by Banks, R. R.
“I've been called worse, believe me,” I say. “Probably deserved it too.”
She stands there sputtering for a moment, looking torn between turning and bolting out the door, and looking like she wants to stay. I see the desire burning in her eyes, but I also see a different kind of fire as well – an angry, pissed off one. And that is the one that currently seems to be winning.
“How could you do that to me?” she asks. “How could you sleep with me knowing I wasn't waiting for you?”
I shrug. “Listen, I know I probably shouldn't have –”
“Probably?” she asks, her eyebrows arched in outrage.
“Okay, I shouldn't have,” I admit. “But, how could I refuse? I mean, you're absolutely stunning. You're a goddess come to life. I'm just a red-blooded man who's a bit morally compromised, and guided by my passions. I'm an addict, love. I'm weak. How could you expect me to say no?”
I see her cheeks flush as she quickly looks away from me. She tries to remain serious and angry, but I can see the corners of her mouth curling upward into a small grin – perhaps the memories of our time together are playing through her mind right now. Once Zoe notices me watching her, she straightens up and turns back to me, her eyes just as fierce as before.
“What were you even doing at my room?” she asks.
“Funny story, that,” I say. “I'd just gotten done with my set at the Orchid –”
“Wait, you were performing at the Velvet Orchid that night?” she asks. “The Velvet Orchid on Mission Street in San Francisco?”
“Unless you know of another one on Mission, yeah.”
She buries her face in her hands and shakes her head.
“Oh, my God,” she says, her words slightly muffled through her hands. But, then she raises her head. “Now, I know why you looked so familiar to me. I was there that night. With a friend. You were the singer.”
“Guilty as charged,” I say and give her a roguish little grin.
“Fine. Whatever,” she lets out a long breath and shakes her head. “What were you doing at my door?”
“I was actually supposed to be meeting – a friend,” I say.
“A friend.”
I shrug. “Yeah, a friend,” I reply. “She didn't order me off a man-meat delivery menu, but we were supposed to get together for a little adult entertainment anyhow.”
Her cheeks flush scarlet again and she looks to be on the verge of a stroke. I know it’s sadistic, but I can’t help but find her discomfort adorable. The fact that she's so shy and reserved, so easily embarrassed – especially when I can see a core of steel inside of her – is funny to me.
It also tells me she's not a woman in control of her sexuality or personal identity. And having watched the dynamic with daddy play out earlier, I have a pretty good idea why.
“Come on,” I say. “You can't tell me you didn't enjoy that.”
“I don't have to tell you anything,” she spits back.
“Fair enough,” I reply. “But, I can tell by those blushing cheeks and smile you're trying so hard to hide that you enjoyed it. A lot.”
“So, what?” she finally snaps. “It really doesn’t matter if I did or didn't enjoy myself. The point is, you were never the one I was supposed to sleep with.”
“Trust me, love,” I reply and tip her a wink. “I saw the boy you ordered off the menu, and let me just say, you should be glad you got me instead.”
“You're insufferable.”
“On a good day,” I say. “Most other days, I'm just an outright prick.”
Zoe lets out a long breath and seems to be trying to gather herself. She's trying to be all business again, but I can see the struggle raging inside of her.
“You were never going to seriously consider the offered settlement, were you?” she asked.
“If I pretend to consider it, will you let me take you to dinner?” I ask.
“Not in a million years.”
“Well,” I shrug. “I'm still going to take a little time to consider it anyway. Maybe one of us will have a change of heart.”
“It won't be me,” she says.
“Come on, what's it going to hurt?” I ask. “Dinner. I promise I'll even be a good boy. At least, until you're ready for me to be bad again.”
She's fighting the smile that wants to cross her lips hard. I know she doesn't want to encourage me – which only makes me want to push her even more.
“No,” she says. “It’s not going to happen.”
“You sure are a stubborn one,” I say.
“You don't even know,” she replies.
“Not yet,” I say, that devilish smile touching my lips once more. “But, I will. I know I will eventually.”
“Trust me,” she says, “not even the Irish are that lucky.”
I can't help but laugh as Zoe finally gives in and smiles. A few seconds later, her phone buzzes in her pocket, and the mood passes. She takes her phone out and looks at it before rolling her eyes.
“I have to go,” she says. “What about the offer?”
It’s weird. I don’t want Zoe to leave. I don't want to watch her walk out the door. Of course, short of physically forcing her to stay, I'm unable to stop her from leaving.
I don't know what it is about Zoe. I really don't. But, something about this woman resonates deep inside of me. And it’s hitting me hard. I don't know what it is exactly, but I want to find out. I want to explore it. I want to see if I can figure out what it is – what about Zoe has me so enthralled.
“Connor?” she asks.
“Oh, it's Connor now, instead of Mr. Grigson,” I say, smiling wide. “That's progress. How about I tell you my thoughts about the offer over dinner?”
“No.”
“Drinks?”
“No.”
“Coffee?”
“No.”
“Ice cream? Frozen yogurt?”
