by Abby Wood
Hurting To Feel
Carpool Dolls
by
Abby Wood
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Hurting To Feel
1st Digital release: Copyright© 2013 Abby Wood
Cover Artist: DNRCovers
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
www.authorabbywood.com
Dedication
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
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Four
Chapter Thirty Five
Biography
Dedication
To my husband - The first time you touched me, I knew I was loved.
Chapter One
Five o'clock on a Thursday night and Nate Rafferty sat stuck in traffic on Sixth Avenue with the deal of the year ready to slip out of his hands. He laid on the horn. In forty minutes, he'd watch his rival, Pierce Lowes, walk away with the Montgomery contract if traffic continued to stall.
"Come on." He slammed his fist on the steering wheel.
Up ahead, hundreds of brake lights going south lit up the I-5 Bridge. No way would he be able to make it into downtown Portland in time. He cussed, flipping off the driver of a beat-up Dodge that cruised by in the carpool lane.
A pang of guilt over losing his patience had him closing his eyes and counting to ten backward. Despite being thirty-five years old, one of the wealthiest men in the Pacific Northwest, he could almost imagine the calm reassuring words from his mentor, Professor Frank.
He pushed away the desire to inflict his frustrations on someone else. An innocent someone else.
Professor was the one person who kept him grounded. Not only had Professor Frank saved him from a life of crime and helped set him on an alternative path during the worst years of his life, he helped protect Nate from destroying himself when the darkness became too much to handle.
He'd stayed away three months, not on purpose but out of necessity, and was due for a visit with his friend. Three months, and his control was slipping more every day. He wanted to hurt someone.
His cell phone rang. He touched his earpiece while clearing his throat. "What?"
"Mr. Rafferty, it's three minutes after five," Janice, his longtime secretary, said.
He growled. "I hope you're going to tell me there's a helicopter ready to pick me up, and you're not just calling to let me know I'm running out of fucking time."
"Oh, dear. You're cursing." Janice sighed. "Traffic's that bad, huh?"
His head hit the back of the headrest and he blew out his breath. "Yes, Janice. It's that bad."
"Hang on, sir. I think I can help you." Some damn symphony music blared in his ear.
Horns continued blasting the air outside. He rolled his head and looked out the side window. The woman in the minivan painted her nails while talking on the phone.
Movement caught his eye. He sat straighter and hit the button lowering the window. Two lanes over, traffic moved smoothly. He ground his teeth together.
The carpool lane. Lucky bastards.
"Mr. Rafferty?" Janice said.
He closed the window. "Yeah."
"Give me your exact location. I'll have someone there in five minutes."
He peered at the closest building. "I'm on Sixth and Washington, outside the Kinkaid Theater, but how is that going to help—"
"Hang on, please," Janice said.
The music returned and he shook his head. He needed a new secretary. Janice was losing her mind. Ten years on the job, working for him, and she'd obviously started drinking before quitting time.
The music ended. "Mr. Rafferty?"
He inhaled deeply, and replied on an exhale, "Yes, Janice."
"I need to know what you like a woman to wear…"
He stared straight ahead, blinded by all the red taillights. "I'm hanging up, Janice."
"Wait. She'll be there in—"
He threw his earpiece between the front seats. Numbness settled over him. What was the big deal about getting the contract anyway?
Rafferty Enterprise made him millions of dollars a year. He had a gorgeous home in the West Hills overlooking Portland, kept a hundred and forty eight employees on his payroll, and there would be more three billion dollar deals in his future.
He imagined Pierce's smug face when the declaration came that he'd won. Fuck.
Every Monday when he played one on one basketball with Pierce at the gym would be hell. The Montgomery deal was the pièce de résistance between them. He'd hear about losing until the next deal came up that caught both his and Pierce's attention.
Knock, knock.
He turned his head toward the passenger door. He frowned, swiveling in his seat to look behind him. Parked against the curb, he wasn't blocking anyone from joining the flow of traffic. He pushed the button and rolled down the window.
He leaned over the gearshift. "Yes?"
A black haired beauty with the widest green eyes leaned down and gave him a smile that hit below the belt. "Mr. Rafferty?"
He nodded.
"I'm Addison from Carpool Dolls, your secretary called me. I understand you're late for a meeting, so if you could unlock your door, I'll get in and you can be on your way." Her voice, smooth and husky like a rich bourbon calmed him better than any drink. "With me along, you'll be free to use the carpool lane."
He sat back, unlocked the door, and watched her legs enter the car. Long legs. Firm lean legs. Legs that went clear up to a short black dress—his gaze traveled higher—with a plunging neckline, cupping breasts the size of—
"Mr. Rafferty." She buckled the seat belt. "I'd recommend using your turn signal and cutting across traffic to enter the carpool lane."
