“Just ask, dumbass.”
I flip him off then point my fork to his watch. “No Rolex? I mean, most virile Wall Street types wear their dicks on their wrist, and nothing screams man-boner louder than Rollies.”
He shakes his wrist. “I was not expecting that. Also, men actually have boners, so I’m not sure you need to clarify that it’s a man-boner.”
Ignoring the etymology lesson, I tip one shoulder up and say, “You’re naked, save for the fancy watch. It kind of stands out.”
Max is thoughtfully quiet for a beat, then he speaks. “When I was ten, I wanted this Ninja Turtle Timex. I mean I begged my mother for it, but my dad shut it down. He said real men wear Rolexes. So, for my eleventh birthday, instead of my Ninja Turtle watch, I got my first Rolex. That was the first of many disappointments with P-Two.” He grins to lighten his words, but my hand finds his and I squeeze. I don’t know if it’s to make me feel better or him, but I squeeze just the same. “Anyway, now I wear everything but, just to piss him off.”
“Can I ask you another question?”
He chuckles. “Go ahead.”
“Who was your favorite Ninja Turtle?”
The door swings open and voices spill through the apartment before he can answer. Max stands in front of me, his hands covering his dick as Erin and Jalen stumble in, turning on every light as they go. “What the hell kind of freaky shit is happening here?” Erin looks at us naked in her kitchen with disgust.
“I didn’t think you were coming home, and why are you here?” I ask pointing to Jalen.
“I’m with him.” He tips his chin at his friend.
Rosie barks and comes running in from the bedroom.
Erin bends down to pick her up. “Is this his killer dog?”
“Can you guys please go away so we can get dressed?” Embarrassed is the understatement of the century. I feel like that guy from that movie who got caught fucking the pie. At least Max is a real person, but still, your family catching you with your pants down is never fun.
“We’re all adults here, nothing anyone hasn’t seen before.” Jalen grins.
“You’re disgusting,” Erin shoots back looking down at Rosie. “How about we take this little cutie for a walk, and you two can disinfect my kitchen.” She glares at me, and I pull Max closer. His muscles tighten under my hands and even though we got caught with our asses out—literally and I’m mortified—I’m also kind of turned on by how quickly he moved to protect my modesty.
Once the door shuts behind them, Max turns to me. “From now on, we fuck at my place.”
I nod and bite my lip. “Deal.”
It’s official, my dick hates me. After two days—forty-eight motherfucking hours of abstinence bullshit—I can’t say I blame the poor bastard. I hate my damn-self. And does Ellie make it easy on me? Fuck no. She’s a horny asshole.
Saturday, after I tried to convince her to quit that stupid fucking job by fucking her within an inch of her life—seriously, I deserve a medal for that performance—she said no, took a nap and then left for work, cutting our weekend fuckfest short, which means the next time I fuck her will be the second to last time.
So naturally, I’ve been avoiding her like a little bitch for the last two days. Sunday was rough. Although she was in Brooklyn and I in Manhattan, it didn’t stop her from sending me pictures of her tits, her cunt, and her fingers in her cunt. I stayed strong, even on Monday, when after our Vann war room session, she cornered me in the copy room, where I may have been hiding from her—and called me out. I told her she was being crazy and promptly left the office.
Am I looking for a relationship with Ellie? No, but I enjoy sticking my dick inside the various openings on her body, and I don’t hate spending time with her. The problem is since she stumbled into this job, my focus has been shit. Graham’s right. I’m fucking up this Vann thing because I care more about how quickly I’m racking dick-plant and ass-fruit emojis, than I do world domination.
Fuck this. I close the calendar app and slip out of the copy room. Winston bounces past me with his head down, focused on whatever bullshit papers he’s carrying. He bumps into my shoulder, sending the pages flying like a stack of ones at a strip club.
“You’re still as awkward as ever, Wiener.” I sigh, dropping to a squat, stacking the pages in a neat pile.
