Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

  She twitches her jaw and crosses her legs, making her pencil skirt pull up a bit.

  “But it is a big deal, Wyatt,” she says. “It doesn’t matter how long ago.” I scoot closer to her.

  “No one knows. And no one will,” I say. “Look, I was just gonna go home and order some pizza. I wanted to see if you wanted to join. We don’t even have to have hot sex. I’ll be here for another twenty minutes or so. Let me know what you decide.”

  I push off of her desk and walk back into my office. I sit down in my chair and blow out the big breath I was holding in. God, acting like a confident, cocky asshole is a lot of work. Eighteen minutes later, she steps into the doorway of my office with her bag on her shoulder and her arms crossed.

  “What sort of deal is this if I don’t get hot sex out of it?” she asks.

  It takes me by surprise, and I bust out laughing. I shut down my computer and grab my stuff, then meet her at the doorway.

  “Let’s see where the night takes us,” I say, guiding her out and toward the elevators.

  We get back to my apartment, and I watch as she looks around and takes it all in. It’s no penthouse, but I’m proud of my bachelor pad. I’ve got a gourmet kitchen with the works, a big master suite, and a pretty decent view of the city. It’s served me well in the past with other women who have joined me here. But for some reason, tonight, I don’t even care about that. I just missed her. I just want to talk to her.

  The pizzas arrive shortly after we do, and I like the way she gets comfortable so quickly. She kicks off her heels and pulls her feet up under her on the couch while I get us drinks.

  “So, how is that other big deal coming that Nate was working on?” she asks as she takes a big bite of her pepperoni slice.

  “What big deal?” I ask.

  “Um,” she says, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin, “he said it was some art gallery or something?”

  I look at her, perplexed. Did Nate mention something and I totally missed it, or is he getting business without me? Between Maryn and Landry, I’ve been a little distracted this week, so either are possible. I decide to play the devil’s advocate until I talk to Nate. I shrug.

  “I’ve been swamped with some of our other accounts this week,” I say. “He might have mentioned it. I’ll touch base with him on it next week.”

  That answer seems to satisfy her. She finishes a second piece and then wipes her hands and face and leans back on the couch.

  “So,” she says. “Are we doing this?”

  I look at her, my jaw dropping.

  “Doing what?”

  She gives me a “you know what I mean” look and crosses her arms. She stands up from the couch and takes off her blazer, then slowly starts to unbutton her shirt. I stand up and walk toward her, pressing my hand on top of hers so that they’re both on her chest.

  “I meant it when I said tonight could just be pizza,” I say. Her eyes narrow at me, and she wriggles her hands free to keep unbuttoning.

  “And I meant it when I said it wasn’t a real deal if I don’t get some hot sex out of it,” she says. There’s something in her eyes that makes me feel guilty, like she feels like she has to sleep with me. I mean, I know I’ve given her some of my best bedroom work, but I think it’s more than that. It’s like she’s afraid of talking too much. Of getting to know too much. Sex is easier.

  But as she’s stripping in front of me, her black lacy bra sliding down off of her arms, her nipples pointed straight at me, I realize that I’ll take her any way she’ll give herself to me.

  We start in the living room tonight, and while she’s going down on me on the couch, my head is spinning. I return the favor, then bring her to my bedroom. We do doggie style, her on top, and finish with her legs over my shoulders. Every time with her, my body reacts with even more intensity. Like it wasn’t ready for her. I’m spooning her, facing the windows in my bedroom.

  “Wow,” she says, “you have a decent view.” I smile and pull the hair back from her neck so I can kiss it.

  “You should see it from back here.”

  She smiles and tilts her head back, melting into my lips. Then, she rolls over onto her stomach so she’s facing me.

  “Wyatt,” she says.

  “Yeah?” I say, pulling my hand up to rest my head on it. She pauses for a moment, reaching her hand up to trace my lips, my chin, my jawline. Then, it’s like something hits her. Like the freaking clock struck midnight. She shakes her head and slides out of bed. She starts dressing, and I feel my stomach drop.

