by KB Winters
It was entirely possible that I was crossing over the thinnest line between pursuit and cyber-stalking. It was like chasing an unquenchable thirst. It didn’t matter how much information I could find or pictures I could pore over, Livvie’s effect on me was still playing games in my head. Every time I closed my eyes, there she was…at first, it had been flashes of her parted lips as she panted my name, the slickness of the sweetness between her legs, the taste of her skin…
“Argh,” I groaned into the empty penthouse.
I’d been wandering around the huge space all weekend. Monday morning had rolled around and I knew it was time to get over it.
However I was supposed to do that.
Step one was getting the fuck out of the house.
I got my workout done, showered, and dressed in one of my favorite dark grey suits. I had no idea where I was going, but figured something would come to me.
I opened the door of the apartment and, as if my thoughts had brought her to life, Livvie was standing on the other side. Her hand was raised, poised to knock, and the look on her face would have been comical, except that I was pretty sure it was mirrored back on my own.
“What the—oh, my gosh…Remy,” she gasped, her breathless tone ringing in my ear and recalling the way she had panted into my ear as I’d teased her ear with my tongue.
“Livvie. Did you forget something?” I asked, forcing my voice to remain calm and collected, ignoring the hammering of my heart.
She took a tiny, nearly undetectable step backwards and I felt an instant need to take a step forward and fill the space she put between us. “Uhm,” she looked down at her pointed-toe heels. “I came to ask you something.”
“Shoot,” I replied.
She brought her head back up and her entire demeanor changed. She squared her shoulders and stared into my eyes. “It’s about the business. My business.”
I smiled at her extra emphasis. “All right. Come on in.”
“Weren’t you on your way out?” she asked, her eyebrow arched.
“I have time. Come in.”
She followed me through the house. I wanted to lead her to the bedroom and pick up where we’d left off before everything had gone wrong, but I knew that wasn’t what she came here for, although, if I had it my way—and I usually did—I’d find a way to fuck her before she’d left again.
We took opposing seats at the bistro-height table off the kitchen. I folded my hands and she twirled her fingers together, the only sign of a break in her otherwise flawless composure.
“I’ve given it a lot of thought. I’ve crunched the numbers, and although I hate to say this, I need your help. If you’re still interested, I’d like to see what can be arranged if you’re still interested in being an investor in my business.”
Hot. Sexy. Direct. I liked her style.
“So, you want me to be a partner in your business?” I asked.
“Silent partner,” she corrected, with a pointed tone.
I nodded. “Silent partner. Right. And, what would be my benefit?”
“I’d offer you twenty-five percent of all profits, with a reevaluation at the five-year mark. If things work out as well as expected, I should be able to return your initial investment, plus interest, at that point.”
I hid my surprise, but it was a ballsy strategy to come right out and tell me she planned to buy me out and cut me out of the deal in five years’ time. “And what if I don’t want to renegotiate? What if I want to stay in?”
Now it was her turn to be surprised. “What do you mean?”
“After five years, what if I don’t want you to buy me out?”
“We can talk and come to an arrangement that works for us both.”
“Hmm. And during these five years, how exactly do you see my role? As a silent partner?” I asked.
She squirmed a little in her seat and I’d have given just about anything to be able to read her mind. “You would be an investor, and if you were able to help with connections, that would be beneficial for both of us.”
“So, I imagine that would mean you and I’d be spending quite a bit of time together, then,” I added as a note.
“I suppose so,” Livvie agreed. Her blue eyes were edged with concern, and yet I had a trained eye, and could see the desire that she was trying so hard to conceal.
She could still be mine.
And I knew what it would take.
I stood up from the table and went around to her side. She reeled back in her seat, pinning her back to the chair, but her lips parted and the tip of her tongue flicked out and moistened them. It was a thoughtless gesture on her part, but to me, it was all I needed to know.
“What if I let you keep the twenty-five percent? What if there was something else that I wanted?” I asked.
The desire in her eyes went up in flames and she put up a hand to stop me, her palm pressing firmly against my chest. “Remy, no. I am not a bargaining chip in this deal. It’s twenty-five percent or it’s a no deal.”
“But I want you,” I whispered, pressing against her hand to test how close she’d let me get.
“Remy,” she breathed as I lowered against her, my lips dangerously close to hers.
Before I could capture her perfect pout, she shoved back against me and jumped down from her seat. She grabbed her purse off the table and started to leave the room, heading back in the direction of the front door. “I can’t do this.”
Fuck. Not this again.
I swooped around the kitchen island and got in front of her, blocking her path.
“Remy, what the hell? Just let me leave. I shouldn’t have even come down here. I should have known that with you, it’s a one-way ticket back to the bedroom.”
“Well, I like to think of myself as a flexible man. We could try the couch, the Jacuzzi, or hell, this island is about as sturdy as them come, and I do believe, at the exact right height,” I threw back, my smile feeling wolfish on my face as I stared her down.
Her lips parted, probably to throw out another flimsy protest, but I seized my moment and leaned down and took her lips with my own. She gasped into the kiss but then melted against me. My tongue pushed past her full lips and explored and teased her tongue and lips. I nibbled and sucked on her lower lip, loving the sweet sugar taste and the slickness of our lips crashing together.
