Pierced (Tall, Dark, and Handsome Book 2)

by JA Huss

  “It won’t.”

  “Ever.”

  “It won’t. Hey, look at me.” She does. “It. Will. Not. OK? Look, I don’t care if you quit at the magazine, or if you don’t, or if you want to do weird things to my dick, or whatever… seriously. I just… I just want you around. Me, I mean. I want you around me. The promotion, all the other stuff—yes, it was an apology, obviously it was an apology, but—the real reason I’ve been working so hard to get your forgiveness is this.”

  “What? So I’d fuck you?”

  “Yes, Myrtle, that’s exactly what I’m saying. No! Jesus. So that you’d be here. So that you’d be around. So that the one person that I feel like, honestly? That I feel like is my equal would be there when I needed them. That probably sounds pretentious.”

  “It doesn’t sound pretentious.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  “It is pretentious.”

  “Fine. The point is…” Oh, boy. Are we really doing this? Um… yeah. I think we may be doing this. “The point is that our pals Eden and Andrew may be right about something.”

  “Yeah? What?”

  I suck at my teeth. Which is gross and a terrible habit. But can’t be helped just now. “Uh. It may be within the realm of possibility that… uh. Je… t’aime. Myrtle. J’aime motherfucking vous. It would seem.”

  Telling someone you love them in a language that is not the native tongue with which you’re used to speaking to them doesn’t make it any less difficult, turns out.

  Her eyes widen just fractionally. “Yeah?” she asks.

  “Yeah. I mean, maybe? I mean, yeah. I think so. Yes.”

  Silence. Which is always what one wants to hear, after…

  “OK. Well,” she says, “I…” I lift an eyebrow at her. “I think…”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think you’re pretty cool too.”

  And then she leans in and kisses me. On the fucking nose.

  Holy shit.

  I think I just got Pierce-d.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - MYRTLE

  The weekend was perfect. Candlelit dinners, and soft music, and walks through Vail Village. Sexy, but not overly so. Except for the sushi, which was… kinky. Or almost kinky. Turns out Pierce and I both love sushi and he kept tasting the rolls as he was placing them on my body, then holding them up to my lips for me to try. He’d take a bite. I’d take a bite. And pretty soon we were too full to play the rest of the game.

  I stop to smile here. Because it was fun. And maybe a little bit romantic. And also quite ridiculous. Which is sorta who Pierce and I are, in a nonconforming kind of way.

  We also had sex. A lot. I feel a little bit like Goldilocks right now. Smack in the middle of who I am and what I’m supposed to be doing.

  I think about this as I drive into work, not minding the traffic. I don’t even mind the thought of work—which is a big deal. Because I’ve dreaded going into the office for months and today is the very first day where I feel like I know my place.

  And I don’t care if other women hate this idea. That a man—not just any man, but this particular man—is what makes my world feel complete. I do not care. Every woman is allowed to be her own woman. And if, to some, that means that they must feel complete without a man in their life, cool. Good for them.

  But I’m not one of those women. I like this feeling and I’m not going to make excuses for it.

  I like him. I like being near him. I like sharing things with him. And I like working for him.

  I have spent my whole life before finding Pierce defining myself with sharp lines and clear rules and you know what? I’m done.

  I’m gonna be whoever the fuck I want. And I want to be Myrtle, Pierce’s right-hand man. Woman, whatever. I’m going to tell him that today. I’m going to tell him I want my old job back. That I do not come into work for money, or accolades, or obligation.

  I come into work for him.

  That’s it. That’s all there is to it.

  Just him.

  His McLaren is already parked in his spot when I pull in next to it. And it occurs to me that he must, on some level, feel the same about me. We didn’t discuss work at all over the weekend, so I’m guessing now. But he gave me this parking space the very first day I was hired. Right next to his. Literally, because my space is to the right of his.

  So he must’ve felt this… thing we have right from the beginning because my space supersedes all the other VPs as far as parking accommodations go. And I know it’s dumb, but work hierarchy is a real thing. It’s telling and I should’ve noticed this before today.

