Mr. Lay replaced the receiver and put his hands in his armpits. “Dropping my package scares me. I need what’s in here. A lot. So much. Very.”
Verity looked at her feet while he pontificated about his package and his needs. Business drunk wanted to laugh. “It doesn’t make a sound and weighs nothing, so if there is something in there, it has to be pretty damn light, or small, or taped to the inside so it doesn’t move around.”
He raised his eyebrows, seeming to search for a response.
“What I mean is, your package is well protected,” Verity added quickly. Damn it. Her alcohol-induced verbal vomit was going to get her fired.
“You really want to know what’s in my package, don’t you?”
She ignored his double entendre. “Of course I do! Who wouldn’t? You made me traipse halfway across the city to pick this one up because you didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. What the hell is in there? Is it porn? Used women’s underpants?” Jesus. She really needed to muzzle herself.
Mr. Lay leaned back in his chair and uncrossed his legs. His pants remained hiked up, still strangling his package. Verity tried not to let her eyes drop. It was difficult. It appeared as though Mr. Lay was packing some serious heat under there—unless he’d stuck a sock in to beef it up. She wouldn’t put it past him.
“Come out for a drink after work, and I’ll tell you what’s in the box,” he said, trying for nonchalant.
“Seriously?” Verity stopped considering the size of his package and focused on the package on his desk.
“Seriously.”
“You’re paying.” Verity wished she wasn’t three drinks to the wind, otherwise those words would never have come out of her mouth.
His grin was somewhere between pompous and psychotic. She already regretted her agreement. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
He was such a weirdo. She stared at him for a few seconds. “I need to get back to work. I’ve been away from the desk all day.”
“Of course, Ms. Michaels.”
She left to the sound of a pen hitting the floor.
Verity Michaels @VerityPics03
I’m not looking at your package. I think it is dead anyway. #DeadInside #YouKilledIt
Verity Michaels @VerityPics03
Okay I tossed your package. Not your salad. Settle down. #MoreBusinessDrinkPlease
Verity Michaels @VerityPics03
Going to drinks with Lay sounds great. Super great. How come he’s not always covered in glitter? #LifeMystery #DrinkingAnswersQuestions
Chapter 10
Package Inspectoritis
Helena Hunting
It took about an hour for her buzz to wear off, giving her the rest of the afternoon to stew over Hudson and the pretty blonde, as well as the contents of Mr. Lay’s sparkly box. No way in hell was she going out alone with him.
She zipped back upstairs to corner Angie at her desk. “Um, hey! We’re going with Larold for drinks after work.”
“Oh, wow. Tempting, but I can’t. I have a date.”
“What? Come on. I need you!”
“Joseph sent flowers while you were on your road trip.”
“That’s all it takes for you to bail on a friend?” Verity asked, half teasing, half panicked.
Angie shrugged. “Yours is such a tempting offer. Joseph’s thinking of getting a tattoo, and he wants to discuss it. Speaking of that sort of thing, how’d the package pick-up go? Did you run into Hudson? Did you find an empty storage closet to molest him in? Why do you have glitter on your face?”
That was too many questions. “What time is your date? Can’t you come for a quick drink?”
Angie crossed her endless, flawless legs. “What’s going on?”
“I agreed to go out with Mr. Lay after work. I need you to come with me so I’m not alone.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I was drunk, and he said he’d tell me what was in the packages if I went.”
“And you believe him?” Angie looked at her like she’d lost her mind, which very well might be the case. “Wait a second, did you say you were drunk? At work? Did you go out for drinks with Hudson? Did you have sex in a dirty bathroom stall? Does he have a gigantic dick?”
“None of those things happened.” Although she’d actually fantasized that exact scenario. “I saw him with another woman. They were holding hands.”
The smile slipped off Angie’s face. “Oh, Verity. I’m so sorry. He was so badass. And hot. That really sucks.”
“Whatever. It’s not like he was my boyfriend or anything. And he probably has an extensive criminal record, considering his propensity for theft and B and E. If anything, it’s saved me from being an accomplice and ending up in prison, selling phallic vegetables for contraband cigarettes.”
“You really have some weird fears about prison.” Angie shook her head. “He was so hot. I’ll message Joseph and move the time back from seven to eight.”
“Oh, you’re a lifesaver.”
Angie patted her hand and gave her a piteous smile, then pulled out her phone to speed text her date.
Verity returned to her desk, where she flipped back and forth between spreadsheets and Pinterest pictures of hot guys with tattoos. At five-oh-five, the elevator doors dinged and Mr. Lay stepped out. His suit was buttoned and he’d clearly spent some time in the restroom managing his hair. It was slicked back, making him look like a modern-day gangster. He did absolutely nothing for her girl parts.
Verity shot Angie a text as he strode over to her desk.
“Ready to go, Ms. Michaels?”
She gave him a fake smile. “Almost, Mr. Lay. I just need to save this spreadsheet.”
He sat on the edge of her desk and pretended to line up her pens while staring at her cleavage.
