by KB Winters
Chapter 2
Meg
I slipped on the slinky red dress and stared at myself in the mirror.
Holy shit. I looked like a fucking whore.
My uncle wanted me to wear this? He must really hate his partner. Or was completely desperate. This was a dress a rich man bought his young whore to parade her in front of the masses, not something an uncle bought his niece! It screamed hooker. It was a beautiful rich red, with spaghetti straps holding up a neckline so low it revealed everything right above my nipples. I hoped I wouldn’t face a cool wind or they’d definitely poke out. Though its length was respectable, the way it clung to every curve, it looked sprayed on and nothing was left up to the imagination.
I whirled around. The back plunged past the small of my back so low that the top of the crack of my ass was nearly visible. And tight? Hell yes.
Every little bulge, every little dent, even the cottage cheese looking stuff on my hips were front-and-center.
I took a breath, then grabbed a brush and ran it through my hair. Twisting my mane at the nape of my neck, I pinned it up in a simple up-do that my uncle would likely frown upon. Then, to look more sophisticated, I lined my eyes in kohl, more lightly than I did for the clubs, and applied a matching red lipstick.
I slid into red, five-inch, fuck-me heels with bows at the ankle, lacing them up my calves and tying them below the knee. When I stepped in front of the mirror, I felt naked, even though I didn’t wear much to the clubs. But this definitely was a far cry from the destroyed denim and boots I usually wore.
Now was the time to go big or go home.
I slipped on two chandelier earrings as I heard the front door downstairs slam. “Meg!”
Fuck. My tyrant of an uncle was home. Grabbing my wrap, I went out to meet him.
Heller was waiting in the enormous foyer, with its gleaming checkerboard floor and enormous crystal chandelier. I stood at the top of the steps as he appraised me over his bifocals, crossing his arms. “Come down here.”
I wasn’t one to follow the rules. Letting men tell me what to do had never been my thing, and I usually did the opposite, just out of spite. But my Uncle Heller had me on a leash. After all, I’d been staying with him since my mother died, and he never let me live it down that he was the reason I’d been kept out of foster homes, given every last luxury, and come out of Farleigh Dickenson without any debt whatsoever.
But he was a man of finance. I knew that eventually he’d want a return on his investment.
I glided down the stairs, stopping at the very bottom step, which put me almost at eye level with him. My uncle was far from one to give me affection. I was raised mostly by Gloria, his long-time housekeeper, a woman who was now pushing eighty. He’d never touched me, much less hugged or kissed me, or showed me he cared. We barely talked, and when he did address me, it was usually with disappointment over something I’d done wrong. With his mouth a frowning straight line, he scanned my entire body with his cold eyes, lingering on my cleavage. He motioned for me to turn around.
I stepped off the bottom step in front of him and did as he asked.
“I suppose that will do,” he said, less than impressed. But I knew my uncle. That was the best I could expect from him. “Come along.”
I followed him to the front door, wondering why the hell I’d had to major in art history. I’d done it because I needed to choose something, and nothing had really stuck out to me. If I’d majored in business, maybe I could’ve had a job at E-Ventures, the firm Uncle Heller had started with his partner a couple of years ago. But art was worthless, he’d told me, with great disappointment. I’d embarrassed him, obviously, because he said I wasn’t worthy of even getting coffee for his colleagues as a freaking intern. So I’d never even gone to visit him at his Hackensack office. For the past three years, since graduation, I’d been blanketing the world with resumes. Oh, I’d had jobs. Stretching canvas in frame shops; pouring champagne at art galleries for their openings; mailing PR bullshit for exhibits of private collections, but nothing gave me a living wage and by some miracle, my uncle hadn’t kicked me out yet. So mostly I lived the life of a wealthy debutante—sleeping late, partying all night.
But last week, he’d told me those days were numbered.
I knew it was coming. Every time he’d come home and find me getting ready for a night in the city, he’d shake his head. Then later, I’d stumble in drunk at four in the morning, usually with a guest, some dude I’d picked up at the club. Because my uncle was always working, our paths rarely crossed, but when they did, he’d give me a sour look, like he’d made a big mistake by taking me in.
