Breathe

by C. L. Matthews

  “Nineteen,” he mocks as if all I’ve accomplished in my short lifespan is a disappointment. He’s shaking his head, reading on. “Josephine?”

  “Joey,” I correct, my eyes narrowing with each second that clicks by.

  “A pleasure, I’m sure,” he mutters with disappointment.

  God, if I knew it was going to be this awful, I’d have avoided this altogether. He probably spent tens of thousands to win me, yet he treats me like leftovers. It’s appalling and unacceptable. A waitress passes by, and I stop her. “Champagne, please.” She nods politely, bringing me a flute back moments later.

  “You’re not old enough to drink,” Toby reprimands, not giving me a second glance.

  “Maybe you’re just too old.” It’s a lame comeback, but my blood is boiling, and it’s the best I have. I should have stayed in Francis’s arms, his lips against mine, his body...

  “Everyone!” Jake hollers over the mic, interrupting my pleasant daydream. “We’re going to do an icebreaker. Get ready to be put into groups.” Toby and I are at a lonely table with no seatmates to pair with. So as we wait for instructions, Jake meets us at our table with a woman on his arm and another couple.

  “Let’s play a game,” he says in his best Jigsaw voice.

  “Never have I ever,” the woman next to him jumps in and suggests. I try to contain the snort rising but fail miserably. Of fucking course these old shits want to play an inappropriate teenage game. This may be the only time they can get their socks off.

  “Okay, shots every time someone has done something, yes?” Jake questions, making sure the same rules as always still applies.

  Everyone nods, but Toby’s face falls. “Problem, old man?” I taunt, raising a challenging eyebrow at him.

  “No, Sous. But I’m sure you’ll regret this.” Sous? I’m no one’s sous. With a grunt and the need to flip him off, I pay attention to anyone but him.

  Jake waves a waitress over and tells her to bring us six shots of whiskey and to keep them coming.

  “I’ll start!” the blonde next to me offers. “Never have I ever gotten wasted.” I chuckle because even I have, and I’m only nineteen. Everyone around the table drinks. When I glance back at Toby, he watches me as he slowly takes back a shot too. His eyes melt me more than the whiskey down my throat does. Chills skate up my bare thighs, and it’s as if he knows because his eyes wander over them, taking in every inch of me like a contract, making sure every detail is up to par.

  I’ve nearly forgotten how bare my arms are when his eyes home in on the scars. Like he knows exactly what they are and their meaning, he quirks a brow.

  Does my pain make me less annoying, old man?

  As if realizing he’s staring, he shakes his head and doesn’t look at me again. The questions keep going around, and by the time it’s to Toby, I’m beyond tipsy. If there’s a right before wasted word, that’s where I’m at.

  “Never have I ever broken the law,” Toby mutters. It makes me wonder if he even knows the rules of the game. You’re supposed to suggest something you haven’t done, and I’m sure he’s broken several just with his looks alone.

  I raise another shot to my lips with a wink, unable to stop giggling. It’s not like me. Alcohol swims through my veins like a fish does through a channel to the ocean. I’m hot and sweaty and slowly feeling too friendly. I’m not a friendly person.

  Toby watches me with tempting eyes, ones that promise a good night but a regretful morning. He’s a drug I’d easily partake in. But unlike Oxy and Percs, I’d be addicted with one dose rather than seven days’ worth, unable to return. And I’ve never been one to turn away any kind of vice, especially if it feels good.

  “Your turn,” Blondie squeals, poking my thigh. My eyes meet his hazel ones, seeing the little green tracing the outer edge of the irises. I bite my lip, knowing what I want to know, begging it’ll give me courage to do something stupid. Something I’d have done with Francis if not for circumstance. But I can’t do this with Francis. I can’t. I can’t. I won’t.

  My inhibitions are being tested, and like the Chicago Bears every football season, I’m failing. And fast.

  “Never have I ever...” I pause, gathering courage. “Fucked in public.” It’s too bold, stupid even, but as the fire in Toby’s eyes turn from embers into a full-fledged bonfire, I know it hit where it was meant to. He takes the shot glass, licking the edge slowly while keeping my eyes locked with his, and tips it back. Immediately, I find myself watching his throat bob with the swallow, wanting to bite the skin there and feel the roughness of his stubble on my lips, between my thighs, and everywhere else that’s sensitive.