“Since when do you make your own copies?” He drops down too, gathering the pages within reach. “And I’ve told you a million times not to call me Wiener here.” His sand-colored brow arches up, into his sand-colored hairline and it’s then that I realize he looks like a toe. I inform him of that realization. “A toe, really, Max?”
“Call it like I see it.” I shrug.
“I don’t know how Dexter and Ellie deal with you,” he gripes. We stand, his pages askew, but at least they aren’t on the floor.
“They deal with me because I pay them. You’re here because your dad thinks there’s a shark hidden underneath all that dork.” I gesture to his thick, black-rimmed glasses, and ink-stained shirt. “Really, Wiener, I thought nerds used pocket protectors?”
“Ellie doesn’t mind the ink stain, and she doesn’t think I look like a toe either. She told me so at lunch today. Doris made her famous chili and we bonded over our love of it and our hate for you.”
I narrow my eyes at the walking, talking case of athlete’s foot. Winston is no competition, but my dick hasn’t been acknowledged in days, and the way he says her name makes my skin crawl. “We’re just going to ignore the no fraternization rule?”
Winston shrugs. “I’m not the one who let the receptionist blow him in the elevator. I told Dad he should really look into installing a camera in there.”
“I’m not fucking Lynn,” I say, mentally adding, anymore. It’s just like Wiener to run to his father over every little thing.
“I don’t think you’re sleeping with Lynn,” he replies, looking down at the pages in his hand. “I just don’t think you deserve her.”
I clasp my hand on his shoulder, a little too roughly. “Well, rest easy knowing Lynn’s safe from the big bad Anderson.”
“I’m not talking about Lynn.” His eyes find mine and he shoots me a knowing smirk. “She’s too good for you. Homemade clothes, Brooklyn address, and all.”
Anger floods my veins but I do my best to swallow it back. I can’t tell if this is a phishing expedition or if Ellie spilled more beans at lunch than Doris did to make the chili. Either way, I’d rather cut my own dick off than let Winston Sullivan see me sweat.
“You got a little something.” I point to his shirt. When he looks down I lift my fingers and flick his lip. “Made you look.”
“Really, Max?” he huffs in frustration, as I stroll away, silently fuming all the way to my office.
Ellie stands when I enter. “Where were you?”
“Not having chili with the enemy.” I come to a stop in front of her desk. My arms crossed over my chest, I do my best to ignore how hot she looks in her chunky cream sweater dress. Her lips are painted plum. A color I wouldn’t mind seeing smeared on my cock.
Her stormy eyes flare. “Winston isn’t the enemy.”
“Only because he’s too fucking clueless to be a threat. That is, unless you hand him a smoking gun.”
Her mouths drops open, and my hips flex involuntarily. “I haven’t broken the fuck club rules,” she grits.
“Then why is Wiener giving me shit about not deserving you?”
“Maybe it’s because you stare at my ass instead of paying attention to what I’m saying when we are in the war room?” She arches a brow.
“Whatever, he isn’t that perceptive, but he is a little snitch, so you’ll do well to remember where your loyalty lies.”
“Loyalty? Max, you’ve given me a sex contract, Winston is offering genuine friendship. Why shouldn’t I trust him over you?”
“My dick being inside your pussy raw should be reason enough.”
“You. Are. Disgusting.”
“Again, my
dick, your pussy. No rubber. I can’t be all that bad.”
Ellie pinches the bridge of her nose. “We don’t have time for this right now. You have to go.”
“Go where?”
“Upstairs. They’ve been calling you for the past thirty minutes.”
“My phone is on my desk,” I say.
“I know,” she holds up the phone. “I’ve gotten missed calls from Graham and another five from Jalen. Go. You can explain the correlation between loyalty and unprotected sex after you fix whatever is going on.”
“You think I can fix it?” I smirk, puffing my chest out.
“Go, Maxwell.” She fights the urge to smile, and I fight the urge to press a kiss to her twitching lips. I snag my phone, forgoing the elevator and take the stairs two at a time.
It’s chaos on thirty. Heels click-clacking on the marble floors as interns and secretaries flutter past, avoiding the conference room like a bad Tinder date. The entire board, including my father, plus legal, are huddled around the table, their brows furrowed and lips pursed. Whatever’s going on is big enough to pull P-Two from exile.
