by Amelia Wilde
Jesus Christ. “Do they have an estimate for how long it’s going to take to fix the problem?”
“Not that I’ve heard, Mr. Brandon.” That call is probably going to come through to my cell at any second.
“I’ll be sending out an all-staff bulletin from my email account in a few moments. Coordinate an alternative workspace for the division heads as soon as you get onto the sidewalk. This is not a day off, Emily. Work wherever you need to, but be available.”
“Of course, Mr. Brandon.” She tries but fails to keep the disappointment out of her voice. I end the call.
Fine. I don’t need an office to get work done.
“Stuart, change of plans. I’m working from the penthouse today.”
By the time I climb out of the car when Stuart pulls up in front of my Midtown building, I have confirmation from Emily that she’s rented out several offices in a shared space close to the office but far enough away that if, God forbid, the building explodes, none of my employees will be harmed. All the paperwork I was intending to finish at the office can be printed off and sent over by courier if we can guarantee there will be no duplicate copies. No more sloppy mistakes.
That’s where my mind is—blessedly free of Emerald—when I stride through my building’s lobby, extending a nod and a smile to the doorman as I wrap up a final phone call with Emily. There’s one elevator car about to head up, and I’m not waiting for the next one. Even though the doors are closing and are nearly shut, I stick my hand through the slight opening, putting my muscles to work, forcing the door to start reopening.
The woman standing inside the elevator lets out a sharp little gasp, before stepping back from the door as I step into the car.
Holy shit.
The creature standing in the elevator with me is gorgeous. I haven’t seen her around the building before. I would remember. How have I not seen her? She’s petite—she can’t be more than five foot four or so, and at over six feet tall, I tower over her. But it’s her eyes that get me. An intense blue-gray, they’re sparkling and huge. Her cheeks are a little flushed, set off to perfection by her ash-blonde hair, which is swept back from her face, leaving a chic wave to frame her sharp jawline. She’s wearing a black sheath dress cut above the knee, and it hugs every curve like it was made for her. Her grip tightens on the handle of the designer purse she has tucked under her arm.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I say, my voice dropping a notch.
“Oh, it’s—it’s no problem,” she stammers, and when she smiles I forget all about the paperwork. I want to lean down and kiss her full lips right now, but I resist.
A glance at the elevator panel tells me that the button for the penthouse is already illuminated. I arch an eyebrow at her. “Were you going up to the penthouse?”
She looks from me to the panel, then laughs. “I must have hit the wrong button. No, I’m going to the eighth floor.” She reaches out with one delicate finger, but I beat her to it, our hands almost colliding in midair.
“Thank you,” she says, her eyes glued to my face. “Which floor are you going to?”
I cut my eyes over to the panel, then back to her face, and she turns a deeper shade of red.
“You live in the penthouse?”
“I do.” I extend my right hand to her. “Jett Brandon.” She sucks in a breath.
“Wow,” she says, another megawatt smile illuminating her face, and then her voice lowers. “I’m almost a little disappointed that I didn’t get to go all the way up.”
A voice is screaming at me in the back of my head not to make any moves. But why? Emerald is in the past, and I want to wipe away every memory of her and replace it with something better. This woman is the perfect palate cleanser: totally fuckable and starry-eyed enough that I’m not going to have a problem getting her to sleep with me—or ending it when I’ve had my fill.
“Angelica Chandler,” she says, releasing the death grip on her purse to shake my hand. When her smooth skin touches mine, it sends a jolt of heat streaking up my arm, down my spine, and straight to my cock. Angelica bites her lip and looks away for a split second.
“Thursday night,” I say, as the elevator starts its smooth ascent upward. It’s not a question.
She does a double-take, then gives me a quizzical smile. “Thursday night?”
I step a little bit closer to her, lowering my voice as if we’re in the middle of a crowded room. “I’m telling you we have a date for Thursday night. When I see something I want, I take it.” Then I step back. “You might have a different opinion.”
Angelica bites her lip again, and her breathing becomes more rapid. She lets her eyes rake over my suit-clad body. “Won’t your wife be upset?”
It makes me laugh. “Sweetheart, I’m in control of my life, not another woman. We are free to get to know each other on Thursday night.”
“Can I get back to you on that?” she says, and her voice is low but sweet. “Jett Brandon,” she says, like she’s tasting the words in her mouth.
“Take my number.” I’m pleased when she shoves her hand into her purse, coming up moments later with her phone. I reel off my personal cell number. She types it in, hands trembling.
The elevator car glides to a stop, and the tone sounds. But when the door slides open, Angelica doesn’t move. She looks up at me, her phone still in her hand.
I break the moment. “Your floor,” I say with a roguish smile, and she startles, turns, and steps out.
As the doors slide closed, she raises a hand and gives me a little wave.
I’ll probably never hear from her—or see her—again.
5
Angelica
My instructions from Charlie were clear: go to the penthouse at the address he provided, blend in with the crew moving things in, and install a program on Brandon’s computer. The program is already loaded onto a flash drive.