Her phone buzzed on her desk with a new text. Verity nabbed it and shoved it in her purse as Angie came strutting out of the elevator like it was her own personal runway.
“Ready to go?” she asked brightly.
Mr. Lay looked confused.
“I invited Angie along,” Verity said. “I hope you don’t mind. I wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea, right?”
“Of course not. Angie, you know you’re always welcome to join,” Mr. Lay said to her breasts.
The three of them left the building together and walked down the street to a bar. It seemed to have a bit of a nautical theme. Verity had never been inside before, as she usually preferred to get much farther from the office than this before slowing down. She ordered the most expensive martini and made it a double. Her phone buzzed in her purse again, and she hid it under the table to check. Her stomach did an annoying flip when she saw there were three messages from Hudson.
They changed my route today. I missed seeing you.
Verity scoffed. Smooth-talking bastard. The second and third messages made her furious:
What are you up to tonight?
I have pictures for you.
Friday night she’d had her tongue in his mouth, and less than six hours ago she’d seen him with another woman. She wondered if the blonde knew she was being played. She put her phone away and focused on Mr. Lay, who was talking about himself. This made it easy to polish off her martini and order another. Her phone buzzed again, half an hour later.
Honeybee? Are you ignoring me?
Annoyed at the nickname, Verity finally responded. Her answer was simple:
Yes.
His reply was almost immediate.
You do realize you’ve responded, so you’re not ignoring me any more, right?
Verity refused to reply to that one.
A few minutes later, another message came through.
Where are you?
This time Verity gave in, determined to shut him up as she typed in the words and pressed send:
Out for drinks with my boss.
She waited for some kind of angry response, but none came. The last time he’d asked where she was he’d showed up at the bar. She looke
d around, expecting him to appear. He didn’t.
A few minutes later, Angie excused herself to the bathroom. It was already seven-fifteen. If she didn’t leave soon, she’d miss her date with Joseph. Verity still didn’t want to be alone with Larold, his perfect teeth, or his awkward advances.
“I should probably be heading home.”
Mr. Lay put his hand over hers. “I thought you wanted to talk about my package.”
Verity clamped her lips together. She had a better idea than she wanted about what was going on in his pants after today. A flash of light outside caught her attention, and she glanced toward the wall of windows. Standing on the street, a beanie pulled low on his head, was Hudson. In one hand was an envelope. In the other was his phone. Her own buzzed in her purse.
She turned her attention back to Mr. Lay and panicked a little, hurt and anger crowding out any good sense she had left. Leaning in close, she used her best smutty porn-star voice, “I think I like the mystery better.”
When she glanced back to the windows lining the front of the bar, Hudson was gone. Heavy disappointment settled in her gut. She’d never been much of a game player, and the vindication didn’t feel nearly as good as she wanted it to. Plus she’d ruined her chance to find out what was in the damn packages.
Angie returned from the bathroom and announced she had to go, giving Verity the perfect excuse to leave as well. Mr. Lay looked unhappy, which was the highlight of Verity’s night so far. She and Angie left for the subway, leaving Larold with the bill.
Verity checked her phone on the train. She only had one message. It was from Hudson:
Not cool.
Verity typed a quick response and pressed send before she lost her nerve:
Now you know how it feels.
He replied right away.
????
Verity punched at the digital keyboard and had to try three times before she got her angry reply right. She was a terrible semi-drunk typer:
I saw you with your other girlfriend.
He responded quickly:
OTHER girlfriend?
It made her rage that she had to spell it out for him.
The blonde.
On the walk to her building from her stop, she stumbled on a grate that caught her heel, which broke off as her ankle twisted uncomfortably. None of the people passing by stopped or even looked up to see if she was okay. It made her miss her friendly Florida town where at least three people would have made sure she wasn’t injured. Instead, she hobbled to the front door of her apartment building, feeling extra sorry for herself.
Hudson didn’t reply between the time she got into the elevator and limped to her apartment door. She shoved the key in the lock and practically fell inside. She slapped the wall in search of the light switch and screamed as she spotted a figure sitting on her couch in the semi-darkness.
She whipped her broken heel in his direction—she assumed it was a man based on the jeans and black hoodie. It sailed past his head and hit the wall across the room. She took a moment to be impressed with herself before she followed with her purse, which he caught before it could hit him in the face.
“I’m calling the police,” she yelled, wondering why he looked so familiar and why he hadn’t left her apartment the second she opened the door.
“Whoa, settle down.” Hudson pushed his hood down with a tattooed hand.
“You broke into my apartment? How the hell did you get in here?” Verity’s limbs felt weak and wobbly. Her heart thundered in her ears. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and tingles set up shop between her legs. Goddamnit. Why did he have to be so hot?
He raised an eyebrow. “I climbed the fire escape. You left your window wide open. Anyone could get in here.”
“Get out!” Verity pointed to the door. “How did you know this was my place?”
“Bike messengers have ways.” Hudson tossed a large envelope on the coffee table. “I just wanted to drop off the pictures from Friday.”
“You could have slipped them under the door instead of coming into my apartment.”
