Strictly Business: Callie (Gold Club Staffing #1)

by Cheri Wood

  The door opens and closes with a sharp click. I can’t explain it, but there’s a tension in the air that isn’t about passion. Maybe it’s just the state of mind I’m in and I’m reading the mood wrong because of it.

  His hands are cool and firm on my hips as he urges me to roll over onto my stomach. My arms are pulled over my head and cuffed. The mood is all wrong. Is it really Mr. Hush positioning me so coldly? Before I can dwell on it, the bed dips with his weight and his hands are gripping my hips again, making me get on my knees. I hear his belt click and his zipper lower. He doesn’t prepare me before spearing me and I cry out from the shock. He doesn’t slow down to make sure I’m all right, instead he’s thrusting hard and fast until he’s suddenly gone from inside me and I feel a wetness on my back as he spills himself there. Then he’s off the bed and I hear him zip up. Seconds later, the door slams shut.

  I curl up on the sheets in humiliation, self-pity and from the sheer cold. Is he just going to leave me like this? What did I do to make him this angry?

  It’s Amber who uncuffs me and guides me down to the showers, explaining that Mr. Hush has just terminated his contract with the agency. As I stand under the spray, hugging myself against the cold that seems to have penetrated every inch of me, I cry.

  GCS

  When I walk into my office on Monday morning, I pull up short. There is a vase of yellow roses sitting on my desk. I approach them as if they were a pressure-sensitive bomb and pick the card off the top.

  I’m sorry.

  For a split second, I think that Mr. Hush has somehow found me and that these are from him, but then I hear footsteps in the corridor and I look over to find Nick in the doorway. He’s wearing a look of utter shame.

  “The way I acted… I was completely out of line. I appreciate everything you do for me, and I don’t want to lose you. Do you think we could start again? I promise to keep my hands to myself this time around.”

  The tension leaves my body in a sigh. “I’m sorry, too. I haven’t acted- I guess I gave you reason to think-“

  “Callie,” he cuts me off. “I’m your superior. I had no right to pressure you like that. I’m genuinely sorry. Will you accept my apology?”

  I nod. “Of course.”

  “Thank you. When you’re ready, could you come to my office, please?”

  “Sure. I’ll just boot up my computer and check my email real quick, is that all right?”

  “It’s fine. No rush.”

  “Thank you,” I say, but he’s already out the door.

  GCS

  You’d think it’d be a relief to make an honest living and be free of the sordid side business, but a part of me misses it. It’s the part of me that has to stay hidden, but it’s definitely there. I miss the sex. More specifically, I miss sex with Mr. Hush. The darkest part of me would even take a repeat of our last time together only to have him again. I’m seriously messed up.

  I’m on my way to grab a sandwich for lunch when I run into Trish outside the sandwich shop. We’re both a little stunned, but then she smiles and hugs me.

  “How are you?”

  “I’m… good. You?” I ask, pulling away to look at her properly. She’s wearing a lot of makeup and a ribbed dress clinging to her body like a second skin. From the little beads peeking out from under the fabric I can tell she’s not wearing a bra.

  “I’m meeting someone,” she says and looks a little guilty.

  “Here?” I frown. “But-“

  “Hey, do you have time for coffee? My meeting’s not for another half an hour.” There’s something desperate about her and I can’t refuse.

  “Sure,” I smile and she reciprocates, linking our arms as she steers me towards a café on a side street.

  The café is decorated in warm chocolate colors and its low lighting makes it feel like a cozy cave. We order our coffees and find a spot in a nook just out of sight of the cash register. A neighboring table is occupied by an older man reading a paper under the soft glow of a table lamp.

  “So, I met this guy the other night,” Trish starts, her voice low, “at a group meeting. He was just there as a guest, he’s not a client,” she adds quickly. Maybe I’m giving her a skeptical look, I don’t know. “Anyway, it was a pretty rough night, and afterwards, he was really nice and gave me his number. He wanted to meet me under different circumstances. So I called him and we talked, and he asked me to meet him at an Italian restaurant one block from here. We’re gonna meet in the bathroom.” She bites her lip and looks down at her coffee. “If Madam Director finds out, I’ll lose my job and have to pay her a huge fine for breach of contract, but I can’t help myself.”

