The Dare

by Lauren Landish

  I wisely decide not to remind her that we quite often went out wearing the latest and greatest in slutty fashion in our younger days. Hence, why that skirt is in her closet in the first place.

  She sits down in my passenger seat and I remind myself to get Cammie detailed. It’s not that I don’t love Tiff, but I’m well aware that her bare ass is resting on my leather seat right now, and that’s just a little bit much, even for my bestie. I’m just grateful she’s got underwear on . . . well, I assume she does.

  I focus on the obvious. “Why are you wearing that? What did Ace do?”

  “He claims he wanted to help.” She does finger quotes around the word but one turns into a gun and she jokes at shooting herself. “Kill me now, because that boy took my laundry and washed it all. The dirties in my hamper? Maybe that would’ve been all right. But he took my work clothes too, the dry-clean only ones. Washed them all, and then to pour salt on the wound, dried them. I don’t think I have a single respectable item left, hence my current attire.”

  “Holy shit,” I gasp, wincing. Tiffany’s always been a bit of a clothes hound, with a wardrobe that’d put mine to shame. But she’s ridiculously organized about hers, usually only keeping special pieces and her current on-trend lineup. “I’m surprised he’s still alive. I kinda assumed he wasn’t when you called.”

  She holds her finger and thumb up, a skinny space separating them. “This close, I swear. If you’d been one second later.”

  She bangs her head on the headrest. “Turn right at the next light. The cleaners is on the left.” I follow her directions and pull into the drive-thru line.

  Tiffany requests her clothes from the passenger seat, glaring menacingly at the young guy when he stares at the long length of thigh she’s showing. I can’t help but laugh a little. “You can’t blame him. I mean, you’re a cough away from an ‘is there some other way I could pay?’ situation.”

  Her glare hits me full-force. “Now who’s watching too much porn?”

  And of course, that’s when the guy steps out the door to hand over Tiffany’s clothes. As if this morning could get any worse, he’s now looking at us like we’re a dream come true. No, scratch that . . . like a fantasy come true.

  I have to get out and push the seat forward for him to hang the clothes in the back seat, and I swear to God, he sniffs the air as he leans down in front of me. And then he misses the hook twice because he’s side-eyeing Tiffany in the front seat. I can’t see his eyes, but I can tell because his head’s angled all wrong.

  “Thank you. Have a nice day.” Polite words said with zero kindness and a full dose of get the fuck outta here seem to wake him up.

  He steps back, having finally gotten the clothes secure. “Oh, I will. You ladies have a great day too.” He tips an invisible hat and steps back so I can get in and close the door. But before I can put Cammie into drive, he leans down, putting his forearms on the open windowsill.

  “My name’s Joe. Would either of you ladies . . . or both of you . . . like to grab a drink tonight? I get off at six.”

  I blink. I guess I should give him some credit for shooting his shot, but to ask both of us out seems beyond the pale, so I’m not feeling that generous. “Nope.”

  I slip the shifter into first and gun the engine with my foot firmly on the brake. He takes the hint and moves back. A split second later, we’re flying down the road, beelining for the highway.

  I look over to Tiffany, seeing that she’s still scowling and ruminating about Ace’s misdeeds.

  “Want me to go back? You could get to know Joe a bit better. I could dare you to go out with him, if you want?” I offer it seriously, but she knows damn well that I’m kidding. It’s against rule one, and possibly rule two, though if things got that far between my bestie and the dry-cleaning guy, it’d be on her shoulders, not mine.

  “Just drive,” she says with a sigh, but there’s a hint of a smile, so I’m taking the win.

  The next stoplight, the last one before we hit the open road of rush-hour traffic, is a long one, so Tiffany unbuckles and works her way over the console and into the back seat. She absolutely flashes her ass to the driver of the car next to us, and the angry looking middle-aged woman honks and yells something that looks like ‘what the fuck?’ But the jacked-up truck in the far lane has a guy who looks like Tiff just made his day, judging by the width of his smile. He waves, and I shrug like whatcha gonna do?

