinks. It’s just what Maggie told me to say. This time, I’ll use my own words and no games. I don’t know how to play them anyway.

  Just drinks and I’m ending it early.

  The text bubbling ripples a few seconds, and I wait for his reply.

  Why?

  He’s not you.

  No he’s not.

  I wish he were …

  Me too.

  I don’t know how to respond, so I wait a couple minutes for him to continue and fill in the blanks behind his comment, but nothing comes. I take a deep breath and exhale the disappointment. It’s time to make my way down to the hotel bar.

  I arrive in the lobby at the exact time I told Mr. Spears I’d meet him. If he was early, I didn’t want to spend a moment more than I had to with him. It’s going to feel like an eternity until Maggie calls with some concocted catastrophe requiring me to leave anyway.

  I check my phone one last time as I stop at the restaurant entrance off the lobby. Nothing shows up from Barclay. He doesn’t like the idea of me with anyone, but doesn’t make any attempt to be with me either. Does he realize these back and forth moods of his are tearing up my emotions? Now I know why people call these unrequited feelings a crush.

  Another sigh leaves my lips as I peek into the restaurant and see Mr. Spears leaning against the bar. He’s dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved gray shirt, and carries himself in a polished style. If I saw him like this from afar for the first time, I’d have rated him a solid nine on the hot, older guy scale. Problem is, I’ve heard him speak in veiled sexual references while his unwelcomed eyes touched me all over.

  I take a deep breath and place one foot in front of the other. It’s time to get this night under way.

  19

  Tessa

  A Cheshire cat grin spreads across Mr. Spears’ face as he spots me moving toward him. He pushes off the edge of the bar, standing tall, and licks his lips as he scans over my body. Again.

  “You made it.” He reaches out for my hand, but I stick mine inside my front pocket. I don’t want to encourage touching tonight. Trying to recover from my rejection, he drops his arm and pulls out the stool next to him. “Have a seat.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Spears,” I say as I sit on the stool.

  “Please, call me Trevor. Mr. Spears is what people call my father, and besides, you don’t work for me.” He slides next to me and wraps his arm around the back of my stool. I move forward on my seat as far as possible, cringing as he scoots his chair closer to mine. The creep is creeping.

  “You need a drink,” he declares, signaling to the busy bartender.

  “Okay, but just one.” I’d love a shot or two to get my nerves under control, but can’t risk getting too buzzed. I need to keep full command of my senses.

  The bartender from two nights ago moves in front of me. “Hey, I remember you,” he says with a friendly smile, then turns to Trevor and narrows his eyes. It appears the friendly bartender isn’t a big fan of my drink date either. “Are you here with Spears?”

  “Just for a drink,” I add quickly, and swear the bartender appears relieved.

  “Prosecco?” the bartender asks.

  “Yes, please,” I reply. The bartender turns and grabs a champagne glass, then heads to a cooler.

  “He knows you, and so does Barclay,” Trevor says, rubbing his chin. “Interesting. I still don’t understand why you left with Barclay in his town car, not to mention while barely dressed.”

  “I was just helping him for the afternoon,” I say.

  “I bet you helped him,” Trevor jeers his voice full of sarcasm. “Anyway, you’re here now and Barclay isn’t. I’d say I’m the winner tonight.”

  “Your drink.” The bartender places a glass of bubbling liquid in front of me. “On your tab, Spears?”

  Trevor nods and returns his eyes back to me. “Let’s have a toast.” He picks up his highball glass, and I do the same with my champagne flute.

  �
�To chance meetings,” he says.

  His words twist in my heart. Barclay sat at this very bar two nights ago. It was the first of our chance meetings. Trevor clinks my glass. I want to drink my prosecco in one full swipe, but I just take a sip.

  “So, you’re looking for a job in the city,” he says, though it’s an obvious answer since he helped route my résumé.

  “Yeah. Just graduated college.”

  “Where?” Trevor asks.

  “University of Montevalo. It’s a small college, around twenty-five hundred.” I play with the cocktail napkin in front of me, trying to avoid eye contact with him.

