by Monroe, Max
I hate that I actually snort at that question. I should be completely disgusted, but the charm on this guy. It’s like witchcraft or something. “Pretty sure that’s hiiighly inappropriate.”
He quirks an amused brow. “Handsy mailman and flirty housewife?”
I shake my head, and he feigns a frown. The bastard looks so sad, you’d think he just got the news that his puppy died. But even that sadness doesn’t stop him from tossing out one more.
“Dirty cop and desperate criminal?”
“You know, I see where you’re going with these, and I don’t think any of them are going to work. Actually,” I add, “I’m certain none of them will work.”
He frowns even harder, considering my words in a way that makes it seem like he maybe doesn’t hear them often—or ever—and purses his lips. “Okay. How about boss and assistant?”
I narrow my eyes suspiciously. With the way this conversation was going previously, it seems naïve to assume he’s actually being serious now. “No adjectives this time?”
“Nope. Just a regular boring boss and, hopefully, a something other than a flighty assistant who leaves work early for margs in SoHo.”
My nose scrunches up of its own accord. “Margs in SoHo? Should I know what you’re talking about?”
He grins. “No, but you should say yes to working with me.”
My jaw goes unhinged. “Are you really offering me a job right now?”
“Sure seems like it.”
“Five seconds after propositioning me for kinky sex…repeatedly.”
He shrugs, his well-fitted suit jacket pulling just a hint at the thick muscles of his shoulders. “Seems as good a time as any.”
I cross my arms over my chest and settle into one hip. He believes so staunchly in his wonky logic that I have to challenge physically as well as rationally. “Does it really, though? Because I can think of an awful lot of better times.”
His smile stays firm even as he shakes his head. “Do you want the job or not?”
I pause to gather my thoughts, despite having already made a decision. Working for this guy has trouble and a half written all over it. Still, he’s just got something about him that makes it more difficult than usual to say no. “I don’t…I don’t really think I have time.”
“If you think you’re busy during law school, you’re in for a rude awakening when you start practicing law.”
I scowl. “It’s not just school. I have a job too.”
“Where?” he asks, challenging me. “Because I know you don’t really work at the library now.”
I balk. There’s a reason I use a pseudonym for the voice-over work I do narrating romance novels. I’m not ashamed of it, but it conflicts with the other part of my life—the lawyer part. Keeping the two separate from each other has always been imperative. But telling Caplin Hawkins about all of that seems like a major conflict of interest.
“I’d rather not say.”
“A job you’d like to keep secret?” he hems. “Are you a high-priced escort?”
“Yes. This conversation alone will cost you one billion dollars.”
He smirks, and my panties dissolve in a comedic poof. “A steep price, doll. But I have a sneaking suspicion you’d actually be worth it.”
Unexpectedly, I find myself reconsidering the possibility of working for him. It would look good on my resume, that’s for sure. I mean, even Professor Hullum was waxing poetic about Caplin’s career achievements, and that man doesn’t wax poetic about anything but the actual law.
I hold my breath for a second and a half, but just when I’m ready to let it out—ready to take a dive and give this reckless idea a chance—a woman steps up beside me and starts talking to Caplin like I’m not even there.
“Oh my God, Cap! I haven’t seen you in forever.”
He takes a minute to move his eyes from me to her, but when he does, and she latches on to the eye contact like a leech, his reaction is almost comical. I don’t imagine he ever finds himself out of sorts, but right now, he looks about as prepared to deal with the two of us as a chicken with its head cut off.
“You said you’d call, but I never heard from you,” she purrs. Like a flipping kitten. “Maybe it’s fate that I’m seeing you now. We should get together again. Maybe go to that beach house we did last time. Remember how we didn’t come up for air?”
I roll my eyes and turn away, ready to head for my apartment again when he reaches out and grabs my arm. “Ruby, wait.”
