by Olivia Chase
We are so going to celebrate tonight.
I practically skip as I head to the subway and ride to my stop. Walk the several blocks to my apartment complex. Daria and I moved here a couple of months ago. New York in the beginning of November is brisk and vibrant. People busy staring at their cell phones hustle around me as they make their way to their destination.
Very different pace than our small town in Connecticut. Different and exciting.
I’m here.
I made it.
I have a real job, my first. And a doozy at that. I cannot fail. I refuse to fail. I listened to my family give me shit about my dreams for long enough. Today, I get to tell them how I succeeded, despite the obstacles.
I burst into my apartment. “Daria,” I shout.
She pops her head out of the bathroom, clearly in the middle of coloring her hair. It’s a vivid dark red, a gorgeous contrast to her rich, golden-brown skin. “You’re home quicker than I thought. Tell me everything. You’re not crying, so I assume it didn’t go horribly.”
I walk over to her and say quietly, “I got the job.”
She squeals and drops her hair color bottle with a splat in the bathroom sink, grabbing me and squeezing me tightly. Her hair color is pungent, burning my eyes, but I ignore it and hug her back. She’s been my best supporter for years, and feeling her love and encouragement right now gives me the boost I need. “Holy shit! We’re going out to celebrate. And we’re dressing like sluts and picking up hotties.”
I laugh and pull away, kissing her on the cheek. “Somehow I knew you’d say that. Where do you want to go?”
Daria rattles off the name of a bar I’ve never heard of, somewhere she went with coworkers last week. I’m more the type to hole up at home than go out and party. But tonight, I’ll push that aside and have drinks with my bestie. Help her pick up a hot girl or guy. Maybe even dare to flirt with a man myself.
Not that he’ll stir me the way Ryker did. God, seeing him in person…the massiveness of his body, the way his presence ate up the whole room…his intensity and sexuality…how am I going to live with that every day and keep my sanity?
No matter. Tonight isn’t the night for stressing about those things. Tonight, I’m going to celebrate and relax. I’ve earned this.
Daria finishes getting her hair done and getting ready. We have a couple of pregame shots and then walk down to a bar several blocks away. I sensibly wore flats and do my best to not tease her as she titters along the uneven sidewalk in her heels. Still, she’s definitely attracting attention, so I can’t bust her chops too hard.
We step down into the basement level and then head to a back corner with plush couches. A waitress takes our orders, giving Daria a once-over as she does.
“Ooh, she likes you,” I whisper when the woman leaves.
Daria flushes and crosses her long legs. “You say that about everyone.” She’s not seriously dated anyone since we arrived in the city. I know she’s focused on her job, the way I’m going to be. But unlike me, she is much more outgoing and flirty. Not that it’s resulted in anything serious.
“Get her number,” I say. “Do it. Do it. Do it.”
She slugs me in the arm, and as pain shoots through the muscle, I grimace.
“That hurt!” I protest.
“Stop being a pushy douche,” she says sweetly.
“Then stop being a chicken shit,” I grumble as I rub the wounded limb.
Our drinks arrive, and we sip on the cocktails. Mine is refreshing, with a hint of cucumber.
I can understand Daria’s hesitance in being bold with our waitress, despite the signs she’s being given. Daria has been hurt in the past by women who view her bisexuality as a chance to experiment with women. She’s nervous about being used and discarded. I have held her more than once as she’s sobbed in my arms about her heart being broken. Swore that I’d hurt anyone who did that to her again.
I know she’d do the same for me.
Daria peers at me over her glass. “So tell me what happened.”
I sip my drink. “He interviewed me and offered me a position.” I know my words are generic and unsatisfying. And that she’s going to give me shit about it.
Daria doesn’t disappoint. She quirks a brow. “Right. So you just went in, talked for a few minutes about the position, and nothing else happened.”
I refuse to make eye contact with her. Take a swig of my cocktail. “It didn’t last long. Straightforward, I guess.”
