by Sheila Grace
Walking toward the elevator, I tried not to have flashbacks to Pretty Woman. Julia Roberts had probably starred in that movie when she had been my age. The hooker with a heart of gold and the billionaire business tycoon—only I was assuming James McDevitt wasn’t a billionaire. Rich, yes. But a billionaire? I looked down. I definitely had the hooker attire down. Without meaning to, I laughed, and James looked down at me as we stepped into the elevator.
“What?” he smiled.
I shook my head.
“Nothing.”
The elevator door closed, and as soon as he pressed the button for the top floor, he turned his attention back to me.
“Tell me,” he said quietly.
“No.”
“No?”
Before I could jump away from him, he grabbed me around the waist and dragged me against him. I squeaked and then went still as his hand slid up my bare thigh. Then he pinched my leg just above the knee, causing me to scream before I buckled into a fit of laughter.
“You’re ticklish,” he said in an overly pleased tone.
His hands moved up my sides, squeezing my ribs. I was laughing uncontrollably when the elevator door pinged, and I looked up in horror as a middle-aged couple stepped onto the elevator with us. I straightened up and then turned and gave James a scathing look.
As soon as the couple got off on the next floor, I moved across the elevator and watched James until the elevator doors slid open again. He led me down the hall and opened the door to the room, which I immediately realized wasn’t a room at all. It was an enormous suite with amazing views of the bay, including a bridge across the water. I didn’t know which one; I just knew it wasn’t the Golden Gate.
The suite, like the lobby, was impeccably decorated in neutral tones—and had a two-person soaking tub overlooking the view. The only time I had ever seen places like this one was in magazines at the dentist’s office.
Momentarily forgetting everything else, I walked across the space and opened a door that led out to a large corner terrace, complete with a loveseat and comfortable chairs. For a moment, I breathed in the salty air. Not a trace of cow shit, which was a smell I had gotten used to in the past four years at an ag school.
When I walked back inside, I saw a wet bar with a bottle of champagne sitting in a silver ice bucket. Two champagne flutes sat next to it. As if by magic, James appeared from another room. Instead of the jeans and shirt he had been wearing earlier, he was now clad in a suit that had probably cost more than my car. He went to the bar and popped the cork on the champagne like he had performed this ritual thousands of times—which was possible.
“A little early for drinks, isn’t it?” I asked dryly.
“Never too early for champagne.”
I walked over to him as he poured. The bubbles from rose-tinted sparkling liquid overflowed onto the bar as he lifted both flutes and held one out to me. I took mine and smiled awkwardly as he stared down at me.
“To meeting you, Ms. Cassia Flynn, my red-haired beauty.”
I blushed as he clinked my glass with his. I took a tentative sip. Definitely not the cheap sparkling wine I’d had at New Year’s. This was dry, crisp, and tasted almost floral.
“Enjoy the suite. I have you booked for a three o’clock facial and body scrub, followed by a massage. My number is in your phone. Feel free to order lunch. I’ll be back before dinner.”
He was leaving? I stared at him blankly. He was leaving me here with nothing but a stripper outfit and my phone? He pointed toward one of the bedrooms.
“I had the concierge leave some items I had ordered for you.”
He ran his thumb along my bottom lip, and I shivered at the sensation. Before I could argue, he turned to leave.
Well, okay then.
I downed the rest of my expensive champagne, set down the glass, and then pulled off my Mary Janes. Slowly I started walking around the suite. It was unreal. There was a rain shower in a bathroom that was almost the size of the bedroom in my apartment.
When I reached the main bedroom, I found a neatly arranged row of shopping bags. One bag was from a cosmetics company. Another bag was from a lingerie shop I had heard of. It was pretty much synonymous with naughty. I had never been brave enough to walk into the store, much less buy anything from there.
The rest of the bags were from a lot of places I would never step foot into—because I didn’t have that kind of money and wouldn’t any time soon.
