Rough Ride (Let it Ride Book 1)

by Cynthia Rayne

  Rough Ride

  Let it Ride Series

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Life isn’t about the destination.

  It’s about the ride.

  Chapter One

  Kate

  “You got this, Kate.”

  Stifling the urge to bite my fingernails, I squared my shoulders and studied my splotchy, bloated face in the mirror.

  Standing in the ladies room on the 100th floor of York & Associates under the glare of fluorescent lights, the image in the mirror would frighten small children. Beneath my brown eyes were two distinctive dark crescent marks from lack of sleep. I’d spackled them with concealer, but the shadows bled right through the makeup.

  Oh, well.

  I had fifteen minutes before the morning meeting with my boss, Malcolm York, and I looked like crap. Malcolm ran York & Associates, one of the biggest advertising firms in New York City. My boss was a modern day Mad Man without the quaint sixties charm. Malcolm was arrogant, overbearing, and a real pain in my ass. I wasn’t up to dealing with him today.

  Last night, I’d had an existential meltdown right after midnight. I’d eaten an entire pepperoni pizza by myself and washed it down with two bottles of Dom Perignon from my father’s wine cellar. Then I spent the next few hours puking, swallowing chalky antacid pills, and ugly-crying.

  Yeah, not my proudest moment.

  Spending my twenty-first birthday sobbing and upchucking had to be a bad omen—a sure sign of shitty things to come.

  I’d gone to my dad’s apartment, expecting he’d at least be there. I knew better than to expect him to have something planned. Hell, I would’ve been happy with Netflix and some takeout, but he’d forgotten my birthday.

  Instead, he’d gone out with his model girlfriend du jour. He’d sent me an apology text this morning and promised me a dinner to make up for the “oversight.” As if missing my birthday was like blowing off a doctor’s appointment or something.

  My dad divided his time between models and work. Following my birth, my mother had split for Europe to salvage what was left of her modeling career after I’d “ruined” her figure. She hadn’t been stateside since—good riddance.

  So neither of my parents had never had much time for me.

  I missed my old nanny, Elaine. We used to make Mickey Mouse cupcakes together to mark the occasion.

  Yeah, I know—poor little rich girl crying herself to sleep in an ivory tower. I’m aware I sound like a whiny brat with my #firstworldproblems and pissy attitude.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t have the time to obsess about my dad’s halfhearted interest in me. I had to make it through another meeting with my jackass boss and coast for the rest of the day.

  Tonight, I was meeting my besties at Vagabond, Poppy Bishop’s stepfather’s nightclub. We were celebrating our twenty-first birthdays together since we’d all hit the milestone this week. Maybe the universe had predestined us to be friends.

  At least someone remembered my birthday—well, our birthdays.

  I hadn’t had time to shower or run by my apartment for clean clothes this morning. Instead, I smoothed the dress shirt I hadn’t had a chance to iron and tucked the ends into my gray wool trousers. After slicking gloss on my lips, I spritzed some citrus perfume on my wrists. Hopefully, it covered any lingering scent of vomit.

  I lifted my chin and inspected my appearance once more. I still looked disheveled, but more presentable than a few minutes ago. After I glanced left and right to ensure the coast was clear, I placed my hands on my hips and thrust out my chest in a superhero pose.

  I’d once read a study which claimed standing in a dominant position increased confidence. But no—I felt like an even bigger idiot. Heaving a sigh, I gave up and marched out of the bathroom.

  Let’s get this over with.

  I passed Seth Bailey, the office womanizer, in the hallway. Doesn’t every company have one? He was a sexual harassment suit waiting to happen. His gaze slithered over me, and I was left with an even stronger urge to take a long, hot shower.

  “You look gorgeous this morning, Katie.”

  What a creep. Yet another reason #whyImsingle and intended to stay that way.

  “It’s Kate.” I pasted on a smile and kept right on walking. Thank God, Seth didn’t follow me.

  “You’re late, Ms. Vincent. Come in.”

  I stood in the open doorway of my boss’s office, hand still raised to knock. He had a sort of sixth sense when it came to me—as though he was always aware of my presence in any room.

  Or maybe I’m paranoid.

  Malcolm was running on the treadmill in the corner, tilted on a sharp incline. His back was toward me, and a sheen of sweat covered his bare shoulders. He was running in a pair of sweatpants, and his muscles were on full display.

  At six and a half feet tall, Malcolm towered over most people, including me. He was sinewy and powerfully built—broad shoulders, slim waist. I’d once seen him plank with both feet lifted off the floor. He had crisp blue eyes and blond hair with a hint of silver. According to his driver’s license, he’d turned forty a couple of months ago, but he could pass for a man in his early thirties.

  Yeah, Malcolm was a hottie—too bad he was also an asshole.

  It’d be easier to deal with if he were older or ugly or balding. Technically, Malcolm was old enough to be my father, but the sexy, intimidating jerk was nothing like Tom Vincent. My dad was fifty-four, pudgy, and balding. The models came around for his Wall Street salary, not his good looks.