  “Trish, what happened the other night?” I ask, concerned. If she’s being hurt, I have to find a way to help her. It sounds like she’s unable to leave Gold Club Staffing, which puts a very eerie spin on the situation.

  “It was Rob,” she says and I shiver in disgust, “and Digger.”

  “They know each other?” I ask, leaning in.

  “I guess so. They had this third guy with them, Dex. He hadn’t been vetted, so he mostly watched while Rob and Digger took turns. I don’t know what they’d taken to make them stay up for that long, but it seemed to last forever. For the finale, I took all three inside me.”

  “Oh, Trish,” I sigh, feeling in physical pain for her.

  “I’m fine,” she shakes it off with a shrug. “All part of the job, right?”

  “It doesn’t have to be.”

  “Right. Because any girl can find a hot billionaire to buy her out of her contract,” she rolls her eyes.

  “What?” I frown. “Nick didn’t buy me out of anything. He thought I was an office temp and hired me. Madam Director couldn’t say no because it would expose the business. But I stayed on with the agency for months, taking clients. No-one forced me to.”

  “If that’s what you want to believe…” Trish shrugs. “I should get going.”

  “Trish, wait.”

  She stops and turns towards me, waiting for whatever it is I was going to say. This puts her just by the old guy’s table, and he looks up from his paper. A lecherous grin appears on his weathered face and then his hand is on her butt. I expect Trish to slap him or at the very least step away, but she just leans in and whispers something in his ear. The man pulls out a couple of bills and hands them over to her. She looks over her shoulder to make sure no-one is watching and then puts his hand down her dress to cup her breast.

  “What we do – what you did – has very little to do with personal pleasure. You can tell yourself all you want that you were doing it for the kicks, but you’re lucky you got out when you did. If I were you, I’d kiss that billionaire’s feet every single morning.”

  Dumbstruck, I watch as she removes the old guy’s groping hand and walks out of the café. The guy looks over at me as if I’m up next, and I quickly gather my things and steer clear of his wandering hands as I leave.

  GCS

  Something draws me to the Italian restaurant, maybe the same kind of morbid curiosity that makes people gather around crime scenes, maybe something else. I feel like there’s a puzzle to be solved, and Trish is right in the middle of it. Literally.

  I walk over to the bar and order a mineral water. I don’t see Trish anywhere, which means she’s probably already in the bathroom. I pick up a menu and suddenly feel like a private investigator as I hide behind it. I should have brought a trench coat.

  I only have to wait about ten minutes before the bathroom door opens and Trish walks out, wiping her mouth discretely with her manicured fingers. I raise the menu to cover my face entirely until the door opens and closes. Then I put the menu back down, decline the offer to place an order, and sip my water while I wait for Trish’s mystery man to appear.

  When he does, I almost choke on my water. Sam Dexter’s stride from the bathroom falters as he spots me, and then he nods a hello before disappearing out the door. So Rob brought Sam along for a meeting along with this Digger fellow.
He has to be another lawyer if he dared to let Sam come with, probably someone who works with him, which would also explain why I’ve never been introduced to Digger. My profile clearly states no lawyers, so Madam Director wouldn’t let a prospective client even see my photo if that was his occupation.

  As I head back to the office, I’m distracted by troubling thoughts. It’s not a giant leap to suspect Tom being caught up in all of this. If Rob is recruiting Sam to his little Gentleman’s Club, what’s stopping him from getting Tom there, too? I can just imagine Rob rubbing his hands with anticipation of exposing me to Tom and vice-versa. Is that why Tom’s too tired to have sex with me? Is he already getting his fix elsewhere? Either way, I am determined to find out what’s going on.