  “You know, you could stay,” I say, starting to get sick of this girl leaving me naked and alone. She smiles as she finishes buttoning her shirt and shakes her head.

  “Casual,” she says, leaning down to plant a long kiss on my lips that feels anything but casual. I close my eyes as she pulls away, not wanting to watch her walk out again. Fuck.

  It’s the first time in a while that I’ve wished a weekend away—God knows I need them. But it’s Monday, and I will see her today. Watching her leave my apartment did weird things to me.

  When I get in, though, she’s not at her desk. I casually go through the mail I got at the office as I look around. Nate’s office light is out, too.

  “Nate out today?” I ask Priscilla.

  “He had a meeting,” she says. I nod. “He took Maryn with him.”

  I nod, glad she mentioned it before I had to ask.

  I go to my office and shut the door. I pull up Nate’s calendar, but it’s blocked for a private meeting. It’s bugging me that I’m not sure where he is. We share all of our meetings, all our clients, all of the work. I know he’s vying for his dad’s spot one day, but Rex has alluded to the fact that there could be somewhat of a tug-of-war over it. We don’t talk about it much; we keep the friendly competition light. But I’m starting to wonder if the competition is a little less friendly for Nate than it is for me.

  I pull out my phone and text him.

  Hey, man. Is today the meeting with Space Solutions?

  I know it’s not. That’s next week.

  Hey, man. No, this is a potential new client. I don’t think it’s gonna work out, but I figured it was good to get Maryn’s feet wet in the initial process.

  I clench my jaw. I’m sort of hating that she’s with him, despite the fact that he’s her manager.

  Ah, gotcha. See you when you get back.

  The day seems to take for-fucking-ever, but around lunchtime, Nate and Maryn walk into the office, both carrying carry-out cups. They had lunch together, and it’s bugging me more than it should.

  I pop my head out of my office just as they’re walking by. She pauses awkwardly and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.

  “Hey,” I say. “How’d it go?” She looks to Nate.

  “Pretty well,” he says, “we’ll see how it turns out. How were your meetings?”

  “All went as planned. So who was this account, again?” I ask. Nate switches from one foot to the other awkwardly. His blond hair is curly and usually tame, but today, it looks a little more unruly to me. He’s really just Rex, thirty years younger. He clears his throat.

  “This small art gallery in Midtown. I think we’re way out of budget for them, but they wanted us to come down.” He says it with a casual shrug.

  I’m about to ask the name when he turns to Maryn.

  “So you’ll work on that communications plan for them?” he asks. She nods.

  “Of course,” she says. He smiles and nods.

  “Thanks for coming along today. You did great,” he says. She smiles and waves as she walks back to her desk. I clench my jaw again as they both disperse back to their desks.

  I walk back to my own and start searching for art galleries in Midtown Manhattan, but there are quite a few, and none appear to be new. I reach for my desk phone and dial Maryn’s extension.

  “Hello?” she answers.

  “Hey,” I say, “do you mind popping in my office for a minute?”

  She pauses on
the other end of the phone.

  “Uh, sure,” she says. I hear her heels click across the office as she makes her way to my doorway. She pauses there.

  “Come on in,” I say. She comes in but not before taking a look behind her to make sure no one notices.

  She takes a seat and smooths out her dress pants.

  “What was the name of the gallery you guys went to today?” I ask her. She swallows and looks back out the door, like she’s still looking for someone.

  “It doesn’t have a name yet,” she says. I raise an eyebrow.

  “Huh?”

  “They are just getting started,” she says. “The owner is someone Nate knew from high school or something.”

  I nod slowly.

  “Did he ask you not to talk about it?” I ask her straight out. She swallows again then stands.

  “Not in so many words,” she says, “but he doesn’t want to talk about it much until he knows if it’s going to pan out. And he’s my manager. So if he wanted to keep it quiet, I would have. Especially from you.”