  “Oh, it’s in Spain, right? That’s rather impressive.” He’s wrong, of course, since it’s in the small town of Montevalo, Alabama. There is Spanish moss there, but still, he’s way off.

  “Not quite,” I reply.

  “Wait. It’s in Portugal,” he concludes, totally convinced he knows everything. I roll my eyes and shrug. There’s no need to contradict him.

  Trevor drones on about his job as Hammond Press’ chief financial officer. His position sounds important and fits his gigantic ego, though I had no idea he was so high up on the executive scale. Here I was worried about how Barclay’s help would raise questions about me. It’s likely worse with Trevor, because inexperienced girls from Alabama only get references from chief officers via a family member or blow jobs, and the latter is more this guy’s style.

  I sigh knowing there’s nothing I can do. I catch myself twirling my hair and looking over my shoulder. There’s a big, delusional part of me that hopes Barclay will show up and rescue me.

  About five inches from my fingers, my phone sits on the bar counter and lights up with an incoming text. It’s Barclay. I’m anxious to read it, but when I try to reach for my phone, without being too obvious, Trevor says something that diverts my attention.

  “Oh, I spoke with Helen Ratner,” he says, pausing. My eyes flash to his face, and I hold my breath. His smirk feels like a drum roll as I wait for him to continue. “You should be hearing from her soon. That’s all I know. Helen doesn’t discuss the marketing side of the company with me.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Well, I couldn’t let a beautiful woman down,” he says with a tease. I flinch when he reaches out for a strand of my hair. “Besides, I can think of a few things you could do to show me your gratitude.”

  He’s repulsive. There’s absolutely no way I can wait until Maggie’s call to get rid of him. This guy needs to be put in his place now. He doesn’t realize I have tons of experience dealing with creeps like him.

  “Oh, what do you have in mind?” I look through my lashes, inching closer to him. His breath still reminds me of garlic.

  “Maybe we could take our discussion upstairs?” He waggles his brows, and my stomach turns. Ugh.

  “You want to sleep with me?” I soften my voice and lower my head. I can’t look at him anymore. He probably thinks I’m shy or embarrassed, but I’m trying to hide the obvious disgust on my face.

  “I’d be the best you’ve ever had,” he brags, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.

  It’s time to make an unmistakable point with my killer high heels. I take a deep breath, mentally prepping myself. The last time I pulled this stunt on a guy, he cried out for his mother. I may seem like a helpless young woman, but Trevor doesn’t know my police officer brother, Miles, taught me how to defend myself.

  I rise off my stool, push it under the bar, and stand next to him. Trevor follows my motions, licking his lips.

  I glance down at his black loafers, a thinner leather than his dress shoes from yesterday. This fact makes me smile. I take half a step closer to him, our bodies almost touching. His eyes darken and breath quickens.

  I step in front of him, facing the bar, lift my right foot, and place my spiky heel on the top of his shoe. I press down into the leather, connecting with his flesh, and twist, giving him a fuck-off-you-bastard smile the entire time.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he shouts. The other guests around us turn their heads our way.

  “Let me set things straight,” I hiss in warning. “First, I don’t owe you anything. Second, you’re a jerk.” I twist and press again. His eyes beg me to release him from the pain.

  I dig my heel into his foot one last time and throw what’s left of my prosecco at his distressed face. Drops of the sweet liquid run down his cheeks like tears.

  As Trevor wipes the drink from his face, he focuses on something behind me. His eyes go wide in surprise—or is it fear? Before I can turn around and see what has his attention, Barclay is standing next to me.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Barclay asks through gritted teeth. He wraps his large hand around Trevor’s forearm and tugs him away from me.

  Barclay’s jaw and neck muscles look like they may snap. His ebony eyes blaze as he glances between Trevor and me, and his tousled black hair matches his shirt and jeans. He resembles an angry knight in dark armor, making my knees weak like some swoony maiden.

  “Trevor and I got off on the wrong foot,” I answer with a victorious grin.

  20

  Barclay

  “What did he do to you?” I ask Tessa, my grip on Trevor’s arm tightening as I imagine the possibilities.