I sigh, but the other chick doesn’t even fucking register that he’s talking to me. “Ruby? My name’s not Ruby…”
His patience waning, he turns back to her and holds up a finger, but he doesn’t let go of my arm. “I know, Tess. Just give me a minute, okay?”
She smiles and bats her lashes, completely unfazed by me now that he’s proven he remembers her name.
I sigh again, this time heavily, but he steps toward me and lowers his voice. “Just think about it, okay? You’re obviously smart, and I’m in real need of some brains around the office. I’d write it up like an internship, and I can promise, an internship with me will get you a job at just about any firm you want when you graduate.”
I’m about to say I’ll consider it when Tess talks over me.
“Cap, are you ready? Want to go get a drink?”
I smile sardonically. Maybe Tess’s interruption is a sign. I alter my answer to go with the feeling I have. I’ve always followed my gut, and it’s gotten me this far. No reason to stop now. “Bye, Cap.”
I gently pull my arm from his hand and walk down the block toward my apartment. He’s silent for a while, but right before I round the corner, he yells one more time, “Just think about it!”
I wave a hand over my shoulder and smile.
The day I work for Caplin Hawkins will be no sooner than the day pigs fly.
Cap
It’s Sunday night, and Bar Louie is packed and the women plentiful as I scoot my way through the crowd toward the bar. There’s a brunette with some of the nicest tits I’ve ever seen making eyes at me from one of the booths to the right, but I’m about fifteen minutes late, so I know Trent and Quince will be waiting.
I give her a wink and a jerk of my chin, though, just a little something to keep her on the hook, and continue walking on my way to my friends.
I’ve been late more than once because of a woman, and let’s just say the guys weren’t fucking thrilled.
I’d do it again, it’s not like I’m that considerate, but I can hardly get these bozos to go anywhere without their ladies, and the last thing I want to do is ruin the night from the start. If I wanted to do that, I would have kept my date with Yvette instead of meeting with these fuckers in the first place.
Honestly, even I’m a bit surprised I didn’t keep my date with Yvette tonight or take Tess up on her drink offer earlier today, but I’m just writing off my lack of interest as long work hours and the constant headache having Hell-ary in my office has caused me.
And Ruby…
I shake off the ridiculous thought. I mean, of course I’m interested in Ruby. Hell, I’m very interested in Ruby. Even the way her sweet little name rolls off my tongue has my cock threatening to stand at attention.
But I’ve never been one to put all my eggs in one beautiful basket.
I’m more of a connoisseur of all women than a committer to one woman.
Quince is looking my direction and spots me first, bumping Trent with an elbow so he turns around as I sidle up to the bar.
I wave a hand at the bartender, Sally, a woman who knows both my drink order and my cock, and watch as she drops the customer she’s taking care of like a hot potato to start working on making my rum and Coke.
“Nice of you to show up,” Trent says, and it’s not a surprise. He’s definitely the pickier of the two of them. Quince is more happy-go-lucky—unless I’m sleeping with his ex-girlfriend, but that’s a different story entirely.
“Sorry, ladies. I was working on five important case
s, and one somewhat important one.”
Trent rolls his eyes. “I swear I don’t understand how you’re so successful. How can you talk about your clients like that?”
I laugh and pat him on the head patronizingly. “I didn’t say which client is the unimportant one, Trent. That’s how.”
“You tell me I’m unimportant all the time,” Quince interjects.
Trent agrees, “Me too.”
“Yeah, well, twenty years of friendship means I’ve got you assholes locked down. I can do whatever I want with you.”
Trent shakes his head and takes a pull of his fancy drink. “You’re really something, Cap, you know that?”
I nod as Sally approaches with my drink, and a smile grows on her face. “Oh, I know.”
“Hey, Cap,” Sally says, setting down my drink on the backlit bar and leaning forward enough that her tits push deliciously together. “How are you?”
“I’m good, honey. Really good now that I’m laying eyes on you.”
She bites her lip.