Last week something changed. “I have a proposition for you,” he’d said as I was applying my red lipstick, getting ready to go to a new club in the city.
I’d already done a shot of Jack to get my motor going, so I was pleasantly mellow. “Yeah?”
“My goddamn partner,” he started. “I can’t manage him anymore.”
I’d heard about The Goddamn Partner before. My uncle detested him in every possible way. He was too slow, not business-minded enough, too engrained in technicalities to recognize the big picture. He lacked ambition, was impeding their growth, couldn’t dress worth a damn, and on, and on, and on. My uncle never actually talked to me directly about him. I only heard grumbles under his breath when he was particularly frustrated.
“What do you want me to do about it?” I’d asked, certain my hands were tied. After all, I was his embarrassing niece who had absolutely no business skills.
He’d eyed me, then, his eyes scraping over my halter, short denim skirt and boots. Suddenly, I felt uncomfortable, which I didn’t feel very often. I pulled my cardigan over my breasts, sure I wasn’t going to like the answer.
“I want you to get the code for the app from him.”
I’d stared at him. “What? You want me to get a code? Don’t you have it?”
He’d laughed bitterly. “My partner is very secretive. He won’t part with it. He might need a little. . .” he’d reached out and swiped a lock of my brown hair behind my ear, “. . .coaxing.”
Coaxing? From his tone, there could be no mistaking what he meant by that. “You want me to fuck him?” I’d asked flatly.
A slow smile spread over his face. “Not necessarily. But Meg, dear, you’ve been going out every night, doing that for free anyway.”
My mouth dropped open. Yes, I sneaked men home. I supposed it couldn’t be called sneaking, since sometimes I roared home on a Harley that wasn’t the quietest thing in the world. But yes, I fucked the men I brought home. And yes, I enjoyed fucking men I barely knew. It was fun, unemotional and I could send them home the next morning with no expectations. They’d leave early in the morning, before my uncle was awake, so I didn’t think he’d noticed.
I’d stared at him, speechless.
“Our bedrooms may be on opposite sides of the house, but don’t think I can’t hear you.” He rubbed his hands together like a cartoon villain. “At least you can benefit from your promiscuity this time.”
He actually thought I was a whore. Hmph. “Benefit? How?”
When he told me what he’d offer, it damn near took my breath away. Half a million dollars. Half a million fucking dollars.
I’d have signed on the dotted line, right then. If it meant freedom from my uncle, I was all in. It didn’t matter if I had to fuck the NY Giants, one by one or all at once, I was down for it. “But I don’t understand.”
“It’s very simple, Megan dear,” my uncle said. “I want to bring my partner down and make him surrender his shares in the company over to me. In order to do that, though, I need a woman.”
“A woman?”
“Yes. A woman. My business partner works all the time. He barely has time for women, but I think the proper one could make him lose his business mind a bit.”
“Maybe he’s gay.”
“No. He’s shy and rather awkward around beautiful women, which tells me he has interest. B
ut I think if the right beautiful woman titillated his senses a bit, it would distract him, and things would work in my favor.”
So here I was, ready to help things work in my uncle’s favor.
I pulled the wrap around my shoulders as we walked down to the U-shaped driveway to his Mercedes. When he opened the door for me, I slid into the passenger seat, surprised my tight-assed dress didn’t rip down the seams. I wondered how tonight would go. Would his business partner even be interested in me? Would I be able to pull it off?
I lowered the visor and checked my make-up in the mirror. I looked hot. Yes, I will. For $500,000 and freedom from the arrogant bastard beside me, I’ll do anything.
“Now, you know what to say,” my uncle quizzed me from the driver’s seat. We were headed out on I-80 toward RAIN, the venue in Teaneck.
I nodded. “I’ll know him because you’ll clean your glasses while talking to him. I should approach him, since he likely won’t approach me. I should tell him I’m a friend of an investor and very interested in the app. Drink with him, but don’t seem too eager. And don’t ever make eye contact with you until I’m introduced to you. Did I forget anything?”
