RYKER (Rogue Billionaires, Book Two)

by Olivia Chase

  “And you?” I prod.

  She nibbles on that sexy lower lip. “Um, I like curry a lot, in pretty much anything. Sushi. Fried chicken. And I have a soft spot for chicken and dumplings.”

  “You’d love how my grandma makes it.”

  “Oh?” She quirks her head. “I bet she’s a character. She’d have to be a strong woman to raise a guy like you.”

  My mood dampens a bit. I don’t really want to talk about her. I give a generic shrug in response.

  “Sorry.” She flushes. “Didn’t mean to touch on a sore subject for you. I mean, I’m guessing it’s sore by the way you’re reacting.” She fiddles with her fingers on top of the desk then returns her attention to her papers.

  Silence stretches out for several minutes. I’m both relieved at the drop of the topic and feeling like a heel for not opening up. Finally I say, “Look, I’m a closed-off person by nature. Shit happened to me when I was a kid, and I never adapted well.”

  The sadness in her eyes makes my chest hurt. “It’s totally okay. You don’t have to talk about it. Or anything you don’t want to.”

  When have I ever had such understanding? I can tell she genuinely means it. But then again, how can I earn her trust if I don’t start dropping my guard? Maybe I can offer something small. “They raised me when my mom died. I was too wild for them—they’re old-fashioned people and hadn’t planned on having another kid in the house.”

  She nods. “My brothers are pretty wild and goofy. My dad is too though, and they all egg each other on.” An emotion similar to longing flashes across her face.

  “They’re the reason, aren’t they,” I observe.

  “For what?”

  “For why you’re so stubborn and strong. You probably had to be if they were anything like me. Just to make your own voice heard.” I have a new insight into her, a new understanding of her motivation. No wonder she pushed back at me when I tried to dismiss her during the interview. She’s a fighter.

  I’m filled with renewed admiration. She’s young, but she knows what she wants. And she won’t take shit from people. I can respect that.

  “My dad and brother thought I’d be slinking back home by now with my tail between my legs.” She gives a proud smile that is filled with confidence. “I proved them wrong. I can do this job.”

  “Yes, you can,” I agree.

  And suddenly I’m glad I could be a part of her journey. That I can see this woman blossoming into the fearless person she’s meant to be. That backbone will serve her well in the coming years as she claws her way toward being a senior agent.

  She’ll have to be relentless.

  And I want to help her. Be there with her.

  Fuck. Once again I’m overwhelmed by where my head is. Where my heart is veering. The impulse to shove it aside is strong. I give in to it, but not fully. I let some of that emotion sit in me. Aversion therapy, I’ve heard it called. Being forced to face your discomforts.

  Something tells me Andrea is worth it.

  “The story is breaking in the news tomorrow about us representing Cade. We should celebrate,” I say. “You earned it.”

  “Maybe we can find a place with steak and curry,” she says with a laugh.

  “I’ll try curry, I guess,” I grumble.

  “Mister Generosity,” she teases.

  “Oh, I can be even more generous,” I say in a low tone. And I know she’s thinking about me eating her out on this desk by the way her cheeks glow. She’s so beautifully responsive. I love seeing what I can pull out of her.

  “Um.” She plays with her hair, looking flustered. “Okay, dinner sounds like a plan. Should we invite any of the other agents?”

  “This isn’t a work dinner,” I tell her.

  “Oh.” The flush deepens. “So, is it…like…”

  “Andrea,” I say, putting my pen down. “Will you go on a date with me tomorrow night?”

  The shy smile she gives me chips away at something in my chest. “I’d love to.”

  Andrea

  “Congratulations, Andrea!” Marietta says warmly as I walk into the office the following morning. “It’s all over ESPN. Everyone is buzzing about this young agent who came out of nowhere to steal Cade Thompson.” Her beam of pride makes tears rush to my eyes.

  When I called my dad last night to tell him about my big deal, he told me good luck and to not fuck it up. It took everything I had to not hang up on him right then. Instead, I said that it was a big deal and I was sorry he was too uninformed to realize it. As he sat there flabbergasted, I told him to give the phone to Mom.

