Tales of Darkness & Sin: An Anthology

by Pepper Winters

  “Not precisely what I had in mind.” His attention returns to the computer monitor as he finishes up whatever he’s typing, then drags his mouse and clicks.

  Now he sits back in his chair again, appearing almost relaxed. I can’t imagine a man looking relaxed when I’ve just handed him the information I have, but this time it’s not because he’s dismissing me and whatever I might bring to the table. It’s simply because he has handled the situation already—or he knows he will and he’s not worried.

  I love his confidence.

  Smiling a little more fondly than I mean to, I ask, “Then what do you need from me?”

  “Well, considering it appears I’ll be catching a Broadway show with Evan Swanson, after all… I’m going to need a date.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Foster

  It’s a work thing.

  That’s what I told Mason when he texted to ask how Chelsea’s first week went. I’d somehow tattled on myself that she was going with me to schmooze a client. Of course, unlike when I told her I needed a date, I told him it was a work thing and I wanted her to shadow me.

  Thank fuck he wasn’t standing in front of me.

  Mason is one of the few who can read my poker face. Hell, it was him who taught it to me. He taught me a lot of shit, so he’d be the first to call me out.

  It is a work thing, though.

  Evan Swanson is my client and Chelsea is an intern at my company.

  Explain the state of your dick, Foster.

  I glance over at Chelsea while I wait for the light to turn green. When I picked her up a bit ago, I was not at all prepared to see her all dressed up. At work, it’s practically torture seeing her prance around in her tight skirts and tall heels. But, she does dress professionally.

  Now, though, she’s dressed like a goddamn movie star.

  I’m thoroughly impressed at her ability to throw together such a glamorous ensemble on such short notice. Tonight, she’s wearing a silky, gold wrap dress that dips low, revealing more cleavage than is acceptable for work. Rather than her modest-length skirts, this dress is daring with the hem ending high up her smooth, tanned thighs. Her gold strappy shoes give her a few extra inches on her already tall frame—something I’ve realized I’ve come to enjoy this week being nearly eye level with her.

  “The light’s green,” she says, a playfulness in her tone.

  A taxi driver honks at me and I gas it, feeling like an idiot for getting caught staring at her sexy ass thighs.

  This was a bad idea.

  Besides the fact she’s my best friend’s daughter, she’s only eighteen. Barely eighteen. Girls that age are clueless as fuck. I’m not interested in regressing in the dating world from successful women my age to young, naïve women just because they’re an energetic lay. No matter how tempting Chelsea Parker is, I can’t ever go there.

  The car in front of me slams on their brakes and my arm flies out in front of her on instinct like it’ll do more than her damn seatbelt. Her breath rushes out in surprise causing me to jerk my hand back, grumbling out a half-ass apology.

  “I’m looking forward to tonight,” Chelsea says, shifting in her seat, causing the hem of her dress to ride up farther.

  My dumb ass can’t help but sneak a peek.

  “Oh yeah?” I rumble. “A fan of Broadway shows?”

  “Not really.” She chuckles. “I was more interested in who’ll be there.”

  “Evan.”

  “Of course. And I saw on Instagram, Heather Caviche is going to be there with her on-again-off-again boyfriend. She could really use Dunbar Foster. I looked her up and Celebrity 911 represents her.”

  I cringe at the name. They’re the equivalent to ambulance chasing lawyers in the PR world. Only after the wild clients because it keeps their name in the press and keeps the paychecks coming. Our firm focuses on rejuvenating and rehabilitating our clients’ images. We’re in the business of helping rather than throwing kindling on the reputation dumpster fires they tend to start.

  “I’m going to see if I can talk to her,” she tells me, practically thrumming with energy. “She’s a great actress and with the right public relations team on her side, she could leave the front pages of the negative tabloids and help her acting career with more reputable PR.”

  I’m impressed that she clearly does her homework. I’d misjudged her the first day. And, after what she brought to me about Ryan, I realize she’s sharp and doesn’t miss a thing, much like her father.