  With the way he licks every trace of whiskey from his plump lips, tasting every drop, savoring even, I’m wondering how this business will work when I’m insanely attracted to him. He’s not like Lucien. There’s no forced come-ons and disgusting groping.

  He’s a power trip I want to ride until it’s all drained away.

  This will be fun.

  But we all know it’s the booze talking.

  Chapter Twelve

  Present

  Joey

  I drank too much last night. Not sure how since I’m not even twenty-one yet. Guess money buys anything.

  Not my money, of course.

  Theirs.

  The rich dicks. Dirty liars. Uptight whiners.

  My parents. Or rather, my father and his disgusting wife.

  They forced my hand in coming here, and then, I end up in bed with some random asshole who thinks it’s remotely okay to say sexual jokes and get his rocks off. If it wasn’t for his fantastic witty comebacks, I probably would have kneed him in the jewels before leaving. That face doesn’t hurt, either. The sharp jaw lined with dark stubble and the way his eyes hunt me, calculating in the most disparaging way.

  It wasn’t my intention to do anything other than follow my father’s underhanded demands and get a new job, using whatever he offered. I can’t even remember if I got the job.

  I need that job.

  Any job really.

  The worst part is not many snippets of lingering memories flitter through. I drank way too much. It’s been a long time since I’ve had that much booze. Between studies and work, it wasn’t possible. Yet free booze makes me easy. Fuck. Who was that guy anyway?

  “Going to ride my cock, Sous?” It’s a challenge, a bet without winnings.

  Are the stakes worth the fun?

  “Fuck you, old man.”

  “Isn’t that the plan?” he bites my shoulder, gliding his teeth down slowly. “Fucking you until you coat my cock with your hatred...”

  I shiver, thinking of how foggy that memory is. What did I do?

  The moment leading up to this morning isn’t pretty, but it’s my life. Sometimes, that’s all you can do. Use what you have and not complain. Is Francis going to think differently of me for ending up with someone else? Do I care? Yes. I’m not sure why since we mean nothing to each other, and he probably just wants to sleep with me... but I care. It’s not even the situation of nowhere to stay that has me worried, it’s that he won’t like me anymore for it.

  Then there’s Gray. She deserves more than my misguided feelings.

  My head throbs as I walk to the lobby. “Excuse me,” I nearly groan with the words. Even my own voice has my head hurting. Closing my eyes, I try to remember anything.

  “Miss?” a woman’s voice prickles my senses. Her voice is soft as though she knows I’m hungover. Why am I at this desk? My eyes fling open as nausea forces its way up my body. I search for a trash can and can’t find one nearby. The plant by the desk becomes my victim as my stomach sloshes, and I heave until my body breaks out in a sweat.

  “Oh, God!” I hear the same voice exclaim. “Sweetie, are you okay?” she asks, worry laced in her tone. I look at her, feeling disgusting and stupid. The embarrassment of vomiting in public makes me want to cry. She probably thinks I’m a tramp or a hoodlum. It’s not like I’m wearing the expensive dres
s and pumps from last night, I don’t even know where they went. And my bag. Fuck, my bag. “Who can I call for you?” Her voice should soothe me and make me feel safe and less gross, but it doesn’t. It reminds me of Marsha and her need to involve herself in everything.

  “I-I’m so sorry,” I start. Then his voice is sounding out from beside her.

  “Can you get her a washcloth?” he demands even if he sounds nice. It wasn’t a question toward the nice lady. I stare at him. His perfect hair with his un-hungover face. How is he fine? How isn’t he puking? He must be a fucking alien. There’s not a single droplet of sweat on his perfect brows, and I feel like I’ve run a mile on an empty stomach.

  Empty stomach. No wonder I’m a mess. I can’t recall eating a single thing since breakfast yesterday. And since I didn’t eat anything when I went to Dad’s... How am I alive?

