Sticky Fingers: An Enemies To Lovers Romantic Comedy

by Starr, Tara

  I shrug, leaning back on my seat and sipping on my whisky.

  I could’ve told the Feds to grab Louis in any of his other usual hangouts—but since this is probably the last time I’m seeing this asshole, I kinda wanted to make it memorable.

  And there’s nothing more memorable than a grown-ass man wearing a slutty dress while a confused army of cops drag him out to the street.

  “BRING BACK LOUISE!” someone shouts from the outside, and I turn in my seat just in time to see a gigantic bearded man run out of the building.

  He’s carrying what looks like a baton on his hand, and he seems like a roided-out biker—black tattoo running up his neck, bushy beard, and body covered in leather.

  I almost spit out my drink when the guy turns around to talk to the cops.

  Apparently, not all of him is covered in leather—his ass is bare, and I can’t help but notice a few red markings on his buttocks. Seems like someone enjoys being whipped by, huh, ‘Louise.’

  “Well, this is new,” I casually tell Strong as I finish my whisky. “I had no idea Louis had a boyfriend.”

  “Ah, fuck me,” Strong says, shaking his head as five cops do his best to tackle the bearded giant, who’s now using his black baton to keep them at bay.

  Of course, only now I realize it’s not a baton he’s carrying. It’s a fifteen-inch black dildo.

  “Well, seems like you have your hands full, Detective.” I laugh, getting to my feet and clapping him on the back. “Are we good?”

  “For now,” he grumbles as he gets up from his seat, his eyes focused on the drama happening outside. “There’s still that one thing, but we’ll catch up later. For now, just enjoy your newfound freedom, Malcolm.”

  He hesitates for a moment, looking into my eyes with a serious expression but then offers me his hand.

  Smiling, I shake it.

  He nods slightly at me, then he’s gone. I hear him bellow something as he gets to the other side of the street, doing his best to impose a semblance of order, but I no longer care about any of that.

  After years of postponing it, the past has finally been taken care of…and now a new life’s ahead of me.

  A life with Sonia.

  Grabbing my phone, I fire a quick text at her.

  Dinner at 7?

  She responds with a quick Yes, and I immediately get my coat and leave the bar, exiting through the back. I hail my driver, who’s waiting in the alley and get inside the limo.

  “727, 5th Avenue,” I say. “There’s something I need to buy for tonight.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Taylor

  It’s a short enough distance from Clarendon Tower to Tiffany’s on 5th Avenue so I just walk over. Literally, it’s like three avenues away, and I’m in peak physical shape.

  Besides, with the all fucking Secret Service agents guarding Trump Tower, it would make it a monster headache to bring my limo out and have it idle here. Poor limo driver would probably be detained when he refuses to move his car at the order of the Department of Homeland Security.

  I mean, maybe I’m exaggerating, but can you blame me? The words I never thought I’d ever hear from Malcolm Push were spoken to me by phone today.

  “Buddy,” he said quickly over the phone. “I need you to drop whatever the fuck you’re doing and come meet me at Tiffany’s. I’m going to get married.”

  I froze. I actually had to look at my phone and make sure it was really Malcolm calling.

  “Of course, I’m alright,” Malcolm replied with a laugh when I asked if he was feeling okay. “I’ve never been better. But listen, I need your input on what kind of ring to get Sonia. And you know what? Hell, bring the guys along, too. As many as you can find.”

  So, I sent out word to some of the guys we hang out with who live at Clarendon Tower. And then I left to see the next wonder of the world—a world-class player like Malcolm Push, arguably the most successful, disciplined, and ethical crime boss New York City has ever seen, giving up his heart in an attempt to settle down with one woman for the rest of his life.

  I gotta admit, as a bachelor, Malcolm is at the point in his life where I don’t think I’ll ever get to yet. I mean, come on, I’m the fucking CEO of Draper Pierce—the largest investment bank in the world. If you called the media and told them that Taylor John—that’s me, by the way—had settled down, they’d probably shit their pants.