  “Slow your roll, Jerry Maguire, you’re only an intern,” I remind her. “Why don’t you let me talk to her?”

  Chelsea scoffs. “Because I’m confident I can get her over to us. Celebrity 911 has flimsy contracts. I know Dunbar Foster has an entire legal department dedicated to finding holes in contracts so we can rightfully take on clients like her.” She points at a crowd gathered around someone, camera flashes going off, as we arrive in front of the building. “Besides…you have your work cut out for you with Swanson. You need to do damage control with him. Let me do my magic.”

  She’s green and I’ve yet to see hard proof of said magic aside from a few instances at the office. Anyone else and I’d shut them down. But, Chelsea’s confidence reminds me of my own when I first started out. She believes she can do this which probably means she can.

  “And if you don’t land this client?” I ask, arching a brow at her as we wait for traffic to move in the valet line.

  “All I need is the meeting, and then we can land her together.” She grins at me. “Right?”

  That smile would have me agreeing to anything.

  “If you can get her in the building, I can get her to sign on the dotted line.” I roam my gaze down her delicate, exposed throat. Her blond hair has been pulled up into a sleek ponytail that incites many filthy fantasies inside my dirty mind. My eyes land on her cleavage for a long moment before I pull them back up to her face. “What happens if you don’t get the meeting? Should I let you go?”

  She rolls her eyes, reminding me of how young she is. “I’ll get the meeting. I’ll indulge you, though. If I don’t get the meeting, you can make me grab your coffee for a week or take your suits to the dry cleaners. I honestly don’t care because I’m going to do this.”

  “So confident,” I murmur. “And if you get the meeting with Heather?”

  “Then you have to go dancing with me after this.”

  “I’m not going dancing.”

  “If I win you will.”

  “Chelsea,” I growl. “I don’t dance.”

  “Liar.” She smirks. “I have seen plenty of tagged photos of you dancing at parties.”

  I lift a brow at her. “Been stalking me?”

  “I stalk everyone.” She lets out a laugh that makes my dick twitch. “Evan Swanson loves to dance. He’ll go with us. I promise. Remember, you’re still trying to woo the guy to keep him from switching teams.”

  “He switched teams long before me,” I throw back.

  “Are you always this difficult?”

  “Always. And you have yourself a deal. I hope you don’t break a nail carrying all my suits back and forth to the dry cleaners.”

  “Sounds like a job better cut out for Ryan. Hope those shoes are good for dancing.”

  As Evan and his boyfriend, Quincy, preen in front of the cameras in the lobby, I stand unnecessarily close to Chelsea. Whatever perfume she’s wearing fucking calls to me. I’m distracted each time she laughs and her tits jiggle or the way she smiles with her whole face.

  “Mr. Foster,” Evan says, finally done with his mini photoshoot. “So happy you could make it after all.”

  We shake hands and I introduce Chelsea as my intern. She doesn’t sit back, meek and unsure. No, this girl was born for this, immediately chatting Evan up. He and Quincy are charmed by her, both of them grinning as she speaks. Pride swells up inside me. Last time, when I had Ryan with me, Evan didn’t wear such an unguarded, interested expression.

  “Sorry,” Evan interrupts
, “but I can’t wait another second, Chelsea, without asking. Your dress. Is it—”

  “Dior?” She does a little spin, showing off the ensemble. “It was a race to get to Hudson Yards and back before tonight’s show, but I just knew you’d appreciate the extra effort.”

  “Indeed,” Evan says with a wide grin.

  Quincy chuckles. “Delilah was probably on shift this afternoon. She’s my favorite salesperson at Dior. No one recognizes me when I show up to buy prezzies for Evan, but just in case, she always makes sure to have a stack of things he might love ready for me in a private room when I show up.”

  “Yes!” Chelsea nods her head, her blond ponytail swinging. “Delilah was a doll. We have a date for sushi soon.”

  As she continues to chatter to the guys about their common love for Dior, my eyes skim the room. I notice Heather Caviche around the same time Chelsea does.

