by Emilia Finn
There’s no way in hell I would call security on someone my father considers ‘approved’. Because that would look terrible on the family. But I guess Jackson doesn’t think that far through my actions, because he storms toward my door with a huff, swings it open so hard that sheets of loose paper flutter on my desk. Then he slams it shut again and makes the entire wall rattle on its hinges.
The Prices know how to make an exit.
“Jesus.” Allowing myself to exhale, my chest crumbles as I rest my tender elbows on the desk and my face in my hands. Loose strands of hair fall from my hastily done bun so they tickle my wrists and remind me I was in bed with Bry just two hours ago.
It’s my biggest secret. My loveliest memory.
“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.”
Why does it have to be so difficult?
Why can’t I just be a girl, and Bry a boy that I met somewhere completely random? Why can’t I be a normal girl with a normal family that, yes, may be a little overprotective, but not Tosky levels of weird?
My desk phone rings with an internal call. Drawing in a long breath, filling my lungs to capacity, then letting it out again, I close my eyes and blindly snatch up the phone. “Yeah?”
“Hey, Maddi. I have Harry Johnson on line one for you.”
“Harry?” My eyes open, but only so they can narrow as I think. “I don’t know anyone by that name.” I pause. “What am I forgetting?”
“Don’t know. He said you were expecting his call, but I could take a message if you like.”
“He said that?”
Frowning, I reach toward my phone, and sigh at the missed call. “It’s okay. I got it, thanks.”
As soon as my assistant hangs up, I hit line one and groan. “Harry Johnson. Really?”
Bry chuckles. “You get it? I’ve got a hairy johnson.”
“Are you twelve?” My voice says impatience, but my heart sighs as I sit back in my chair and settle in for a second. “What are you doing?”
“I’m about to start work for the day. Wanted to check in with you first.” His voice trails off. “You sound sad. You okay?”
“I’m fine. I was late, so I had to run through an obstacle course to get to my desk. Can I ask you a question?”
“Mm?”
“What do you do for work?”
He chuckles. “I’m offended you don’t know.”
“I don’t. I mean… I literally have no clue.”
“I fight, silly.”
“Yeah…” My brows furrow. “Like, on weekends and at tournaments and stuff. But what do you do to pay your bills?”
“I fight,” he repeats with a smile in his voice. “I work at my family’s gym. I train six or so hours a day.”
All I can manage is a grunt. “That explains your chest.”
He barks out a loud laugh. “I knew you were checking me out. I’ll do a few extra reps for you today. Then tonight, you can lick it and tell me how strong I am.”
He’s being silly, and yet, warmth pools somewhere near my crotch.
“I teach classes,” he adds quieter. “I work about ten hours a day in total, on me, on our contenders, and on kiddie classes.”
“You teach kids? Really?”
“Uh huh.” His voice is like a soothing balm after a day in the sun. A warm hug on a cold night. “I take a salary from the gym for those hours, and then Stacked Deck provides the big payday.”
“If you win.”
He chuckles. “When I win. What do you do for work?”
I snicker. “You know what I do. We’ve literally signed contracts that show you.”
“Mm.” His agreement is a melting grunt. “I get that you work on PR stuff, but explain it to me like I’m four.”
And so, I turn to my computer, and send an office memo that our ten o’clock meeting will be held at ten-thirty. “I pat asses, mostly.”
“Really? Because I saw a contract, but my ass remains Maddi-pat free. Though I’m fairly certain I have divots from your fingernails.”
I hate that I can see his smile in my mind. And right after that, I see us this morning. Bryan gliding over me, my legs splayed wide open and my nails digging into his ass to make him go faster, harder… more.
“I schmooze old people, mostly. Monaco wants their business, their allegiance, or their social proof. So my job is to facilitate that via dinner parties, events, auctions.” I think of Stacked Deck. “Promotional deals. Whatever it takes, my job is to talk shit, tell people they’re pretty, and then smile when they take out their checkbooks.”