  I should’ve noticed a lot of things before today. That I am happy serving him. Not as his subordinate, because he’s never asked me to submit at work. But as his partner.

  No, we’re not equals. He is the boss. But I have never felt a power struggle in our relationship.

  We are in this together.

  I truly believe that and this calm I feel—for the first time since the whole Sexpert debacle last summer—this satisfaction, well, that just proves it.

  I gather my black, leather, studded work bag, get out of my car, and make my way up to the fiftieth floor somewhat in a daze. Still thinking about our weekend. What a nice couple we make. How we complement each other. He is one hundred percent the king and I am the queen who stands beside him.

  People are looking at me funny in the elevator and for a moment I wonder why. But then I realize… I’m smiling.

  I get off with the other fiftieth-floor people and see Pierce in his glass-walled office, talking on the phone. I slow my walk, waiting for his eyes to catch mine. And it’s like we’re playing out some scene in a movie, because they do. And he stops talking. Just locks his gaze to mine, then lets it travel down to take me all in. And when his eyes reach mine again, he smiles at me.

  Me, and only me.

  And sure, I’m dressed super sexy today. I mean, I pulled no punches when I chose this outfit. But I didn’t do it for him, I did it for me. A tight red pencil skirt with a black silk camisole top that has a softly drooping collar that bares the curve of my breasts and shows off the silver choker I’m wearing. A matching red, perfectly-tailored, cropped jacket. My legs are luxuriously covered up by sheer, black silk stockings attached to a red garter belt. My bra is red with black lace. And even though I’m not expecting to show him any of my undergarments today, it makes me feel powerful to wear them. To put on this outfit and just be myself. Knowing he understands.

  It feels like me.

  I finally know who I am.

  And he gets me.

  “Good morning!” Valerie calls from her desk as I approach my office. “A package came for you on Friday after you left. I put it on your desk.”

  “Thanks, Valerie,” I chirp, opening my office door. And I don’t even mind Valerie today. I’m just too… satisfied.

  I drop my bag in my desk and look at the box, reading the card taped to the top.

  Oh, shit! The party invitations! I totally forgot! I was planning on having Valerie print me out labels on Friday and then drop them in the mail room on my way out, but… shit!

  There’s no time to mail them now. I’ll have to just suck it up and go hand-deliver them. I mean, this party is important. I realize that now. Pierce has trusted me with the fate of this magazine. We need millions of dollars in new advertising and I’m going to make sure that happens. Because no one, and I do mean no one, wants to be laid off right after they spent more than they should during the holidays.

  That would be a disaster.

  “Knock-knock.”

  I look up to see Pierce standing in my doorway, smiling… what is that? Coyly? Sheepishly? I don’t care what it is, he looks delicious.

  “Good morning, Mr. Chevalier,” I say smiling back.

  He walks in, plops down in the chair in front of my desk and says, “Did you have a nice weekend, Ms. Rothschild?”

  “Very nice,” I purr, leaning over the desk.

  We get lost in each oth
er’s eyes for a few moments. Like a couple of junior-high kids the morning after a perfect Valentine’s Day dance.

  It’s such a sugary-sweet moment, I’m sure if anyone saw us right now they’d want to throw up, but I don’t care.

  “Ummm,” he says, looking at my outfit. “I like that.”

  I sit down and allow myself a silly giggle. “Well, I wore it for you, so… good.”

  “Hey,” he says. “So, I was just on the phone with my father.”

  “How is the patriarch doing this morning?”

  “He wants me in New York this week.”

  “Oh,” I say, deflating a little.

  “I know. I don’t want to go, but you can handle things here, right?”

  “Sure,” I say, perking up a little. “For sure. Go. Don’t worry about a thing. And then when you get back you’ll have the party to look forward to.”

  “Party?”

  “Yeah, the Halloween party.” I point to the box and say, “The invitations got dropped off on Friday while we were…” I waggle my eyebrows at him and he chuckles.

  “Well, let’s have a look.” He opens the box, removes an invitation and studies it for a moment.