It was all going so well until Mr. Sex-On-Two-Legs stuck his hand between the elevator doors and practically turned me into a puddle.
“Brandon” was the only thing Charlie had told me about the person he wanted to target. I assumed it would be an old man, someone unobservant, someone frail. Not a muscled god dressed in an impeccable suit with a jawline so chiseled you could cut diamonds with it.
I stand on the carpet in the eighth floor hallway, and as the doors close between us, I give him a little wave.
As soon as I hear the elevator car start moving upward, I collapse against the wall, my chest heaving.
Holy fuck, that was close.
He was supposed to be gone this morning—and he could have caught me red-handed.
My phone vibrates in my hand. It’s Charlie, demanding an update.
I try to catch my breath as I tap out a reply, the warmth of my desire dissipating into cold fear once again. I don’t want Charlie to think I’m screwing with him.
Brandon came home early. I couldn’t install the program, but he asked me to meet him on Thursday. I’ll make sure he takes me home and I’ll do it then.
Charlie’s reply comes a few moments later.
Fine.
Then,
You know what happens if you can’t make this work.
I wait until I can’t stand it and get back on the elevator. My heart skips a beat when the doors slide open, but it’s empty.
I’m disappointed.
Ashamed, too. More than a little. My cheeks are hot as I hurry through the lobby and out onto the sidewalk.
Move. Getting away from this building, right now, is my top priority. Can he see me down here from his penthouse? It’s all I can do not to crane my neck up at the building and look.
Two blocks away I slip into a Starbucks.
It’s familiar here—the whirr of the espresso machine, the hiss of the steamer, the people behind the counter in their green aprons. I can relax. Wait—no. First I glance around at everybody sitting at the tables. A man absorbed in his laptop. A couple huddled together over what looks like a wedding album. A gi
rl with pink hair scribbling into a notebook, her lips pursed. An older man reading the paper. None of them glance up at me. None of them leer at me with a terrifying smile.
For now, I’m anonymous.
I took some personal time off work for this. It’s the second day in a row. I should be relieved that there’s an after-hours date with Jett Brandon on the table now. The only thing worse than having to do this would be losing my job completely.
“Welcome to Starbucks,” says the woman behind the counter as I step up. “What can we make for you today?”
I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “Something…big.”
She laughs. “Hot or cold?”
“I’m warm, thanks.”
“Hot or cold drink?” Her smile is kind, but a flush of embarrassment washes through me. One run-in with Jett Brandon has me coming apart at the seams. How am I ever going to go on a date with him?
I’ll handle it, that’s how. I don’t have another choice.
“Frozen,” I decide finally. “Frozen and with as much caramel drizzle as you can give me.”
At least one thing today is going to go right.
I’m sipping the last of the Frappuccino and scrolling aimlessly through my phone—I never have time to do this—when the text from Adam comes in.
All moved out.
Brave. Very brave. He didn’t seem like he was ready to go anywhere when I left for work this morning. I wouldn’t be in a rush.
You sure you’re okay at your place?
I don’t want him to stay at my apartment forever. I don’t want him to witness this charade I’m playing with Jett Brandon. But it does make me nervous that he’s going back. We’re both being watched.
I’ll be great. Thanks, Angie. For everything.
Call me anytime, OK?
I will.
I toss the cup into the trash nearest to my table and put my phone back into my purse. Hadley awaits. Jett awaits.
Is it terrible if I’m a little excited?
Yes, I think while I make my way to the subway entrance two blocks down. It’s terrible. You’re being terrible.
But I’m excited nonetheless.
6
Jett
Angelica waits until mid-morning on Wednesday to answer me, so long that I’ve half dismissed her. If only I could get that perfect body out of my head, force her smile from my mind. Yes, she’s the perfect remedy for erasing my memories of Emerald, who never looked that gorgeous even on her best day.
Her text comes in during a meeting with Connor. When my phone vibrates, I force myself not to look at it. I keep my eyes firmly planted on Connor’s face, even when he glances down at the phone.
“You sure you don’t want to get that?”
“It can wait. Finish what you were saying.”
“Their estimates on the area of influence were too high, but I think there’s a way to salvage this. We’ll need to readjust some of our own targets, but it’s doable.”
“Hard numbers?”
Connor shakes his head. This business with the media company is taking longer than I’d like, but I’m going to get it right.
“OK. Let me know as soon as they come in.”
“Will do.”
He gets up from his seat across from my desk and leaves, whistling a tune I don’t recognize. The second he’s out of sight I snatch my phone from my desktop.
My heart turns over. The message is from a number I don’t know, but it says,
I’m getting back to you. Where should we meet? :) -Angelica
I save the number into my contacts and then type a reply.
The Purple Swan. Give them my name at the main entrance. 8:00.
Then I follow it up with the address, my nerves jittery. I never get jittery.
The Swan will be perfect. I haven’t been going regularly for almost a year—things with Brandon, Inc. required more of my attention, and then there was Emerald—but I don’t think twice about it. It’s an exclusive club that offers everything: private rooms, dancing, and world-class dining. The clientele is made up of New York City’s richest, and they’re quick to kick out people who disturb the peace.