  Women are a revolving door of beautiful faces, tight pussies, and squeezable asses to me.

  Why would I ever settle down?

  That’s all I can think of on this overcast day as Malcolm’s limo pulls up to Tiffany’s. I greet him.

  A Department of Homeland Security officer comes to advise Malcolm’s driver to take a hike. This is restricted street space next to Trump Tower. The driver doesn’t want to leave Malcolm.

  I can’t help but chuckle as they begin to argue. Sometimes it’s worth just walking in this city.

  * * *

  “So, you’re really going to do it, huh, buddy?” Dominic asks Malcolm as the Tiffany’s sales clerk brings over a box full of diamond rings.

  Dominic came by, bringing Colt McCoy, the owner of some of the most fantastic gyms in New York City.

  “I can’t imagine falling for a broad long enough to buy her a diamond fucking ring, bro,” Colt says, taking a sip of his scotch.

  That’s right. At Tiffany’s, when you’re willing to spend upwards of a million dollars on a ring, they take you to a private client room where they wine you and bring you a personal shopping assistant.

  And the dedicated girls that they got, the ones helping us, away from the unwashed masses of other Tiffany’s shoppers? They’re some of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever seen.

  The sales girl smiles at me while Malcolm starts to answer. It’s not a shopping trip without a little bit of harmless flirting, right?

  Besides, Dominic’s already married to Daphne, and Malcolm’s getting hitched. So that just leaves me and Colt with this fine piece of ass.

  “Can I get a refill, baby?” Colt asks a few moments later.

  His eyes twinkle as he catches mine. He darts a look towards the salesgirl as she bends over to pour more whisky for him.

  “I might need a refresher, too,” I say, holding out my glass.

  It’s a contest. Two smooth, wealthy, alpha male princes of New York City competing over one shop girl.

  Although I said earlier that a shopping trip needs some flirtation with something I’d like to poke, I start to feel like something isn’t right.

  “So, you sure about this, Malcolm?” Dominic asks for the third time. “I just want to make sure that you’re not doing this too suddenly. Marriage is…pretty fucking final.”

  I pause.

  I’m actually pretty fucking interested in Malcolm’s answer.

  I mean, why wouldn’t I be?

  I’m sitting with some of my best friends. Not all of them are here, but the ones that are are the ones that I drink with and work out with at the gym.

  “I’m sure, man,” Malcolm says, clapping Dominic on the back. He turns to Colt. “You remember what I said earlier about becoming a better man?”

  Colt nods. I lean in.

  “Sonia is like that, guys,” Malcolm says to all of us. “I swear, I’m not being a pussy or anything. I’m not trying to sound like a bitch. But Sonia does something when I’m around her. And when I’m not around her, I’m thinking about her. Sometimes when she’s not there, it’s like I’m having a conversation in my head with her. I don’t know what that makes me.”

  “It makes you fucking crazy, motherfucker,” Colt says and starts to laugh.

  “No,” Dominic counters, and I look at him. He’s quiet. “It makes you in love.”

  “Right?” Malcolm says to Dominic and takes a sip of his drink. “It’s like no matter where she is, a part of her is always with me. And I know that no matter where I am, a part of me is always with her. She gives me her opinion when she’s next to me, and
I wonder what she would say to me when she’s far away. And the things I do? I do them because I want to be better.”

  We’re all silent.

  I wonder what exactly Dominic is talking about. Has he fallen in love himself? That dude?

  There’s only one person he could be falling in love with.

  Daphne Abbot.

  She’s not bad at all. But Dominic? I don’t see him as the type that settles down.

  Don’t believe me? Tara’s been posting updates on Dominic and Daphne if you want to look for them.“Sonia is my one true love, guys,” Malcolm declares. “I know this. Because when I’m with her, or when I’m thinking about her…she makes me want to be a better man. And it makes me want to be a better man.”