He jolted. The deal.
Adrenaline fueled him forward. He rolled down his window, hit the horn, and motioned for traffic to back up. Several minutes later, he'd created a break in the line and worked the BMW over to the far left lane.
He pressed the accelerator, and kept glancing at the dashboard as the speedometer cruised up to sixty-five miles per hour. "What time is it?"
"Your clock says five twenty-three," Addison said.
He slammed the car into third gear. "Damned if I'll miss the meeting and let Pierce hold the Montgomery's account over me. Hold on, I think I can make it before the deadline."
"Very well played, sir," she said.
He glanced at Addis
on, unsure of what to make of the woman sitting in his car, supporting him, looking knockout gorgeous and dressed seductively sexy. "Are you a friend of Janice's?"
She crossed her legs. "I'm one of the Carpool Dolls. We supply our clients with a passenger when they'd like to use the carpool lane…like yourself."
"And, there's a need for…what did you call them? Dolls?" He checked the speedometer, the clock, and took another look at Addison. "No offense, but how many people think to call ahead and ask for someone to ride with them through the ten, twelve, miles on the freeway where it benefits someone to have a passenger?"
"You'd be surprised," she murmured.
He turned on his blinker, looked over his shoulder, and cut through the lanes of traffic, barely making the exit. On the off-ramp, he checked the clock again. Ten minutes.
The next several minutes took all his concentration. He bordered breaking the speed limit as he zipped down the one-way street, over to Broadway, and back around toward Fifth Street. The lights of the Swanson Tower sat right in front of him.
He paralleled parked. Four minutes.
He opened the door. "I'll be right back."
"But, sir—"
He shut the door, slapped his hand on the hood as he jogged in front of the car. "I'll take you back when I'm done—he jumped onto the sidewalk—give me a half hour, an hour tops," he said loud enough to be heard inside the car.
Then he hustled through the lobby, skipped the elevators, and instead took the stairs three at a time. On the fourth floor, he burst out into the hallway and marched to the last door on the left. He pushed his way into the room as the long hand on his watch ticked straight up on twelve.
He pulled up short, straightened his jacket sleeves and stabbed Pierce, who paced by the floor to ceiling windows, with the winning look. "Evening, gentlemen. Shall we get the bidding going?"
Harold Montgomery stood up from the boardroom table. "Right on time, Nate. I was about to call the meeting to order."
Nate sat down and dipped his chin toward Pierce who took the seat opposite of him. "Evening, Pierce."
Pierce rubbed his hand acrossed his chin and leaned forward. "I thought you were in Vancouver. How did you make it across the bridge?"
For the first time that day, he relaxed. "A doll," he murmured.
For the next thirty minutes, he spent all his attention signing the documents Harold's secretary passed him. He hobnobbed with the CEO, shook hands with Pierce, and called the meeting a success.
Pumped high from closing on the much sought after Montgomery deal, he hurried out to his car with an apology ready and intent on sharing the good news with Addison.
Except the car was empty.
He stood on the sidewalk, searching up and down the street. Where could she have gone?
"You lucky asshole…congratulations." Pierce joined him beside the car and slapped him on the shoulder. "Hope the new deal doesn't make you go soft Monday morning, because I'm taking you down on the court. Two hundred to the winner sound good to you?"
He glanced at Pierce. "Uh, yeah. Fine."
"Hey, what's wrong?" Pierce leaned forward, looked in the car, and chuckled. "Lose your doll?
He pushed the button on the remote to unlock the car and hurried to the driver's door. "I'll see you Monday."
Inside, he started the engine and pulled away from the curb. He inserted the earpiece into his ear. "Office."
After several rings, the answering machine came on. He disconnected the call. Shit.
He owed Addison more than a ride home. She deserved payment for helping him make it downtown in time to cushion his bank account. He glanced at the passenger seat and his chest tightened. A white business card sat on the leather. Holding the card toward the window to catch the glow from the streetlights he read.
Carpool Dolls – Call us when you need the perfect woman to ride in the passenger seat. Special requests extra. We'll take you there faster. Addison.
He dropped the card on his lap and stared out at the street. Special requests extra? Oh, hell no. He shook his head. Janice needed a vacation.
Addison wasn't only a doll. She was a paid escort.
Chapter Two
On the third floor, in the old Kiggin's building in downtown Vancouver, Addison Flint grabbed her purse, checked her hair in the mirror hanging on her office door, and hurried to the elevator. Between the second and first floor, she checked her watch.
Six o'clock.
She smiled as the doors swished open and walked across the lobby and out onto the sidewalk. After locking the front door, she stood in front of the building waiting for her last client. Usually she took a taxi to her pickup, but since the appointment was for Mr. Rafferty, a returning client, she agreed with his secretary to allow him to meet her at the office.