“You look good.”
“You look good too,” she replies. “I get off at three tonight. Maybe we can—”
Trent sighs, and internally, I groan. As much as I love the idea of sticking my face between Sally’s tits—and legs—tonight is supposed to be a boys’ night.
As gently as possible, I cut her off at the pass. “Sorry, honey. Spending the night with my boys tonight. But we should get together soon. I’ll call you, okay?”
“Don’t wait too long,” she says with a little flip of her hair, turning around and strutting meaningfully to the other side of the bar. I groan and slap Trent on the back of the head.
“Hey!” he snaps.
“Just punishing you for our friendship,” I remark. “If you hadn’t spoken to me all those years ago, I’d have her on her back with her tits in my mouth, my dick—”
“God almighty, stop. We get it. We really, really get it,” Trent says while covering his eyes.
Quince chimes in with a similar sentiment. “My brain feels burned from the imagery I won’t be able to unsee.”
“You guys should be thankful!” I shout. “Now you can visualize Sally while you’re fucking the women you’ve been fucking over and over again. Mix it up a little bit.”
“Fuck that,” Trent snaps. “I don’t need to visualize anyone else but Greer.”
Quince nods enthusiastically. “Same.”
I raise my eyebrows, and he rolls his eyes. “But with Emory, you asshole.”
“Right,” I say through a snort. “I’m sure it’s not getting stale fucking in the missionary position with the lights off at all.”
“Isn’t this getting old? I mean, aren’t you tired, man? All the flirting, all the work, all the different women?” Quince asks, and I squint.
“Getting old?” I ask incredulously. “Fuck no. I think maybe you’re getting old.”
“I see you’re going full-on dickhead tonight.” Quince’s smile fades as he grabs his beer from the bar and takes a swig. “I think maybe it’s time for me to head home.”
“Oh, come on,” I say. “Are you really upset over that? Jesus, Quince, you need to toughen up.”
Trent pins me with a hard glare and a promise to hit me square in the nuts if I don’t shut the fuck up.
I shrug and pick up my rum and Coke for another pull. I probably shouldn’t be so hard on the guy. He’s good-natured to a fault and gives the benefit of the doubt to everyone. I must sound like a real asshole to get him this upset, but I just can’t seem to find it in me to care. They’re always on my ass to change my ways, to give in to the pressure of a one-woman ride for the rest of my life. I’d go crazy if I didn’t push back every once in a while.
“You just don’t understand, man,” Trent tells me before elbowing Quince to get his attention so he can speak to him. “Cap doesn’t understand what it’s like to have what you have with Emory or what I have with Greer. You know that. You remember how you felt before you met the one, right?”
Quince nods, his signature smile returning a little. “I guess so.”
“One day,” Trent professes, “he’s gonna find a woman who turns his life upside down, and we won’t have to listen to all of his bullshit anymore.”
I scoff and snort. They’re going to be waiting a long damn time if they really believe that.
“There’s a woman out there who’ll be his match.” Trent blathers the fuck on like he actually knows me better than I know myself. “Who’ll show him the way and fuck his shit up so bad, he’ll have to come to us for advice to get out of it. And goddamn, Quince, I can’t wait for it.”
I roll my eyes.
Quince smiles full out now, the goofy grin I know so well shining so brightly it eats through his face all the way to his ears. “Man, I can’t wait to meet her and watch Cap fall right on his ass.”
Trent laughs. “Right?”
“Whatever, guys. All this love-sick bullshit is really starting to eat away at your brain cells.”
“Trust us, dude,” Trent says. “It’s coming. And I wouldn’t be surprised if it happens even sooner than you think.”
I shake my head and shove off of my stool, grabbing my wallet from my pocket and tossing cash on the bar, and I give both of the naïve assholes slaps on the back.
“Have fun with your fantasies, guys,” I remark. “I’m gonna go have some fun with a woman.”