“Don’t forget to smile, Meg. You don’t smile nearly enough.”
I frowned. I wonder why?
“And show your considerable . . .” he ventured a look at my legs, which were crossed, my bare knees showing. “Assets.”
I waved him away. Assets, legsets, titsets, whatever he wanted me to show. I wasn’t shy. I wasn’t one to flirt, though, either. Didn’t really have to make cutesy small talk with men. They were interested, anyway. Flirting, and being overly eager, seemed to work against most women, I thought. Men liked women who didn’t give a shit.
And I was surely beyond giving a shit.
Not that I wanted men to like me. No, that was the last thing I needed in my life. I was perfectly fine with casual sex. I loved casual sex. Loved how wild and free I felt with a complete stranger pounding into me. Most men, though? After they’d made me come really started to bore me. Actually, all men were like that, and I’d seen quite my share.
The only man who ever made me want more had been . . . wow, had seven years already passed?
Gabe. My high-school sweetheart. In a lot of ways, we were complete opposites. He was careful, kind of dopey, but incredibly sweet. He was the first and only man who didn’t try to get into my pants right away. I’d practically had to force myself on him. And God, he’d made geeky sexy, with his thick-rimmed glasses and his messy brown hair and those t-shirts he used to wear imprinted with cheesy things like “If History Repeats Itself, I’m Getting a Dinosaur.”
I wanted to be his first, because I knew it would mean everything to him. I wanted to mean everything to someone, since I meant nothing to so many people. But I’d gone and fucked that up.
My uncle and I arrived at the club about fifteen minutes after the event began. “Fashionably late,” my mother would’ve called it. My uncle pulled into a spot behind the club, far away from prying eyes, and left me with a curt, “I expect you to deliver, dear niece.”
I flipped him off after he slammed the door and strode away. The eagerness to free myself from his leash overcame me often, but never as strong as it did right then. I hate him.
As I waited in the dark cabin of the car, I rehearsed what I’d do. I wasn’t nervous. I knew I had this. I was to make a big entrance alone, so that all eyes would be on me. In this hooker-red dress, it wasn’t possible not to attract attention. People in freakin’ Manhattan could probably see me, I was such the blatant billboard for sex.
Gabe had always called me a drama queen. He’d said I should’ve been a movie star because of the way I acted. Though he was lacking in social skills, he was smart, and the only one who could ever see through my act. But I had little doubt I’d be able to wrap my Uncle Heller’s Goddamn Partner around my finger, and that the big payoff would be mine. If seduction was a major in college, I’d have taken it and passed it with flying colors. This would be like taking candy from a baby.
Poor man. He wouldn’t know what hit him.
I checked my make-up once more, puffing powder onto my cheeks. Showtime.
I snapped my evening bag shut, took a deep breath, and stepped outside.
Chapter 3
Gabe
I drove to Teaneck that night, listening to the radio to calm my nerves. Heller was right. The traffic was bad, which only made me more edgy. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, hoping I wouldn’t be late to my own party.
Not that an early arrival would help me fit in any better. There was a reason I’d never gone to proms, homecomings, or parties when I was a kid. Just as it was in high school, I was the sore thumb at social events. I stumbled over my words, fumbled with social cues, never knew when to laugh or how to work a room properly. Most of the time, I’d end up backed against a corner, quietly sipping a drink by myself.
The three months I’d spent with Meg had almost changed all that. She lived for parties. She’d walk in, turning all heads, and she’d move from circle to circle, fitting in easily with all of them. She actually looked like she was enjoying herself at those things. Those months as her boyfriend, she’d taken me to all the popular crowd parties, and as her escort, I’d almost felt like I belonged, even if it was only as Meg’s entourage.
Damn, how I wished I had someone like her now. Someone I could rely on to fill the awkward silence that would inevitably come up whenever I was dragged into a conversation. Someone lively and fun, so I wouldn’t have to feel so alone.
RAIN, the night club our events manager had selected, was a place with a hip vibe. It was dark and cavernous inside, with blue lights everywhere, and modern, futuristic fixtures emitting a cool, white glow. We’d rented out the entire place, and when I pulled in, I was pleased to see that most of the lot was full. That was the first part — getting the investors to come.