Barneys New York. Bloomingdales. Nordstrom. Saks Fifth Avenue. La Perla.
Curious, I walked over and reached in to the last bag. More lingerie. A black corset and matching panties to be specific. Holy shit. I opened the next box and found garters and stockings.
I dropped the items into the bag and walked back into the main room. At the bar, I poured myself another glass of champagne before going back to the bedroom. I now had a complete selection of insanely expensive clothing, including a black cocktail dress—and a pair of high heels that had cost more than my rent. But at least there had been something relatively normal to wear to my spa appointment, including flat shoes.
Spa appointment! It was surreal. For the past two years, it had been a juggling act just to afford groceries and rent.
I walked out to the main room again and stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows as the fog rolled in. This whole thing was like a fairy tale, with the exception of Prince Charming. James McDevitt was charming—one second. The next second, he was, as he had said, a complete bastard. I still couldn’t figure out what the deal was with bringing me to San Francisco, dumping me at a luxury hotel, and then leaving me here.
I hurried and collected a more appropriate sartorial selection for my trip to the hotel’s swanky spa. Then I put my phone into the docking station next to the bed and turned on some music.
When I turned on the TV, I found a channel with the hotel’s room service menu. As soon as I was settled on the bed, I reached for the phone and dialed the number for room service. I ordered the heirloom tomato and cucumber salad and the grilled cheese with gruyere, fontina, mushroom, and sage.
My lunch alone would cost more than a week’s worth of groceries. This was definitely how the other half lived.
When my cell buzzed from the docking station, I rushed over and looked down at the name. Vicki. My one friend from freshman year who was still in town. Vicki had grown up in a really strict Catholic home, and as soon as both of us had turned twenty-one, she had gone a little nuts, hooking up with random guys she would meet in bars or clubs on a weekly basis. Then she had met Justin … which was why I didn’t get together with her as often now.
Vicki’s boyfriend made James McDevitt look like a choirboy, so to speak. Justin was my height, which made him maybe an inch or two taller than Vicki. Whether because of his height or not, he had a major chip on his shoulder. Actually, to be accurate, he was just a crazy asshole. The night Vicki had first met him, he had been so drunk he could barely stand, and back then, I had hoped it was just a one-night stand. Nope. She had been with him ever since.
The thing I really hated about Justin was how shitty he was to Vicki. He picked on her appearance, her family, anything she said. Basically, he was a bully and a dick, and I couldn’t see why she stayed with him. After he had gotten into a bar fight for the second time—with a guy a foot taller than him—I had stopped going out with them. These days, I only saw her when he wasn’t around, which wasn’t very much.
I let the call go to voicemail and went into the bedroom to change into a more appropriate outfit. Considering James had asked for my measurements, I had expected all the items in the bags to be lingerie. Instead, there was a good mix of clothing—all of it expensive. It was good to be able to change into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
By the time I was freshened up and had changed clothes, I heard a knock at the door. My heart stuttered in my chest before I remembered that I had ordered room service. I walked over to open the door and stepped back for the woman holding a tray. She came
in and set everything at the table by the window, including a bottle of sparkling water and a bowl of lemon and lime slices. Then she retrieved a glass from the bar.
“Ice?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“No thanks. Do you need me to sign for anything?”
I patted my pockets. I had zero cash on me and felt guilty about not tipping.
“Mr. McDevitt has taken care of everything. Enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you.”
After watching her leave and close the door behind her, I walked over to the table, collected the covered tray and water, and took my lunch outside. The fog had made the air chilly and damp, which was a nice change from the weather inland. San Francisco was about seventy miles or so from school, and the weather here was like another planet.
I nearly died when I took a bite of the grilled cheese. This was definitely how the other half lived. When I was done eating, I just wandered around, marveling at the suite until it was time for my appointment. I took the keycard James had left for me and went out in search of the spa.