She sighs, but can't stop a smile from spreading across her face. The transformation when she smiles is really remarkable. She looks less harsh. Less severe. When Zoe smiles, she looks a lot more free and easygoing. It's almost like she’s an entirely different person.
“No,” she says. “Are you always this annoyingly persistent?”
“Afraid so,” I say. “It's a character flaw I have, to be sure. Which means, you should probably just say yes, because sooner or later, I'm going to wear you down. Eventually, you're going to go out with me just because you think you'll be able to get rid of me if you do.”
“Like I said,” she replies, dropping her phone back into her pocket. “Not going to happen. I'll tell my father you're still considering.”
“Yeah, do that,” I say. “And we'll talk about it again soon.”
She stands still for a moment, her eyes glued to mine. Feeling an urge sweep over me, I step closer to her and put my hand on the back of her neck. I see the uncertainty – and lust – in her eyes as I lean down and press my lips to hers. She stands statue-still for a moment before her lips part, and our tongues begin to dance sensually in her mouth.
Our kiss is growing hotter, more intense, and my cock is stiffening in my pants. Taking her hand, I place it on my thickening rod and she grips it tightly, seemingly powerless to do anything else. But, then her phone buzzes in her pocket again, and once again, the moment is interrupted. Dammit.
As if waking up from a dream, Zoe steps back and stares at me, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. She gives her head a little shake and then I see her eyes narrow and her jaw clench. I register the sound of her hand connecting with my cheek a moment before I feel the sharp sting of pain. And it takes me another moment after that to realize she'd just slapped me.
Holding my hand to my cheek, I can't keep the smile off my face, or the laugh from bubbling up out of my throat. It was a good slap, to be sure. But, I learned how to take a punch at an early age, and Zoe's slap barely registers on the pain-o-meter in my head.
“Well, that seemed a little uncalled for,” I say.
“I told you
,” she huffs. “That's not going to happen. Ever again.”
I shrug. “Sure seemed like you kinda want it to,” I reply. “I mean, you did –”
She holds her hand up to cut me off. “Never. Again,” she says. “Do you understand me, Connor?”
“Can't blame a lad for trying.”
She growls and mutters under her breath as she turns on her heel and marches out of my house, her heels angrily click-clacking across the hardwood floor. The door slams behind her and I let out a long breath and a wry chuckle.
Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But, I'm going to have her again. She wants it every bit as much as I do. She's just denying herself right now. But, there's going to come a time in the not too distant future, when her denials won't be enough.
I smile at the memories of what Zoe and I have already done together, and smile even wider knowing what we're still going to do.
I'm most definitely going to have her again.
Chapter Ten
Zoe
The car ride back is silent. At least, it is for me. My father and Bryant have had their heads together, speaking in hushed tones the entire way. I'd apparently done my job as the pretty face, meaning they have no further need of me at the moment. Arrogant, sexist jerks.
The car drops us off in front of our office building and I ride the elevator up with them – still completely ignored and left out of the conversation. Of course. The elevator chimes and the doors slide open. I storm out, turning to head for my office, when my father's voice stops me in my tracks.
“Zoe,” he says. “Can you come to my office, please?”
I let out a long breath and steel myself. The tone in his voice lets me know that this isn't going to be a fun conversation. Clearly, I've done something wrong. Which might explain the cold shoulder and childish silent treatment I got on the way back from Connor's.
Turning around, I follow my father and Bryant, quietly shutting the door behind me. My father walks over to the sideboard in his office and pours out two drinks, handing one to Bryant, before dropping down into the large, plush chair behind his desk. Bryant sighs as he sits in one of the two overstuffed wingbacks in front of the desk and takes a sip of his drink.
“Oh, no, I'm fine, thanks for checking,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my tongue.
“Have a seat,” my father says.
I lean against the wall next to me and fold my arms over my chest. “I'm fine, thank you.”
He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
“What's going on with you, Zoe?” Bryant finally asks.
“What are you talking about?”
He turns in his seat and looks at me. “I don't know,” he says. “The last few days you've been so defiant. So combative.”
“Maybe, I'm just tired of not being taken seriously,” I say. “Last time I checked, I have a degree and a license to practice law too.”
Bryant exchanges a look with my father, demonstrating more of that silent language the two of them share that I hate so much. To me, it's yet another sign of disrespect.
“We take you seriously enough, Zoe,” my father says. “Let's not get overly dramatic.”
Overly dramatic – which is code for: “You're just an overly emotional woman, and that's why we only take you seriously up to a point.” I just roll my eyes and shake my head, a sound of derision passing my lips.
“I will have to agree with Bryant though,” he continues, “you have been very combative and defiant lately. Is there something going on with you that we need to talk about?”
Other than the fact that I can't get a guy who took advantage of a situation – took advantage of me – out of my mind? No, nothing at all.
“I'm fine,” I say.
“Well, perhaps then, you can explain why you failed to mention that our client has attempted to sue Mr. Grigson three times before,” Bryant says, his tone haughty.
“And even worse, had all three suits tossed out for lack of merit,” my father adds.
Great. So, this is all my fault. I just knew that the bullshit boomerang would eventually come back around and hit me.
