Just One Night: Part 2
Author: Elle Casey
Date: 2000-01-01 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Contemporary; Romantic Comedy; Romance; Humor; Literature & Fiction; Fiction; Sagas; Contemporary Fiction; Humorous; Contemporary Women; Women's Fiction
Description: NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR, ELLE CASEY, brings readers PART 2 in the 6-part contemporary romance serial novel, JUST ONE NIGHT. [This book is PART 2. Readers should begin by reading PART 1 first.] Jennifer is suffering a serious man hangover when her best friend Mia swoops in and forces her out of her apartment for a night of good old-fashioned girlfriend fun. It seems like just the ticket to help her move on and follow through with her plan for a new perspective on life and men ... until everything goes really right and then just as quickly goes really wrong. William would

Table of Contents

Title page

Copyright

Other Books by Elle Casey

Dedication

Note about serial romances

Part 1

Part 2

CHAPTER One - Jennifer

CHAPTER Two - William

CHAPTER Three - Jennifer

CHAPTER Four - William

CHAPTER Five - Jennifer

CHAPTER Six - William

CHAPTER Seven - Jennifer

CHAPTER Eight - William

CHAPTER Nine - Jennifer

CHAPTER Ten - William

CHAPTER Eleven - Jennifer

CHAPTER Twelve - William

Part 3

Next part ...

About the Author

Other Books by Elle Casey

just one night

A Serial Romance

Part 2

ELLE CASEY

COPYRIGHT NOTICE

© 2014 Elle Casey, all rights reserved, worldwide. No part of this ebook may be reproduced, uploaded to the Internet, or copied without author permission. The author respectfully asks that you please support artistic expression and help promote anti-piracy efforts by purchasing a copy of this ebook at the author authorized online outlet that serves your country.

Elle Casey thanks you deeply for your understanding and support.

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OTHER BOOKS BY ELLE CASEY

NEW ADULT ROMANCE
Shine Not Burn

By Degrees
Don’t Make Me Beautiful
Rebel
Hellion
Trouble

YA PARANORMAL ROMANCE
Duality, Volume I (Melancholia)
Duality, Volume II (Euphoria)

YA URBAN FANTASY
War of the Fae: Book 1, The Changelings - FREE!
War of the Fae: Book 2, Call to Arms
War of the Fae: Book 3, Darkness & Light
War of the Fae: Book 4, New World Order
Clash of the Otherworlds: Book 1, After the Fall
Clash of the Otherworlds: Book 2, Between the Realms
Clash of the Otherworlds: Book 3, Portal Guardians
My Vampire Summer
My Vampire Fall*
Aces High (co-written with Jason Brant)

YA DYSTOPIAN
Apocalypsis: Book 1, Kahayatle
Apocalypsis: Book 2, Warpaint
Apocalypsis: Book 3, Exodus
Apocalypsis: Book 4, Haven

YA ACTION ADVENTURE
Wrecked
Reckless

DEDICATION

To the confident, sexy girl inside all of us.

A note about serial romances…

This book is what’s called a serial romance. Most readers are familiar with full-length novels, novellas, and short stories, but many are not so familiar with serialized fiction. With the advent of self-publishing has come many different innovations, but believe it or not, a serial novel is not one of them. Serials have been around since the seventeenth century! They became especially popular in Britain’s Victorian Era (nineteenth century), “due to a combination of the rise of literacy, technological advances in printing, and improved economics of distribution.”* The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens may be a serial you’re familiar with. The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers were also serials, as were Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Madame Bovary, Anna Karenina, and The Bonfire of the Vanities, among many others. Use of this format started to die down when periodicals fell out of favor and were then replaced by the Internet, but thanks to indie authors, it’s coming back! As a reader, I’ve found it a fun way to follow a story that’s always evolving while the anticipation builds between episodes or parts, and in the case of my serials it will be a story that evolves according to reader feedback. Please join the conversation about this book on my website at: http://www.ellecasey.com/just-one-night.

You can read more about serialized fiction on Wikipedia.

*[Law, Graham (2000). Serializing Fiction in the Victorian Press. New York & Hampshire, UK: Palgrave. p. 34. ISBN 0-312-23574-7. Retrieved October 23, 2011.]

Part 1

Part 2

CHAPTER ONE

Jennifer

I WANT TO DIE. I want to shrivel up and die a thousand deaths, because just one would not be enough to get rid of all the regret I’m feeing right now. Mia was right. Placing that ad was the dumbest idea I’ve ever had. An entire week has passed and I’m still suffering the fallout.

