by S. E. Law
I shake my head, weariness overtaking me. The girl is gorgeous, but I hate all matters pertaining to HR. It’s not my forte, although I’ve had to become skilled at managing people out of sheer necessity.
“I’m sorry, and who are you again?” I drawl. I’ve already asked but I want to get under her skin. Clearly, I’m an asshole of the nth degree.
Her cheeks flare red again.
“I’m Madeline Mitchell,” she says stiffly. “Grace’s daughter.”
I look at the woman for a moment. She really is shapely, come to think of it. The baggy sweater can’t hide the well-formed breasts beneath the thick, lumpy material, and her jeans hang loosely on long, slender legs. She’s well-proportioned, and her face and hair look touched by sunshine, even within the gloom of my office.
“Okay, let’s just say for argument’s sake that I did fire your mother. What do you want me to do?”
“Re-hire her,” says Maddy promptly, her hands on her hips. “That’s the only decent thing to do.”
I lean back in my chair.
“Yes, but I can’t do that. My guess is that your mother is over-worked and probably too old to keep doing what she’s doing. Being a showgirl isn’t just about smiling and high-kicks; it’s about being an athlete. You have to get up there for three hours straight and take the crowd by storm. There’s all sorts of tumbling, in addition to shimmying, shaking, and multiple costume changes. It’s not for the faint of heart and it’s hard on your body. How old is your mom now? Forty? Forty-one? Forty-two?”
Maddy’s lip trembles.
“She’s forty,” she says in a rigid voice.
I sigh.
“Exactly. Most of the showgirls are twenty-five, or even younger. This isn’t really a job for the middle-aged, and my guess is that your mother has been worn down by the experience. It’s kinder and gentler for us to let her go, Maddy. There’s no sense in beating an old horse when there’s nothing left in the gas tank.”
That makes the blonde girl fly into a rage. She literally charges me, screaming.
“Don’t you call my mother an old horse! Grace has more than a thousand times your value, you son of a bitch! She’s worked her tail off for this stupid Le Palms for more than a decade, and this is how you repay her?”
I fend off her blows, which is pretty easy because although Maddy is tall, I’ve got to be at least six inches taller. Not only that, but Maddy is thin and lithe, whereas I’m huge and burly. I’m all muscle, whereas she’s sensuous curves, and she doesn’t have a chance to strike me.
But against all odds, a small fist gets through my defenses, and her hand glances off my hard chest.
“You’re a raging asshole!” she’s screaming now. “You deserve to be murdered! I’m going to murder you myself! Ahhh-”
But then her screams are cut off because I’ve lowered my lips to hers, catching that delectable pout in a searing kiss. Madeline Mitchell is hot, sweet, and so angry that I can’t get enough.
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To be continued …
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Will Maddy be able to convince Cameron to give her mom her job back? Read and find out! Mommy’s Boss is now LIVE and available here.
Sneak Peek: First Time Escort
Lucy
Lucy’s working as a high-end escort, and her first client turns out to be her dad’s best friend, Shane.
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I apprehensively enter the lobby of the Hotel Indigo, a glamorous high-end hotel on the Lower East Side of the city. The building was easy enough to find because it towers over neighboring skyscrapers. Before walking through the front doors, I surreptitiously crept along the side of the building just to scope the place out. I felt like a stalker, but then straightened my shoulders. I can’t put this off forever, and it’s time to make an entrance.
The golden doors sweep open as I approach and I smile as brightly as possible. I tell the doorman I am supposed to be meeting a friend at the first-floor bar, and he points me in the right direction. But “a friend”? Who am I kidding? I feel like everyone knows what I’m really here for, but try to walk with dignity nonetheless, with my head held high and shoulders back. Unfortunately, it’s easier said than done because I’m decked out in Rose’s sky-high red stilettos and they’re hella wobbly. Plus, I’m wearing her tiny, deep maroon cocktail dress that hugs all of my curves with a velvet black shawl draped around my shoulders. Rose did my hair so that it falls in soft curls down my back. She also helped do my makeup too, applying dark shadow to my eyes and a sleek, dark red balm to my lips.
I feel slightly uncomfortable being dressed up so extravagantly. I’m by no means a tomboy, but I am certainly not this girly of a girl. Although I do have to say, I was astonished when I checked myself in the mirror before leaving the dorm. I look stunning, and surprisingly elegant, all things considered.