“You’re the worst liar in the history of America.” She sighs.
I finally look at her. “What do you want me to say? That he’s even hotter in person than on TV? Because he is. And…” I can feel my cheeks burning.
Her eyes see right through me. “Honey. We both know you’ve been crushing on him for years. Just protect your heart. You know how these sports men are.”
“Like you wouldn’t bang the USA Men’s Soccer Team if you had the chance,” I grumble as I peer into my glass.
Daria snorts hard. “And the women’s team too, while I’m at it. But that’s different. That will never happen. I’ll never work for them, so no opportunity to get close. Not like you.”
Shortly after we got our apartment here in the city, she landed a job working for a large investment firm. Daria is a whiz at finances—it was the perfect fit for her. Sports are just a hobby for her.
Not for me. They’re my passion. The air I breathe. I’ve spent hours and hours learning about my favorite players, their stats, understanding the rules of play. It wasn’t just because my dad and brothers were into sports, though that got me started on watching the games. It eventually became my own passion.
I wanted to be involved. I’m not athletic, but I am intelligent. I can rattle off pro stats like no one’s business, especially in baseball and basketball. I know I can analyze an athlete’s career and help him or her decide what is the best direction—hell, I made a game of it in college as I watched newbies break into their careers. I was drawn to Ryker’s company because they work with athletes of many different fields. More opportunity to grow and evolve.
My cell phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a 212 area code. Normally I let calls I don’t know go to voicemail, but something makes me answer. “Hello?”
“Andrea. It’s Ryker. I know I said I’d see you Monday, but I need you to come in to the office tomorrow morning, instead.” His voice is deep and rich over the phone. “We’re going to fly out to California to see a potential client.”
My heartrate kicks up to about five times its normal speed. I glance at Daria in panic, and she must recognize the look on my face, because she squeezes my knee in sympathy. “Um,” I say, “okay. What time should I be there?”
“Eight,” he says. “Don’t be late. I’ll have a limo take us to the airport. We have a private plane we’ll take. And pack a bag—we’ll be staying there overnight.” Ryker hangs up without saying goodbye.
I stare at my phone for a moment in shock. Well, that just happened. “Guess my work is starting earlier than I thought,” I murmur, dragging my lower lip between my teeth. “I’m going to fly out with him tomorrow to meet a potential client.”
But why me? I know Ryker has a couple of agents still working with him, likely far more senior than I am. Why wouldn’t he have them go out to meet this client? Is this going to be the start of my training? What will be expected of me? I look over at Daria.
She must be able to see the question in my eyes. “Hey,” she soothes. “It’s going to be fine. You were born to do this job. Don’t start doubting yourself now.”
I lean over and hug her. “I wouldn’t make it without you.”
“I know,” she says as she squeezes me back. “So you’d better get your celebrating in now, because you have an early morning ahead of you.”
Ryker
After hanging up with Andrea, I shove my cell phone onto my desk and sigh. What a long fucking day. I’m so tempted to tap into the fresh bottle of bourbon by my wet bar, bu
t I should probably not. Ah, hell, screw it. One drink won’t hurt—and it may help take the edge off. I’ve been feeling strange since I interviewed Andrea earlier today. Unsettled.
Uncomfortable, if I’m honest.
After I pour two fingers, I lean back in my seat and kick my feet up on my desk. Take a drag and savor the richness as it burns its way down my throat.
Truth is, I know Andrea will be good for the job. I’d have to be an idiot to let her walk away—she’ll be an asset to us with her willingness to learn everything she can. She’s really young, yes, but she excelled in her college classes, and she’s smart. I could see the spark in her eyes reflecting the intense bonfire burning in her belly. She wants this job, the same way I wanted to work my ass off to show the pros why I was worth the chance.
Yes, she’ll be good for the position…but it’s going to be a lot of extra work on my part to train her. Something I hadn’t planned on when I was interviewing for a new agent.