  “Excuse me, boys. I just saw Heather Caviche and on her Instagram, she claimed she was going to try and smuggle her dog Pootsie in. I’m going to go say hello. Catch you in a few before the show starts.” She blows a kiss to them before prancing through the room, completely unaware of all the hungry stares of each male she passes.

  “Intern, huh?” Evan asks, leaning in.

  “We’re not dating,” I blurt out, dragging my gaze back to him. “She’s my best friend’s daughter.”

  Quincy laughs and then excuses himself to go greet someone he knows.

  “I was going to say, she’s a helluva lot more qualified than that. I was going to tease and say she would be taking over your job soon.” Evan’s sculpted brow arches high. “But, with how quickly you jumped to the defensive, I’d say you wish you were dating.”

  I groan, rubbing at the back of my neck.

  “She’s beautiful,” Evan says clutching my shoulder as if to comfort me from my internal ass whipping. “If you didn’t notice, I’d say you were dead inside, Foster.”

  As soon as I see her laughing and chatting it up with Heather, I realize my ass is totally going dancing later. Evan is right. She’s more than qualified. A helluva lot better at this damn job than Ryan ever will be.

  Speaking of Ryan, I’m going to deal with his ass and soon. But first, I need to know exactly what it is he’s doing with my clients.

  “Beautiful indeed,” I admit with a sigh. “But, as much as I’d love to discuss Miss Parker’s charming ways, I actually wanted to talk to you about something else.”

  “Come dance with me,” Chelsea yells over the club music. “You owe me.”

  Quincy grins at me while Evan waggles his brows. I shake my head at them, biting back a smile. They were Team Chelsea from the moment they laid eyes on her. When she brought Heather over to meet Evan before the show and managed to easily incorporate that we were his PR firm into conversation, I’d gotten on Team Chelsea too. She’s smart and charismatic. There’s an energy about her that draws people in, myself included.

  “A deal’s a deal,” I say, taking her hand, allowing her to lead me onto the dance floor that’s crowded with moving bodies. “You know I’m the oldest guy out here, right?”

  Her slender arms wrap around my neck as her sea green eyes light up in a mischievous way under the flashing lights. “Sorry, couldn’t hear you.”

  Our hips move in tandem with the beat. Now that I’m allowed to touch her, I quickly become greedy, grabbing hold of her narrow hips and pulling her flush against me. I dip my head to her ear, letting my lips brush against the shell.

  “I said, you look beautiful tonight.”

  She turns her head slightly, so her mouth is near my ear now. “Thank you. And, for the record, you’re not old, Foster.”

  With her young, ripe body grinding against me and my eager dick shamelessly pressing into her, I feel anything but old. It’s easy to forget who she is and how old she is or the fact she’s my intern when my palm is dangerously close to her ass.

  It’s my turn to speak into her ear. The urge to nip at her earlobe is strong.

  “You were spectacular tonight,” I rumble, no longer able to keep up with the beat. We slow our dancing to a sway. “My client loves you and you’ve already hooked another one who desperately needs Dunbar Foster. You’re a natural.”

  She turns, pulling slightly away to look at me. “You seem surprised.”

  “A little.” My gaze drops to her pink, pouty lips that are glossy and so fucking tempting. “I knew you were clever and sociable when we talked that night at the beach, but I didn’t realize how driven to succeed you are. And not in a ladder climbing way. You genuinely want to do this job, and not just for any company, but for my company. Chelsea, you impressed me, and I wasn’t expecting it.”

  She licks her plump lips. “There’s a lot more to me than meets the eye.”

  “So I’m learning.”

  Her fingers thread into my hair as she pulls me closer, her lips slightly parting as if waiting for a kiss that will rock her fucking world.

  And it would.

  My mouth would decimate hers and it would be just the beginning. I would devour her inch by inch, tasting every sweet part of her until she screamed for mercy. Together, we could be fantastic in bed.

  But…

  Oh, fuck me, there always has to be a but with anything good.