I step into the bar and pause, taking a moment to scan the room. The lights are low and there are candles on the tabletops. A fire burns on the far side of the room and swanky suede couches encircle the all-brick fireplace. It is even fancier than I had assumed it would be. But what’s odd is that the bar is pretty empty. That’s weird; it is a Friday night after all.
I’m looking for a man that fits Reed’s description: a tall, dark, handsome type wearing a navy blue suit. He refused to give the agency a picture of himself for privacy reasons, and paid three times the usual amount in order to do the deal anonymously. Who is this guy? A flutter in my stomach makes me feel a bit queasy. Should I be concerned?
Then, my mind begins frantically racing. I wonder if Reed is his first name or his last, or if it is really his name at all. After all, if he refused to provide his picture, he’s probably using a fake name too. Plus, Rose mentioned this is his first booking with her. But that doesn’t mean it’s his first booking ever. Does this guy get hookers all the time? Am I just the flavor of the week?
I try to forcibly stop myself from overthinking because none of the answers to these questions matter. But then again, if he’s an axe murderer, I’m going to have to plan my escape.
I look around the room, scoping the exits. Good, it looks like there are two nearby, and both are well-lit with green emergency signs. Then I scan the room again, but I don’t see anyone who matches Reed’s description. I check the time: 6:40. We’re supposed to be meeting at 6:45, so surely he will be arriving any minute now. Although I have to admit, a tiny part of me hopes he doesn’t show. I am incredibly anxious.
I decide to make my way over to the bar where I’m supposed to wait for him. God, this is nerve-wracking. I perch on the end seat, decorously pulling my skirt down when the bartender approaches and asks for my order. My stomach flops as I scramble to think of a drink.
“A mimosa, please,” I finally say.
What a silly drink to order. A mimosa is a breakfast drink, but it is all I could think of. Fortunately, the bartender is professional and doesn’t bat an eye. He promptly makes my cocktail and serves it to me with a small orange slice split over the rim of the glass. I thank him, taking the orange from the rim and squeezing it into my glass. I take a deep breath followed by a small but necessary sip to help calm my nerves.
Sitting back, my mind begins to wander again. I try imagining what type of guy this Reed character is anyways. I mean, who just casually up and gets drinks with an escort? And why? Is he unfathomably lonely? Is he too socially uncomfortable to pick up women on his own? Or does he just like to flash his money, thinking he can have whatever he wants because he’s rich?
This whole thing reminds me of an old spaghetti western I watched one weekend with Rose our freshman year. We used to have big nights-in where we would order ridiculous amounts of take-out and junk food. Then, we’d cover the floor with blankets and pillows and arrange our snack assortment in a semi-circle around us on the dormitory floor. We would stream the cheesiest movies we could find and spend the night cracking up and re-enacting them.
One time, we got a corny black-and-white western with c
rackling stripes on the screen, it was so old. There was a lady of the night who was working at a local tavern, which was impressive in and of itself. At a time where woman barely had the right to exist without a man by their side, she was duping macho cowboys left and right in the old saloon. She would throw the double doors open and swagger right on up to a barstool. Before she could even sit down, men were fighting over who got to buy her first drink that night. We thought she was just fabulous and she was the real heroine of the movie. But what we never considered was what happened after the cowboys bought her that drink. Did they go upstairs for some good times in a private room? Did they make for the stables, for a literal roll in the hay?
I suppose I’m about to find out in a way.
Suddenly, I feel a looming presence by my side. Oh no. My client’s here. I paste a fake smile on my face and force my cheeks to turn up almost painfully. I spin around, but then all the air rushes out of my lungs.
Oh shit. The man beside me is devastatingly handsome with dark blue eyes, black hair, broad shoulders and a wide chest. Even worse, there’s an amused look on that sensual, mobile mouth.
“Hello Lucy,” he drawls. “What a coincidence, seeing you here.”
Oh shit! It’s my dad’s best friend!
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To be continued …
First Time Escort is now LIVE! Pick up your copy here.
About the Author
Let go of your inhibitions because S.E. Law is about to take you for a wild ride with over-the-top alpha males who CLAIM their women. Fan of candy canes, popsicles, and anything rainbow. Join my newsletter at www.selawromance.com and get a free book just for subscribing.
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