  I lean back in my chair and fold my hands on my lap.

  “Oh? And why is that?”

  “I told you,” she says, heading for my door. “I’m here in spite of you.” She pauses for a moment, then her lips curl into a devilish smile, and I can’t keep from doing the same.

  As good as she looks walking away, though, my mind travels back to this gallery. I need to know what sort of unnamed art gallery that’s popping up in New York City would be looking for a PR agency before it even has a name or a website.

  I’m about to walk into Nate’s office, though, when my cell phone rings on my desk.

  “Hey, Ma,” I say. “How are you?”

  I pause when I hear her crying on the other end of the line.

  16

  Maryn

  I’m typing away at my desk, already halfway through the proposal that Nate asked me to put together for this gallery. I’m really excited about this project because it’s the first one that Nate is really letting me take by the reins. He’s letting me act as the account manager if we get the deal, and I’m already picturing my email signature with a new title after I get a huge promotion. Okay, maybe I’m getting a little bit ahead of myself. But like Nate said, there’s not a huge risk, because they don’t have a ton of brand equity yet.

  I like Nate. He’s definitely got the whole salesman, pushy-but-no-too-pushy thing down pat—a characteristic I know he got from his dad. He says all the right things, makes easy conversation, and I have yet to be in a meeting with him where he doesn’t make the client smile. I’m learning a lot from him.

  But the guy in the office down the hall from him...I get the feeling I’m not the only one who has some friendly fire going on with him. It wasn’t what Nate said about Wyatt; it was how he said it. There was a sort of smugness in his tone when I brought up Wyatt and the gallery deal. Nate smiled and shook his head and said, “The details of this will stay between us right now. Wyatt has some bigger fish to fry.”

  I didn’t press it, but it did surprise me. Till now, the two of them seemed thick as thieves and seemed like they worked together perfectly. But I got the feeling on that car ride back to the office that things might not be as smooth-sailing as I had originally thought.

  Ha. That makes two of us.

  I wanted to stay in that apartment with him all damn weekend. And he freakin’ asked me to. But every time I feel myself slipping with him, I picture my dad’s face that first time Brady showed up on our doorstep to take him down to the precinct. The big red letters that spelled out “LATE” on the mortgage statements I found in his study. The headlines in the local papers.

  Sex, well, that’s different. I’ve already crossed that line. I’m looking at it as more of an exercise, a recreational activity to blow off some steam.

  Nevermind the fact that every time I’m with him, I want to stay longer. I want to learn more. I want to talk to him and watch his green eyes light up when he talks about work or the Yankees.

  About his sister.

  I don’t know why the most attractive human I’ve ever touched, why the best sex I’ve ever had, just has to be the one man who changed the course of my family’s lives forever.

  What kind of shit luck is that?

  Maryn luck—that’s what that is.

  I finish the first draft of my proposal, read through it again, then send it off to Nate for his input. Most of the people around me have already left for the day, but I’m not one to run off at five. In fact, I think I am much more productive when there are less people around me. Well, except for the tall, mocha, and handsome executive who always seems to stay late, too. We’ve enjoyed one too many flirty elevator rides alone together, and very few of them haven’t ended in us getting into bed together.

  I haven’t brought him back to my apartment for the simple fact that Ellie doesn’t know. I actually think I could tell her; it’s not like her track record is squeaky clean. But I don’t want to. There’s something about our...whatever it is...staying between us that makes it more exciting. Exhilarating. Even sexier, if that’s at all possible.

  I look up to see if he’s in his office, and to my delight, his light is still on. But as I’m finishing packing up my things, he’s moving quickly to shut off the lights and slam the door behind him, not once looking back to my desk to see if I’m still here. It sort of pisses me off. I close my things up and hurry after him, trying to make it look casual but also wanting to be close to him and not miss a chance for another possible elevator escapade.

  I’m literally running in my pumps to catch the elevator, but he never turns back. I throw my hand through the doors to stop them from closing, then get on, breathless.