  GCS

  The bottom floor of the Carlton-Wiener Building houses a piano bar. I get a table by the window where I can watch the foot traffic outside as well as the elevators. The plan is simple enough. Tom has another business meeting out of town tonight according to his secretary. If he shows up here, I’ll have proof he’s lying.

  It’s hours of waiting and I don’t have much of an appetite, so I’m sipping wine and getting drunk on it. I recognize a couple of people coming in, some from business dinners and events, some from private meetings. I see that Cindy and Mindy are working tonight. I know they often meet with Digger, so maybe he’ll show tonight. Maybe he’s already here and I just don’t recognize him from anywhere.

  I’m getting ready to call it a night when my heart stops. It’s Tom, walking through the revolving doors and heading straight for the elevators. I feel sick, and not just because of the wine. I call the waiter over and settle my bill. Then I stumble my way to the exit.

  GCS

  I suspect that I fell out of love with Tom a long time ago without realizing the exact moment it happened, but there was still that other kind of love, the one borne out of friendship and respect. Over the past couple of months, that love has faded, too, so it comes as a shock to me how much the confirmed betrayal stings. All this time I’ve felt inadequate and undesired, and he’s simply gotten his kicks elsewhere and tired himself out. Oh, the irony. For months I’ve heard stories about ‘Digger’ from the other girls, and not once put the pieces together. Maybe because it was so far removed from my husband. The man the girls described possessed none of Tom’s traits – not the ones he’s shown me, at least.

  Also, he knew where I worked all these years. Didn’t it once cross his mind that I might be performing other duties than administrative ones? Did we both have blinders on when it came to the other person?

  Somehow, I think it would have been easier to swallow if he’d had an affair. I’m living proof that our marriage isn’t strong enough to weather temptation – whether it’s on a physical or emotional level. But the fact that he’s repeatedly paid – out of our joint account, no less – to handle other women any way he likes while I’ve sold myself to men like him to pay our bills… it’s messed up.

  I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, but I know I need to blow off some steam. If only I hadn’t deleted all contact information for Mr. Hush… I scroll through my contact list and on every swipe, one name stands out. A horrible idea, one I am sure to regret come morning, but my body is doing the thinking for me, and it is impatient and reckless.

  He picks up on the third ring.

  “Nick? Can I come over?”

  XII

  My nerves are starting to overpower my libido as I reach Nick’s floor, but my body is still calling the shots and I raise my hand to rap on his door. I have no idea what I’m going to do if and when he answers the door, but when it swings open and he stands in front of me wearing well-worn jeans and a soft gray T-shirt, my body knows what to do.

  I step forward in one fluid motion and grip his head seconds before crashing my lips to his. It takes him a moment to catch on, but when he does, my whole body lights up. Suddenly I’m backed up against the door, and his growing erection is pressed against my belly. My fingers run through his hair and his hands cup my breasts, his thumbs swiping across my nipples and making them stiffen even more than the anticipation did. I moan – or maybe I sob – into his mouth and he stills. I blink as he pulls away, holding me at arm’s length to study me.

  “Callie.” His voice is rough and his breath is coming in pants. “What’s going on?”

  My brain finally catches up, and I turn my head away in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I mumble, unable to meet his eyes. “I’ll leave.” I turn to do just that when Nick touches my shoulder.

  “Talk to me,” he urges.

  I shake my head. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.”

  “Callie. Look at me.” His hand touches the side of my face, making me turn towards him. “Don’t cry.”

  Am I crying? I didn’t realize.

  “Please tell me what happened tonight.”

  I sigh and lean into his touch, his hand warm and comforting against my cheek. “I can’t.” To explain what I found out about Tom would require an explanation on how I know what he’s been doing just by seeing him in that building.

  “Callie.”

  I just stare at him, locked in on his eyes, trying to figure out the real reason I decided to call him. I’m not sure, but I think he’s doing the same. Then, slowly, he leans in and brushes my lips with his own. I feel the spark all the way down to my toes – after it takes a quick spin in my lower abdomen.