The kiss left us both breathless and I had her backed against the wall within seconds. Her hands were hungry, pushing aside my jacket and clutching at the buttons as she tried to unbutton them blindly. Her hands slipped between the smooth linen of the shirt and fluttered against my bare chest. I lifted her up off the ground and her legs wrapped around my hips, locking behind my back. I started towards the bedroom and she played with the buttons on my shirt as I carried her down the hallway. I kissed a trail down her neck while carefully avoiding obstacles and the door frame as we burst into the master suite.
I laid her down on the bed and started popping off the rest of the buttons to my shirt.
“Wait, no, no, stop,” Livvie said, shaking away the glazed look of heat that had been in her eyes seconds before.
My hands stilled on the second to last button. “Well that’s a blow to the ego. Listen, I get that you think I’m some sort of arrogant asshole, but you don’t need to single handedly tackle my ego, you know,” I said, smiling down at her.
Her face shifted to an almost confused expression and she pushed up from the bed. “No, Remy, that’s not what I meant.”
I stilled her with my hand. “What are you doing?”
“I have to go.”
“But we didn’t even get through our first business meeting, here,” I joked, trying to push her back down.
“Remy, stop.”
I pulled my hand away. I might push the boundaries sometimes, but when a woman outright told me to stop, I listened.
Although…it wasn’t something I’d experienced very often.
Livvie smoothed her hair. “This can’t happen.”
I hea
ved a silent sigh—something I was accustomed to, thanks to my mother. “What’s wrong?”
“Remy,” she started, her blue eyes flicking up at me. “Who are we kidding? We can’t be business partners.”
“Because we want to fuck each other? What’s so wrong with that?”
She shot me a look.
“What if I promise to behave?” I asked, a twinkle gleaming in my eye.
She rolled her eyes, clearly not amused. “And what about all the other stuff? The stuff with…”
“My mother?” I finished, feeling my hard-on rapidly deflating.
“Like I said, this is too complicated. She’ll never approve of us working together.”
“Fuck what she thinks. This is my choice, not hers.”
Livvie bit her swollen lip and stared at me. “I’m sorry, this was a mistake. I just got so stressed with the numbers and the loan got turned down and I don’t know…” She tugged at her hair and forced it back into a slick ponytail as she spoke. “I have to go. Please.”
I stood firmly in place, blocking her exit. I didn’t know what to say to convince her.
“Can’t you understand? It’s hard enough for me to even ask for help. Not just you, I mean, anyone. I grew up fast…too fast…and I learned from a young age that you can’t count on anyone else. Only yourself. So, I don’t even want help doing this.”
“But you need help. Livvie, you have a dream, but it’s a big dream. The type of business you want to start is not a one-man—or woman—operation. You need help, whether you like it or not. I’m offering to help you. Don’t turn it down just because of some pride issue you’re hung up on.”
She reared back and I instantly knew I’d said the wrong thing. “Me, stuck on a pride thing? That’s rich, coming from you.”
She started to stomp away and I followed after her, grabbing at her arm to make her face me again.
“You don’t even have money. It’s all handed over by your mother. Remember, I was here. I heard the whole thing.”
Anger boiled up and I released Livvie’s arm as if it was suddenly made of hot iron. “So, that’s it, huh? You overhear one conversation and suddenly that makes you the expert on my life and finances?”
She backed down slightly. “I’m not saying I’m an expert, but according to her, you need to get your shit together or say goodbye to all this.” She waved her hands around the room for emphasis.
I didn’t appreciate the reminder.
“Oh, yeah, and she thinks I’m a whore. So yeah, I can’t imagine her making an exception for me, whether we agree to keep it professional or not. So it’s a moot point, really.”
“Fine. If that’s what you think, then why are you even here? If you truly think I’m a broke fuck who is scared of his own mother, then why did you come back?”
She stared at me for a moment, and I knew she was asking herself the same questions.
“I’m not here, remember? I’m leaving.”
She spun on her heel and this time, I didn’t even ask her to stay.
Chapter Eleven — Livvie
In all my twenty-four years, I couldn’t remember ever having been as angry as I was when I left Remy’s penthouse. And the worst part of it all, I was angrier at myself. I spent the next week throwing myself into as many extra shifts as I could wrangle at work and trying to keep all the bands on ice while I tried to figure out my next move. In a last-ditch effort, I’d put my carefully-guarded credit score on the line and applied for a business loan, and while, in reality, the experience was slightly less traumatic than it had been in my head—they hadn’t actually laughed me out of the establishment—it had wound up being the same result.
Denied.
By Friday, I was scanning through pages of job postings online while eating a cup of Ramen noodles—for the third night that week—wondering how much it could possibly suck to be a full time ticket attendant at the state fair for the summer. At least then, I could possibly afford some seasoning to dress up my cardboard dinner, I thought, eyeing the paper cup.
I was jolted from my ever-depressing thoughts when my phone started chirping. I slid it over to me and sighed at the screen flashing.