  Tiffany strips and gets dressed in more work-appropriate clothing while I drive on. As we merge onto the highway, Truck Driver honks his horn and waves again as he continues down the frontage road.

  I laugh and look in the rearview mirror. “It seems you have another fan this morning, Miss Young.”

  She flips me the bird and smarts off. “Well, with Ace’s help, at least you were too distracted to have what would’ve surely been an epic freak-out this morning. You’re welcome.” She tips her hat, copying Joe with a smirk.

  “Thanks, you shouldn’t have,” I say dryly, but secretly, I think she’s probably right because now that she mentions it, I can feel the butterflies.

  No, bees. Actually, more like wasps, mean and aggressive, buzzing through my belly at the thought of walking into Fox this morning, bypassing my usual desk, and heading for the elevator. I imagine everyone’s eyes on me as I walk down the hallway toward Colton’s office, whispering behind their hands at Daniel’s traitorous daughter.

  This isn’t the usual happy sensation when I’m about to crush a dare. Not anticipation. This is dread. Not excitement. This is fear.

  “I can’t do this.” The blurt is unconscious but true. “I’m just going to go to my desk like usual and deal with any fallout. You said it yourself. Colton’s not going to fire me. He’ll have to explain why he didn’t do something right away, and he won’t do that.”

  I glance in the rearview mirror to see Tiffany watching me through guarded eyes. I don’t like that. She’s always pretty open and filter-less.

  My mind keeps spinning. My mouth keeps running.

  “Or he could just go to Dad, bypass anything official because he damn well knows that’d be worse to me. Shit. He’s right, rock and hard place. I could hit him in his hard place with a rock, see if he’d like that.”

  “Snarky is not an attractive look on you,” Tiff ventures, not commenting on my solo encore performance of last night’s argument.

  Her silence ironically reminds me why I’d decided to go along with this whole crazy idea in the first place.

  I picture Colton staring out the window over the city, cutting a powerful silhouette but confessing to wanting a bit of excitement. I picture the heat in his eyes as he scanned the photocopy of my ass and the considerable bulge I know I saw in his slacks, no matter how much he tried to hide it.

  “I’m doing it.” This dare isn’t done yet, but it will be. And suddenly, I can’t wait.

  Chapter 9

  Elle

  This is . . . crazy.

  And isn’t that why you like it? the devil on my shoulder asks.

  He has Tiffany’s voice. Yes, he. And yes, Tiffany’s voice. It doesn’t make sense, but I’ve long since grown used to it.

  How am I going to pull this off? Walking down the corridor of the fifth floor, I realize that I’ve got thirty minutes, tops, before Dad knows what’s happened.

  At which point, I have no idea how to explain myself.

  But I walk into Colton’s outer office, where he’s perched on the corner of an empty desk, chatting with Helen, who gives me a glance.

  “Mr. Wolfe?”

  “Hello, Miss Stryker. This way,” Colton says, standing up and walking into his office. As I follow him, I can’t help but admire the way his ass fills out his fresh suit pants, black today but not funereal. Instead, he looks powerful and magnetic, and when he looks back over his shoulder, he totally catches me checking him out. I can tell by the amused twitch of his lips. I can even smell him, his masculine cologne woodsy and smoky, a combination that makes me
think of naked camping trips even though I’ve never been an outdoorsy girl. “I’m glad to see you this morning.”

  His tone is all business, no teasing banter and zero flirtation. To anyone listening in, it’d seem strictly professional. But I’m already better at reading him, seeing behind the cold and stoic façade. There are flames licking along my skin, lit by the heat of his gaze. I make a mental note to thank Tiffany again for the wardrobe assist last night because apparently, she did right by me.

  “It took me a lot of thought, to be honest.”

  “Good,” Colton says, smiling a little. “Being thoughtful and intentional about your career is always an admirable trait.”

