Naughty, Dirty, Cocky

  “This is a classic case of ‘he said, she said.’ As a fellow publicist, you know the true details are clearly fuzzy after all this time.” He let out a light laugh and I almost screamed. “Nonetheless, I’m not doing this to get back at you. I’m doing this so you can finally put your pride to the side and join me. And maybe, just maybe, when you come to your senses, perhaps you can forgive me and we can pick up right where we left off. We can be Drew and Lauren Associates forever. What do you say?”

  I hung up.

  There was no way in hell I’d go back to him, let alone join his firm. I opened my inbox, ready to get to the bottom of the random, three-million-dollar deposit, and noticed there were two new emails from my best friend, Sean.

  Subject: Please Get Rid of Your Goddamn Roommate ...

  I’ve asked this before, but I’ll ask it again: Why can’t you just put Sarah out?

  Surely you can find someone else in this city who can afford to split your overpriced rent. Someone who doesn’t insist on imposing her ridiculous germaphobe issues on me each time I come over, and someone who isn’t currently accusing me of leaving “micro crumbs” on your kitchen counter.

  Thanks in advance.

  Sean

  Subject: Seventy Sad Months and Counting ...

  This is your monthly reminder that you haven’t slept with anyone since Drew, and that’s why you’re stressed out and obsessed with your work all the time.

  If you weren’t like a sister to me, I’d sleep with you myself, but for the umpteenth time: You need to get laid. BADLY.

  Please do it this month so I won’t have to email you about this next month. (It’s getting really sad.) I can suggest some clubs and pay my sister to help you dress if you like ...

  Sean

  PS—I’m not kidding about your roommate. GET. RID. OF. HER. NOW.

  I laughed and minimized his email, opening the firm’s bank ledger in a new tab instead. The three million dollars was confirmed, and the bank was requesting an immediate meeting to file tax paperwork.

  The name on the deposit was simply, “R.D. LLC” and a myriad of companies with those initials popped up on my screen when I hit search. There was no actual “RD LLC” by itself and no business in this city was currently operating under that name.

  I called Tina’s desk.

  “Yes, Miss Lauren?” she answered on the first ring.

  “Tina, has this mystery client ever sent us an email that we can possibly track?”

  “No, he’s only called and the number he calls from goes straight to a hotel,” she said. “I’ve checked. He usually calls us at noon every day, though.”

  I glanced at the clock. It was only ten.

  “What exactly did he say the last time he called?”

  “Um, well, after I told him about our fake fee, he said he’d call for a meeting with the director Monday. Are we really going to charge him two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a month?”

  “Depends on who he really is and all he might require from us,” I said. “If he’s that high profile, we might have to hire more staff and get more resources to get things done, you know? Let me know when he calls again.”

  “Will do.”

  I hung up and tried to think of who the hell in this city could afford to drop three million without much thought. Anyone who would bother going to a small firm instead of one of the big three: Embassy, Welch, or Avenue.

  Or hell, even Drew’s firm ...

  As I was scrolling through another page of RD LLC listings, a new email from Drew appeared on my screen.

  Subject: Maybe you’re right ...

  I’m going to poach every client of yours until you come to your damn senses, Penelope. You know you can’t run a firm on your own for too much longer, especially without me.

  I’ll be here whenever you’re no longer solvent, whenever you realize that your clients will always go with me over you. (But they can get both of us whenever you’re ready.)

  Forgive me and join me before I change my mind, sweetheart,

  Drew.

  PS—Reply to me. You know you want to :-)

  Ugh!

  I deleted his email and pulled up Sean’s last message for a reply instead.

  Subject: Re: Seventy Sad Months and Counting ...

  I’ll end my streak this weekend. You and your sister will really help me?

  —Penelope

  Subject: Re: Re: Seventy Sad Months and Counting ...

  Absolutely 

  THE CLIENT

  RYAN

  I stared outside the window of a town car Sunday night, hoping tonight would end better than the night before. I could still hear my brother’s laughter ringing in my ears and I needed more than a few drinks to silence it.

  Last night, when I was mid-Jameson and contemplating which woman at the bar I was going to approach, he’d sent me a panicked text message: PLEASE HELP ME, RYAN! GET TO MY CONDO NOW! EMERGENCY! PLEASE!

  I wasted no time rushing to get to his place—even calling security when I was en-route, but the second I arrived, I realized what was really happening.

  It turned out the “emergency” was me, and Leo was just ensuring that I didn’t spend my evening “in a club getting in trouble.” Instead, he preferred that I hang out with him and his wife while they watched awful movies on Netflix and burned endless bags of popcorn.

  I’m not falling for that shit tonight ...

  “You said Club H2O, correct, sir?” My driver interrupted my thoughts.

  “Yes, Miller.”

  “Well, we’re here.” He pulled the car to the curb. “What time would you like me to return?”

  “I’ll let you know,” I said, opening the door. “Wait, one thing.” I caught his eyes through the rearview mirror. “I know it’s been several months since I partied like used to, but did you honestly ever think I was out of control?”

  He laughed. “I think I know better than to give you a true answer to that.”