  I’ve tried my whole life to please someone who is unpleasable. I’m done with that. No more. I’ve proven myself, and if he can’t recognize it, that’s his fault. And whenever I start to doubt that, I’ll simply look at the news clippings I saved. There’s solid proof right there.

  I lean over and impulsively hug Marietta, who gives me a mighty big squeeze. “Thanks,” I tell her, sniffling. “That means a lot to me.” Even in my short tenure here, I’ve come to realize how intelligent and well-informed she is about the industry. She’s a fantastic resource for the company. Having her give me kudos is a big deal.

  She pulls back and looks at me seriously. “You give them boys hell. You don’t let them try to knock you down. ‘Cuz they will. They all think with their little heads.”

  I snort with shock.

  Marietta gives a wry grin. “You know I’m right. Anyway, you did something amazing and unheard of. No one can ever take that away from you.” She squeezes my upper arms and lets me go. “You’re on your way to making a name for yourself. Stay steady and dedicated, and no one will be able to knock you off your path. But you gotta believe in yourself, because sometimes you’ll be the only person out there who does.”

  I bite my lower lip and nod. She’s right. The fight has just begun. I already saw glimpses on TV this morning as I got ready. ESPN commentators discussing Cade’s future, speculating over how The Baldwin Corporation and some unknown 22-year-old female can help him.

  Doesn’t matter though. I’ll show them all. Cade believes in me, and Ryker does too. That means something.

  I stride to my office. On my desk is a huge bouquet of flowers and an envelope. I can’t help the smile that spreads on my face as I open it, reading the note folded in there.

  A small bonus for a job well done. You’ve earned your place in this company.

  R

  There’s a check inside too. For an amount that makes my eyes boggle. Holy shit. This is considered a small bonus?

  I log into my laptop, and my email is flooded. Other sports agents saying they want to meet me for coffee sometime. A few potential clients wanting to talk.

  And Ryker, who attached a link to an article with a smiley face. I click it open and read it, my face flushing with pleasure. People are buzzing about how good this will be for The Baldwin Corporation.

  We did it. I just sit there in awe and read through the messages. I reply to some and leave others to ask Ryker’s opinion on, especially regarding meeting other agents. I know from talking to him and seeing him in action that he gets along with many of them, but some are pretty big enemies of his for poaching clients and the like. Not to mention all the shit they stirred about the company when Damon embezzled.

  The day flies in a flurry of excitement for me. Other agents with the company drop by to congratulate me, asking me questions about myself. I know the attention will fade away and I won’t be the topic du jour for long, but right now, it’s heady and amazing. I can see why sports agents can get an ego…and become addicted to their jobs.

  When Ryker and I go out to dinner to celebrate that night, it’s wonderful. Romantic, even. We spend hours over wine and food talking, sharing stories from our past, sharing our hopes and plans for the company.

  Days pass, and then weeks. I’m becoming more settled at the company. Thanksgiving came and went. Ryker and I are spending more time together as often as we can. Mostly in the office
when he’s there, because now that the company is on the upswing, he’s getting more potential clients.

  It helps that Cade seems quite pleased with us so far. We’ve lined up several interviews with international sports TV and radio stations, and a local commercial spot, which makes his family go nuts with happiness. I promise him that these are baby steps, because once the draft hits and he’s picked up, he’s going to go soaring.

  It’s mid-afternoon in early December when Ryker knocks on my door and peeks his head in. “Let’s cut work.”

  I stare at him in shock. “Who are you, and what did you do with my boss?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Do as your boss says. Pack your shit up and let’s go. You’ve been working hard and haven’t taken any time off. I wanna show you something.”

  “Well, if the boss insists,” I reply with a smile. Who am I to argue?

  We leave the building and once we’re outside in the biting air, Ryker grabs my hand. I can’t get enough of him touching me. It’s like I’m in his orbit, unable to tear myself away from his gravity.

  “Where are we going?” I ask him.