  “I didn’t touch her. Cousin,” Trevor spits the last word out like a venomous snake. He tries to jerk his arm away, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting go of him yet.

  “Cousin?” Tessa whispers, eyes wide in disbelief. I nod my head, though I wish I could deny it. Her beautiful pink lips form a perfect circle.

  “Where’s Caroline?” It’s my turn to spit at Trevor, my voice laced with accusation.

  “We’re taking a break.” He avoids my eyes as he speaks, lying his ass off. His girlfriend deserves better, and I hope she figures that out soon.

  “Get the hell out of here.” I release Trevor’s arm in disgust. If we weren’t in a public place that carries my last name, I’d clock him for whatever he did to make Tessa douse him with her drink. She’s feisty, but not violent. He must’ve crossed the line. It’s his M.O. with women.

  “You might out rank me at Hammond, but you can’t order me around here,” he jeers, his chin held high.

  “Let’s call Caroline and see what she thinks.” I dig my phone out of my back pocket, press my passcode into the screen, and wave it in front of Trevor. I narrow my eyes at him and wait, seeing if he’ll call my bluff.

  “Okay, fine,” he says, lowering his shoulders in defeat. He grabs a few cocktail napkins off the bar and wipes off his face, then his shirt.

  Trevor begins to walk away, but stops in his tracks after a few paces. He spins around to face Tessa and me. I wrap my arm around her small waist and pull her into my side.

  “Until next time, Tessa,” Trevor says in a seductive tone. When our eyes meet, a mocking smile slides across his face.

  “There won’t be a fucking next time. You understand me?” I hiss at him.

  “I understand way more than you,” he laughs while looking at Tessa. Feeling her stiffen in my arms, I glance down at her and find her gaze focused on the floor. What the hell is up?

  Trevor shakes his head. “See you later, cousin,” he mocks, and turns to leave the bar. Good riddance.

  “Are you all right?” I ask Tessa, inspecting her from head to toe. She’s stunning in her high heels and tight jeans, and doesn’t show any obvious signs of harm.

  “Yeah, I’m good.” She gazes up at me through her lashes like I saved her from a predator. But I feel like I’m the dangerous one right now as adrenaline races through my veins.

  Her innocent beauty and the feel of her curves under my fingertips do crazy things to me. I want throw her over my shoulder, take her upstairs, and fuck her senseless.

  Christ, help me.

  I call the bartender over to order a drink, but he beats me to the punch and sets a tall shot of bourbon down in fr
ont of me.

  “Thought you’d need this,” he says.

  I release my right arm from around Tessa and throw back the amber liquid. The bartender refills my shot glass, and I drink its contents down even faster.

  “Are you okay, Barclay?” Tessa says, standing next to me, eyes filled with worry. She places a hand on my forearm in an effort to comfort me. She has no idea how dangerous I could be to her.

  When I passed by the restaurant and recognized Tessa standing at the bar alongside my asshole cousin, my vision turned red and I nearly ran to her side.

  Yes, sweetheart, I’m anything but okay. I’ve lost a battle of control. With myself.

  I sit down on a barstool and reach for her hands. She gasps as I pull her between my legs, our faces close together. She stares at me with big blue eyes full of hope and desire. I pray I’ve made the right decision.

  “I tried to stay away from you.” I trace her cheek and the line of her jaw with the slightest touch. “But as you can see, it’s become impossible.”

  “I’m glad,” she whispers, leaning in to my touch, a slight shiver running over her skin.

  “We’ll see,” I say in warning. Her full lips curve in a teasing smile, inducing visions of her kneeling before me. My cock presses against the zipper of my jeans, and it hurts so damn good.

  All these dirty thoughts of her running through my head make one thing pretty damn clear: I could totally ruin her before she heads back to Alabama in a few days. Hell, even if she does find a job here, I’m not the man for her. I’m too old and she’s too chaste. Not to mention, she’s definitely not the kind of woman to fuck and toss away. She’s a keeper. I just wish I had the privilege of making her mine.