  You just did ... “Thank you, Miller.” I stepped out of the car and headed to the club’s entrance, skipping everyone in line.

  “We weren’t expecting you tonight, Mr. Dalton.” The security guard pulled back the velvet rope. “Would you like to speak to the manager?”

  “Not at all. I won’t be here too long.” I walked inside and headed to the bar, finding myself face to face with the manager anyway.

  “Mr. Dalton?” She blushed as she extended her hand. “I would’ve had your VIP booth ready for you if I’d known you were coming. We don’t usually offer those on Sunday nights, but I can make an exception, if you like. I can have someone clear it out right away.”

  I started to tell her not to worry about it, that I was only going to drink two drinks at the bar and go home, but I glanced at my usual spot and saw a sexy ass woman in a bright blue dress. A woman who was making every man around her stop and stare.

  She was, hands down, the most stunning woman I’d ever seen, and I was shocked I’d never met her before. Looking out at the dance floor with her emerald green eyes, her auburn colored hair was pulled low in a ponytail, and she was biting her bottom lip as she nodded to the music.

  When the DJ changed the song, she stood up and motioned for a waitress.

  The longer she stood there waving her hand, the longer I stared at the way her tight dress perfectly grabbed her hips. The way her ruby red lips complemented her beautiful eyes.

  “I can have her removed from your booth, Mr. Dalton,” the manager said. “Just say the word and I’ll have security remove her ASAP.”

  “I’ll move her myself,” I said, watching her sit down again. “Can I have a Jameson first, please?”

  THE PUBLICIST

  PENELOPE

  I was going to kill Sean if he didn’t get to this club soon. After taking me out to buy a thin, backless blue dress this afternoon and watching his sister perfect my make-up for over three hours, he’d promised that he wouldn’t leave me hanging for my first attempt at a one night stan
d.

  Where the hell is he?

  I sat through two more songs before finally pulling out my phone and calling him.

  “Hey, there!” he answered. “Where the hell are you?”

  “Me? Where the hell are you? I’ve been here for two hours.”

  “Two hours?” He was yelling over the music. “Where are you sitting?”

  “On the couch in the reserved section.” I stood up so he could see me. “One of the waitresses let me sit in VIP when I told her my heels were killing my feet. How lucky am I?”

  “Very lucky, since Club Water doesn’t have a VIP section ... Seriously, Pen. Where are you?”

  “Club Water?” I shook my head. “Sean, you said Club H2O. It’s in every single text message you sent me, and all day today you kept saying Club H2O.”

  “Ohhh, damn ...” He laughed hysterically. “Sorry about that.”

  “You don’t sound too sorry.”

  “I’m really not.” He laughed again. “You want me to come there or do you want to come here? Sundays at H2O are pretty hit and miss.”

  “I’m just going to go home after the next few songs,” I said. “I promise I’ll try this again next weekend, but it’s already one o’clock and my feet are practically dead anyway. Please don’t hate me.”

  “I would never.” He sighed. “I’m going to hold you to that promise next weekend, though. Text me when you make it home.”

  “Will do.” I ended the call and requested another glass of wine. If Sean was right about this place being “hit or miss,” tonight was definitely the latter. Even though quite a few men approached me on the dance floor earlier, every single one of them reeked of desperation. That, or they gave off the questionable vibes of a potential serial killer.

  “Nice section you have here in VIP, Miss.” A grey-haired man who looked old enough to be my dad sat down next to me. “Mind if I take a breather with you?”

  “Not at all.” I smiled at him.

  “Are you here alone?” he asked.

  “I am,” I said, figuring he was simply waiting for his partner. “Where’s your date?”

  “I don’t have a date.” He licked his lips. “Until now, that is. Tonight must be fate for the two of us. How lucky are we, huh?”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Fate.” He smiled. “I don’t want to be alone tonight, and you don’t look like you want to be alone either.”

  My brain couldn’t process my thoughts fast enough for me to respond. He scooted even closer to me and lowered his voice.

  “I saw you on the dance floor earlier,” he said. “I was keeping my eyes on you because you’re a really good dancer. And the way you moved those hips, I think I would like to watch you forever.”

  Get the hell up and run, Penelope. Get the hell up and run right now ...

  I ignored my brain, selfishly thinking of how badly my feet were still hurting. I looked away from the man and stared at the people who were still on the dance floor, hoping he would get the hint.

  He didn’t. He touched my bare shoulder, forcing me to look at him again.

  “So, why is someone like you alone?” he asked. “You’re way too beautiful for that.”

  “Oh, wait. Did I say I was alone?” I shook my head. “I must have thought you asked me something else. I’m not alone at all. I’m here with someone.”

  “No, no, no.” He moved even closer, looking as if he could see right through my lie. “You definitely said you were alone. I’m harmless, I swear. I’m here for the exact same reason you are.”

  “What reason is that?”

  “Sex with someone who can handle me, of course.” He licked his lips in the most disturbing way I’d ever seen, letting a string of saliva drip onto his chin in the process. Then he picked up my heels and set them in the small space between us. “I can play your little game if you want, though. If you’re not here alone, who are you here with?”