  Scratch that, maybe I’m not so good at reading him because I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic. He knows that my appearance here is a total give in to him, and it pisses me off that I’ve done it. It pisses me off even more that he’s likely enjoying it. But I decide to take it at face value for now as he continues.

  “There’s going to be a lot demanded of you, and that means I want you all in, starting now. We’ll begin with the rules.”

  “Rules?” I bristle automatically at the word, the cage it invokes.

  Colton nods, taking a file folder off his desk and handing it to me. I’m pretty sure there’s a flash of something in his expression, though. Curiosity, perhaps? His brows did jump ever so slightly. Cocky arrogance for sure in the smirky purse of his lips. Why are they both so attractive?

  “You’re no longer working a straight nine to five, where the most secretive thing you deal with is which floors like which flavor of doughnuts.” He grins and gestures to the file. “Read it over, and if you want to discuss any of my rules, now is the time.”

  The list of rules inside the folder is pretty straightforward, I’m surprised to find. I guess I expected something a bit more salacious given our arrangement.

  I’m moving to salary, with a nice bump in pay, and while it might be normal, one thing sticks out. “Don’t share information outside of this team, Mr. Wolfe?”

  “Let’s be honest. Mr. Fox has built this company by often having teams compete against each other to fuel the creative juices, so to speak. If I have an advantage over another team, I don’t want to give up that advantage. As I said before, your placement on my HQ2 team will send a message and I'm doing that intentionally. But I need to guard against your loyalties being divided. I will not have you working for me and helping your father on the sly. Am I understood?”

  I nod and Colton continues. "I believe myself to be a good judge of character, and while you are rather unconventional . . .” His lips do that twitchy thing that I’m beginning to think means he’s laughing on the inside. “You are morally just. I presume that has to come at least partially from good parenting and that Daniel will respect your loyalty to my team as well. If not, by signing this contract, you’ll have a ready argument against disclosing anything private. This is to make it easier for me to trust you and easier for you to stay trustworthy.”

  He pauses, looking at me expectantly.

  “Understood, sir.”

  His eyes flare wide, and bright sparks light in the deep blue so fast that if I hadn’t been watching, I would’ve missed it. A dark, delicious knowledge twines around in my core. He likes my calling him sir. I’m not into anything too wild, shocking, considering my daredevil tendencies, but with Rule Two always in place, my sex life has been pretty . . . typical, I’d say.

  But if he’d rather me call him sir than honey, I could be into that. I tuck the knowledge away for when it’ll be most useful because every card I can stack in my deck against this man is going to be important.

  “Any other questions?”

  “So many . . .” I drawl out. “But for another time, Mr. Wolfe.”

  “Good. First things first. Arrange with Helen to have a desk brought in for you.” He points to the corner of the room, by the window, at least.

  "You intend to have your assistant work in your private office?” I say incredulously, hoping he hears just how outlandishly ridiculous that sounds. He might as well be telling everyone from the front door to Mr. Fox’s office that I’m at his every beck and call. It won’t take long for those water-cooler conversations to tack on that I’m doing so on my knees.

  I mean, I would. Because Colton Wolfe is the kind of man you get down and worship appreciatively. God knew what he was doing when he molded this particular clay. But I don’t need every Tom, Dick, and Henrietta knowing that.

  Do we even have a Henrietta? Probably, but so not the point here, Elle!

  He’s going to ruin me, I realize.

  I may be intelligent, adept, and willing to earn my way into the responsibilities I desire. But after this, I’ll always have a shadow on my record, the question not whether I deserve my accolades, but rather how I earned them.

  “It’ll make it easier for us to work closely on the HQ2 project,” he answers as if it’s no big deal. But then he winks, and that’s the real truth. He knows and he’s doing it on purpose.

  Before I can growl or argue or claw his eyes out for being so good looking and having me by my lady balls, he calls out, “Helen?”

  Helen comes in, formally introducing herself. Of course, I’ve seen her around the company before, and she’s professionally friendly. Still, she’s kind of stiff, making me wonder if she’s pissed about the whole situation.