It was a blocked caller.
Presumably, the same blocked caller who had been trying to reach me all week.
I knew who it was…which is why I’d been dodging it. I don’t know what possessed me. I guess I’d finally run out of excuses not to, but this time, I decided to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me, Remy.”
“I know,” I sighed heavily. I knew it was him before I even answered, but hearing his voice on the phone still flustered me.
“I’ve been calling you all week. What’s going on?” he asked.
I ignored his question and fired back with a couple of my own. “Why are you calling me? Actually, how did you even get this number?”
“I have one of your business cards,” he answered.
The memory of his pocketing one at the club came back to me. “Ahh. What can I do for you?”
A dangerous question to ask a man like Remy.
“I want to invest in your business. Twenty percent, no strings, I swear,” he said.
I sighed. It was all so damned tempting.
The money, the connections…the man.
“Why?” I asked, pinching the place between my eyes, feeling a tension headache coming on full speed ahead.
“You want the truth?”
“Preferably.”
He took in a deep breath and I opened my eyes again, suddenly very concerned. “I need this just as much as you do.” He said it like it was a confession.
“Really? You need this?”
“I’m not going to bullshit you, Livvie. It’ll look good on my portfolio, help me save up for my other business interests, and be mutually beneficial.”
The way he said mutually sent shivers down my spine.
Unwelcome shivers.
“Remy, you know why I said no before. My answer hasn’t changed. I think it would be too complicated, given our history.”
“Livvie, I said no strings and I meant it. This is just business. I swear.”
His answer floored me, especially given the rawness in his voice. I almost believed him.
“What do we do first?” I asked, somewhat not believing the words were being said.
“Can I meet up with you so we can talk strategy?”
There were too many questions in my mind and I couldn’t zero in on one long enough to throw it out there.
“Livvie?” he asked. “What do you say?”
I sighed. I hated it—like nails digging into the floor—but I had no options. I looked at the open browser full of shit jobs that I didn’t want to take, and then over to my now-cold cup of noodles. It was pretty fucking sad. I’d exhausted all my ideas, and myself, in the process. Remy was handing me a life vest and I’d be an idiot not to take it.
“All right. When and where?”
“I’ll text you the address for this quiet little bar downtown. Meet you there tomorrow, at, say, five-thirty?”
I hesitated, letting the question marinate for another minute. “Okay.”
“Great.”
He said goodbye and we hung up. My entire body was trembling when I set down my phone. I had no idea what his new game was going to be, but I had to assume I needed to be prepared for anything.
***
Over the next twenty-four hours, it took all my remaining self-control to keep myself occupied and not climb the walls of the apartment. My overactive imagination eventually seemed to short circuit my brain and by the time I entered the designated bar, I was a walking disaster. I’d played and repeated so many mental scenarios of what I thought might happen, I couldn’t focus. The bar itself was quite swanky but quiet, just as Remy had promised. I could immediately see why he liked it. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, and a helluva lot more upscale than most of the places I frequented.
The perky
hostess in her all-black ensemble quickly showed me to a table and presented me with the happy hour menu. I let her know I was expecting someone and she gave me a polite smile. I checked my phone…five till five. I’d wanted to arrive a little early, to be the one waiting, not the one awkwardly searching the room and having him spot me long before I saw him.
I sat quietly, picking at my quickie self-manicure and trying to tamp down the feelings that were swirling back to the surface as I watched the door like Tom watching the mouse hole for Jerry.
The minutes ticked by, and I knew I was checking my phone too often, but with each passing minute, the pit of anxiety in my stomach was growing and taking over more and more of my thoughts.
What would happen if he didn’t show? What if he was just playing a trick on me? Punishing me for running out on him? Remy was obviously the kind of guy who was used to getting what he wanted and I had escaped him. Twice.
Would he really get my hopes up and then not show, just to teach me a lesson?
I shook my head, deciding against it. Granted, I hadn’t known Remy all that long, but still, it seemed a petty thing to do and he had never struck me as being a petty kind of guy.
And yet, even with my self-assurance that he was just hung up somehow, an hour passed with no sign of him. I must have checked my phone a million times and there was no sign of a call or text. Another half-hour dragged by and I texted him.
Where are you? The hostess shot me pitying glances. Every time the front doors opened and it wasn’t him, she’d watch me slink back into my seat with a fresh wave of frustration, defeat and confusion, and then she’d give a little sad shrug for me before rushing to attend to the new guest.
I sent another text and waited for a reply.
I’m leaving in 10 min. By the time the bartender sent over a complimentary glass of wine, I felt the pity glances and sad faces tearing holes in me. I lifted the free glass of wine up in a nod to the bartender, and drank it back before I picked up my phone and swiped Remy’s number. I was so pissed, I’d already texted him a few times and he hadn’t answered. He was probably out with some high-class, old-money blonde who Mommy Dearest approved of.
“We’re sorry, the number you have dialed has been disconnected—” came the recording on the phone. I hung up and checked the number. It was the same number he’d texted me the address from. I let out a long breath, silently praying the cell tower got the signals crossed.