  “What do you want?” I hiss, hating that he’s seeing me fragile. I’m anything but fragile. He smirks at me, and again, I’m caught with the desire to slap his stupidly handsome face. No one has the right to look like he does after the night that we had—even if I can’t recall the events.

  “Such an angry troll,” he taunts. “One would think you’d be grateful to the man who found your bag that you so rudely accused me of stealing.” He tsks at me like an adult would do to a child.

  “Fucking Christ,” I mutter, peeved beyond ever before. There’s the need to kiss the stupid smugness off his face and hit it repeatedly. He’s not the only one wondering which I’ll do. “I’m not that short. It’s not my fault you’re a giant! And troll... really?”

  “Your hair is red.”

  “So is two percent of the world, and that’s not counting the people who dye their hair.”

  He laughs at me as the lady comes back with a warm rag. I wipe my face, feeling nothing less than disgusting. “Can I have my bag?” I grumble, handing the rag back to the lady. You’d think she’d show disgust, but the look in her eyes proves she’s a mom, and a good one.

  “Is this man bothering you, Miss?” she requests, eyeing Toby with unspoken disappointment.

  “Oh look, babe,” he jests. “This hostess thinks I’m bothering you.” Babe? And I thought this couldn’t possibly get worse. Pet names can be cute, but starting with Gumby, going to troll, and ending with babe? Hard fucking pass.

  “No, ma’am,” I return to the lady, spotting her name tag. Cheryl. “Thank you, Cheryl. For being kind.” Reaching into Toby’s back pocket, hoping there’s a wallet there and not a random grope from me, I feel it. Opening it, I take two twenties out of the top, noticing he has way too much cash on him. She shakes her head when I try to hand them to her, but I insist. “Please, my dad didn’t raise a woman of freebies.”

  Understanding flickers in her eyes, and she takes the cash. Toby doesn’t say a thing as I stuff the wallet back in his pocket. “Thanks, old man. Till next time,” I mock, returning his smug grin as I yank my bag from his hands. Giving him a two-finger salute, I pass by him without a second glance.

  Let’s hope I can make it to Francis’s house before retching again. The hotel doors open before I have the chance to reach them, the bellhop keeping the entrance clear so I can tote my bag along. As I make my way to the valet, I hear him call after me.

  “Hey!”

  He doesn’t use my name, and it’s only now sprung on me that he hasn’t said my name once this morning. What’s his name? Fuck. I’ve never had a one-night stand. Is that what last night was?

  “I need to get back home,” I respond, not turning toward him. His hand clamps on my elbow, stopping me in my spot outside the main building doors.

  “I’m sorry for being a dick,” he says, almost sounding earnest. If not for his constant joking behavior, I’d believe him. But I’ve met men like him. Ones who tend to be from my father’s dinners, but similar all the same. He rubs a thumb across his chin, his eyes imploring and apologetic. Fakeness can be hidden in the hottest men and most beautiful women. My trust isn’t asked for, it’s earned.

  “I don’t have time for this,” I reply sharply, the prickliness evident in each word. And it’s the truth. I don’t. Francis and Gray are probably worried. Shit. Where’s my cell phone? Putting a finger up to silence the rebuttal I know is coming from him, I place my bag on the concrete and search inside. When I spot it, I mentally chastise myself for being so dumb. I’d be put back a lot if I lost it. Especially without a job. Trying to unlock it fails and the screen stays black.

  “Goddammit,” I curse, hating myself even more. I’ve been careless. Really fucking careless.

  “Need any help?” he offers, forcing my gaze up to his. I bet he loves this, me practically on my knees at his feet, his benevolent face peering down at me with all the power. He probably gets off on it. As if answering my question, he smiles. “Guess not.”

  I flip him off, raising myself to find my claim card. Turning away from him without a goodbye, I find the valet and hand him the ticket.

  “Leaving so soon?” he asks with a cheerful smile.

  “What does it look like she’s doing? Standing there like an idiot?” my one-night fuck deadpans.

  I turn toward him, grumbling under my breath, “Don’t be such a shithead. He’s only doing his job.”

  “He’s obviously flirting with you,” he argues, and when I turn to the valet, he’s blushing.

