“How was your week, Waverly?” Walker’s question intruded on her thoughts, to be the focus of his undivided attention again brought her a slight surge of happiness. Speaking quietly, only to her, surrounded by so many other interesting and important people made her want to crawl onto his lap and shove her tongue down his throat.
Taking a sip of her drink, she asked, “Have you ever done that helium breathing in, then talking thing?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly, a confused look on his face, leaning forward, lowering his voice a bit more, he answered, “Have I what? Yes, pretty sure I did it when I was a kid a couple of times.”
“Hmm,” was her only answer.
Waverly thought if he would do helium whenever he was around her, she wouldn’t experience such a desperate want for him.
“Waverly,” he asked laughing a little,“Why did you ask me that? It must be like a fucking acid trip, in that pretty head of yours.”
Any further private conversation was halted by repeated interruptions of people stopping to say hello. Most were friends of Waverly’s, Walker was polite and charming to them all, but, she wondered if he might be bored with her friends, happier, maybe with a more wealthy, sophisticated group, a very skinny, pale model, or an up and coming actress chatting him up.
During the dinner everyone chatted, Walker totally comfortable, even joined in with a few funny anecdotes. Waverly’s phone was tucked away in her clutch, chirping numerous times, she could tell he noticed, by his quick glance toward it each time. A total of twelve texts were waiting for her when she finally pulled it out to slide it to silent.
He leaned into her commenting quietly, “That’s a lot of texts Waverly, is there a problem?”
“No, just the usual, texts from friends.”
When he nodded in understanding, she realized that she hadn’t heard his phone go off once, he hadn’t even looked at it. Benn had excused himself to make friends with a cute, bubbly, brunette from the table next to them, so they decided to view the gala’s auction offerings. Moving from display to display, Walker stayed extremely close to her, she became aware that people were watching the two of them with keen interest.
When the event photographer asked to take their photo, the room went silent, everyone anxious to see how the man who hated any press about himself, would handle the invasion. As expected, he practically growled at the young photographer, scaring him off without even saying anything. Acquaintances repeatedly interrupted them, and while she laughed and chatted with them Walker stood politely but rebuffed their attempts at any conversation with him. He watched her excitedly examine a few paintings, listening with interest as she explained her thoughts on them. When they came across an antique stock ticker, Walker leaned over her to point out specific mechanical parts with his entire body rested against hers, his hot breath heating her shoulder, the feeling so heavy, that they both froze for a moment.
“Come with me,” he whispered in her ear, pulling her gently but firmly to one side of the room.
Waverly could see a number of people had paused, watching them, noticing her hand in his. Steering her to a wall of doors, he ushered her out before him to a pavered veranda. Once out the door, she quickly pulled her hand away.
“Walker, everybody saw that.”
“I don’t care?” He lifted his eyebrows, foldings his arms across his chest, his posture defiant. He was annoyed by something. The courtyard light lit his face showing lifted eyebrows and his arms crossed against his chest.
“Everybody in there wants to talk to you, sit with you, have you smile at them,” he explained defiantly, his voice husky. His words were flattering, in a disgruntled way, but his face remained passive, unreadable.
Grabbing her hand back in his, he tightened his hold to stop her from pulling it away. As she tried to tug her hand and he increased his grip further, she saw his lips quirk up a little.
“Come here,” he murmured, his voice and the tilt up at the corners of his mouth, convinced her.
Staring straight ahead at his tie, she hesitated before stepping forward to him. That one step to him, the acquiescence he was asking her for, and she would fall into his blue blood, sophisticated world - where girls like her, from broken homes, who ate only Ramen for a year and took the bus because she was too poor for a car, didn’t belong. Then he would hurt her again, while he walked away unscathed, she had a plan, she just couldn’t remember what it was right now.
“Hippie Girl, come back to me,” he murmured, reaching up he brushed her lips with the pad of his thumb, eyebrows raising when he saw the shiver it caused.
“I love to watch your mind at work, Waverly, but your mouth, I fucking love...”
“No, no. Walker don’t,” she breathed out.
He paused and they stood silently, unmoving until he reached out to run his hand through her hair, grabbing a handful, rubbing it back and forth between his fingers.
Hearing a sigh escape her, Walker pulled her to him, moving his rough hands up and down her bare back, his warm fingers sending shivers through her. Being enveloped by someone so much bigger and stronger was soothing to her, she felt safe and protected... Wanted. When she turned her head to rest it on his shoulder she realized that they were in front of the windows, garnering interested looks from the entire crowd.
“I can’t do this.” She tried to pull away from his arms.
“I need to go in.”
“Why?” He murmured, eyes narrowing and mouth scowling.
“I . . . Benn . . .I”
“No Waverly,” he says softly, but firmly.
“Benn might need me.”
His mouth frowns.
“Benn doesn’t need you, Benn is looking to get laid by that slutty, dark haired, little thing, who he’s been eye fucking all night.”
“Benn can eye fuck whoever he wants?”
She responded, catching him off guard and pulling her hand quickly out of his.
He immediately stepped forward, reclaiming his space.