Not to mention she’s attractive as hell.
When she came in my office, her chin high and those dark eyes fixed on me, soft brown hair tempting me to stroke it, it took all my effort to maintain my cool professionalism. To not give away that I wanted to run my hands over other parts of her as well. Then she opened her mouth, and her voice was so husky and sexy. I was drawn to her immediately, to her pride, to the way she stood up to me when I tried to dismiss her due to my unfortunate attraction to her.
Fuck. The last thing I need right now is another distraction. I can’t afford to be tempted. Not with everything going on in my company and in the industry. This job requires 100% of me and my attention. No room for anything else.
Andrea is sexy, hot, curvy, fuckable…and she has no idea the effect she has on me. Thank God. Especially now that she works for me, under me.
Under me. That line of thought brings about so many dirty images I struggle to push out of my mind. Andrea naked, spread out on my desk, begging me to shove into her soaking-wet pussy…
I don’t want to feel this pull for her, this urge. I simply won’t allow myself to. I’ll be able to control my sexual desire. There are plenty of available women I can hook up with if I want to. So if there’s one desirable women under my nose whom I can’t have, well, that’s just life. My willpower and discipline are strong. I can resist her.
Besides, she’s far more useful to me in the company than as a one-night stand in my bed. Andrea is new and fresh to the industry, so I can mold her into exactly the kind of agent I want, without dealing with a more senior agent who thinks they have everything figured out. Someone who already has their share of bad habits and arrogance.
Andrea wants to succeed as badly as I do. She has stubbornness in her, a chip on her shoulder, and it speaks to me on a deep level. I’m interested to see how she’s going to handle herself tomorrow when we pay a visit to Cade Thompson. I badly want to sign this man—he’s a hot-shot first baseman who hits homeruns like some people eat potato chips. He’s going to be a star…and I can get him there.
Cade has a squeaky-clean reputation and a conservative “family values” image that I know would look positive for us right now if he were to sign with The Baldwin Corporation. Getting him would not only be a bragging point, but would help change the storyline the media has fixated on about my company, the idea of us being in trouble.
I mean, it’s true. It’s painfully true. Since the financial scandal when I had to shit-can my best agent, two other senior agents quit and took their clients with them. Normally I would have brought along one of my remaining senior agents with me tomorrow to visit Cade, but I don’t know if I can even trust them to have my back.
I’m waiting to see who’s gonna leave the company next. Trying my best to give them incentive to hang in there and stick with me. Doesn’t help that other agencies are using this time of weakness to poach my best clients…and agents.
Fuck.
I scrub a hand over my face and try not to panic at the free-fall happening around me. I can turn back the tide. I just need a new story, and getting Cade Thompson to sign would be a huge deal. I’d be back on top again, drawing other big potential clients. There’s a star made out there every day, as my former agent used to say.
I can spot a star. I can mold them into superstars.
I just need a fucking chance.
Andrea is five minutes early arriving at the office. Despite it being just before eight AM, the office is already bustling. New York never sleeps, as they say, and neither do my employees.
After a few shitty hours of sleep, I’ve been in the office for two hours already, sending and responding to emails, setting up visits with other potential clients. Gotta get shit done before I fly away to get more shit done.
She raps on my door, and my body forgets the talk I had with it last night. Seeing her in that snug, stretchy black skirt, the white blouse that hugs her tits to perfection, the black heels…and her hair, smooth and draped over her shoulder…
I will my cock to behave and give her a curt nod, turning my attention back to my screen. Not on her and her luscious body. You’re the boss, I repeat to myself. Nothing else. This woman is here to work—she probably doesn’t have any interest in you that way, anyway. “Thanks for coming in. I’m going to finish up here and then we’ll take off for the airport.”
Andrea clears her throat, and I look up at her again, one brow raised. “Um,” she starts, “where should I wait? Where’s my office?”
“Marietta at the front desk can show you around—just be in your office in five.”