Besides, everyone knew the most eligible bachelor who ran Rafferty Enterprise. She'd seen the magazine articles, the documentary last summer as they showed the life of the man who'd gone from the streets to owning his own company, and the many news shows announcing another boost to his career. His openness about being involved in a gang, stealing cars as a teenager, and striving for better in his life endeared her to him.
Ambitious and rich, he shocked her yesterday. Up close, she could imagine him stripping off the suit and tie and still capable of fitting into the bad boy role.
There was something wildly sexy about a man who wore a Gucci suit, silk shirt, and tattoos he couldn't hide behind the collar of his shirt. She pressed her hand to her stomach. Yesterday, she'd found it impossible not to stare at him while he drove her to Portland.
She'd let her imagination go wild, imagining what'd be like to know Mr. Rafferty better. Even going as far as wanting to stick around after he ran out of the car, but in the end she left out of fear. Physically sick after arriving home, she ate a half a pint of jelly straight out of the jar. God, that would've been a huge mistake.
She prided herself on remaining unattached and professional. The rules by which she ran Carpool Dolls came from a deep need to help those who would otherwise be on the corner of Broadway and First Street, selling their bodies to any person with an Andrew Jackson in their pocket.
Every one of the women in her employ came from one of the homeless shelters around Vancouver. She'd gathered them up, taught each one of the girls skills that didn't involve lying on their back, and outfitted them with clothes and a reason to come to work every day.
A car passed in front of her, heading toward I-5. She inhaled deeply, taking the time to collect herself before facing the man who somehow made her feel too alive. Today's phone call surprised her. She never pictured Nate—she swallowed—Mr. Rafferty ever using her service again.
Usually, she'd send one of the other dolls out on the call, but Mr. Rafferty's secretary asked for her personally. She opened her purse, double-checked that she had the keys for her car she left in the parking garage in Portland. Her curiosity over the request went unanswered, because she decided knowing why Mr. Rafferty chose her really wasn't any of her business.
A black BMW pulled in front of her and stopped. She stepped forward and leaned down into the open window in time to catch Mr. Rafferty exiting the driver's side of the car.
He hurried around the vehicle and opened the car door. "I hope you weren't waiting long."
She lowered her gaze and slid onto the leather seat. "Not at all."
While he walked around to the other side, she watched him. Her heart pounded. Tonight he didn't seem to be in a hurry, and although some male clients opened her door, she understood being on the clock didn't always come with manners.
Mr. Rafferty folded his over six foot tall body behind the steering wheel. "Thanks for making time for me tonight."
She waited for him to start the car, but he sat looking at her. "We try to cater to the wishes of our clients."
He tilted his head. "We? How many people work at Carpool…Dolls?"
She smiled at the way his voice lowered on the last word as
if saying dolls was beneath a man. "Right now, eight. During the holidays and when there's a popular event at the coliseum, there are twelve girls."
His brows rose. "Huh. Interesting."
She crossed her legs, and set her purse on her lap. "Mr. Rafferty?"
"Yeah?" He took his time lifting his gaze from her legs to her eyes.
"Usually clients hire one of the dolls, in this case me, because you're in a hurry." She moistened her lips. "Perhaps we should be going?"
"Right." He started the car, looked at her again, and pulled away from the curb.
Through the old part of town, he navigated the roads silently. Content to ride along, she peered out at the same scene she viewed every day.
The now empty Sears building, the only walk-up Burgerville left in the Pacific Northwest, and the newly widened entrance to I-5 were familiar scenes. Once on the bridge, over the Columbia River, she peered off into the turbulent water. Many people never paid attention to their surroundings, but she did. She knew which road went where, and how to take the shortest route.
The traffic flowed fast exiting the bridge, and she glanced at Mr. Rafferty. "It might be better if you use the carpool lane, since you're paying to use it."
He weaved into the far left lane. "You do this all day long?"
"No." She gazed down at his hand on the gearshift. "Two hours in the morning and two hours in the evening."
How could a man who dealt with the business side of his company manage to have rough, work-worn hands? She followed his arm up to his face and caught him watching her.
"You can survive working such few hours?" He whistled. "I guess people are willing to pay a high price for the, uh, special requests."
She studied his posture, which went rock solid. Not liking what he was insinuating, she merely looked out the side window to hide the disappointment and said, "Definitely."
Several minutes passed, and Mr. Rafferty exited off the interstate and took the Freemont Bridge heading downtown. His phone, sitting in the holder on his dash, rang. Addison watched him push the button, putting the call on speaker.
"Yes, Janice?" he said.
"Don't forget you're scheduled to have drinks at the Hyatt at seven o'clock." Several clicks came over the speaker. "Black tie. You have reservations for two for dinner. I've put you down for chicken…last time you disliked the fish."