Racing out of the hotel with one shoe on and my hair in a tangle was the very least of my problems. It’s the stupid broken heart I’m living with now that’s making it hard to breathe. Why did I let this happen? When did my heart decide to get involved? I think it was somewhere between the visit to the dress shop and the amazing orgasm, but I’m not sure.

I stare at the cell phone I just broke into a hundred tiny pieces. It was ringing off the hook with the new weekend arriving, with men calling from far and wide to take advantage of my fabulous offer of one-night stand companionship.

Ugh. Why did I ever think that was going to be a good idea? Mia was totally and completely right. I am not one night stand material. I guess I kept the phone and held on this long because I was hoping beyond hope that William would call again. But of course he hasn’t. Our night together was a one-time deal only. I can hardly fault the guy for following the rules, now can I? I’m the one who’s trying to change the game when it’s already over. Stupid, silly, sad me.

I hear someone at the front door and then a key in the lock. I can’t make myself get worried or upset about it, too busy drowning my sorrows in orange juice to care. There’s only one person it can be anyway and she’s mostly harmless.

Mia lets herself into my apartment and walks into the kitchen. She stops in the doorway and stares at the wreckage that used to be my cell. “What the hell happened to that poor phone?” She throws her keys and purse down on the table with a clatter and a thump.

“I killed it.” I take another swig of my juice and burp out the air that went down with it. William Stratford is gone forever. Yes, I know his full name thanks to Claudia the dressmaker, and I’ve already Googled him about a thousand times. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to show up at his doorstep begging for another date and end up like that woman who approached us on the dance floor. Holy stalker alert. I’m pitiful, but I’m not a wreck for God’s sake. Not a total wreck, anyway.

Mia sits across from me and pushes her purse out of the way, staring at my other cell phone still intact and resting by my hand.

“You have two phones?” She leans in and widens her eyes. “Why?”

Slowly lowering my head to the table, I sigh, mumbling into the fake wood. “Don’t ask.”

“Oh, I’m asking. You better believe I’m asking. The only time you overdose on Vitamin C is when you have a man hangover. Tell me what happened.”

I can’t find the energy to lift my head and look at her so I keep talking into the formica. “I’m a terrible person. A ho of the highest order. Just let me die alone and single.”

“Hey, I’m single. Single doesn’t have to suck.” She leans over and shakes me by the shoulder.

I have no comment for that. I want to believe it’s true but it doesn’t feel like it is. I do lift my head, though, and stare at her listlessly. My hair hangs limply around my face. I’ve taken the last three days off to work from home, but I haven’t actually gotten anything accomplished. I haven’t showered, I haven’t changed out of my fuzzy robe, I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet today and it’s already six o’clock and time for dinner.

“Please tell me,” Mia says, sounding more rushed than concerned. “I have to go to this work thingy and I need you to go with me. Chop, chop. Let’s fix this thing and move on.”

“I’m not going anywhere, and there’s nothing to fix. I’m going to stay here until my liver stops functioning, and then I’m going to slide into a blissful, peaceful, uneventful death.”

Mia stands and comes over to my chair, hauling me up by the armpits. “Eeerrrgh… Man, you’re heavy.” She pauses once I’m on my feet to exaggerate her breathlessness, because apparently I don’t feel crappy enough as it is. I can now become even more bummed worrying about how much weight I’ve managed to gain in six days.

“You can’t kill yourself with orange juice, freak,” she says. “Go get in the shower. You smell of funk.”

I slap at her hand weakly. “Lemme go.” I stand up straighter, tricking her into thinking I’m going to do as she says. I’m just looking for my window of escape.

“I’ll be right here waiting. Twenty minutes and we’re outties."

I snort. Yeah right. As if. I go down the short hall and take a sharp right into my bedroom and my bed, burrowing under my covers and pulling them up over my head. Maybe if I lie really still, Mia won’t see me and she’ll go away. I sink into the blissful darkness, the silence, the abyss that is my love life.

Ugh. Mia’s right. I do smell of funk.

The bed moves a minute later as she sits on the edge of it. “I wondered why I wasn’t hearing the water running.” She yanks the covers back and gets under them with me, closing them back up once she’s settled. I can feel and smell her breath on my face.

“Ew. Too close, Mia.”

She ignores me. “Tell me what happened. Was it Hank?”