  It looks like a door. If a door was made of silver lace. And the background is black, so it looks like a magical portal to another world. One that’s sexy and mysterious. He opens it up and reads the engraved silver calligraphy, then closes it and looks at me. “Jesus, this makes me hot for you. I don’t know anyone else in this world who could pull off turning a Halloween party into a sexy black-tie affair. You’re definitely in charge of all our parties from now on.”

  “Well… OK,” I say. Because I’ve made peace with things. And hey, if Pierce wants me to be the official party-thrower, I do not care. I’m in.

  “So hey, I really do have to leave now. The jet is waiting. But… Can we get together next weekend when I’m back? Aside from the party, I mean?”

  I nod my head, lean all the way across my desk so one leg has to lift up and bend like I’m one of those sex kittens right out of a noir movie from the Forties, grab him by the tie, pull him towards me and say, “It’s a date,” as I give him a proper kiss goodbye.

  And if it bothers him that we’re doing this at work, he doesn’t show it. Because he stands up, grips my shoulders with his large, strong hands, and kisses me back.

  I’m ready to rip his clothes off and let him take me right here on this desk when my phone rings.

  Fucking phone. Thing hardly ever rings so you’d think it would just give me this moment, but there it is. Interrupting.

  “I’ll see you when I get back,” Pierce says, breaking away.

  “OK,” I say. Dreamily. “Have a great trip! Tell your father hello for me!”

  “OK, but he remembers fewer names than I do.” He smiles one last time, then disappears.

  I grab the handset and purr, “Ms. Rothschild, how can I help you?”

  “Myrtle? It’s Pearl.”

  Oh, shit. I forgot all about Pearl.

  “I just wanted to make sure we’re on to discuss your class at lunch today.”

  “Umm… look, Pearl. I’m gonna be honest with you. I just can’t swing it.”

  “Oh, no!” she moans. “Please don’t bow out. Please reconsider, Myrtle. We really need you.”

  “I’m really sorry, but I can’t make lunch today. I have this big party to save the magazine, and these invitations sitting on my desk that need to go out, and—”

  “Tomorrow! We can do it tomorrow!”

  “Well…” I try to come up with an excuse, but who am I kidding? I’m lucky I have invitations to keep me busy today. It’s practically my only purpose at work right now. So tomorrow I’ll be back to normal, twiddling my thumbs at my desk, anxiously waiting for my next erotic novel to drop. “OK. Lunch tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  “No problem. Same place, same time. See you then.” And I hang up, anxious to make the rounds and personally invite everyone to a Halloween party they will never forget. If I chat everyone up, I might be able to stretch this out all day.

  I empty my work bag and stack as many invitations as I can inside, because I am not hand-delivering these beautiful works of art from a cardboard box, and head straight to Josh Washburn’s office as my first stop.

  I find him eating a banana.

  “Josh,” I say, leaning on the door. “Do you have a moment for Myrtle?”

  “Myrtle,” he says, mouth still full. He chews hastily, swallows, and tosses the banana peel into the trash as he makes his way toward me. “What brings you here?”

  You know, I have to give Josh credit. He didn’t seemed pissed off that I took his office. He didn’t bad-mouth me, accuse me of sleeping my way to the top, or become passive aggressive. So I am extra sweet to him right now. “I don’t know if you heard,” I say in my normal Myrtle-is-here-to-drive-Josh-crazy voice. “But we’re having a party this coming weekend and I have your invitation.” I pluck one out of my bag, and slowly wave it in front of his face.

  “What kind of party?” he asks, transfixed.

  “A very special one,” I purr. I reach for his suit coat, opening it up just a little bit so I can slip the invitation into that secret pocket all suit coats have. I drop his jacket, pat his chest, and say, “And I expect you to be there in your finest tuxedo and a mask appropriate for the occasion.” I make my tone stern, so he understands what I say next. “If I see one Dracula, one zombie, one rubber Nixon mask, you’re getting my boot. Understand?”

  I smile, place my hand on his cheek, then turn away, heading to the next VP’s office just as Josh calls out, “I will! I mean, I do! I mean… I’ll be there!”