Straightening my tie, I storm in, letting the wolf take over. I catch Jalen’s eye and he shakes his head. The universal sign for, we’re fucked.
“Nice of you to show up, Son.” My dad looks like shit. His suit is wrinkled. His beard is overgrown, and his eyes are bloodshot. I have never seen Preston look anything less than immaculate. Even when he’s sick, he still shaves.
“What’s going on?” I ask. My irritation from my run-in with Winston, and the weird sexual buzz from my back-and-forth with Ellie melts away and I slip further into CEO mode.
Graham nods to the television mounted on the wall and I watch as Channel Nine unravels everything my grandfather worked a lifetime to create.
Breaking news out of Wall Street today. Anderson Capital CEO, Preston Anderson II, has been accused of sexually assaulting an intern at the thriving investment firm. Anderson Capital has been a staple on Wall Street for years, ever since his father, Anderson Sr., founded the company back in ’75.
The alleged assault happened a few months ago, and last month the CEO stepped down from his day-to-day role at the firm. Many believed it was so he could care for his ailing wife, but our sources say it was a “quit or be fired” situation. A move that could land the firm in hot water in the post #Metoo culture.
We’ve reached out to the financial giant for comment, but as of airtime, still haven’t heard back. We’ll keep you posted on all the latest developments.
“Fuck,” I say slamming my fist into the wood. “Fuck.”
“Calm down, Son,” my dad says. It’s the tone of the man I grew up longing to impress, but his eyes are dead. It’s jarring to see. Dead heart, I can handle. Dead eyes. That shit is post-apocalyptic.
“Calm down? Did you not watch the same thing as the rest of us? Not only are you a rapist, but we are now the kind of firm who condones that kind of behavior. I’m surprised the protesters haven’t shown up with their signs and fucking Facebook Live videos.”
“We’ll handle it,” Graham says stoically. To everyone else, he’s the picture of composure, but I know that motherfucker as well as I know P-Two, probably better. He’s freaking out. It’s his posture that gives him away. His back is a little too straight, his lips are pressed a little too tightly. Every few minutes, he slips his hands into his pocket to flip the pocket watch hidden there. Small, seemingly insignificant chinks in his armor that worry me. “But he’s right, P. You should take off before the vultures descend.”
“What about the vote?” My dad sighs. He’s resigned to his fate. This company is no longer his, not in daily operation, and as soon as this vote happens it won’t even be his in ownership.
“Damage control first.” Graham nods sagely. “We’ll vote later.”
“This is bullshit.” I push away from the table and slam the glass door so hard it rattles.
My dad follows suit, chasing behind me as the walls to our empire crumble. “Max.” He tags my wrist. I turn to look at the man whose selfishness has caused the mountain of destruction surrounding us. His eyes are wild, his expression unhinged. It’s enough to have my steps faltering. He has never called me Max. He has never walked out of the boardroom during a crisis. The man before me is a stranger, and oddly, more human than I’ve ever seen him. “Have you spoken to her? Your mother? Is she okay?”
“Like I’d tell you,” I growl. Truth be told I don’t really know. And that makes me almost as big a piece of shit as my father. Money and power have fueled the Anderson men since the universe cracked in two and God or whoever decided that mankind was worth breathing life into. We don’t deserve her. On top of my father’s infidelity, now she has to deal with the shitstorm in the news, and I haven’t even bothered to check in. No wonder God has stolen her memories.
“I just need to know she’s okay. I’m going out of my mind. I’ve booked two fucking plane tickets to Illinois in the past week. It’s taking every ounce of self-control not to go there and drag her back home.”
“Had you exercised that same restraint when you were shoving your wrinkled dick down the intern’s throat, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” I sneer, jabbing the arrow down button. I can’t listen to this bullshit. I can’t sit back while Graham and the rest of the board make decisions about my family’s company.
His eyes flare and a spark of the man who raised me appears. “I’m not one of your friends. You will watch how you speak to me.”