“No, it wasn’t Hank.” My throat closes up. I did actually consider calling him last night, which makes me physically ill. How low do I have to sink before I’m in that place? Very low. That’s me. The lo-ho. “It’s me, okay?” I say, trying to get her to leave it alone. “It’s not anyone but me.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means I’m an idiot and I hate myself.”

“That’s a lie. It’s two lies, actually.”

Time for my confession. I really don’t like admitting this. “I didn’t listen to you.”

“Okay, maybe it’s just one lie. I’ll give you the idiot thing. What did you do?”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

She sighs, blowing the stink of Cheetoes all over my face. I hold my breath to keep from hurling.

“You did that ad thingy, didn’t you?” she asks.

I will not cry … I will not cry… “Maybe,” I say like a total wiener.

“Goddammit, Jennifer. What were you thinking?”

Anger rises up and makes me throw the covers back … anger and her breath. “I was thinking that I just wanted to have some fun!”

“You and Cyndi Lauper?”

I start girl-slapping at her face, but she’s too quick for me. She’s got her slap-o-matic going and I quickly lose ground. Grabbing the covers and suffocating us both is my only hope for survival. It’s once again dark and Cheetoey.

We both settle in and catch our breath.

“So what happened with the ad? Did you get butt raped by a tattooed biker from South Dakota named Brutus?”

I laugh, a bitter kind of thing. “No. Not at all.”

“Oh.” She pauses to consider my answer. “Did you get stood up? Because you shouldn’t let that get you down. You can intimidate guys sometimes, you know that. It’s all that hooterage, I think. Maybe he saw you and your busty self and took off, scared out of his wits.”

“No, I didn’t get stood up, okay? And could you not talk about my hooters right now?” It makes me think about how much William seemed to like them, and the sadness runs deeper. How could I have been so stupid? It was supposed to be for only one night. I knew that going in. Why am I still thinking about him? I’m afraid I’m one of those losers with zero confidence. I think I need therapy.

She reaches up and pats my face, possibly trying to soothe me. “Tell me what happened, sweetie pie. I can make you feel better, I promise.”

“Mia, when you say that and we’re in bed together, it’s a little creepy.” I can’t help but laugh just a tiny bit.

She sticks her finger up my nose, I think accidentally. “Shut up, you know I’m no muff diver.”

I throw the covers off our faces again so I can breathe. “God in heaven, your breath is rank. Were you eating Cheetoes again?”

“You know I can’t resist that fluorescent-orange cheesey goodness. Don’t hate me. Hate the addiction.” She sits up and swipes her spiky blonde bangs out of her eyes. Her greenish-grey eyes bore into mine. “Seriously. Time to talk. Tell me what happened while you’re in the shower and we’ll come up with a plan of attack while we drive.”

“Now you’re trying to get me naked. Are you sure you’re not a lesbian?”

She pulls the covers completely off the bed. “Yeah, I’m a lesbo. You’ve figured me out. I totally wanna see your peacock right now.” She shifts to whining. “Come oooon, get uuuup. I seriously need you to help me ouuuut.”

“Fine,” I say, dragging my feet as I head to the shower. I can’t do the joking thing anymore. Pretending to be happy when I’m not takes too much energy. Shutting the door behind me, I drop my clothes to the floor with as little effort as possible. My arms and legs are almost asleep. “I’ll shower but I’m not going anywhere.” She can’t make me. I won’t do it.

As soon as the shower curtain slides into place, Mia comes into the bathroom and sits on the toilet. “I’m pulling the BFF card out on you. You can’t refuse. I’m desperate.”

I stick my head out of the already thankfully steamy shower to judge her expression. “You know that card can only be used in extreme emergencies, right?”

“Yes, I know, okay?” She picks at her cuticles, not looking at me. “I’m serious.”

I go back under the hot water when I’m sure she’s not kidding around. At least it gives us something better to talk about than my pitiful and annoying love life. “So what’s the deal? What’s so important you have to use the BFF card?”

She sighs, which causes me to pause my shampooing. Mia isn’t the type to fret over things. She’s decisive and bold, and, as you can see, never takes no for an answer. A sigh means a lot coming from her. I wait for her to explain herself. That Cyndi Lauper song starts buzzing through my brain. Girls just wanna have fu-huuun.

“Don’t hum,” she says, annoyed. “Why are you humming?”

I smile. The day is getting brighter already. “Just waiting for you to spill your guts.”