  “I’m ten minutes early.” I took a seat in front of his desk. Beside his open laptop was a French press filled with hot Italian roast. I knew because I’d purchased it on my last shopping trip.

  While he finished working out, I tapped my pen on the edge of his desk. The black leather chair I was sitting in made my butt go numb after a few minutes. I hated it his sterile white, black, and chrome office—it was every bit as cold and impersonal as the man himself.

  When I was a successful advertising executive, I’d have a comfortable workplace with warm lighting and cozy rugs. And I wouldn’t exercise while I made my employees wait to speak with me.

  “What do I always say?” He powered down the treadmill and slung a towel over his shoulder before swaggering over to the desk. He stood over me, wiping the sweat from his body.

  I gritted my teeth and glanced away. “Fifteen minutes early is on time, and anything else is late.”

  “Luckily, I fit in a short workout, so you didn’t completely waste my time.” Malcolm sat in his executive chair. “As my intern, you should be trying to impress me.”

  Malcolm expected gratitude, but unlike everyone else at this firm, I couldn’t bring myself to kiss his sculpted ass. We had an antagonistic, snappy sort of banter.

  I didn’t give a damn what he thought, and I wasn’t afraid of a bad evaluation. My father was a wealthy, well-connected investment banker, and I had a trust fund larger than some states’ yearly budgets.

  Hell is running other people’s errands. Scratch that—it’s running other people’s errands for free—and it was making me cranky.

  I had the misfortune to
start working here a few days after his personal assistant went on maternity leave, so I ended up filling in for her. This internship was a joke. I didn’t want to be a personal assistant—I wanted to have my own. I already knew how to go to the grocery store and the dry cleaner, thank you very much.

  When I’d gotten the offer a month ago, I’d been stoked. I’d envisioned learning about marketing from the best in the field. What a disappointment. Instead, I’d find out how he liked his coffee and what kind of grapes he preferred—red organic seedless, by the way. I’m surprised he didn’t insist I peel them for him too.

  And then I remembered Malcolm’s smart ass comment.

  “Impress you? That particular ship left port a long time ago.”

  His lip curled in reply.

  Besides, I was at the top of my class at Columbia, someone would hire me, if I decided to snag a job. Or I’d go to grad school—I hadn’t quite decided yet. Yeah, it was February, and I hadn’t yet made the decision because I didn’t know what the hell I wanted to do. I’d hoped to get some insight from this job and every moment I wasted being his errand girl annoyed me. In short, this was a monumental waste of my time.

  My indecision must’ve fueled my alcohol and pizza binge. After the ceremony in May, there was a gaping hole in my life. I had no idea what came next, which was a mixture of terrifying and exhilarating.

  Since grade school, I’d always had a plan. My dad got me into an exclusive prep school, then I’d gotten into Columbia. From there, I made the dean’s list and impressed my professors, which led to this internship. I’d reached the end of the road, and now I was mixed up. I had no clear path to follow, no next step defined for me.

  His eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with you this morning? You seem more scattered than usual.”

  “Nothing. What can I do for you?” I held the pen up expectantly.

  Malcolm dragged a hand down the salt and pepper scruff on his sculpted jaw line. He was too meticulous to miss a shave on accident. The near-beard had to be for show, a nod to his artistic, photographer past.

  Back in his art school days, before he’d started working on the creative side of the ad business, he’d made a splash with his gritty photographs of young prostitutes until he’d sold out and went corporate.

  He chuckled, a raspy sound. “Very well, then, down to business. Cancel my dinner with Angela tonight and reschedule it for next Thursday.”

  Angela Royce was an actress and his girlfriend. No, that wasn’t quite right. It was more business-oriented than a boyfriend/girlfriend arrangement. According to the gossip pages, they’d been together six years, but it hadn’t gone anywhere—no engagement and they hadn’t moved in together. As far as I could tell, they got together to be photographed on the red carpet at social functions.

  And I was the one doing all the field work in this quasi-relationship. I made and broke dates with her, got tickets for events, made dinner reservations, sent her flowers, answered her calls. And, oh yeah, I’d even bought condoms on the last shopping trip I’d done for Malcolm.

  Trojan XL Magnums—no wonder he was such a cocky bastard.

  “Will do.” I scratched out a note. “And the next item is, I’m assuming, flowers?”

  Having done this a few times, I knew the routine. Angela would pout about the sudden change of plans, and he’d have me send a bouquet of African violets to her apartment. I might as well skip the drama and place the flower order ahead of time. With any luck, she’d get the violets before she called me to whine.

  “Watch your tone.” He poured a cup of coffee, then added coconut milk and two stevia packets to the china cup.

  Malcolm didn’t “do” dairy or sugar.

  “Sure.” I’d call the florist anyway because I had Malcolm’s credit cards memorized. And if he continued to piss me off, I might send a Sorry your Boss is a Dick bouquet to my own apartment.

  I had no more fucks to give today.

  “Pick up my suits from the dry cleaner, then get my prescriptions at the drug store. I won’t be coming back to the office after lunch, so help the receptionist with filing or answering the phones.”

  Like I said, what a great use for my glorified Ivy League education.