  “Couldn’t have checked to see if someone needed a lift?” I ask him, blowing a piece of hair out of my face.

  I expect a chuckle, or a smile, or even an apology since he’s normally such a gentleman. But I get none of the above. There’s a scowl on his face, his eyebrows knit together with such intensity that it knocks the wind out of me. He scratches the back of his neck and nods.

  “Sorry,” he says. I lean back against the wall and press the lobby button, which it looks like he forgot to do.

  “You okay?” I ask him.

  He doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head.

  I feel a twinge of guilt. Could this have to do with the gallery and all the secrets?

  “Everything alright?” I ask again. He drops his head back against the wall.

  “I said I’m fine,” he says. His voice has this dark tone to it that I’m not used to, and I don’t like it in the least.

  “What’s going on?” I ask. “Is this about Nate?”

  His emerald eyes flick up to me, and he narrows them.

  “No. It’s not about Nate,” he says.

  “Are you sure? Because you’ve been acting weird ever since I told you about it,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. He sighs and rubs his eyelids.

  “It’s not about that.”

  “Look, I’m not going to go against my manager’s wishes. You might be trying to sabotage me, but—”

  “Maryn, it has nothing to do with that,” he says again. Yeah, right. I know what a man with his panties in a bunch looks like. And one’s standing right in front of me.

  “Are you threatened by him?” I ask. His eyes flick up to me again, narrowing even more.

  He steps closer to me, then closer, almost so that I’m standing with my back flush to the elevator wall.

  “Not in a million fucking years,” he growls just above a whisper. “Enjoy being the gopher for the second-best executive here.” There’s a ding, and the elevator doors open.

  He stalks out, and I storm after him.

  “What the fuck is your deal?” I ask him, my voice loud. There’s no one around, but even if there was, I don’t think I’d be keeping myself much quieter. He just shakes his head and keeps walking, and I feel this burning in my chest with each step
he takes. “God, this was such a mistake.”

  He pauses when I say that and half turns to me, his hand on the door.

  “What?”

  “Me. You. Me taking this stupid job, letting you into my pants over and over again. Should’ve followed my gut. You’re the same asshole you’ve always been,” I say. “Just looking out for yourself without a care in the world about who you could be hurting in the process.” He turns a little more but never looks at me.

  “He’s up for fucking parole, Maryn,” he says. My spine goes straight, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

  “Wha...what?” I ask, taking a step closer. Oh, God. I’m such an idiot.

  “The guy...the actual guy who killed her. He’s up for fucking parole,” he says. He turns to me all the way, his eyes glazed over with an ice-cold stare. “So, like I said, nothing to do with you or fucking Nate. And yeah, maybe it was a mistake, you taking this job. Because I sure as hell know it was a mistake choosing you.”

  He turns back and pushes the door open, the wind blowing his suit jacket as he steps into the street.

  I stand there, hands at my sides, my bag sliding off my shoulders.

  I couldn’t keep my fucking mouth shut.

  Jesus Christ, Maryn. It’s not all about you.

  I watch as he disappears into the Manhattan crowd, and the lump in my throat is thick and fiery.

  After all these years, all this time, all the hatred I felt toward him, and even after we started hooking up, I have never once apologized for the death of his sister. Not that it had anything to do with me, or my family, but I have barely even acknowledged it.

  I’ve been so busy thinking that he owed me—which, in some ways, is still true—that I never stopped to really grasp the fact that his sixteen-year-old sister was snatched right from under his nose and never returned. He was the last one to see her and, no doubt, feels her loss the heaviest.

  Just as the tears start to prick my eyes, my phone buzzes in my hand.

  “Hello?” I answer.

  “Hey,” Ellie says. “You coming home tonight?”

  I contemplate her answer for a few moments. She knows I’ve been hooking up with someone, but I showed her a picture of some other guy at work to throw her off the scent of Wyatt. But I need to let her sniff out the truth.