by Penny Ward
“After you, Mr. Director,” Gerard states, a gleam of dishonesty in his eye.
Oh, boy. This can either go one of two ways - not good or really not good.
For the next ten minutes, Gerard shows us through the warehouse, noting the areas that are stable and those that need renovation.
Despite its macabre appearance on the outside, the inside it isn’t too bad. The transformation to a removal and storage facility is doable and could even be ready within the next six months. Just in time for the holidays, which is the prime time for people to move house.
“So,” Gerard says, leading us back outside. “Shall we sign the papers?”
Surprisingly, Lucas turns to me before he answers the industrialist. “What’s your opinion, Anna? You’ve seen enough of our warehouses by now. Is this a goer?”
I peer over at Gerard, who brandishes a wink, causing me to shift in my small-wedged heels.
“I think so,” I say, placing a hand on my hip.
“Thatta girl!” Gerard whoops, clicking his fingers at his PA still sitting in the Hummer. The PA brings over an expensive-looking fountain pen and what must be the deed for the warehouse.
“Except, I’m not one hundred percent on the price,” I add, carving out a fake smile. “Five mil with all those renovations the company has to fork out for…”
In truth, the number is a fair price for the warehouse. I just want this slime ball to lose out a little. A fee for his bigheaded, think-he-owns-all-of-Vegas attitude, and blatant chauvinism.
Gerard’s business smile instantly fades. “Now now, little lady. Your boss offered me more than five last night. But as a show of good faith, I turned that figure down. The deal is for five million.”
“Four-seventy,” Lucas states, his tone commanding.
Gerard goes wide-eyed. “Excuse me?”
“What Miss Fitzgerald said is right. The renovations on this place will cost the company a significant amount. Last night I hadn’t inspected the warehouse yet. Now that I have, I think four-seventy is a better number.” Lucas doesn’t break eye contact. He stares hard at Gerard, unwavering in both his tone and stance.
Gerard appears to muse over it for a few moments, his angry eyes going back and forth between Lucas and me. “Four-eighty five,” he finally offers.
“Four-eighty and I’ll do my very best to persuade Miss Fitzgerald not to file a sexual harassment suit on your ass,” Lucas replies with a confident smirk.
“Sexual harassment?! I did so such-”
“Mr. Winston,” I cut in. “I wonder how your wife would react if I told her about that little drink you wanted to have with me at your mansion… while she was out of town?”
Gerard’s nostrils flare up like a bull seeing red. “You little bit-”
“I’d be very careful about finishing that sentence, Gerard,” Lucas interrupts this time. “You know who I am. You know how much influence my family have in both the industrial and social scenes. I can make life difficult for you with just one phone call.”
Silence falls between the three of us. It feels a bit like a Mexican standoff. Only I’m pretty sure Lucas has this one in the bag.
Just seeing him exert his confidence and upper-class influence to stick it to this guy is not only amazing but a damn turn on. My pussy is practically calling out to its long lost friend sitting inches away, in his suit pants.
With a hefty snigger, Gerard writes the final selling figure in the blank box on the deed and signs it. He tosses it over to Lucas. Lucas tilts it to the side so I can see the numbers just before his signature completes the transaction.
Now, that’s what I call teamwork.
Maybe I judged Lucas too quickly?
Maybe this situation can work?
But then again, the fact that my panties are soaking wet right now is a severe conflict of interest. And one that I still need to tamper down.
Effective immediately.
Chapter 10
Lucas
Clad in only those white Dr. No-styled bikinis, Anna climbs into the jetted hot tub beside me.
Adopting a smirk of approval, I pass her a glass of sparkling Dom Perignon Vintage, another business expense I’ll charge to the company. After all, what’s a measly four thousand dollars when it’s to celebrate the foreclosure on what will be Hartz Removal & Storage’s Vegas office and division.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Anna says, shooting me a cautionary look. “This is a BUSINESS drink and spa ONLY.”
She takes a sip of her champagne and eases back on the black, leather backrest.
“You got it,” I lie, trying my best not to look at her nipples poking through the fabric. “But I must say, you give Ursula Andress some serious competition.”
Anna shakes her head and doesn’t answer, choosing to close her eyes instead.
“Good job today, by the way,” she says, her eyelids still shut. “You cost that prick twenty Gs. Just what he deserves.”
For some reason, just hearing Anna’s admiration over how today went down makes me feel… happy. Thrilled even.
Come on, Lucas. Don’t lose your edge. The goal is to bang her again remember? Not fall for her like you did all those years ago.
“Yeah, what can I say? The guys a jackass. He needed taking down a peg.” I pause to stare at her face. Her lovely, soft-featured contours that I want to grab with my hands and pull close to me. “You handled yourself pretty well too. If it weren’t for you, I might have settled on five million.”
“No you wouldn’t have,” she jeers, her eyes shooting back open. “I know you, ‘Mr. Hartz’. You always planned to fuck him in the ass.”
I laugh at her unfiltered mouth. It’s kind of what I’ve always liked about Anna. She’s like two women in one. She can be sweet, sensitive and very caring. Yet also sassy, conceited and so blunt that you end up damn well respecting her for it.