Chapter 6: James
The meeting dragged. I couldn’t concentrate, and I wasn’t deluding myself about why. This girl was a distraction, and generally speaking, this was why I kept my liaisons short-term. Cass Flynn, though, was too much fun.
For better or worse, I was supposed to bring the party wherever I happened to be. Today I wasn’t feeling it. I glad-handed the clients and made promises for good times to come as Chris Hanover glowered at me. My partner was the tech geek to my salesman. Four years younger than I was, Chris had been a freshman in undergrad my senior year. He was a blond pretty boy like Bennett, but built like a rugby player. Oddly enough, he had the mind of a brilliant engineer. He just didn’t have a fucking clue about business.
His tech, though, was the reason my stock options were worth what they were—and I was the reason he hadn’t been eaten alive as just another kid with great ideas for someone else to steal. I had gotten him backers and made sure he didn’t fuck up; he had made me a partner. Three years ago, I’d had a trust fund and a colossal inheritance. But after Hanover Tech had gone public two years ago, Chris and I had crossed the threshold into revoltingly wealthy.
To celebrate, I had purchased an island in the Maldives. I still hadn’t been there, but it was on my list.
As far as the business, I was responsible for the strategy and people part, but today I wasn’t pulling my weight, and I knew it. I walked the clients out of the boardroom before rejoining Chris. I threw my jacket across one of the chairs and began loosening my tie and unbuttoning my collar.
“The fuck’s wrong with you, McDevitt?”
I shook my head and scrubbed a hand over my face.
“Not a thing.”
He smirked and put his feet up on the immaculately shiny table.
“Fuck you. Remember? I don’t buy into the McDevitt charm.”
I smiled thinly.
“Don’t knock the McDevitt charm, friend. It’s the reason you’re here and not working for chump change in some asshole’s IT department.”
“Ouch. What the fuck crawled up your ass?”
“A twenty-three-year-old stripper—cocktail waitress, actually. Redheaded siren.”
He jumped off the boardroom table.
“Are you fucken serious, dude?”
I shoved my hands into my pockets and looked out over San Francisco’s business district. When I nodded, Chris howled with laughter. Fuck me. I was not used to this bullshit. I had always been the one giving my friends and colleagues shit for being melodramatic, moody fuckwads about women.
“Is that why you begged out of everything for the next week?” he asked disbelievingly.
“Call it a vacation.”
Chris shook his head.
“Mayhem McDevitt taking a vacation? Instead of taking a tour de strip clubs across the city?”
My hands clenched and unclenched in my pockets. I was really starting to hate that fucking moniker. Sure, in undergrad, I had deserved it. Oh, fuck it. I had deserved it last week. In addition to being called a bastard, I had been accused—on a number of occasions—of never growing up. Peter fucking Pan, if you will.
“So? Why aren’t we at her show? I want to check out this nubile piece of ass who’s got your panties in a twist.”
I turned around.
“Fuck off, Hanover. I said cocktail waitress, not stripper.”
I grinned wolfishly to soften the menace in my voice.
“Is she that good of a lay?”
When I didn’t say anything, he stared at me with a dumbfounded expression.
“You are fucking her, right?”
My knuckles cracked. Jesus. Hindsight hit me like a blow to the solar plexus. I could see now why Bennett had sucker punched me that day at his house.
… I could try her out and report back if that would help you make up your mind.
My words. Damn, I had been an asshole. Because I had always assumed that those who knew me best—no one truly knew me well—wouldn’t take anything I said too seriously. Now it made sense to me why Ryan Bennett hadn’t spoken to me after the shit I had pulled. It was bro’s before ho’s … until it wasn’t.
“Don’t expect to hear from me until next week,” I leered as I picked up my jacket and started walking toward the elevators.
“Right, buddy. Since when has one chick been able to keep your attention for more than five minutes? And that’s being generous.”
“Asshole,” I called over my shoulder as I pressed the button for the elevator.