  But, she’s Mason’s kid. Eighteen. My damn intern.

  I take my hand off her ass where it had slowly crept to and press my thumb to her lips. With a quick peck to her forehead, I release her, though it takes every ounce of willpower in my body.

  “I should get you home now, Miss Parker.”

  Her crestfallen expression hits me right in the chest, but ever the poised socialite, she straightens her spine, affixes a pretty, fake smile and nods. “I think you should, Mr. Foster.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Chelsea

  I think I know how Cinderella felt when that dreaded clock struck midnight and she knew everything had to go back to the way it was before she danced with her bonehead prince.

  Tonight was fast-paced and extremely public just like I knew it would be, but deep down I had hoped there might be a chance to get a little alone time with Foster after the business was concluded and there was no one left but us. Like a dreamy idiot, I’d imagined a night like the one in the Hamptons when we walked the beach, only this time, we would walk the streets of New York. Even in the city that never sleeps, it’s easy for a pair of lovers to walk hand-in-hand beneath the glow of the lights, talking and getting to know one another better.

  But we’re not lovers—and if I leave it up to Foster, we never will be.

  I suppose that’s right. Appropriate, even. But there’s nothing appropriate about the way he looked at me tonight. Every time I turned around, I could feel his gaze boring into me, keeping an eye on me as if to make sure I didn’t wander too far from his reach.

  Even now as we stand on the stoop outside my house, I can see his gaze is tempted to flicker down at my cleavage. He doesn’t let it, though. Not this time, not with the privacy of my empty house just on the other side of this door.

  He knows the rest of my family is at the Hamptons house. He knows it’s only me staying here right now.

  God, I wish I were immune to those gorgeous blue eyes. I wish my stomach didn’t twist up when he gazed at me the way he is now.

  That, or I wish the man would just make a damn move.

  Standing here on the stoop outside my house, looking at his handsome face bathed in little more than moonlight, I make a decision.

  He’s not going home just yet. He’s coming in the house with me. Whatever happens or doesn’t happen after that, fine, but I’m at least getting him inside.

  “I have a confession to make,” I tell him, looking up at him through my long eyelashes.

  Already onto me, he narrows his eyes. “What’s that?”

  “I’m afraid of the dark.”

  He’s skeptical, but plays along to see where I’m going with this. “Is that so?”

&nb
sp; I nod earnestly, mustering all the big-eyed innocence I’m able. “Not once I know I’m safe, of course—I don’t sleep with a nightlight or anything like that. But walking alone into a dark, empty house… now, that’s spooky.”

  “Spooky?” he deadpans.

  I nod again, my eyes widening imploringly. “Oh, yeah. Creaking floorboards, shadows behind every door—it doesn’t take much to convince me there’s a serial killer hiding in one of the rooms I haven’t walked into yet.”

  I pick up on the reluctant amusement in his husky tone, so he must not be working too hard to hide it. “Sounds like you have quite an active imagination, Miss Parker.”

  “Oh, I do,” I assure him, my eyes glinting with mischief. “The fact remains, though…” To really sell it, I sigh dramatically and look off to the side as if forlorn. “If I have to go inside this house all by myself, I might have a heart attack.”

  Foster shifts his weight and looks at the front door of my house like it’s a beast I’m asking him to vanquish. Not to play along with my “I’m so frightened! I need a big, strong man to protect me” scenario, but as if he is the one afraid of what’s on the other side of that door.

  For a split second, I think I read it wrong and my game won’t work, but after a longer pause than I was prepared for, he finally responds and sets my mind at ease.

  “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

  I grin, grabbing my purse and fishing out my keys so I can unlock the door.

  I lied on the doorstep; I’m not afraid of the dark. I’m not afraid of spiders or heights—I’m not really afraid of anything. I don’t continue the game once we’re inside, but he doesn’t expect me to. Foster knows the score. He knows that was merely my way of getting him through the door.

  I take a step back and close the door behind him. I lean closer than I need to, so close my breast nearly touches his arm. Our gazes lock and linger for a few seconds.