Not enough women are like Anna. Not enough have that perfect balance of soft and hard.
I know she’ll make one hell of a great mom one day. Strict at times, but highly affectionate too. Like I said, she’s a perfect equilibrium.
Once I regain my composure, I clear my throat and say the next thing on my mind. “Anna… I don’t want you to take this the wrong way but… perhaps, just when meeting clients, suit pants might be more appropriate.” The moment I finish saying it, I know it was a mistake.
A big mistake.
Anan stops mid-sip of her champagne, her eyes sharpening on me, smoldering. And by smoldering, I don’t mean in a sexy way.
“I beg your pardon?” The venom practically hisses off her teeth.
I down the rest of my Don Perignon and prepare myself for the onslaught. What the hell did I say that for anyway? Sure her pencil skirts are tight, but it’s not like they’re too short for company standards.
Yet every guy walking down the street can’t help but stare at her, including me.
I don’t want that. I don’t want anyone else looking at her.
I want her for myself.
Shit… I did not just think that.
“What I mean is, you have a smoking hot body… which tends to turn the heads of… well, most guys. All I’m suggesting is that you tone it down a little on the skirts.”
Oh, man. I may as well just ask her to slap me again and be done with it. What the hell is wrong with me?
When the champagne hits my face, I’m not in the least bit surprised.
“Fuck you, Lucas,” she shouts, standing up in the tub. Her slim, wet thighs tower over me, tempting me to slide my hand in-between them. “And I thought Gerard Winston was a bigot!”
Making sure to give me a decent splash before she gets out, Anna storms off in the direction of her bedroom. “This situation is clearly not going to work out,” she adds over her shoulder before she disappears and I hear her door slam shut.
Scowling at myself, I refill my glass, neck it, and then top it up again. My cock aches in my swimming trunks. It needs a release. So fucking ba
dly.
I think this whole “seducing Anna again” ship just sailed. After that idiotic comment, there’s no way she’ll be swayed by me. I’ve disrespected her and her right to be a woman. But I swear that wasn’t my intention. I guess this thing I have for her is only getting worse.
Face it, Lucas. You like her. Like really like her.
Thinking back to my eighteen-year-old horndog self, I know how to get rid of it – those lovey-dovey feelings for Anna Fitzgerald.
Now, it’s just a question of who I want to cure me.
Holly?
Kelsey?
Or that vixen redhead who gives the best BJs on the strip?
Yes… Monique.
Chapter 11
Anna
Scrunching my fingers into the pillow, I bash it against the bed head. And repeat for a few minutes.
After about ten full-throttled grunts, my anger over what Lucas just said in the hot tub diminishes somewhat.
What an asshole!
What a prick!
Who the hell does he think he is telling me how I should dress?!
I wear knee-length pencil skirts for crying out loud! And yes, they might be tight, but it’s a pencil skirt. That’s the design.
Honestly, I thought he had potential. I thought perhaps he did have a soul underneath that suave, Armani suit. But no, not Lucas Hartz. He just has to play the same dickhead card over and over, like he always has.
When I realize that sitting on my bed and overthinking it won’t help, I jump in the shower. Soon the warm water helps me to relax. The pressure of the wide, free-flowing showerhead is the best I’ve ever experienced. Which is not really unexpected given where I am - in a penthouse at Caesar’s Palace.
Of course, it’s going to be divine. Hell, everything in here is.
From this all marble ensuite to the state-of-the-art technology interspersed through the rooms…
From the jetted hot tub in the main bathroom to the wet bar…
From the separate media room to the spacious dining room, and opulent dark wooden furnishings…
Oh, I could rave on and on about the luxuriousness of this stunning penthouse. I really should just live it all up while I have the chance.
After all, this is probably the last business trip I’ll ever take. I don’t see how I can continue to work under Lucas given our choppy relationship. The bickering is too much and the chemistry way too intense for me to keep resisting him.
No matter how much I want to be repelled by him, my basic sexual and emotional instincts have other ideas.
As a coping mechanism, I decide to stay locked up in my room for the rest of the night. Tomorrow we’re heading back to New York on the eight-thirty a.m. flight, which leaves me exactly twelve hours to stay away from Lucas.
Opening my door slightly, I edge out an ear and listen for any sounds.
Nope. Nothing.
Dead silence.
I guess Lucas must have gone out. Probably to gamble and try to seduce another pretty but foolish girl, no doubt. Well, he better not bring her back here. The last thing I want to hear right now is Lucas scoring another glorious touchdown to mark on his bedpost.
When I reach the stainless steel kitchenette, I haul open the minibar and take out the small bottles of both white and red wine, as well as the gin and tonic.
From the bench goodies, I grab some salted peanuts, a bag of chips and a chocolate bar - perfect movie accompaniments.
Yes… I know. I scream “total girl” at the moment. But hey I’m still in love with a total dick, who is now my boss, and now I’m going to have to quit my job because of him.
Therefore, I think I deserve to get tipsy and veg out on the sofa with an in-house movie.
