Forbidden Fix (Executive Toy Book 6)

by Cleo Peitsche

  “I love you, too,” I say. Instantly shy, I busy myself by tracing a finger over the bandage.

  “You know what this means?”

  I lean back to look into his gorgeous face. I wish he’d repeat those three words so I could really savor them, but as he said, we have nothing but time. “What?”

  “You have to marry me,” he says. “If it ever comes down to it, you’re mine.”

  “Really? Why?” I’m shocked. If he wanted that, why didn’t he stay with his ex?

  “Bullet,” he says. He keeps a straight face for a moment, then the corners of his mouth twist. “Taking a bullet means I love you the most. I told Slade and Hawthorne that, too,” he says. “Hawthorne threatened to unplug me.”

  That makes me laugh because I can almost hear him saying it.

  “I wasn’t hooked up to a ventilator, but he got his point across.” Romeo’s lips brush against my ear. “But seriously, if push comes to shove… you’re mine.”

  “You’re shameless,” I say.

  He laughs. “I’m kidding. You belong to all of us.” His lips brush my ear again, and his voice drops. “But really, you’re mine.”

  Epilogue: Two (Blissful) Years Later

  It’s just before 4:00 and I can’t put it off any longer.

  I push away from my desk and stand. I shake my shoulder-length dark blonde hair away from my face and take a deep breath.

  I’d better not be late.

  Nervousness jitters down my spine as I walk down the hallway toward Romeo’s office.

  Romeo’s leaning against his desk. Slade and Hawthorne have their backs to the door.

  When Romeo sees me, he nods in encouragement. “Gentlemen,” he says, “our 4:00 meeting is here.”

  Slade and Hawthorne swing my way.

  Oh, those receptive looks on their faces… I know them well. How many times have I sat in meetings where nervous entrepreneurs asked for investment money?

  Even though I remind myself that my bosses have matching rose tattoos on their chests, and that I have one on my chest as well, all in the spot where Romeo was injured, that these men have seen me dressed to the nines as well as sick with food poisoning, they still have the ability to make me nervous.

  The air seems to get thin.

  And then I think… Why am I getting stressed out about this? I have enough money to finance the project myself.

  Because I believe in it, that’s why. Because while I could finance it, my bosses could give it a real head start.

  “I’m going to skip all the introductory bullshit,” I say, and Hawthorne’s eyebrow goes up. “Don’t look at me like that, Tarraget.”

  “Tarraget?” He looks amused. “Am I one of your drinking buddies?”

  I ignore him. “It’s a program written by some grad students at Stanford,” I say. “It predicts, with astounding accuracy, which youths are at the greatest risk for developing problems with substance abuse. The program has two flaws. First, interpreting results correctly requires a fair amount of training. I think it could be made more intuitive for teachers and guidance counselors, and I’ve outlined a few ideas. Of course I’m not an expert, but there’s clearly room for improvement.”

  “Could we see those ideas?” Hawthorne asks, a little smirk playing lightly on his lips. “Surely you have handouts? Or a slideshow presentation?”

  I continue to ignore him. “The second problem is that there’s not a lot of profit in it. I mean, I guess we could get it working, then mark it up and sell it to school systems, but…”

  “In other words, there are no benefits to us even if it’s successful,” Hawthorne says.

  “I vote yes,” Romeo says, rising.

  “Seconded,” Slade says.

  “You think you can just walk in here and your boyfriends will give you whatever you want,” Hawthorne says. “That would never fly in any other business environment.”

  “Considering that you spank me and make me suck your cocks and tie me up and stuff, I think it fits our business environment perfectly.”

  Romeo drops his briefcase on his desk, and to my disappointment he begins adding files. He doesn’t bring work home every day, but it still happens once or twice a week.

  I don’t want to change them, I remind myself. Romeo is who he is, and I’m glad that he’s completely back to normal. He and Slade nearly beat me and Hawthorne at tennis two days ago, and heaven knows Slade wasn’t the one doing all the work.

  “I heard something interesting about Layla,” Slade says, pulling off his tie. “By the way, anyone in the mood for that Italian place by the bridge?”

  We all nod. Bandit won’t mind if we’re late because we adopted two more cats to keep him company.

  “What about Layla?” I ask as the three of us head for the elevator. “She’s been really busy since her birthday party and hasn’t been returning my phone calls.”

  My bosses all groan; Layla wasn’t the only one who celebrated her twenty-first birthday by getting rip-roaring drunk. They got nearly as drunk as they did when she turned twenty. Now that my bosses are all—gasp—thirty, I think they should ease up on the partying. They, of course, do whatever they want.

  “Is she ok?” I ask.

  “Well, she applied for a job in New York,” Slade says.

  “Really?”

  “It’s not like there are a ton of jobs for history majors,” he says.

  “But… New York? She hates the city.” Plus it’s far away. That would be the end of our weekend visits.

  No wonder she’s avoiding me, and I resolve to call her up and remind her that she has to live her life for herself, not for me. “What’s the job?”

  “Finance,” he says as we walk out of the office building.

  Hawthorne starts telling the story about the time the three of them took a cab from their Connecticut boarding school down to New York, ran out of money, then got lost in Queens. I’ve heard it before.

  It’s strange, I think, that Layla would take a job in finance. Maybe because of our grandfather, maybe because she’s a bit of a hippie, like our father, but she hates big banks and big business.

  It’s even odder that she’d do it right after turning twenty-one and getting the balance of her trust released to her. She doesn’t need the money.

  Maybe there’s a guy involved.

  Not maybe. Probably. She must be afraid of having him meet me and the three musketeers. They tend to scare men away without intending to. But I decide I won’t ask her about it; she’ll tell me when she’s ready.

  It’s not always easy to give Layla the space she needs and deserves, but I know that we’ll always be close, always be part of each other’s lives.

  In the limo, I sit between Slade and Romeo. Hawthorne takes one of the side seats, his long legs stretched out in front of him, and loosens his green paisley tie.

  “Are you happy?” Romeo asks me suddenly.

  I look at him, look at the others. “Why are you guys looking at me like that?”

  “You didn’t answer the question,” Slade says.

  “Of course I’m happy,” I say. “Why?”

  “So suspicious,” Hawthorne says. “You got that from a life on the streets.” The corners of his lips curl.

  “We’re just checking in,” Romeo says, taking my hand. “We don’t want to take you for granted.”

  I almost choke. Take me for granted? These men spoil me rotten. Whatever I want, I get. The only time it doesn’t happen is when I’m naked and they’re dominating me, and I have zero complaints about that.

  “I feel very appreciated,” I say.

  “Good,” Romeo says. “We’d hate if you ran off to New York.”

  “Never,” I say, understanding. “Though it wouldn’t be awful if you eventually opened an office there. Not only do I feel appreciated, I’m also very appreciative.”

  Slade leans forward, his eyes shining. “Really? Prove it.”

  Smiling, I slide onto my knees and lick my lips.

&n
bsp; ~ ~ ~

  Special note: This is the final part of Lindsay’s story, but eventually I’ll be publishing a trilogy about Layla, her quest to make amends to those her grandfather harmed, and the men who steal her heart. So stay tuned…

  ~ ~ ~

  Curious about Cleo? Swing by my blog for the latest news, to join the mailing list or to contact me.

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