“Can I eyefuck whoever I want, Waverly?”
“Have at it. Eyefuck every woman in there.”
He leaned in closer, leveling his face with hers with hers, his clean, manly scent teasing her, tilting her face up to his, cupping her jaw.
“The only woman I want to eyefuck is right here.”
Waverly blushed, their eyes locked on each other. How did he keep doing it? He had done it again, made her want him... Badly, but She didn’t want to be his toy. She didn’t want to be a booty call for him when his other women were busy.
“Why me? There are women right in there waiting for you?”
His eyes were searching as they regarded her thoughtfully.
“You’re scared. You’re afraid that if I fuck you again, you’re going to like it as much as you did last time. And, then you’ll want me more than you already do?”
Annnnd...the dumbfuck, asshole was back.
Waverly snapped back from him, her temper flared.
“Are you afraid? Afraid that I’m going to slap you? You egomaniacal prick.”
She took a breath in, then continued, “I may not be a blue blood, twin set wearing, blonde who was raised in a mansion with the floors made of gold coins or have gone to a school where I had to wear a little plaid skirt and porn star knee socks. I may not be a slutty model who throws up her food and sucks the dick of any guy who has a fat wallet. But contrary to your overblown opinion I am not just going to fuck you because you’re some older, manwhore, Chicago frat boy.
I’m well aware of your ego, and your self-proclaimed skills with women, but here’s a little tip. No woman wants to hear from any man that she’s an easy lay, you dumbfuck!”
By the time she was finished she was breathing hard and shaking. Walkers eyes brows were raised and his eyes were hard, but, he maintained his calm demeanor. Rocking ba
ck on his heels, he quietly asked: “Floors made of gold coins?”
Gaahh, she wanted to scream at him for being so calm, it made her even more furious with him.
“We’re finished.” Waverly glared at him, smoothed her hands over her hair and swept past him back into the atrium.
Walker didn’t turn to watch her go, he just stood there. Her perfume floated in the air surrounding him as he stared out into the night sky - thinking. He was a man who owned many things, expensive things, cars, cigars, a boat, the best apartment money could buy, really, anything...almost.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Waverly was back at work on Monday keeping herself busy refining a few campaigns that were in their final stages. After from attending the benefit on Friday night, she had gone out on a date on Saturday.
Rachel had introduced her to John Campbell, who owned a corporate business development firm, they had gone to dinner at a trendy, new foodie restaurant, known for its deconstructions of classic flavors. John was a partner with the chef and owner, who had come over and had a photo taken with the two of them. John was a great guy, outgoing, charming, and very talkative. They had talked for hours. The date was...just, okay.
Walker was back at work on Monday, busy looking over legal papers on a pending acquisition. Ann entered, sing songing, “Good morning Walker. Good weekend?
“Yes Ann, it was everything I had hoped it would be,” his answer dripping with sarcasm.
“Excellent,” she replied cheerily, slapping a stack of papers on top of what he had been working on, then practically jogged out of his office.
Walker winced, on top was Chicago Trib’s society page, with a black and white photo, circled in Ann’s beloved red pen, showcasing Waverly, her date, John Campbell, and some local hot shot chef. The photo showed them in front of the bar, yukking it up. John - the fucker, had his arm around a laughing Waverly, drink in hand, head tipped back, her hair down, wavy and loose. John’s eyes were on her like he wanted to devour her, even the fat, fuck, chef was looking at her like she had just invented the next great foodie dish.
Staring at the photo, Walker didn’t know what to think, wasn’t sure what he felt, he just sat there. He was truly surprised that she had gone out with someone else, realistically it shouldn’t have been a surprise. Men ogled her, they would have to be blind not to, she was a stunning, sexy woman. Giving and warm – everyone was drawn to her. Hearing her voice even warmed him, seeing her smile made him feel... Happy. Six years ago, if anyone had asked him if he thought he’d ever be involved with Waverly again, he would have said no, it seemed out of the realm of possibility. And now, he wanted to lock her in a room with him for hours... Days. Sleep with her again, and again, and he was expending considerable effort to do it. All of his effort for a woman who referred to him as, Dumbfuck Asshole. A woman who he just couldn’t seem to walk away from.
“Ann,” he snapped, leaning his head around to her see her desk.
“Yes?” Ann responded, taking a hesitant step back into his office.
“I want you to organize a dinner party at the house in Ipswich. I’ll ask Waverly to be my guest.”
Anne looked surprised.
“I’m sorry. Do, what?”
Walker frowned.
“I think that Miss Matthews might be a little intimidated by my social circle, if she spent some time around them, she might become more comfortable,” Walker explained. Ann stared at him.
“You really like this one, don’t you?” She asked softly. Walker looked intently at Ann
“Ann, you know I don’t like anyone. Now get back to work.”
“Will do,” Ann responded, pulling up her tablet calendar page.
“You wouldn’t happen to be interested in attending a spinning class tonight, would you?”
“Why the hell would I go to a spinning class?” Walker asked, striding over to his office refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of water.
“Because Waverly will be there.”
“How the fuck do you know that?” He asked, one hand on his hip, one hand tightening on the water bottle.