  “I’ll be back,” the valet mutters uncomfortably.

  “See,” he grouses.

  I try my best to ignore him but can’t. People who are dicks just for the sake of being a dick irk me more than people who litter the streets. My eyes meet his, and his are full of amusement while I hope mine are filled with malice.

  “You need a reality check—” I go to say his name but don’t recall it.

  “Toby,” he offers, “but you can call me boss.” I eye him, my mind not connecting the dots.

  “—Toby. People work to live. That’s what he’s trying to accomplish. Plus, you’re not my man, let alone a man who has any right to tell me whom I talk to.” He’s smiling so big it’s aggravating me further and flustering me at the same time. “Even if you were my man, I’d tell you to fuck right off with any attitude that acclimates ownership.”

  “Calm down, Joey,” he pacifies, putting his hands up in surrender. I can’t help but roll my eyes and make a noise of exasperation while doing it. He’s incorrigible.

  “So, you know my name...” I question. “What else do you remember?”

  “That you suck a mean—”

  “Here’s your car, Miss,” the valet interrupts, saving me from being even more embarrassed. Heat flames my skin as I grab my keys, staring at my cherry red Toyota Avalon, the last nice thing I own.

  “See you Monday,” Toby says as I walk to the driver side of my car.

  “Why do you keep insinuating we’ll see each other again?” I can’t help but complain.

  “Because I own you now. You signed the contract. For the next five years, we’ll definitely get to know each other.”

  I balk as the contents left in my stomach curdle at the thought. In all my nineteen years, I haven’t been speechless from anything. Not even when Mom disappeared or when a man took my innocence away. But now, knowing I slept with my manager, the man who I’ve signed my life over to, and the same man I should have never crossed a line with, I’m out of words.

  No explanations.

  Not a single excuse.

  Stunned stupid.

  Guess I’m my father’s daughter after all.

  Proud now, Daddy?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Present

  Toby

  The way she fights me at every move should be a turn-off. The fact that she’s now an employee should also be taken into consideration, yet I don’t care. With any other woman, her attitude would probably disgust and annoy me. But her? The red-haired insult maven, I find myself getting off on it. She’s treacherous with her tongue, and there’s a battle in every word and a backhanded comment
in every sentence. It’s enticing in the worst way. Lo really messed with my head. Her softness is nothing like Joey’s steeling gaze. Her spunk isn’t comparable to Joey’s fire. But one thing is certain, I find myself thinking of Joey the entire drive back to Hawthorn.

  My mind travels over the night before. I was sober, alcohol free, and trying to change. With that one provoking old man joke, I knew I’d show her up. I’m anything but a lightweight. But thirteen shots of Jameson on an empty stomach? I’m lucky to be walking this morning. It’s easy to understand why Joey was hurling her guts up. She really doesn’t remember last night?

  “Follow me,” I husk, unable to control the hunger coursing through me. She’s half my age, so this shouldn’t happen. Jameson disagrees as he urges me on, telling me to take and take and take.

  She nods up at me. Her eyes are glassy, but she seems as sober as I am. As in, not sober at all. Should we do this? Drink and screw around? Will she regret it tomorrow? My mind can’t catch a thought for long except her bare legs and how sexy her pumps make her look.

  We make it to a family bathroom, flinging the door open. She comes after me, her lips connecting with mine furiously. I can feel anger and bitterness with each nip. Pulling back as much as she’ll allow, I try to think coherently.

  “We shouldn’t,” I mumble, my chest heaving while my dick tries breaking through my slacks.

  “Too scared, old man?”

  I groan as she pulls me onto her mouth, claiming it as hers for the night.

  I stiffen in my pants at the way she looked at me, the way her lips felt warm and savage against me—demanding even. How I wish I could remember more. If we went further. We had to. We were both naked. In bed. Practically cuddling.

  The joke about her being good at sucking dick was just to jab at her, but I can see it was too far. She pushes my buttons, ones I didn’t even realize I had. It’s like her entire purpose is to whip me back just as badly and not let me get away with anything. The challenge to beat her at our tongue duels is the most fun I’ve had in months. Monday can’t come soon enough.