She draws her lower lip between her teeth, and her gaze lingers on me for a moment. Something crackles between us, a tension that is almost visible. She swallows, and a light flush covers her cheeks. Then she spins on her heels and closes the door behind her.
Andrea’s office is down the hall from mine. Better to help me avoid temptation. Except I’m about to get on an airplane with her. Fuck.
Get your shit together, I warn myself. This is business. Nothing else. Doesn’t matter if there’s a chemistry there.
I go to her office—the door is open, so I tell her without looking in, “Limo’s waiting. Let’s head out.” Then I turn and walk off. The smooth click of her heels on the tiled floor lets me know she’s following me.
I read emails and texts on my cell in the elevator so I’m not distracted by the warm, spicy scent of her perfume. Her soft breaths. But there’s a tension in her body that gives her away. She’s aware of me.
I don’t look over at her, but I can’t help the small smirk that climbs across my face. God, I’m a bastard. Reveling with perverse satisfaction in the knowledge that this girl is feeling hot and bothered right now.
Sure, I have that effect on lots of women and I’m used to it. But this one—somehow it feels different. More intense, and I have to admit I like that.
The ride to the airport is uneventful. Typical city traffic, but I budgeted time for that in our schedule. I sit on the seat farthest from Andrea and make a couple of calls. Anything to distract me from the way her legs cross and shift as she adjusts herself in the seat. She looks out the window and doesn’t speak, giving me space to work.
I hang up my phone and find myself asking, “Been in the city long?”
That startles her. Eyes wide, she looks at me. “Um, no, just a couple of months. Still adjusting.” Her lips curl into a grin that makes something in my chest tight. “Definitely different than Connecticut. It’s a much slower pace in my hometown.”
“Took me a while to adjust too,” I find myself admitting.
“Oh, right, you grew up in Michigan, didn’t you?” she asks, tilting her head.
I pause and eye her. Does she know this information because of researching me for the interview? But she doesn’t seem to notice what she gave away.
“I’ve never been to Michigan,” she continues, “but I have distant relatives who live there in the northern tip. We get a super-dorky Christmas card from them every year.”
She pauses and draws her lips between her teeth. “Sorry, I’m rambling. I’m prone to do that sometimes.”
I give a light chuckle. We settle into silence and I try not to think about sucking on those luscious tits…and fail miserably.
We’re dropped at the airport and make our way through toward the gate where the jet is parked. Out on the runway, I can see Andrea staring in awe at the plane.
“Given the amount of international travel we do,” I explain, “it’s easier for us to have our own aircraft instead of flying publicly.” I lead her up the steps and we get inside.
The flight attendant welcomes us. It’s a small jet, with no more than a half-dozen seats, but it does the job nicely for our purposes.
I go up and greet the pilot, a friend of mine from college. “Hey, man,” I tell Jack, clapping him on the shoulder.
He looks back at me. “Hey, Ryker! Conditions are good and we’ll be ready to take off soon. Let us know if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
We chat for a couple of minutes about his family. His wife is pregnant with their third kid. The glow on Jack’s face makes me a bit uncomfortable. He’s always wanted a family. Me, far from it. I just wanted to play ball and have fun. Escape reality. Pretend like my life was different than it was.
I excuse myself so he can focus and head back to the cabin. As I pass by the bathroom, I hear a soft feminine voice speaking.
“—how am I going to get through this without saying something awkward?” It’s Andrea. She smothers a laugh. “As if. I think I kissed that poster of him enough times that I wore the lips off. I bet his real mouth feels much better.” She’s clearly on the phone.
And…talking about me? My curiosity is piqued. I shamelessly eavesdrop.
“God, he smells so good today,” she murmurs, and my heart gives a painful throb…as well as my dick. “No way, you’re insane,” she hisses. “That’s a sure way to turn him off for good. I already lied to him when I told him I was a Boston fan. If I gush about how much I watched him play, he’ll think I’m a stage-five clinger.”