  I glanced around the room, looking for someone—anyone, that would help get this man the hell away from me. I spotted a man staring at me from the bar, but before I could motion for him to walk over, a man sat down on the other side of me. He was scrolling through his phone—looking completely oblivious to the club scene, so I turned around to face him.

  “Oh, there you are!” I said loudly. “I didn’t even see you sit down!” I pulled his head close to mine and kissed him, damn near gasping when he began kissing me back. Then he forcefully commanded my tongue with his and bit my bottom lip before slowly pulling away.

  Catching my breath, I felt my eyes widening when his striking blue eyes settled on mine; when I realized that he was sexier than any man I’d ever met in my life.

  I could literally stare at you all day ...

  “Ugh. Okay, you’ve made your point.” The older man groaned and stood up to leave, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the stranger I’d just kissed.

  “Is this normally how you greet men you don’t know?” he asked, a slight smirk on his lips. “Just so you’re aware, the word ‘hello’ is more than enough.”

  “Um ...” I was absolutely speechless. His eyes were gleaming beneath the bright lights and he had dimples in both of his cheeks. The custom fit of the navy-blue suit he was wearing made it perfectly clear that there were perfectly toned muscles beneath it, and the cut of the diamonds in his designer watch let me know that he had to be from Wall Street.

  “I was just trying to get another guy to leave me alone,” I said, finally finding my voice. “He didn’t seem like the type I wanted.”

  “How unfortunate.” He gazed at my lips. “What type do you want?”

  I hesitated before answering, watching him set a shiny placard on the VIP table. “My usual type,” I said finally.

  “Your usual?” He raised his eyebrow and that sexy smirk returned to his lips. “What does that mean?”

  I tried to remember what Sean and his sister said about striking up conversations with sexy strangers. Something about not coming off shy, something else about seeming confident and experienced.

  Think of something an experienced person would say ...

  “I’m saying that I do this often enough to know exactly what I like in a guy that I’d want to um ... A guy I’d want to—”

  “Fuck?”

  “Yes ...” I could already tell that this man was beyond cocky. That he knew just how damn attractive he was and he knew how to use his sexiness to get exactly what he wanted.

  “I see.” He let out a low laugh and brought his glass to his lips. He took a sip and signaled for the waitress.

  “How may I help you?” A woman in a black dress walked over immediately.

  “Since my new friend here took over my usual, private VIP couch for longer than she was supposed to, can you bring over a bottle of whatever she’s having?”

  I wasn’t supposed to sit here that long? My cheeks flushed pink.

  “I can do that,” the waitress said, eyeing me with disdain. “What were you drinking, Miss?”

  “It was just Moscato,” I said softly. “I’m a lightweight.” I heard the stranger letting out another low laugh as she walked away and I turned to face him. “I’m so glad I could be your entertainment tonight.”

  “As am I,” he said, his eyes locking on mine. “I’m Ryan.”

  “Rachel.” I quickly gave him my “one night” name, per Sean’s instructions.

  “Okay, Rachel,” he said my name as if he knew I was lying. “You never answered my question.”

  “Which one?”

  “The one about what type of guy you want.”

  “You don’t need to know. I’ll know him when I see him.”

  “Tell me.” He insisted, moving a bit closer to me, as the waitress set down a fresh bottle.

  I froze, completely unsure of what to say.

  “Is your ideal type a guy who’ll take you home and fuck you until you can’t take every inch of his cock anymore?” he whispered into my ear. “The type who will devour your
pussy until you come against his mouth?”

  I felt my cheeks heating. “You did not just ask me that ...”

  “I did,” he said. “You started our meeting by skipping the ‘Hello,’ so I think we can skip right past the bullshit question and answer phase.” His eyes were still on mine. “Tell me what you want.”

  Everything you just said ...

  “A gentleman,” I said, lying to both him and myself. “Someone who will make love to me and slowly take off my usual lingerie while he kisses every inch of my skin. Someone who will say sweet things before and while he’s having sex with me.”

  “If you were after that,” he said, trailing his fingers against my lips. “You would’ve actually worn lingerie—or something, under your dress.” He glanced down at the top of my dress, at my nipples as they hardened through the fabric. “So, clearly that’s not what you’re after tonight. And even if it was, you would’ve gotten up the second I started talking to you.”

  “You’re saying you’re not a gentleman?”

  “I’m saying I’m not going to bullshit you.” He poured me a glass of wine. “And I’d appreciate it if you did the same.”

  I stared at him as he stared back at me, as everything in my body begged me to end my long drought of sexless nights and sleep with him.

  He handed me the wine and he watched me as I took my time sipping it, as I let four songs play before I finally made up my mind.

  “I have some conditions before I can ask you to leave with me,” I said.

  “I’m listening.”

  “One, you can’t stay the night.”

  “I never do.”

  “Two, you can’t have my phone number.”

  “I don’t recall asking for it.”

  “Three, you’ll have to let me lean against you when we leave.”

  He looked confused and I picked up my shoes.

  “I’m not going to be able to get all the way home in these heels without leaning against someone.”

  “Understandable,” he said, smiling. “This is when you’re supposed to tell me that you want me to leave with you.”