  He waves, and the limo comes over. “Just get inside.” There’s a knowing smirk on his face that makes me feel light and bubbly in my stomach. That feeling has been growing every day since he told me he has feelings for me.

  I’m totally falling for him. Not that I’ve told him, of course. I’m trying to just enjoy the time we’re spending together without putting pressure on it. I know he’s skittish about things, and I don’t want to push.

  We sit beside each other in the limo, and our hands remain clasped. Apparently he’s already worked it all out with the driver, because he doesn’t say anything to the woman. She heads off down the busy street.

  Ryker takes the opportunity to tug me flush against his side, nuzzling the sensitive flesh under my ear. “I missed kissing you,” he murmurs.

  “We just kissed an hour ago,” I say softly as I drop my head to the side to allow him better access. Though I agree with him. I can’t get enough of him near me, on me, touching me.

  “Too long.” His teeth nibble, and I shudder and fight back a groan.

  He tortures me. All the time. Every day in the office. Secret looks, fleeting caresses. I decide to give it back, just a little. So I reach down and cup his erection through his dress pants.

  His cock is already hard, and it bobs under my touch. “Oh Jesus,” he growls, and his hand reaches up to cup my face. He captures my mouth in a deep, arousing kiss. My body reacts instantly, shivers skittering across my skin.

  He knows just what to do to turn me on so quickly. I love that I can make him feel the same.

  I stroke along the length of his shaft, swallowing his groans in my mouth. Then I’m struck with a wicked idea. I pull away from him and lean down. Unzip his pants and release his cock. And then my mouth is on him, sucking him in, and he’s gasping and clutching my hair.

  I lick him the way he likes it, the way I’ve learned, in long draws with little swipes across the underside of the tip. My hand cups his shaft and squeezes him at the base.

  “You’re going to fucking kill me, lovely,” he grinds out.

  I don’t stop. I’m relentless, needing, aching to give him as much pleasure as he gives me. His cock is throbbing, and he begins to move his hips in time with my sucking. Precum leaks out and fills my mouth, and I swallow it greedily.

  “You…you should stop,” he manages to say.

  But I want this. I want to taste him as he comes. He never lets it get that far, always stopping to either please me or fuck me. So I keep going.

  Finally, he releases a low growl and his semen spurts into my throat. His cock pulses in a strong, insistent throb, and I keep gripping him and drinking him. I’m filled with a rush of power from making this man come for me. Right here in the back of his limo. It’s naughty, especially since I know the driver is just feet away. Did she hear anything?

  I lick the last drop and sit up. I know there’s a smug look on my face, probably similar to the one he gives me after he makes me come my brains out.

  His eyes are wide, lips parted, and he just stares at me inscrutably. I suddenly feel shy.

  “What?” I ask. I shift to move away, but he won’t let me. His hands reach out and grip me to his side.

  “You’re incredible,” he whispers.

  “Almost there, Mr. Baldwin,” the driver calls out lightly. I don’t know if she’s doing it as a warning for us to straighten ourselves up or what, but I find myself grinning widely at Ryker.

  He grins at me too and tucks himself away. I smooth my hair. I feel crazy, a rush I’ve never experienced before with anyone else. Like the first time I had a crush, but a thousand times more intense. Everything is electrified in me, aware in a way that makes the world bright and vivid.

  Yet again, I want to tell him this, but it’s too much. So I keep my mouth closed.

  The limo pulls over. Shit, I was so distracted I didn’t even see where we were going. I peek out the window and gasp. “Oh my God. Really?”

  Rockefeller Center. I haven’t been here yet.

  Ryker grabs my hand and pulls me out of the car. “Come on, let’s get closer. Nothing beats New York City at Christmastime.”

  Music is blaring in the whole area, which is hustling and moving in a strong tidal wave of people. Bright green garland, decorated with velvety red ribbons, is hung along the sides of buildings. The ice skating rink is open, with kids clinging desperately to parents, who are laughing and dragging them across the ice.