Now, all we had to do was wow them.
Well, LuvMakr might wow them, but I sure won’t, I thought, pulling my keys from the ignition and pocketing them in my suit jacket. I stepped out of the car and went around to the entrance, where I saw some of my employees arriving. I pushed the glasses up on the bridge of my nose and prayed I’d see someone I recognized.
Luckily, Dan was there, dressed in a suit with his typical Hawaiian shirt and, of course, flip flops. “Looks like it’s hopping,” he said to me. “That’s a good sign.”
Good, yes, but in my book, it was too early to claim victory. It wouldn’t feel like a win until we unveiled the app at ten, every single jaw dropping in wonder, and the investors throwing blank checks our way. If that didn’t happen, I’d be screwed. I had high hopes for this, and LuvMakr was my baby. Early chatter in the trades had been overwhelmingly positive, hailing it as a miracle. Beta testers were going crazy about it and all the chat rooms were foaming at the mouth to get their chance to try it. Yet, I wouldn’t be satisfied unless everyone loved it the way I did.
I stepped inside. The room was just bright enough to outline the silhouettes of people bathed in blue light from thousands of overhead string lights. Jazz music wafted from hidden speakers, and the lull of conversation greeted my ears. The E-Ventures logo was everywhere, on a banner hanging in the entryway, on the floor, in signage directing the way to the party. Streamers and balloons in our colonial blue and steel gray colors were everywhere. The new LuvMakr ads were on the many television screens imbedded in the walls. Our events manager definitely deserved an A-plus for branding.
I took another step forward and was swallowed by the crowd. People elbowed me, all strangers. The chaos hit me with a deep sense of unease, so instead of joining the festivities, I went to the bar, slid onto a lighted barstool, and ordered a Coke.
Then I turned around, sipping it, wondering if I could find someone to save me, or if I’d end up in the corner, behind a potted plant.
“Gabe,” a voice said.
I looked to my right to see Heller striding p
urposefully toward me. Though small and wiry, and not particularly attractive, his smile and aura made people take notice. He commanded the room in a way I’d never be able to. He shook my hand as if he hadn’t just seen me an hour before. “How are things?”
“Fine. You were right. There, uhm, was a lot of traffic,” I replied awkwardly, noticing the two older men in suits flanking him. I could tell they were the money muscle that had made this entire venture possible, and I nearly choked from nerves.
He ignored my dumb traffic comment. “I’d like to introduce you to two of our biggest contributors. Men, this is the man who developed LuvMakr from the ground up.”
He introduced his companions, but their names escaped me. I nodded and shook their hands.
“So, you’re the brains, huh?” the bigger man asked. “So what made you think of this idea?”
I cleared my throat. “Well, I had this idea for an algorithm, since I was always interested in the, uhm, since the dawn of computer programming, the concept of choice, in a non-threatening . . . uhm . . .” I forgot where I was headed. I wasn’t entirely sure I’d been headed anywhere. The men’s eyes began to wander. I looked at Heller for rescue, but he simply removed his glasses and began to polish the lenses with a handkerchief.
Shit. What else could I say? The truth was, I designed this app because it fulfilled a need. The end. Would I ever date someone I met online? Not until I’d made LuvMakr. It took the anonymous, creeper feeling out of dating, as it would vet all participants. It sounded so good in my head, but when I opened my mouth, gibberish always seemed to escape before I could form solid sentences. Collecting my thoughts, I started to speak again, just as I spied in my peripheral vision the shape of a curvaceous woman in red.
She brushed past me, on her way deeper into the room, so I could just see her from the rear. The dress. Holy shit, that dress. It bared curves in a way that could not be legal, and showed almost all of her sculpted back, ending in a V that pointed the way to her heart-shaped ass. Men began to turn in her wake, admiring her ass, which was full and round like a cherry. She wore terribly uncomfortable looking heels, which did everything to accentuate the muscles of her calves. My cock twitched and every sane thought I’d had flew right out the window.