  I repeat that little act, complete with the warning about the masks, for each VP, then start on their underlings, changing up my delivery, when appropriate, to make sure there will be no Little Bo-Peeps, no sexy maid outfits, and no Disney princesses. This is strictly little-black-dress/black-tie attire.

  I know the chain of command here at Le Man better than anyone, and it’s a way to keep track of who I visit, so I use the hierarchy as my delivery guide. I’m just heading back to my office to refill my bag when Valerie comes rushing towards me. “Myrtle! Oh, thank God! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

  “What’s going on?” I ask, pushing past her. Because it’s almost lunch time and I want to finish the lower floor before everyone leaves.

  “DogCo pulled their advertising for this month and we’re left with a huge gap. The pages need to be at the printer by Friday and Pierce is in the air, so he’s unreachable!”

  I turn to face her. “DogCo? Why in Heaven’s good name are we accepting advertising from DogCo?”

  And then it hits me.

  We’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel if we can’t even get DogCo to advertise.

  “Something about hunting season?” Valerie offers. “I don’t really know. But they pulled out.”

  “Did you inform Josh?”

  “Yes, but he says it’s too late to get someone new. We won’t be able to get the spread ready by Friday morning.”

  “So what’s he gonna do?”

  “Just run the ad anyway,” she says, then shrugs. “They had a front inside cover ad. I guess they get it for free now.”

  “Oh, hell no, they don’t. Hell. No.”

  “But we can’t—”

  “Oh, yes, we can. I want all the VPs in my office. Right now. There is no way Pierce would let this go to print, and since he’s not here, I will make sure we have a new advertiser on that inside front cover, or I will die trying.”

  “Oh… uh, OK,” she says.

  “Follow me, Valerie. I’m going to need you to deliver the rest of these envelopes, but I have a script you must say, so that everyone is perfectly clear on my dress code for the Halloween party.”

  “Sure, yes! I’ll take care of it!”

  At four o’clock I’ve got three more crises on my hands. The
photographer has pulled out for the Halloween party shoot, the caterer is ‘in between’ bakers and can’t provide a dessert, and one more advertiser has decided Le Man is not where they want to spend their advertising dollars this month but will probably be back in December.

  “December?” I say, glaring at Josh. “December isn’t going to help us in November.”

  “They’ll be back,” Josh says. “I mean, we typically shuffle advertisers like this a lot. We just credit them and roll it over—”

  “Do we?” I ask, irritated. No wonder we’re losing money! I might have to revoke Josh’s party invitation.

  “Pierce doesn’t usually sweat it, Myrtle. He’s been kinda chill about things since last summer when—”

  “Enough,” I say, holding up a hand to stop the inevitable when the whole Sexpert debacle happened comes out of Josh’s mouth. “We. Will. Get. Two. New. Advertisers. By Friday. Am I clear, Josh? Pierce is counting on us to keep things running this week while he’s out and we will not disappoint him upon return.”

  He shrugs. “OK. We will. Get advertisers, I mean. Not disappoint Pierce.”

  “Perfect. On your way out, can you send in Valerie?”

  “Sure thing.”

  I look down at my desk. There are now eight neat stacks of paper and sixteen open tabs in my browser and for some reason this feels… really good.

  “Yes, Myrtle?” Valerie says, coming into my office.

  “Did you take care of the invitations?” I ask, smiling at her.

  “Yes. And I read them the script you wrote. Black tie. Little black dress. No Nixon masks.”

  “Perfect, thank you, Valerie. I really appreciate it.”

  “But there’s one problem.”

  “What?”

  “I’m behind on my work now. Pierce left me a million things to do while he was gone and—”

  “Say no more. I apologize for monopolizing you today. I’ll make sure he knows that. In fact,” I say, standing up. “I have an idea.”

  I walk out, go down to the forty-ninth floor, head into the intern pool, and look around. “You,” I say, pointing to a blond young man who looks like he should be a starting quarterback for the Broncos and not pecking away at a keyboard at a men’s magazine. Which, now that I think about it, might actually be the perfect place for him.