  I haven’t been kissed like this in a long time – as if I’m precious. I didn’t realize until now how much I’ve missed that feeling. Then he pulls away.

  “I do want you, Callie. I have wanted you for a long time. But anyone can tell that you’re hurting right now, and it’d be wrong of me to take advantage.

  “No one would blame you if you did. Least of all me,” I say, looking up at him.

  “I would. Come on, I’ll make you some coffee. Or tea, if you prefer? Have you eaten?”

  I think of the wine I had while waiting for Tom to show up for his rendezvous and get a foul taste in my mouth. “Not since lunch.”

  “Okay. I’ve got some eggs. I’ll make you an omelet.”

  “Why are you being so nice?” I ask as he heads over to the kitchen section of his open plan apartment. It’s the first time I’ve seen it, even though I knew the address from ordering things online for him.

  “What do you mean? I’m always nice.” He says this as he rummages through his cupboard for a skillet – bending over slightly to find the right one. I can’t help it, I check out his butt. I’m gonna go out on a limb and say it’s firm.

  “Not always. Ever since that night, you’ve been a bit curt with me. I guess I thought you were angry with me.”

  “I’ve been trying to stay away from you. I’m sorry I made you feel that way.” His shoulders are tense as he takes a couple of eggs and a bottle of milk out of the refrigerator.

  I don’t know what’s possessed me, but I walk up to him and put my hands on his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Nick. I guess I’m just a little out of it tonight.”

  “You can talk to me, you know?” he turns towards me and my hands drop to my sides. “Maybe I can help.”

  A dry chuckle escapes me. “I’m sorry, it’s just… I doubt you can help with this.”

  “Try me.” He crosses his arms and leans back against the counter.

  “Tom’s been cheating on me. For months.”

  “Oh.” His arms unfold and he grips the counter behind him instead. “Wow. Are you okay?”

  “Not really. I mean, I guess I’m just numb. It’s not so much the cheating, it’s the lying. All the time lost. We could have called it quits long ago and saved ourselves a lot of grief. But he’s the one who didn’t want a divorce; he’s the one who wanted us to work things out. He made me feel like a failure for wanting to separate, and then this whole time he’s been screwing around.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “Well, I’d say our trial separatio
n has been a success, wouldn’t you? I think I’ll make it permanent.”

  “You’re filing for divorce?”

  “First thing Monday morning.”

  “Well, I think this calls for a celebration,” Nick says and walks over to what is apparently the wine cooler. “Red or white?”

  “Do you have any vodka?”

  GCS

  A few shots later, I’m comfortably buzzed and loose-limbed. I’m lying on Nick’s soft leather couch and enjoying the smell and sound of him cooking me a late night snack. Jazz music is playing softly on the stereo.

  “I’m so relaxed,” I tell him. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed.”

  “If you were any more relaxed, you’d be snoring on the floor.” Nick’s laughter rumbles as he approaches me with two plates. “Come on, you should eat something.”

  “Hey,” I point in his general direction, “you’re the one who poured the shots.”

  He clicks his tongue. “Clearly I’m not cut out to be a bartender.”

  “I think you’d make a great bartender. You’re Mr. Successful.” I poke his chest for emphasis. “Mr. Perfect. Mr-“

  “I’m hardly perfect,” he cuts me off, enclosing my index finger in his hand. “I don’t know anyone who is.”

  “Mr. Humble…”

  “Here, let me help you,” he tugs on my arms to get me into a sitting position, then puts a plate on my lap. “Do you want some coffee?”

  “Make mine Irish.”

  “Sorry, only Colombian in stock,” he smiles and heads back over to the kitchen.

  I pick at the omelet he made. It’s got vegetables and bacon bits in it. It looks and smells good, but I can’t bring myself to eat any of it. When Nick returns with freshly brewed coffee, I still haven’t tasted it.

  “Come on,” he says and takes the fork from me, gathering a piece of omelet on it before raising it to my lips. “Open up.”