Angelica is early. I know because I come through a side entrance to the lobby at 7:50 on Thursday and she’s already waiting, stunning in a black dress that makes the one she was wearing in the elevator look like something you’d wear to clean the house. She stands with her back straight, looking toward the front entrance with a little smile that fades, then returns, then fades again.
My cock hardens at the sight of her. Everything about her is pure perfection, from the way she’s pulled her hair back into a delicate twist to the way she sways, ever so slightly, on her high heels.
I allow myself to appreciate her for as long as I can stand it, and then I approach, sliding my hand across the small of her back as soon as I reach her. This is going to be bare skin by the end of the night. She stiffens, then turns toward me. When her eyes meet mine, her smile is bright enough to power the entire city.
“Jett Brandon,” she says, looking me up and down. “You snuck up on me.”
“I could say the same about you. What were you doing, lurking in that elevator?” My tone is light and teasing, but some strange emotion flashes in her eyes. “Don’t worry,” I continue, laughing. “I’m glad you happened to be there at that moment.” As I speak, I slide my hand a little lower, down to the very top of the curve of her ass, and she doesn’t pull away. In fact, she leans into it, ever so slightly.
“So,” she says, her smile a slow burn. “What’s the deal with this place? Are we eating? Dancing?”
“Are you hungry?”
Angelica bites her lip, her eyes dancing. “I could eat.” She lets her eyes travel down over my body again. Whoa. I might not be the only one who wants more than dinner, which is going to make taking her home an easy task.
“I reserved us a table in one of the more private dining rooms,” I say, removing my hand from her back. A little frown crosses her face when my touch fades, but I’m instantly offering her my arm. She slides her hand into the crook of my elbow, and I’m sure she doesn’t intend to, but she gives my bicep a little squeeze.
“Nice,” she says softly, almost to herself, and I laugh out loud. So she did mean it, after all.
We banter over a five-course meal, Angelica ratcheting up the heat every time she speaks. Apparently the comment I made about not letting a woman control my life didn’t faze her.
“I’m very particular about pillows,” she says during a discussion we’ve somehow launched into about thread counts and sheets. Then a slow smile spreads across her face. “You get a bad pillow, and you can’t get comfortable on your back, or on your front....”
“It’s the same with women,” I answer with a straight face.
She jokes and prods, sparring with me until finally I feel like I’m about to burst into flames. That’s when she stands up, tosses her napkin onto the linen tablecloth, and looks at me with a wicked expression. “Did you mention dancing?”
I underestimated her in the elevator. She’s a conquest I want to capture, and now I think we’re playing the same game.
“You mentioned dancing.” I follow her lead. There’s no need to wait for the bill to arrive—all of this will be added to my tab.
“I did, didn’t I?” She takes my hand, pulling me toward the doorway of the dining room.
Outside the threshold, she pauses, listening. The Swan has invested heavily in soundproofing technologies, so in the hallway there’s only the faint thrum of dance music.
Angelica takes a few more steps, her straight spine emphasizing her breasts, then turns back to me, her hand still in mine. “Don’t keep it a secret,” she says. “Where’s that music coming from?” As she speaks, she steps closer, and her scent—flowery and fresh—wafts over me. We’re holding hands, but it’s electric.
I take in a breath to answer, but all I can think of is covering her mouth with mine, tasting her sweetness. Her ey
es are ocean blue in the low light of the hallway. Her face is inches away, and as I look into her eyes, her expression shifts from playful to passionate.
“We could dance,” I say, my voice husky, “or we could....” I put my free hand on her waist, drawing her in another couple of inches, and then I lean down to whisper in her ear. “...do something more exciting.”
Her breathing starts to speed up as I speak, and by the time the final word comes out of my mouth she’s almost panting. We’re so close. So close—
Without a word of warning, she turns her head and our lips collide, lust igniting every nerve ending in my body. I pull her against me, hard, and I guide her backward until her back is pressed up against the opposite wall. She tastes amazing, the way she opens her mouth and lets me explore her has me rock-hard and dizzy.
I only pull back when she gasps for breath, and that’s when I show my first sign of weakness.
“We could dance. Or you could come home with me. Right now.” It’s not a question.
“Please.” Her voice is heavy with desire.
“This is one night.”
Now it’s her turn to lean in. “One night is all I need.”
Six words, and I’m rushing to get her home.
7
Angelica
There’s so much heat sizzling between us that it’s all I can do not to tear my clothes off in the back of Jett’s Mercedes. I’ve almost lost sight of the plot. Where is the line between seducing him to carry out Charlie’s plan and seducing him because my body craves him?
He stops kissing me long enough to bark a single word at his driver—“Penthouse”—and then his strong hands are all over me in the backseat as the driver pulls the car into traffic and steers us across town to his penthouse.
I’m supposed to be focused on the thumb drive, on uploading the program, on following Charlie’s orders, but all I want to do is to strip off Jett’s clothes and finally see what he’s hiding under his custom suit. It’s going to be magnificent.