“I couldn’t get in the building,” he said calmly. “I also thought I’d get some clarification on a couple of things.”
“Leave!” Verity pointed to the door, but she wasn’t very convincing in her assertiveness—even to herself. Her knees finally gave out, and she melted to the floor.
Hudson pushed to his feet and crossed to where she’d crumpled dramatically. For a few seconds she was at eye level with his crotch. Then he crouched down and settled his elbows on his knees. The silver ball in his mouth popped out between his lips and slid back and forth once before it disappeared back inside. His blue eyes locked onto hers.
“Are you drunk?”
She sat up straighter and pushed her chest out until the buttons on her blouse strained. “I’m buzzed.”
“Why were you out for drinks with your boss? You hate him.”
“Because I want to know what’s in those damn packages, and because when I picked up one from your main office today, I saw you all cozied up to that cute little blonde.” Martinis were the worst kind of truth serum for Verity.
“You mean my other girlfriend?” The right side of Hudson’s mouth quirked up.
“You’re an asshole.”
“You should probably know, that cute little blonde is one of my half-sisters, and she’s thirteen. I was taking her out for lunch.”
Verity’s mouth opened to fire a snarky response, but the only thing that came was a quiet, cracked, “Oh.” The girl’s age would explain her questionable fashion choices.
“So back to clarifying…” Hudson cleared his throat. “If she’s my other girlfriend, what are you?”
Oh shit. It was a trap. She’d baited it herself. Verity folded her legs under her and pushed up, forgetting about the ankle she’d rolled. She yelped and fell forward, face-planting into Hudson’s chest and knocking them both off balance. He landed on his ass, and she landed on top of him. It would have been the perfect position under different circumstances.
She blew her hair out of her face and struggled to get up. “I’m just the girl you’re stalking.”
Hudson wrapped an arm around her waist, keeping her where she was. “I think you like me stalking you.”
Verity snorted a very unfeminine snort. “Well, you’re clearly a criminal, so of course you’d think that.”
“We’re back to that, are we? Don’t you think the stereotype is getting a little old?” The arm around her waist tightened. His eyes dropped from hers and focused on her chest pressed against his. “I don’t know if you know this, but this shirt is pretty much transparent. I can see your bra through it. And that’s a lot of cleavage you’ve got going on there.” He stuck a finger in it to demonstrate. “If I was your boyfriend, I don’t think I’d be all that happy that you wore it to work today. Especially paired with this skirt and knowing what a weirdo your boss is.” Hudson’s hand eased lower to her ass. He gave it a little squeeze.
“I guess it’s a good thing you’re not my boyfriend then, isn’t it?”
“Definitely a good thing.” Hudson squeezed harder and shifted under her. “Way better that I’m just stalking your fine ass.”
They stared at each other for a half-second before Verity yanked off his beanie, shoved her hands into his hat-head hair and plastered her mouth to his.
Hudson cupped the back of her head and rolled them over so he was on top. The seam at the back of Verity’s skirt gave way with a huge tear as she opened her legs so Hudson could fit himself between them. They dry-humped the living hell out of each other as they made out in the middle of her living room floor.
Verity grabbed the hem of his hoodie and yanked it up, pulling it over his head when there was a break in the kiss. His white T-shirt came with it. Under all those clothes was a seriously cut body covered in ink. She’d expected as much. It wouldn’t make a whole lot of sense to have hand and neck tattoos if the rest of the merchandise wasn’t going to be decor
ated the same way.
Verity ran her hands over his chest and down his abs.
“Badass enough for a stalker?” Hudson asked, that damn dimply smirk curving the corner of his mouth.
“You must be the king of badass stalkers.” Verity tried to pull him back down for another kiss—she was really starting to dig that tongue piercing—but Hudson sat back on his heels.
He untucked her shirt from her skirt. “I don’t think you’ll be wearing this shirt to work again.”
“Why not?”
“It doesn’t have any buttons.” He grabbed the hem on either side and pulled. The buttons popped off, pinging against his ripped chest—seriously, all that biking did a body good. She didn’t even care that he’d ruined her sort-of slutty work shirt.
Verity thanked the gods of bra design for the little heart-shaped front clasp on the one she was wearing. She opened it and set the girls free. They were like homing devices for Hudson’s hands. He cupped them immediately, separating his fingers so her nipples peeked through.
Jesus. He really did look like a criminal with all that ink—an incredibly hot criminal who’d broken into her house to bring her pictures taken with an heirloom camera during an illicit visit to the Conservatory Garden. He even had a few scars littered across his chest and one on his arm to complete the criminal look. She wondered if there was a bullet wound scar somewhere.
Hudson ducked his head and sucked one of her happy nipples into his mouth. Verity moaned and arched as she fumbled around, searching for the buckle on his belt. Finding it, she freed the clasp and went for the button on his jeans. There wasn’t a zipper to make him easier to access. It was buttons all the way down. It was hard to concentrate while he continued the nipple sucking, but she finally managed to get them all undone.
Felony Ever After Page 7