“You know you aren’t getting out of your confession or anything,” she says, down to grouchy from fully annoyed.

“Whatever,” I say. “Tell me why you’re freaking out and where you’re going.”

“Where we are going, not just me. No way are you bailing on me.”

“I can’t bail on something I didn’t commit to.”

“You committed when you agreed to be a card-carrying member of the Mia BFF club!”

“Dammit!” Shampoo burns my eyes and rinsing them with water only makes it worse.

“It’s not that bad a gig, is it?”

“Shampoo! Burning! Gah!”

“Oh. Okay.” She sighs. “That makes waaaay more sense. Anyway, I have to go to this thing, and I need you to go to this thing too. With me. As, like, my plus one.”

“Are we back to the lesbian thing?” I ask her.

“No. We’re on the you-need-to-rescue-my-ass thing. Keep me company, talk to some people with me, make sure I don’t do anything stupid…”

I pull the curtain over a little so I can look at her. “What stupid thing are you thinking about doing?”

She won’t look at me, so I flick some water at her.

“Stop,” she says, pushing the curtain closed. “You’ll mess up my makeup.”

“Tell me or I’ll drag you in here.” I don’t mean that. I’m too busy shaving my legs to wrestle. I imagine William’s hands there on my skin, sliding down my ribs, between my legs … and I drop my razor onto the top of my foot, nicking my skin. “Dammit!”

“Fine, I’ll tell you, geez, lighten up.”

I retrieve my razor and continue the job. “I’m listening.”

“Okay, so you know my boss, right?”

“Malcolm Charles Wainwright Stick-up-his-butt the third?” I roll my eyes. The guy’s a real jerk. I know why Mia still works for him, seeing as how his business is helping her meet all the right people for her future perfect job, but still … the job comes with him. Can you say sleazy?

“Yeah. Anyway, he’s put this dinner soirée thingy together and he wants me to be there.”

“So? He does that all the time. What’s the big?”

“The big is that he wants me to suck his gnarly cock and I’m not going to do it. I won’t. I refuse.”

I drop my razor again and have to dance out of the way to keep from letting any more blood. “What?!” I yank back the curtain once more. “But he’s married!”

“Exactly?!” Her eyes bug out at me and she drops her bottom jaw out to the side a little, waiting for my response.

“That’s … that’s … that’s just rude.” I go back to the shower and the shave. “He should know you better than that. You’re not the man-stealing type.”

“That’s what I said. Only of course I used more descriptive language, and I didn’t say it to his face. I just smiled along and said I’d be there but that I’d be bringing someone.”

“So he knows you’re not going to do that with him, right?”

“He said, ‘I hope it’s not a date,’ or some crap like that.”

“He can’t tell you that you can’t bring a date to a company function, Mia. That’s sexual harassment, I’m pretty sure.”

“Well, he can fire me, and I seriously need this job, so I came up with a plan.”

“This ought to be good.” I roll my eyes again. Her plans are almost as bad as my plans.

“Shut up. Okay, so here’s the deal. You and I go to this dinner thing. You get all sexied up, I’ll get all sexied up, and as soon as it’s over, we’ll say we have to leave because we have other plans. And you’ll stick to me like glue so that he doesn’t have a chance to do anything inappropriate.”

“I seriously am not interested in pretending to be your lover, okay?” I shake my head. “Something is seriously wrong with you if this is the best you could come up with. I’m pretty sure pretending to be homosexual only when it’s convenient is rude.”

She hits the shower curtain, and I jump sideways to avoid the slimy plastic.

“I’m not saying that, dope! Listen to me when I’m explaining the master plan, would you?”

“I thought I was.” I rinse the conditioner out of my hair as I wait for her explanation to make more sense.

“We’re going to say we have dates waiting for us. Men. Like other guys who are going to sex us up and stuff after the dinner.”

“And he won’t expect you to stay after dinner for dessert or something?”

“Whatever. We just won’t hang out for the after dinner sex and BJ part.”

“Is this a swingers party or something?”

“I’m seriously going to suffocate you inside that shower curtain if you don’t stop.”

I laugh, for the first time in a week feeling happy again. “Okay, fine. I’ll behave. I guess I could use a decent dinner. I’ve been eating frozen stuff and take out all week.”

“I know. Your ankles are totally retaining water from all that sodium.” Mia leaves the bathroom before I can come after her for that one. Well done, Mia, well done.