“Oh gee, I'm sorry,” I say, sarcasm coloring my every word. “I didn't realize that was my job.”
“Zoe, you let us walk in there and look like idiots,” Bryant says. “It's not very conducive to working out a settlement in favor if Grigson thinks he's got the upper hand. We could have planned a better strategy instead of walking in there with our dicks in our hands. It's information we should have had.”
“Then why didn't you look it up?” I ask. “And why are you even assuming I knew about it in the first place?”
“Because we know you, Zoe,” my father says. “And we know you enjoy researching every aspect of a client. Frankly, I'd be shocked if you didn't know.”
“And I have to say, I’m disappointed that you chose to not share that information with us,” Bryant adds.
I let out a long, frustrated breath as a sense of irritation builds within me. Yeah, I probably should have told them. But, I'm not on board with this racket, nor am I their flunky, to be ordered around like an intern or something. But, I also don't want to admit to holding out on them. That will only get me in deeper and create even more problems for me.
I shrug. “Well, given the fact that you two have seen fit to exclude me from any preparation for this case, I did something different this time,” I lied. “I didn't think my skills were needed, so I decided to work on something more productive.”
“We rely on you –”
“Bryant, you have assistants without law degrees or licenses to practice who get paid to do your research,” I snap. “If you failed to properly utilize your staff, that's not my fault. That's on you. Not me.”
He looks a little taken aback by my outburst and swallows whatever reply was on his tongue. Instead, he looks to my father, giving him a, “You deal with her,” sort of look. I swear to God, he's lucky I don't have something blunt in my hand, because I'd totally beat him within an inch of his life right now.
“Bryant,” my father says, “would you be so kind as to give us a few minutes? I'd like to have a word with my daughter.”
“Of course,” he says and stands up.
Bryant drains the last of his drink and deposits the glass on the sideboard as he leaves the office, closing the door behind him. My father and I stare at each other for a few long minutes, neither of us saying a word. He just sips his scotch, looking at me over the rim of the glass. Finally, he sets it down on the desk in front of him.
“Zoe, something is going on with you,” he says. “You've not been yourself the last few days.”
If by not being myself, he means that I've been more assertive and less of a doormat, I suppose he's right. I don't know what it is, but being with Connor really seems to have unlocked something within me. Izzy's words might finally be starting to resonate with me. Maybe, it's a combination of both. At this point, I really have no idea.
Whatever it is though, is ultimately irrelevant. Something's shifted in me and I feel stronger. I feel more in control of myself. And, I feel less inclined to let myself be treated like dirt. Treated like I'm somehow less than because I don't have the right equipment to be part of the boy's club.
It's going to be a process. I know deprogramming myself after twenty-six years isn't going to be easy and that I'm going to slide back into old behaviors from time to time. But, I like the way I've been feeling since sleeping with Connor. I like it a lot. I intend to continue building myself up and getting stronger, and there isn't anything my father or Bryant can do to stop me.
“I told you before,” I say. “I'm fine.
“I'm not convinced you are,” he says. “You seem unhappy. Upset all the time. It's been even more pronounced over the last few days.”
Yeah, probably because you and Bryant treat me like garbage. That can have a grating, as well as degrading, effect on a person. I find it interesting that he associates this newfound strength in me with being unhappy
or upset. Apparently, my father dislikes strong, independent-minded women even more than I previously thought. In hindsight, I suppose that's a little something I should have gleaned from his dating history.
I'd always assumed he just picked his girlfriends because they were young – my age or so. But, now I have to wonder if it's because they were young and compliant. Docile. You know, doormats. Like me.
“Like I said, Dad,” I say, “I just don't appreciate being treated like I'm somehow less than –”
“I think it's because you're lonely, honey,” he says. “Because you don't have a boyfriend.”
My eyes widen, and my mouth falls open in shock as I stare at him. Did he really not just hear a single word I said? And does he really think my having a boyfriend or not having one is really my biggest problem?
“That's not the issue, Dad,” I say, shaking my head. “My problem is –”
“I'd like for you to go out with Bryant,” he says flatly. “I think it's time to make this relationship happen. I think it would be the best thing for you.”
I shake my head and fight the urge to pinch myself. This conversation suddenly became so surreal that I have to be asleep. This has to be some sort of nightmare. This cannot be my reality.
“Are you serious?” I ask.
“Very,” he replies. “I honestly think you'll be a lot happier with a good man in your life. You'll feel more settled.”
“This is ridiculous,” I say.
“Bryant is a good man. Honest. Hardworking,” he continues. “And he really likes you, Zoe. He likes you a lot. He practically worships you.”
“That's unfortunate for him,” I say.
“Why won't you even give the kid a chance?”
“Because I'm not interested in him that way, Dad,” I say.
I'm barely interested in him as a human being, truth be told. And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he'd never do the things to me that Connor did. The man is a pure taker, and for all of his obvious character flaws, Connor is a giver – as well as a taker – in the bedroom. The mere thought of what we did together sends a ripple of pleasure along my skin.