  And the feature of the place, of course. The massive Christmas tree. It’s bigger than life, bigger than I could have imagined.

  There’s nothing like this in Connecticut. Not even close. I’m overwhelmed and stunned.

  Ryker keeps me close to him as we make our way into the thick of the crowd. “I know it’s crazy, but you had to see this. One of my favorite parts of the holiday. I don’t normally care about Christmas, but this…makes me feel something.”

  And just when I think I’m overwhelmed, Ryker drops his wall a bit and reveals something about himself. Lets me in just a little more. I imagine part of the reason why holidays aren’t important to him is because of his mother’s death.

  He hasn’t shared anything yet about that directly with me. But I can sense the weight of it on him, always.

  After an incident like that, it would be hard to find pleasure in things you loved as a kid.

  I squeeze his hand and gaze up at him. The look in his eyes radiates an emotion I can’t quite identify. But it fills me with warmth. And something more. That word I don’t dare to say. Not even to myself.

  “Do you like ice skating?” I ask him.

  He snorts. “Uh, no. Despite my athletic prowess in a baseball diamond, I’m like a three-legged goat in ice skates.”

  I bark out a laugh. “If we’re going to expand the business to representing figure skaters, shouldn’t we at least give it a try?” I bat my lashes at him.

  He frowns and gives me a hard look, but I can tell he’s close to caving. I’m starting to read him better.

  “I’ll give you carte blanche to do one thing of your choosing to me tonight,” I add to sweeten the deal.

  He stops and stares at me with those amazing eyes. The intensity between us, the sexual tension crackles. And suddenly I’m growing wet and wishing his hands were on my body. A stiff breeze blows by, but I barely register it. I’m locked in his gaze. “Anything?” he says.

  I give a slow nod.

  The wicked grin that spreads across his face is both devilish and enticing. I have no idea what he’s thinking, but I have a feeling whatever he’s planning is going to feel good. “Lovely, you’re on.”

  I scrub at the plate with the stubborn dried-on mac and cheese and whistle. Been doing a lot of that lately, whistling and singing to myself. Probably because I’m happy and feeling good. Even washing the dishes can’t bring me down.

  Daria strolls in
to our kitchen, and I waggle my brows at her in a wolfish way. She’s stunning in a bold white dress that cuts down the back and reveals her light brown skin. Her hair is pulled up into a twist of braids, and her lipstick is fiery red. Minimalist, but gorgeous.

  “You’re going to slay your waitress tonight,” I tease her. “Try not to get arrested for manslaughter. Or rather, womanslaughter.”

  She swats my arm. “Very funny. And her name is Becca, not Waitress. And she’s not mine.” Her face is burning red as she says this.

  “Not yours yet.” I wipe my soapy hands off on a dish towel and give her a quick hug. “You look fantastic. I hope you have a great time. Text me if you need anything…or if you’re not coming home.” I give a saucy wink.

  “God, it’s just a first date,” she says, but her smile widens. “I should probably get to first base with her before we pick out curtains.”

  Daria leaves, and I return my attention to cleaning. It’s a surprisingly quiet Friday night. I wanted to see Ryker, but I’ve been putting off my household tasks for so long that Daria threatened to cut off my hair in my sleep. She doesn’t mess around—I remember as a kid some of the ways she plotted revenge on her siblings. So I promised to stay home tonight and get my shit done.

  Doesn’t mean he and I haven’t been texting each other though. My phone vibrates, and I grin as I walk over to it.

  Thinking about you naked.

  There’s a knock at my door. I put my phone down on the counter and go over to see who’s there, peering through the peephole.

  “Cade?” I say out loud in shock and unlock the door. Yeah, I gave him my contact information of course, but I don’t remember him having my home address. My business card has our work address on it. “What’s going on?”

  He sighs, and I can smell liquor on his breath. “Can I come in? I’ve had a weird fucking day.”

  It must be bad if he’s cussing. Cade is always a gentleman, especially around me. “Of course,” I say and move out of the way to let him inside. “Need something to drink? Water? Coffee?” I nudge.