Once she’s gone, I take a long look at my ankles, wondering how much truth there is in her statement. “Nah,” I say to myself. “My ankles are still showing boney protuberances. That’s good, right?”

“I’m waaaaiiiting!” she calls from the kitchen.

Thirty minutes later, I’m dressed in sweats and my hair is dry and piled around my head.

Mia looks up at me from her gossip magazine. “The eighties called. They want their hot rollers back.”

“I’m going for the wavy look, okay? Some people like it.” Flashes of William’s admiring gazes move across my mind. Maybe if I go out tonight I’ll meet another awesome Englishman who’s partial to boobies. And maybe monkeys will fly out of dark places, too. I’m instantly sad again.

“Don’t get all whiney-baby on me,” Mia says, turning a page in her magazine and sliding her finger down the column as she reads. “It’s going to look gorgeous as always.” She looks up all of a sudden, frowning. “But you can’t go in that.” She gestures at my sweats. “This dinner is at Club Sixx. Think understated sexy.”

“You’re not wearing understated sexy,” I say, staring pointedly at her Converse sneakers.

She waves her magazine over at the front door. There’s a dress and high-heeled sandals hooked on one of my coat hangers. “When you’re ready, I’ll be ready.”

I step over her legs and sit down next to her with my bag of makeup and a mirror. “So who else is going to be at this little affair?” I ask, putting a very light sheen of foundation on. My skin is too blotchy from feeling sorry for myself to go without it tonight.

“Malcolm Charles Wainwright the third, some of his sycophants, some girls I work with who will no doubt be lapping at their heels, and two cool people.”

“That would be us, right?”

“As if you have to ask.”

“How is it that you’re still single?” I ask, only partly kidding. Mia is not only super cute, she’s sharp as a ginsu knife. She could easily be running the vintage and collector wine business for Malcolm Charles Wainwright III if he could just take his eyes off her ass for five seconds and pay attention.

“First of all, I’m only thirty-three, so I have plenty of time for that. And second, as you know, I did that marriage thing once and it didn’t work out, so I’m not currently interested. I’ll take monogamous and dating indefinitely instead, thank you very much. Until Mr. Mia arrives, that is.” She flicks her hair that is too short to be flicked. “I’m just waiting for my Prince Charming to show up and then I’ll be ready again.”

I snort. “Prince Charming does not exist, trust me on this.”

“That reminds me,” she says, sounding all sly, “what happened with that ad you placed?”

I pause in the middle of lifting up my mascara wand. “I thought we were going to drop that.”

“In all the years that you’ve known me, since the moment you threw your champagne into my cleavage at that party, have you ever seen me drop a story as juicy as this one?”

I smile remembering that night we met over ten years ago. “No. Never.” The charity ball with William was not the first time I’ve had a weird reaction to a certain drink.

“So dish up the goodies. I’ll dress while you confess.” Mia stands up and takes her black Chanel off the hanger, wasting no time stripping down to her lacy underthings. Her former husband was uber rich and she still has some of her old wardrobe left over for special occasions. I’m pretty sure she has other things left over from that relationship, like a broken and slightly twisted heart, but we don’t talk about that. Mia doesn’t permit discussion of The Incident, otherwise known as her marriage.

I try to act totally casual as I complete my makeup, hoping that if I play it off as no big deal, both Mia and my heart will start believing it. “I placed an ad on that website I told you about.”

“What did the ad say?”

I shrug. “Nothing much. Just attractive businesswoman seeking one night stand or something like that.”

“Wow. That’s sexy.”

“It was supposed to be businesslike.”

“Mission accomplished.”

“Thank you,” I say, proud for a moment. “I think.” Her cross-eyed smile makes me doubt myself. “Anyway, I got lots of calls, but none of them passed the psycho test.”

“And what did this test consist of?”

I shrug. “Questions. I just said no to anyone who made me nervous.”

“Did anyone pass the test?”

“Yes. One.” One very special guy. Argh. No, no, no, no, no! He was not special! He was just a guy. Just a regular old, run of the mill guy like any other guy.

“Tell me, tell me.” She’s grimacing as she bends in three different directions trying to reach her zipper.

“His name is William. He’s English.”

She pauses. “English-with-an-accent, English?”

“Yes.”

She grins evilly. “Holy hootchie on fire.”

“I know. It was like that. Completely.” I can’t stop the poo-eating grin from spreading across my face. So much for convincing myself that he was run-of-the-mill.