  I gulp my whisky down in one motion. The salesgirl gives me a smile and shakes her ass a little before bending low to pour me another. She waits for a few seconds, giving me enough time to take a long running shot of her cleavage. But I’m done with her.

  She doesn’t seem to understand that I get so much pussy, passing up on one girl to spend time with my friends is no big deal.

  “I’m proud of you, Malcolm,” I say, holding up my glass as I toast to him.

  He’s settled on a very expensive and very nice 22-carat diamond engagement ring for one million and eight hundred dollars.

  “When are you proposing?”

  “Tonight,” Malcolm answers me. “I’m taking her out to dinner and then I’m going to tell her how much I fucking love her and why I want to have her in my life for the rest of it.”

  I know how I introduced myself earlier in this chapter. This is Tara’s first book, so then you’ve never actually met me before. But you’ll see me there in the story about Dominic and Daphne on Tara Starr is writing daily, where they knock heads about who gets to buy the other person’s apartment.

  I mean, they still argue about it so its a story that’s still going on.

  Anyway, you don’t really need to read that story if you don’t want to. You can probably guess that, despite my playboy lifestyle, the back of my mind is thinking maybe it’s time I start looking for that one woman that makes me pause. And as I listen to Malcolm who has almost been transformed completely by this crazy thing we call love I’m pretty hopeful for my chances.

  “You good, man?” Malcolm asks.

  I nod and take a sip of my drink. “Just seeing you happy and knowing you before, man,” I say to him. “Makes me wonder if there’s ever anyone I’ll meet that makes me feel the way you do about your girl.”

  Malcolm toasts his glass to me, and we down our drinks.

  “I think, at the end of the day, it’s unique for every single person,” he says. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. Listening to me fucking speak, you’d think, all of a sudden, I work for a call-in relationship counseling show.”

  “But you’ll know when it’s the right one,” he continues, and I guess, inside my head, I agree with him.

  He’s one of my closest friends.

  Who used to bag bitches with me.

  Who used to party with me.

  Who has gone hunting and fishing with me as part of an all-guys’ retreat. (We obviously went with other guys, Jesus.)

  That same Malcolm is now talking about tying himself to one woman forever.

  What can I say?

  It’s the power of love. Faced with something like this, I think I need to work out hardcore.

  Time to hit Colt Academy.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ashley

  Colt Academy.

  The premier gym in New York City. It’s not cheap. In fact, it’s pretty expensive.

  But only the best come here.

  The fittest people who are serious about their bodies. It’s luxurious. But it’s also dedicated with one goal in mind—to create perfectly proportioned physical specimens.

  That’s what gets me on the treadmill here seven days a week. An hour of running followed by twenty minutes of strength training and then a shower before having a drink at the bar next to the lobby.

  It’s my ritual to end the day. And trust me, after the days I have at work, I need a way to decompress.

  I get that you’ve probably been talking to Malcolm and Sonia, and probably have no idea who I am. So let me go ahead and introduce myself.

  My name is Ashley Abbot. I run a law firm here in New York City on 53rd and 3rd. If you’re thinking that 53rd and 3rd is in the Citigroup Center building, you’re absolutely right. My law firm takes up the 43rd and 44th floor of the CGC.

  What else? Let’s see. I’m currently single.

  I know, I know. I’ve just been so focused on my career all this time, you know? I mean, I like men. I love men. But I don’t love them more than I love my job. So I never really keep them around.

  I mean, I know one of these days I’ll probably need to settle down. But for now, I’m just enjoying being single in the city.

  Oh, right. The reason you’re probably even talking to me right now is because I know Colt McCoy. We dated briefly. Well, briefly is kind of stretching it. We went out for one drink with friends. Anyways, because I lived in his building—Clarendon Towers—he sold me on the idea of using his gym.

  I was having a drink with my friend from law school, Daphne Abbot. We both went to Yale together. A year after she moved to Clarendon Tower she told me to check it out.