  Colton nods as if he’s successfully set us up on a blind date from hell, though, and says he’ll ‘leave us to it’ before disappearing.

  To her credit, Helen helps me. I call down to facilities management, but they want her authorization before delivering furniture to Colton’s office. I guess my new role hasn’t made news down there yet, at least.

  Not that that luxury will hold because I’m sure I don’t imagine the knowing looks the two guys give me after they set me up by Colton’s window.

  I’m literally sitting there twiddling my thumbs and staring at the pretty view when Colton returns an hour later. Helen hadn’t wanted my help without knowing what my role would be, and the desk was my only assignment from Colton.

  Mission accomplished. Not nearly the buzz of a dare, but at least I got one thing done.

  Colton returns with a grim smile. Actually, on second glance from my spot in his office, it’s more of a predatory, feral teeth baring.

  “Helen, Tom Givens won’t be giving you any more trouble. But let me know if there’s anything else.”

  Helen looks at Colton like he hung the moon and stars and every planetary mass in the universe. It’d be sickening, except I get the feeling he just did something major for her. And I’d be a bit jealous if she wasn’t old enough to be his grandmother. I mean, Tiffany talks about DILFs, and I know MILFs are a thing, but surely, nobody’s going for GMILFs. Least of all, Colton.

  I shake my head, not wanting that image anywhere near my eyeballs. Real or imagined.

  Colton enters his office, eyes flicking to the left immediately as if he’s looking for me. I can’t help but sit up straighter.

  “Tom Givens is a douche canoe who wouldn’t know his ass from his elbow if his assistant didn’t do all his work. Whatever he did to Helen was shitty, and whatever you did to him was well-deserved.”

  Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the most professional start to my day with Colton, but it’s the truth and every clerical person in the building knows that Tom Givens can barely turn on his computer. He’s a dinosaur in a post-meteorite world.

  Colton’s lips twitch, but his tone is ice cold with zero honey. “Tell me what you really think.” It’s barely an invitation, and strictly about Tom, unfortunately.

  I shrug. “I did.”

  I don’t bother fighting my smile when I see Helen lean back in her chair to gauge Colton’s response to my outburst. She offers me a thumbs-up that I value like the rare approval it likely is. At least she’s warming up.

  But he closes the door to that one lifeline, shutting us in together. “Let’s get to
work, shall we?”

  So formal. I don’t know why it makes me want to pull out every ain’t, gonna, and slang vocabulary I can just to fuck with him, but I swallow down that urge. I’m already pushing it this morning, and I do want to succeed with this new role. Especially since I’ll likely be on my ass looking for a new job after the HQ2 project ends. Even Miranda’s not going to touch me with a ten-foot pole after this.

  The morning gets into swing, and I see the gossip about Colton come to life before my eyes. He’s not the Big Bad Wolfe. He’s the Terminator. I watch in barely suppressed awe while he handles two video calls, always turning the conversation to some advantage for the company regardless of the situation.

  He clicks away on his computer, seemingly multi-tasking, but on what, I have no idea. He hasn’t given me any assignments so I sit, prim and proper as a fucking lady, doing jack shit but watching him. It’s almost like he’s forgotten about me.

  In everything, it’s fascinating to observe him work. No wasted motion, no wasted words. It’s a stark contrast to his opulent office, and I’m nearly startled out of my chair when my phone buzzes just before lunch.

  Tiffany: How’s it going with Sir HotsALot?

  Me: I don’t know yet. Boring, if I’m honest. How bad’s the gossip?

  Tiffany: Bebop came sniffing around. Told him you were upstairs somewhere and he took off to hunt you down. Not sure he bought it, though. You need to tell Daddy before he finds out on his own.

  She’s right. He doesn’t deserve to be blindsided with this news by someone else. I owe him some brutal honesty, even if it kills me.

  Me: TY for covering me.

  I add a heart emoji and prayer hands before hitting Send.