I had to wonder, though: When the fuck had I turned into such a sensitive bitch? On the way back to the hotel, I called the concierge and left instructions with him to prepare the suite for after dinner. I told myself that everything I was doing was an elaborate game to get Cass Flynn into bed, and maybe it was—but I was beginning to lose sight of what I really wanted. What I wanted was usually simple, but Cassia Flynn was anything but simple.
What she didn’t know was that I had scheduled a couple’s massage, and she was registered at the front desk as my wife. The irony of checking in as a married couple was not lost on me. I stopped by the room and dropped off my jacket before walking to the spa. When I arrived at the front desk, the receptionist looked up at me with a worried expression.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. McDevitt. Your wife is nearly finished with her massage.”
I smiled disarmingly.
“Not a problem. I’ll just slip in and surprise her.”
After I signed the bill and tipped out the spa staff, the woman at the desk helpfully pointed to the door. The masseuse was just on her way out as I stepped inside. I touched a finger to my lips with one hand and held up the white rose with the other, gesturing toward Cass, whose red hair was cascading over the massage table’s head cradle. As I folded back the soft flannel sheet covering her back, she flinched before laughing nervously.
“Sorry! I thought the massage was over.”
I laid the rose on the counter and then took out my cufflinks and dropped them in a pocket before rolling up my sleeves. Her skin was shimmering with oil, and my hands easily slid down her back all the way to the edge of her round, firm little ass. She moaned softly, and my dick jerked. This was definitely a first for me. Beautiful, naked woman laid out in front of me, and I wasn’t going to fuck her in the right here, right now.
“Wow. You have really strong hands,” Cass mumbled. “I guess I should have said harder in the first place.”
And it was official—my hard-on was painful again. My hands skimmed up her sides before running back down to her ass. Her skin was like silk. I worked the muscles right at the curve of her ass before moving toward her hips. I ran my hands down her thighs next, working my way to her calves before sliding my hands up along the creamy skin of her inner thighs until I could feel the heat of her pussy.
She inhaled sharply and became very still, but she didn’t say anything. Smiling to myself, I moved b
ack down to her calves, kneading the muscles until she whimpered. When I took the rose and began to caress the skin of her neck with the petals, she shivered. Aching as I imagined slipping into that tight heat from behind and feeling her silky pussy wrap around my dick, I bent down next to her.
“Did you enjoy your massage?”
She bolted upright, causing the sheet to fall around her hips. My eyes locked onto her creamy little tits, her nipples standing out, beckoning. Her eyes followed my gaze, and she yelped before grasping the sheet and dragging it up around her chest. With a smirk, I walked over and took the robe from the hook on the wall.
“How did you get in here?” she whispered fiercely.
“You’re registered at the hotel as my wife.”
“Oh my god,” she muttered.
I handed her the robe.
“Are you going to turn around?”
“I would prefer not to.”
“Are you always this difficult?” she huffed.
“I’m extremely accommodating in bed.”
She laughed and rolled her eyes before I faced the wall. When I turned around, she was wrapped in the robe and wearing the spa’s slippers.
“Are you ready?” I asked.
She looked around nervously.
“I have to go get my clothes and change.”
“Give me the key to the locker. I’ll have your things sent up.”
After a brief hesitation, she followed me to the door. I handed her the rose, which earned me a withering look. I walked ahead of her to the elevator, pressed the button, and then held out my hand when the doors slid open. Already standing on the elevator was a jowly middle-aged man wearing khakis, a blue polo, tassels on his shoes, and too much gold jewelry.
His eyes slithered across Cass’s body. He was easily four times her age—and something about his gaze triggered a memory of my father’s predatory stare. As the elevator began moving, Cass looked over at him, her cheeks coloring as his eyes raked over her. For a brief moment, I entertained a fantasy of grabbing his bad comb-over and smacking his head into the steel doors of the elevator. When he stepped off at the next floor, my muscles relaxed. This girl was definitely my grand karmic bitch slap.