  “You’re taking the rest of the day off?”

  As far as I could tell, he hardly left the office, which is probably why he’d installed workout equipment and kept a couple of days’ worth of clean clothes in the closet. Malcom slept here at least a couple nights a week.

  And I would know. I had access to his Google calendar, and I violated his privacy one dull Friday afternoon by checking his schedule for the past few months.

  The only unexplained block of time I’d found was marked with an “R” and no other details. I’d assumed it was another corporate consultation. I made a mental note to check his calendar this afternoon and see what he was up to. I had a feeling it might be another mysterious “R” appointment.

  “Yes. Have a problem with it?” He sipped his coffee, never taking his eyes off me.

  “No, sir.”

  His nostrils flared.

  We stared at one another for a long moment. I’d said it with a mocking sneer, but it seemed to have struck a chord.

  “You’ve never called me sir before.”

  “No, I haven’t.” As far as I was concerned, it was an insult, but he seemed to, perhaps, like it.

  “Don’t do it again.”

  “I won’t, sir.”

  A white line developed around his mouth.

  Well, I hadn’t misinterpreted his reaction. Malcolm loved the term of respect—of course, he did—since he was a world class control freak.

  But had it made him angry too? What the actual fuck?

  “I’m only going to ask once more, so spit it out.” Malcolm leaned back in his chair and placed both hands behind his head. “What’s wrong with you?”

  I stayed stubbornly silent.

  He arched a brow.

  “Fine. I’m tired because I was up most of the night.”

  “Doing what?”

  That was all the information he was getting. Malcolm didn’t need to know I’d had a drunken breakdown.

  “Oh, wait.” He snapped his fingers. “It was your birthday, right?”

  How on earth had he remembered? While my date of birth was plastered all over my employment forms, I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone at the office.

  “Yes.”

  “You turned twenty-one.”

  He knew my age?

  Malcolm smirked. “Welcome to adulthood.”

  And now he was making fun of me.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “So you must’ve been up all night celebrating.” Malcolm tossed back the rest of his cooled coffee. “Dancing? Drinking? Having some cake? Maybe with a boyfriend…?”

  “Something like that.” It was a vague answer. While I’d had my share of fun, casual dates, there simply hadn’t been time for anything serious with all of my academic commitments.

  “Well, we can’t have you dragging around the office all day.” Malcolm poured another cup of coffee and added coconut milk from the full-sized stainless-steel fridge by the window. “I know you take it with half and half, but I don’t have any.” He slid it across the desk. “Drink this.”

  I hadn’t had time for a java fix this morning, and it smelled delicious. But sharing his cup was crossing a boundary.

  “Thanks, but I’ll get some from the cafeteria downstairs.”

  “Drink it.” His tone was final.

  We had another stare-down.

  Overbearing asshole.

  I sipped the coffee, and it was unexpectedly delicious. I’d never tried nut milk before. Maybe I should look into it.

  “Drink it faster.” Malcolm retrieved a bottle of aspirin from the desk and handed two pills to me. “These should help too. I can tell you’re hungover. When you’ve finished, lie down on my sofa and take a quick nap. You’ll be useless today if you can’t think straight.”

&
nbsp; At my confused look, he explained.

  “It’s a trick I picked up a couple years ago. A coffee nap works better than either taking a power nap or drinking coffee. You’ll wake up twenty minutes from now feeling rested and ready to go.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but he raised a hand.

  “Don’t even bother arguing with me, Kate. It’s a direct order.”

  It was the first time he’d used my given name. “Why are you being so…nice to me?” Well, sort of nice in an aggravating, high-handed way.

  His smile held genuine warmth. “I can’t be a bastard all the time, can I?”

  I beg to differ.

  Malcolm laughed as though he’d read my mind.

  Oh yeah, something was going on between us, but I had no clue what.

  So I took a larger sip of the coffee. “Why haven’t you fired me yet?” Maybe it was the free labor?

  Or he could be a sadist who enjoyed torturing me with tiresome errands.

  “I have my reasons. Finish your coffee and lie down.”

  For once, I did as he asked, without any snide remarks. Malcolm turned his attention to the computer as soon as I laid down.

  But I didn’t have time to dwell on the mystery because sleep was pulling me under. Somehow, I didn’t find breaking a date with Angela irritating. Actually, I was looking forward to it.

  Chapter Two

  Malcolm

  Just keep moving.

  As Kate slept, I climbed back on the treadmill to clear my head—so far it wasn’t working. Letting her nap in my office was a dangerous precedent.

  And it took every bit of willpower I possessed to leave her alone. I couldn’t even explain my moment of temporary insanity.

  When she catnapped, she looked younger, more vulnerable. Kate was mature for her age, worldly. It was easy to forget she’d only gotten started in life. Or maybe I was trying to justify my fantasies.

  I thought back to who I’d been at twenty-one.

  I’d grown up in Brooklyn, attended public school. It’d taken a minor miracle for me to get into Columbia. Kate had been born with every advantage—the best private schools and tutors. She’d traveled all over the globe before she got into college—Europe, Australia, Costa Rica.