“That sounds…” He considers. “Really fucking lame.”
I burst out in a loud laugh. “Yeah… I had bigger plans when I was at college. I thought I would schmooze, but maybe for good.”
“How do you mean?”
“Like, I could slap on some makeup and sweet-talk money from old people, but put it to good use. Charities, shelters, helping people. I want to do something good with my ass-patting. But for now…” I shrug. “I’m still pretty new. So I’ve gotta work up to that, I suppose.”
“For now, you’re padding the pockets of the folks at Monaco.”
I nod. “None of that money is helping anyone except a Tosky. It… doesn’t feel nice, now that we lay it out like that.”
“You’re helping broke fighters,” he volunteers helpfully. He could agree that my job is bullshit. He could agree that my family is greedy and needs to stop hoarding fortunes, but instead, he makes it so I can feel a little less guilty. “That endorsement deal will line a lot of fighters’ bank accounts by Christmas.”
“You’re already wealthy. You don’t need more.”
“Not me,” he chuckles. “Most of the fighters that come to Stacked Deck are broke, Maddi. They’re on their last leg, scraping the peanut butter jar. They train hard all year, they risk everything on this tournament, then they drive across the country and pray their training was enough.”
“Evie said she announced the new purses already.”
“Uh huh. And fighters were scrambling to sign up. You know that guy from last night, Iowa?”
“Alyssa’s father?”
“Yeah, him. He was one of them. He was so broke that he and his baby had to hole up in the town’s shittiest hotel for a week each year. He barely ate, he couldn’t afford gym memberships. All he could do was provide for Lyss, then go into his yard and bust his ass to become the best.”
“He did?” I think of the smiling man from last night. So handsome, so happy as he sat and ate with his family. “He became the best?”
“He fought, he dominated, he won. And now look. He has money, his little girl is happy and safe, and they never have to worry about food or money again. You know Mac?”
I frown. “Lucy’s boyfriend. Of course.”
“Well, he’s one of them. Broke as fuck, a heart transplant recipient from when he was a teen. He was born poor, and every time he turned around, he got poorer. Life has not been fair to that guy, but he gets up every day, he trains, he does his best.”
“Did he win?” Heart transplant? “Did he finally get rich?”
Bry hesitates. “Not yet. For Iowa to win, Mac must lose. For Mac to win…”
“Lyss has to see her dad lose.”
“Yeah, well…” He seems to shake that off. “He fought the first year, but he lost to Iowa. Second year, he forfeited for personal reasons. Third year, he sat out with Lucy.”
“And this year?” My grin creeps up. “Is he fighting this year?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He sounds proud like a father. “He’s training hard, everything is lining up for him. He’s healthy, Bean’s training him again, even Iowa is training him.”
“But he’ll be fighting Iowa!”
He laughs. “All is fair in love and war. They train together in the gym, but come the night of the tournament, they’re both gunning for that purse.”
“But only one of them can win.”
“I know. They know. It’s a sport, and only one will win. Th
ey’ll both do their best, and I guess… we wait and see.”
“Will the loser be mad?” I whisper. “In my family… well…” I cough out a laugh. “In my family, this just wouldn’t happen. We wouldn’t set up one family member with certain loss. Therefore, we would never put two family members into the same competition. But say we did… the loser would not be feeling all that friendly toward the winner when it’s all over.”
I wish this was a video chat, so I could see what I’m certain is a shrug. I want to see his eyes. His smile. “It’s the name of the game. We can’t hand out participation trophies. So… you fight, you win. If you lose, you go home and work harder the next year.”
I frown. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not.” His breath comes out on a soft chuckle. “Ask Mac. He’ll tell you how hard it is. But the alternative is to lay down and quit. And…” He considers. “I don’t know anyone who would do that. Wanna come to my house for dinner tonight?”
“Oh.” My eyes pop wide. “Um… what?”