  Well, I had to afford the $1.2 million first for my one bedroom apartment but ever since I’ve moved in it’s been fantastic. Daphne and Dominic – her neighbor – are in this crazy sort of game where I think they’re in love and they seem to act really lovey dovey in public but they’re both trying to get each other’s apartment. Its insane and no one really knows what’s going on with them. It’s so crazy that Tara Starr—the romantic comedy author—has even started to chronicle it daily. I read sections out to Daphne every night and we just spend hours laughing about it over cosmos.

  Anyways, so that’s me.

  This is where you’re going to start to think it’s weird because while I was talking to you I was checking out this guy who was bench pressing next to me while I was on the stairclimber to cool down.

  He’s still there and I can totally tell he’s checking me out.

  I’m not opposed to anything, but I doubt with my crazy work schedule he’d even be interested. Plus, I’m a smart, successful woman that doesn’t bow down to anyone. Most guys can’t handle that.

  Because Colt Academy is so close to Clarendon Tower, I decide to forego the shower at the gym and just go shower at my apartment.

  But the problem here is that cute gym guy is leaving too.

  Great. Now I’m stuck walking behind him staring at his deliciously firm ass and toned legs.

  Gym Guy is roughly 6 foot 3 inches. He’s got brown hair and he’s well built. He looks lean and the kind of man that would like to take control both in and out of the bedroom.

  So that means while he might be nice eye candy, he probably wouldn’t be able to stand a strong, independent woman like myself.

  I’m purposely walking slow so I don’t end up walking side by side next to Gym Guy. I don’t know. It’s kind of nice staring at his backside as he crosses the street. I cross the street to. Colt Academy is on 53rd and 5th Avenue so it’s only 4 blocks and 2 avenues away from Clarendon Tower on 57th and 7th.

  Gym Guy starts walking up 5th Avenue and I’m thinking this is my lucky day because I get to follow him for a little bit longer.

  The lucky feeling starts to get weird when we get to 57th Street and Gym Guy hangs a left. I’m making a left too and now I can see the gleaming visage of Clarendon Tower. Does Gym Guy live in my neighborhood? I notice that he hasn’t showered either. So he must be close.

  Is this some sort of sign from above?

  We get to 6th Avenue and he’s still walking.

  We get to 7th Avenue and he slows down.

  Well, it was nice while it lasted, but he’s probably heading over towards Hell’s Kitchen or s
omewhere on the West Side. No way he could be living in Clarendon Tower.

  And that’s when the universe tells me how wrong I am.

  Because Gym Guy nods over to the doorman who opens the door with a smile and walks into my building.

  Now I’m a bit nervous as I walk into the lobby.

  To see him right there, turned around, and staring at me.

  I’m like a deer caught in headlights.

  “Are you following me?” Gym Guy asks, a smirk on his face.

  I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the smirk. Maybe it’s the way he’s got an easiness about him. But whatever it is, I’m completely disarmed and more than anything in the world, I want to make a joke.

  “I knew I should have finished that stalking class before trying it out in public,” I say with a smile. I wonder if he’s going to get creeped out.

  “It’s just not everyday beautiful women stalk me on the streets of Manhattan,” he says with a chuckle and walks over to me. “Name’s Taylor John,” he says to me holding out his hand.

  Oh. My. God.

  “The Taylor John?” I ask. “CEO of Draper Pierce?”

  He smiles sheepishly and nods. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him from the TV. This guy is only the CEO of the largest investment bank in the world.

  “Ashley Carlson,” I say, shaking his hand.

  “Do you live at Clarendon Tower?” he asks me.

  “No,” I say, letting some sarcasm drip off. “I just followed you here.”

  “Hey,” Taylor says with a chuckle. “You never know.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “Please,” I say. “If I was half as good a stalker as you think I am I’d wait farther back.”

  “Do you stalk people for a living?” Taylor asks.

  “Sort of,” I say with a smile. “I’m a professional lawyer.”

  “Corporate?” he asks me.

  “Securities litigation,” I tell him.

  “Ever sued us?” he asks, referring to Draper Pierce.