Trent’s smirk is almost as convincing as mine as he turns from the bar just enough to slap me on the back. “Sounds good in theory, buddy, but I know the reality.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”
“Quince and I know we’re going home to a warm woman. You have to find one first.”
I don’t bother sticking around to prove him wrong, and instead, scan the women on the way out of the bar. It’d be relatively easy to convince one to come home with me—I know from past experience—but none of them are whetting my appetite tonight.
Kind of like Yvette. Or Tess. Or Sally.
Fuck. Seems like I might need to start looking new places
Or maybe I need to start really laying the groundwork for that pretty little blond gemstone with the sexy eyes and smart mouth…
Trent’s stupid comments continue to niggle somewhere in the back of my mind, but I shut them up with a whistle for a cab right as it sails straight past me.
Fucking New York cabbies.
Without any other potential taxis in sight, I wrap my jacket a little tighter and start to walk in the direction of home.
Maybe, I think with a smirk, I’ll find something—or someone—to play with on the way there.
Cap
The normally busy streets are dimmed by the late hour, and the twinkling lights of stores beckon to no one. I can hear myself think for a change, and I bask in it.
My normally salacious gaze turns contemplative, and I mostly just savor the quiet walk rather than keeping my eyes peeled on other people…and when I say other people, I obviously mean beautiful women.
With Liz off on maternity leave and Hillary doing everything in her power to make my life a living hell, work has been kicking my ass.
The normal legwork that my right-hand woman had been so accustomed to juggling with her fucking pinky finger has now been tossed into my lap, and I’ve been chasing my fucking tail ever since.
This is the first time in what feels like weeks that my thoughts haven’t been a chaotic mess of work-focused tasks and legal mumbo jumbo.
I’ve lived in the city for most of my life, but I’ve never thought of myself as an actual city person. I like the quiet nights of endless fields and the unpolluted shine of a starry sky. I like to breathe clean air in my own space and hear something other than the sound of horns and hostility at every corner.
But I’m also pragmatic, and one of my truest strengths is being able to adapt.
I know the corporate law landscape, and it resides in a city, with skyscrapers, CEOs, and sky-hi
gh property values. As a result, so do I.
My tie loose and my jacket over my arm, I make it to my building in no time, the sleek pull of its glass windows and modern lines jutting into the sky like a flag waving me in.
But I know myself, and with the way my mind still runs, I won’t be able to fall asleep for hours.
So, instead of going up the elevator and into my loft and lying in bed with wide eyes for hours, I keep walking.
Up the block, around the corner, it all bleeds together until I don’t even know how far I’ve walked anymore.
Fortunately, with the way this city is, I know I’ll come across something familiar soon and, eventually, I’ll make my way back home.
I look across the street to a diner I’ve never seen before, tucked so acutely into a back corner of the city that I’ve never had the pleasure of making its acquaintance, and I decide to say hello to a cup of coffee and a slice of pie and whatever walks of life still reside within its walls.
If there is one thing to be said about this city, it doesn’t matter what time of day it is or where you’re at, New York is prime for the best kind of people-watching in the world.
I jump the curb and stroll across the street, and when I push open the door, a tinkly bell rings above me.
The young girl at the front cash register looks up with a pleasant smile that turns more scandalous when she gets a look at me.
I’m gifted in this department—I’ve always gotten this kind of reaction. But I’m grateful for the luck and do my best not to let it go to waste.
“How many?” the brunette asks, standing up straight and pushing out her chest. She’s well below my age limit, though, so I avert my eyes as politely as possible. “Just me, thanks.”
She grabs a menu from the shelf with a smile then and waves me on to follow her, and I don’t miss the way she puts a little extra sway in her hips as she leads me to a booth.
I round her when she stops at the table and carefully avoid brushing up against her body—which she’s placed in a way that almost ensures I do—and settle into the booth.
“Do you have everything you need?” she asks with a flirtatious little bat of her eyelashes.