After deciding to risk Lucas coming home before midnight, I plonk down on the neutral-toned sofa that’s worthy of royalty and flick through my options on the TV. I feel like something classic. Something with empowering women.
Gone With The Wind… too serious.
South Pacific… too sad.
Calamity Jane… now you’re talking!
It never ceases to amaze me; every time I watch this movie, I end up loving it more and more. The characters. The strong, confident Calamity. The songs. The love rectangle between her, Wild Bill Hickok, Katie, and Danny…
It’s hands down my favorite movie of all time.
When the scene in which Calamity and Wild Bill hook up comes on, my otherwise happy, buzzing self does a 180. The feisty heroine and equally tempered hero are now locked in a tight embrace.
And my secret love’s, no secret, anymore…
Before I know it, just hearing that damn song, opens up the floodgates.
Memories of Lucas and me pour through my mind: us going for it in the back of the Beamer; deliberately ignoring each other afterward at school; reading about his love life in the papers; seeing him from afar at the office while I still worked under his uncle; him teasing and flirting with me at my dad’s house; the kiss on the beach; my hand on his cock as we stood in the doorway; and the witty, lascivious banter we can’t help but bounce off each other…
Oh, what an incredible mindfuck this all is!
Whoever came up with the words, Love is a Battlefield, weren’t fucking joking.
Just to make myself feel even shittier, I conjure up my recent breakup with Jake. So we were only dating for three months, but man had he been a charmer. He told me that the moment our mutual friend, Nikki, introduced me, he knew I was his type. Whatever that meant.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a dead ringer for a young Elizabeth Taylor?” Jake said right before he snuck in a quick kiss. And right in front of all our friends who were sitting at the table with us.
Against my better judgment, I’d gone home with him and not only did he turn out to be great in the sack, but also a well-played Prince Charming. The morning after, when I was ready to dash off and rule it out as nothing more than a one-night-stand, Jake insisted I call in sick to work while he made me, from scratch, strawberry pancakes and freshly squeezed orange juice.
I mean who does that? Seriously?
A guy with a fucking motive, that’s who.
Three months later, when I make the difficult yet liberating decision to let my guard down by telling him I was falling in love with him - due to all the cooked dinners, the romantic dates (like making scones and going to fancy degustation nights together), meeting his family, and us generally having knockout sex - the asshole in him finally came out.
“You’re a great girl, Anna. The perfect package. You have the looks, the body, and the personality. A real trifecta. But… things just aren’t hitting that one hundred percent mark. And if things aren’t at one hundred percent then I can’t carry on with the relationship.”
I’d felt a sharp paper cut on my heart.
Bastard.
Despite being brutally honest with me, I knew how he rolled. He’d told me before how his relationships never go beyond a few months. And how he’d ended things with lots of great girls for reasons he didn’t even know.
He was dater, not a stayer. And I was his latest victim.
He kept my heart in a jar for as long as he could and then when I pushed for our relationship to go to the next level, he cowered. He was too afraid to change his little routine of loving them and then leaving them.
Jake was a prick.
He treated me even worse than Lucas did. At least, Lucas didn’t string me along for months with his endless supply of wit and charm. Oh yes, in comparison to Jake, Lucas did the noble thing.
He broke my heart quick.
Curling up into the fetus position, I decide to let myself cry. Most of the time, I pride myself on being a resilient, independent, hard-working woman who doesn’t take shit from anyone. But tonight, just tonight, it’s time to let the wall down.
I allow myself ten minutes to let it all out.
Ten minutes and then it’s back to toughening up and listening to my head rather than my heart a
nd raging libido.
Ten minutes, Anna. No more, no less.
Chapter 12
Lucas
When I knock on her door, the déjà vu hits me like a tidal wave - the smoky smell of the corridor, the dim, flickering lights, and the general foreboding vibe you get when you enter a place like this.
Having said that, Monique is the best damn red light I’ve ever walked into. And although she makes enough to get a better dive than this, she chooses to stay.
“All my clients come here. If it ain’t broke why fix it?” I recall her saying the last time I was here. That was four years ago now – a gambling trip some buddies and me did.
Wow, how times flies…
Monique opens the door with a sultry smile. The top of her black silk kimono shows a hint of her best assets – a perfect set of double Ds.
“Well hello there, Mr. Big Apple. I heard whispers you were back in town,” she says, running her tongue over her bright red lips. “It’s been a while.”
I lean on the doorsill with my hands still in my pockets. “Too long, gorgeous. Got some spare time tonight?”
She chuckles and walks back into the apartment, leaving the door open.
“For you honey, always,” she calls back.
I hesitate before I step over the threshold, thoughts of Anna creeping into my conscience.
It’s not like she’s your girlfriend, Lucas, and you’re cheating on her. You’re a man. You have needs. End of story.
Listening to my inner voice, I shut the door and follow Monique to the sofa. Trailing behind her is her the scent of a strong and exotic cheap perfume. It plays with my olfactory senses, taking me back to when I was nineteen and drilling into her, over and over again.
“So,” she states, lighting up a cigarette. “What’s new? I must say you look different from the last time we met, and I didn’t think you could get any more handsome. You’re getting me all juiced up just looking at you.”