He laughs. “Come back here, Maddi. I’m not done with you yet. I saw you an hour ago, and I already miss the shit out of you.”
“Can you believe we’re having this conversation?” I whisper. “On Friday, I was ready to run you down with my car. Monday arrives, and suddenly my heart races when you smile.”
And now, I know he’s smiling. “When it’s right, it’s right. You’re probably going to complain of whiplash when this is all done, but I don’t even care. I have feelings for you, and in my world, we don’t ignore that shit. In my world, once we meet someone that means something, a clock begins.”
“A clock?”
“Mmhmm. We have a finite amount of time on this planet,” he murmurs. “We only live so long, and there ain’t a damn thing any of us can do about it. Some of us die young, others live until we’re old and graceful like my grandma. But no matter what, we don’t know which straw we chose until it – whatever it is – happens. Could be cancer, could be a car accident, or it could be a broken heart.”
“Your speech is making me sad.”
He chuckles. “My point is, that clock doesn’t feel all that scary when we’re young and having fun. But when you meet someone that makes your heart race faster…”
I bring a hand up to my chest.
“Then we know the clock has begun,” he murmurs. “And once you hear it ticking, wasting time is stupid. So…” His tone lightens. “Dinner?”
My lips move toward a no, but my bobbing head says differently.
“Okay.” I frown. “Sure. Dinner.”
“Sleep in my bed?”
I laugh. “Sure.”
“Tomorrow night too?”
“Dude!”
He barks out a loud laugh. “Alright. We’ll take it day by day. I’ll call you again tomorrow and tell your assistant my name is Dick Banger. You’ll know it’s me when you get the fake names.”
“You’re an idiot.”
I’m falling in love with the smile I see in my head. And that’s about the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever thought.
“Maybe call my cell,” I continue. “Video call.”
“Touch yourself under the desk?” He pushes. Pushes. Pushes. “Show me how you touch yourself at work.”
“You’re despicable. And I have an event on Wednesday evening, so I can’t come over that night.”
“What event?” His voice turns into a verbal pout. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m telling you now!” I laugh. “And it’s an art auction.”
“Ew…” I guess I’m in love with his ‘just sucked on a lemon’ face, too. “Art? You guys are in the car business.”
“We’re not in the fight business, Bry. But we still signed those contracts. In this case, a well-known artist has created pieces using car off-cuts. Like…” I shrug. “I don’t know. The things we find in engines and stuff.”
“You sound so knowledgeable on what you sell, Miss Tosky.”
“Shut up!” I laugh. “I sell ass pats, remember? It’s some other department’s job to sell the parts. So this guy basically rummaged through our trash, took what he needed, and built… well…” Towers of trash. “Things. Sculptures, or whatever he wants to call them.”
“And you’re doing an event so people can buy them?”
“Right. It’s a black-tie event, five thousand dollars a plate.”
“Five thousand dollars?” he shouts. “Are you insane, Madilyn? What can a chef possibly serve that costs five thousand fucking dollars?”
“Tiny morsels of salmon, mostly.” I hate that my chest bounces with laughter. I hate that the event I worked hard on beside the event planner is now being reduced to cubes of salmon. “It’s not what’s on the plate, Bryan.”
“I should hope not! Every single one of your guests are gonna hit the drive-thru on their way home. You know that, right?”
“Hush. The five grand has nothing to do with the food, and everything to do with who else is going.”
“So you convinced a bunch of rich people to pay out the ass to hang out with other rich people?”
“Exactly. It’s about creating a sense of exclusivity. A sense of…”
“Snootiness?”
I giggle. “Right. So I bring all these rich fuddy-duddies together, they pay a massive amount for the pleasure of hitting the drive-thru later, then they bid against each other for these pieces of art.”
“How much are these pieces gonna go for?”
I shrug. “Probably somewhere around the million-dollar mark.”
“Each?”
“Uh huh.”
“For shit he found in your trash?”