“Or else what? You won’t leave me the company you destroyed?”
P-Two pushes errant strands of salt-and-pepper hair from his forehead and buttons the top button of his suit jacket. “If you talk to her, tell her I love her.” The elevator doors slide open and he disappears between them. Shaking my head, I stalk over to the stairwell. My phone rings. Vann. I sigh and send him to voicemail.
Steam fills the air as hot water rains down on me. The shower door opens and my little living Bratz doll slips in behind me. Our eyes lock, but we remain silent. We haven’t spoken since the news broke. I went back down to twenty-nine. Ellie and Winston were huddling around her computer watching MSNBC. I locked myself in my office for the next few hours avoiding calls and emails until I couldn’t pretend anymore. I left early, not uttering a word to anyone.
Ellie showed up at my place a few hours later with Chinese food. We fucked hard, then ate until we were stuffed. After she passed out, I went for a run, pushing myself until my mind shut down, and I was nothing but a mass of blood and veins and pulsating organs.
Delicate hands wrap around my waist, centering me. Her soft curls brush against my back as she settles between my shoulder blades.
Water falls, and still, we are quiet. Our breathing synchronized, hearts beating in tandem.
I press my palms into the tile and sigh. “Anything I can do?” Her voice is so low it’s almost swallowed by the steam. I want to tell her to run. That being with me will leave her empty and broken, but I don’t. I don’t because I am already empty and broken and selfish enough to hold on to a good thing when I see it. Ellie can be my glue, just like my mother was for my dad, until he used her up and discarded the remains. Maybe the apple doesn’t fall as far from the tree as I’d hoped.
Instead, I grunt a reply and we stand there until the water runs cold. We dry off, and I toss Ellie one of my old college t-shirts before shrugging on a pair of gray sleep pants and climb into bed.
Ellie stands there for a beat then disappears into the other room. When she comes back, she’s holding Rosie with shaky hands and gives her to me. I smile for the first time all day and tuck my dog under one arm and the girl, who for whatever reason decided I was worth the risk, under the other.
“Vann called,” I confess, finally breaking the silence. I hadn’t told Jalen, though he was still up on thirty when I left. “Maybe my dad was right. I’m not ready.”
Ellie rubs soothing circles across my abdomen. “Why do you say that?”
“I’m sure the entire Anderson Capital executive team stayed to strategize, and I ran like a little bitch. I haven’t returned a single fucking phone call, and I’m pretty sure the meeting with Attar is off. I should be in the middle of the storm, yet I’m hiding in bed with my dog and my girl.”
A smile stretches across Ellie’s lips so big and so bright, it makes the admission that I’m a pussy a little easier to swallow. “Okay, so I know we have a lot to unpack here, and we can get to that in a minute, but first…your girl?”
“My Piss Girl.” I grin and press my lips to her forehead.
“I’m being serious, Max.” She hits me, and Rosie yelps. I swear she rolls her eyes at us and moves to lay on the other end of the bed.
“I just think it’s stupid to think we are going to stop fucking around after we have sex two more times, and I hate worrying about that shit. Especially now, when I’ve got bigger things to deal with.”
“You worry about it?”
“I stare at that fucking calendar all the time wondering how I’m going to talk you into adding another five days.”
“You could have just asked. You always tell me, even now, you’re telling me that the calendar is off. What about what I want?” She looks up at me with those too big, gray eyes, and sucks her bottom lip into her mouth.
I run my knuckle down the bridge of her nose. “What do you want, Ellie?”
“This,” she says, placing her hand over my heart.
“You’ve known me for a grand total of seven weeks.”
“It’s long enough to know I’d like to try. I’m not asking for a ring or promises. I’m asking you to be a little less of the P-Three who bulldozes into my panties and tells me how it’s going to be, and a little more relationshipy.”
“Relationshipy isn’t a word,” I deadpan.
“Piss Girl isn’t my name, but it doesn’t stop you from using it.”
I wrap my arms around her middle and inhale. She smells like me. “So, what are the rules in this relationshipy?”
Pretty Little Mess Page 13