Ann shrugged, “She texted me.”
His office door snicked closed softly after her.
Of course, she did, Walker fumed, she fucking texts back and forth with everyone except me. Fuck. The water bottle went sailing through the air and hit the door with a thud.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Surrounded by six good friends, Waverly was sitting with them at the Twisted Spoke, for half price whiskey Wednesday. Anne had filled her in on the new whiskey bar, after spin class. The entire group had insisted on trying it after their dinner, Rachel. Amy, Molly, Chloe, and Hannah.
After commiserating with her about Walker, she had gotten so much advice from them, that her head was spinning. Was she right, was he right, the consensus after a couple rounds of drinks, was that she should immediately, continue to be fuckbuddies with him. Partly because, they all agreed she should play this as an empowered businesswoman, representing women worldwide, and partly because, he was just so damn fuckable – a fuckable dumbfuck asshole. The fuckable part was true and the entire conversation made Waverly laugh until she snorted her drink out of her nose.
Walker had texted her a few times since their blow up on Friday, his usual succinct, boring, texts, ‘You ok?’, ‘I want to talk.’, and the last just a question mark. She ignored them. She was sure that soon she would hear gossip about him and whatever Stepford socialite or model he was currently with. Instead, the gossip had been about her, triggered by her photo in the paper. The paper had used the shot with Chef Alex when she was out to dinner with John. It was shortly after that when she had received the third text from Walker.
Ann, Walker’s assistant had even sent her a text about the photo. Ann had turned up at her spinning class, for an older woman she could really kick ass on a bike. After class, they had started chatting and Waverly had really gotten a kick out of her. Somehow, Ann knew about her Dumbfuck Asshole name for Walker, and they both laughed hysterically when she shared that. Later in their conversation, though, she did run on about what a great guy a Walker was. Informing her with a wink, that, ‘still waters run deep’. After exchanging numbers, Waverly had even invited her to meet up with the group here at the Twisted Spoke, since it was her recommendation. Ann declined, saying that she was working on a project that she was trying to finish, but would love a rain check.
Regardless of her friend’s input, Waverly had decided that she wasn’t going to have sex with Walker anymore. Her revenge was complete. Logic would rule, she would ignore her emotions this time, make the smart decision. She just wouldn’t have sex with him anymore... That’s what she kept telling herself. And, she had almost sold herself on the idea. If only, just the thought of him didn’t send her heart racing, or if his voice didn’t absolutely melt her, or his hand on her, in any way at all, didn’t make her feel so protected, so warm and shivery at the same time, so...horny. It was simple – no more sex with Walker.
Walker didn’t want his life to change; any relationships he’d had ended badly, emotionally messy – for them, he wasn’t sure his heart had ever been involved. If only Logic and intelligence ruled a relationship, he would be a happy man. Anything more than just sex between him and Waverly would just end badly too, he had already hurt her once and didn’t want to do it again. It had to stay just physical between them. Just sex, definitely the sex should continue. The sex should be exclusive. No feelings. No relationship. And, definitely no Benn. Although Waverly hadn’t mentioned anything about a relationship yet, she would – they always did.
He knew Waverly and Benn were ridiculously close, she talked about him a lot at dinner, about the weekend get-aways, the late hours spent working, shared friends, the years they spent working together for Steve. Too bad he couldn’t find a way to send Benny boy back to Steve again, and away from Waverly.
Waverly wasn’t aware that he knew Steve, or that Steve had done work for the RKI company with his father in the early days. In later years, Walker had done most of the interfacing with him. Steve wasn’t a big fan of his fathers, but not too many people were. He and Steve had developed a sort of father, son relationship, they had gone fishing, played poker, in fact, still played poker together once a month.
Steve was meeting him at the bar any minute, originally they were going to meet up at the shooting range, but Ann had given him the name of this new whiskey bar, mentioning that Steve might enjoy it.
Two glasses later, Steve had Walker grinning over his latest client story, when they were interrupted by raucous laughter. A group of five or six women had been getting increasingly louder as the night went on. Turning in their barstools, they watched one woman, stomp around dramatically, doing some kind of impression. The rest of the women hooted and howled with laughter in response.
Steve chuckled, “I’ll be damned, that’s Waverly.”
Standing up in front of her group, Waverly’s head was thrown back as she laughed, her hands flailed around as she spoke, her drink sloshing out of the glass onto the floor. Clearly, she was tipsy, totally oblivious to the looks her antics were drawing. She was wearing a slinky, silvery gray, dress that hugged every single curve of her body, and black shoes, with heels that every man knew, were called “fuck me” for a reason. Finally dropping down into her chair Waverly kicked one of her legs high up onto the coffee table in the center of their group of chairs.
Jesus, those legs are fucking amazing, Walker thought remembering their smooth, softness and how perfectly they wrapped around him. Steve interrupted, nudging him on the arm with his rocks glass.
“That girl’s really somethin’, isn’t she?”
Walker watched Waverly and three of her friends, eight legs stuck up in the air, toes pointing back and forth, in what he guessed must be some kind of shoe contest.
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