I laugh. “Uh huh.”
“I’m done. Come to my home tonight,” he demands. “Don’t wear panties.”
“Bryan!” I laugh so loud that I know my staff will hear, but I don’t get a response from the other end of the line. “Hey?” My smile falters. “Bryan?”
I stare at the phone in shock. He hung up on me!
Madilyn
Bliss
“Nooo!” He holds onto the loops of my jeans and tries to drag me back to his stairs.
Purse in my hands, plans racing through my head, I play-fight with the man I haven’t stopped thinking about in days… even while I’ve physically been with him.
“I don’t want you to go.”
“I have to go!” I try to unthread his fingers from my jeans. “Bry! I have to go. You’re gonna make me late.”
“It’s squares of salmon! I’ll take you to the drive-thru right now. I will blow your effing mind with the number of cheeseburgers we can buy with five thousand dollars.”
“I’m not going to eat thousands of cheeseburgers with you, dummy. Let me go. Bry!” I swing back around and undo the work I already did when he sweeps me up against his broad chest. “You need to let me go.”
“You need to suck my cock.” He buries his face against my neck and bites.
The second I groan, his dick grows against my belly, and makes me want to weep.
“Slide on down to your knees, Princess. Show me how much you love me.”
My heart comes to a halting standstill. He said love.
It’s only a figure of speech.
“I’ll provide you with a cushion.” He nips at my skin, and slides his tongue over the hurt when I hiss. “Then when you’re done, I know you’ll already be wet, so then I’ll help you out.”
“So chivalrous,” I moan. “But I have to go.”
“Please don’t go. I miss you when you’re gone.”
“Bry!” My exclamation ends with a cry when he slides his hand between my legs. “Jesus,” I pant. “You have to stop that.”
“Stay here. You don’t wanna schmooze, anyway. You want to know what happens on Project Runway. You wanna eat pizza and drink a beer. And then you’re gonna try to hide your little potbelly because it’s full of carbs and booze, but I’m gonna see it anyway. Later, I’ll fall asleep on it
while you scratch my hair and take care of me.”
“Are you a man, Bryan? Or a child?”
He slides his hand into my jeans with a fast unsnap of my button, and as his fingers push straight in, and I throw my head back on a cry of ecstasy, he backs me up to the stairs.
Instead of climbing them and taking me to his room, he only lowers me down to sit on one. He removes his fingers, my shoes, my jeans, then he tears his shirt off and shows off the ridged chest I can’t get enough of. His hair hangs a little over his forehead. Not long, but not military-short either.
“Madilyn?” He smiles and looks into my eyes. “Stay with me.”
“Ten minutes.”
I kick his sweatpants down with my feet, reach forward and grab his dick in my palm. Then, as he roars and sets my blood on fire with the sound, I tug him forward and pull him straight to the back of my throat.
“I’m sorry I’m late!”
I dart inside the mostly empty ballroom wearing my Jenna Price V-neck gown. It’s dark purple, sparkles, and lacks just about all structural integrity. My boobs have been taped into place, the V in the neck dips almost down to my navel, and at the back, the same V reaches down to my ass. A line of diamonds stretches across my back to hold the straps up, and a second line of diamonds dangles along my spine and taps my skin as I walk.
It’s stunning, and makes me a little sad that I’ll be wasting it at an event for stuck-up socialites I don’t even like. My heels are so tall that I would almost be able to look Bry straight in the eye, but while I looked, my feet would be crying from the torture.
It’s six o’clock, and the event is scheduled to begin at seven, so I snatch up my files when my assistant passes them over, then I look around and almost laugh at the towers of… well… trash sitting on display at the top of the room.
That’s not to say that people aren’t allowed to find beauty in art, no matter how it came together, but Bry has ruined this batch for me. I know they’re going to be sold for millions tonight, and every time a check is signed, I’m going to think of the burly fighter and his refusal to discuss these ‘ridiculously priced pieces of shit.’