Her sly expression falls away and the only thing left there is pity. “You didn’t.”

I sit up straighter and act cool. “I didn’t what?” My makeup bag needs serious organizing right now. I start fiddling with all the brushes and compacts and junk, shifting it this way and that, acting like it really matters.

“Fall for him. You didn’t, didn’t you?”

I frown. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I didn’t.” Blush brush on the right, foundation brush on the left. Mascara in the middle. “It was a one night only thing. We set it up that way.”

She gestures out at the room and then the kitchen dinette table. “Take-out all week? Working from home? Death by Vitamin C?” I look up in time to see her shaking her head. “How many times do I have to tell you…”

I hold up both hands to stop her. “I know, okay?! I know!”

She comes over and sits down across from me, pulling my hands into her lap. “He was a good one, wasn’t he?”

I nod as the tears well up and fall down my cheeks. Did I mention that no one can make me cry at the drop of a hat like Mia when she’s concerned? Yeah. She has mad power over my emotions sometimes. She’s like a mom. “He was completely awesome.” My chin trembles. There. I said it out loud. Maybe this will help exorcise the memories, to acknowledge reality instead of fighting it.

“Did you do it? Yanky his wanky and all that?”

I nod. I can’t bring myself to tell her how amazing it was. I’ve been trying to forget all week.

“And he hasn’t called?”

I shake my head. “We agreed. One night only. That was the deal.”

She puts her hand on my cheek. “But you can break the rules. Call him. Maybe he feels the same way.”

I shake my head and look down at my lap. Mia is such a good friend. But she doesn’t understand. I’m not bold like her. This ad thing was the limit of my courage and look where it got me. No way can I take a chance like that again. “It’s over.” Saying it out loud like that is physically painful. My heart feels like it’s shrinking down into a raisin-sized lump of coal. “It was over before it even started. That was what we both agreed to.”

She drops my hands and stands. “Well, that’s just stupid. But if you want to wallow for a little while, I’ll let you wallow. I know you need to get it out of your system. Besides, tonight, we’re going to have fun. I’ve decided.”

I look up, wiping the silly tears off my face. “Oh, you have, huh?” I try for a laugh without much success.

“Yes, I have. After this lame dinner, we’re going to go out dancing.” She swivels her hips left and right, snapping her fingers up next to her head. “Yeah, baby. Get it, get it...”

“I don’t think so.”

She abandons her twerky-dancing and pulls me to my feet. “I know so.” She kisses me on both cheeks. “Now fix your makeup and get dressed. Dinner’s at seven thirty and we’re going uptown, baby.”

CHAPTER TWO

William

NONE OF THESE REPORTS IS the one I requested. I shuffle through a stack of papers that contain data on upcoming projects but not the P&L. That brainless ninny is at it again. Her mission? To make me so mental that I’ll jump off the nearest bridge just to escape her incompetence. And while I will admit to having considered it at least twice since Monday, I would no sooner give her the satisfaction than I would give up treacle tarts. It simply will not happen.

“Miss Meechum, could you please report to my office?” I wait for her response. When it arrives, it seems to be coming from a great distance, her voice is so faint.

“Just a second, Mr. Stratford! I’m just … ack!”

The sound that transmits after her unfortunate scream can only signify a tumble. Or perhaps she’s wrestling a troll. It’s difficult to tell from where I’m sitting, but it sounds a mess.

I almost don’t want to ask, but my deceased mother’s voice in my head forces me to at least inquire as to her wellbeing. “Are you all right, Miss Meechum?”

No answer.

I pause in my paper shuffling. “Miss Meechum, if I have to get up from this desk to rescue you, and you are not in need of rescue, I shall be very cross with you.”

“No! I’m okay! Just … dammit … give me a second, would you?”

I press the disconnect button, severing the connection. Usually my assistant is more tractable and circumspect than this. Perhaps it is an emergency.

Getting up from my chair, I endeavor to be as quiet as a church mouse. I can’t have her thinking I’m some sort of knight in shining armor to be called upon when her plumbing goes awry or her electrical panel blows up, now can I? I shall supervise in secret just in case she’s bleeding from an artery.

A peek outside my door is all I require to come to terms with the fact that this woman who is supposed to be running my business life has to be the most catastrophically uncoordinated person in the entire godforsaken city. What was my father thinking when he hired her? Knowing him, he was probably thinking of his golf game. It’s possible Rachel Meechum would make a passable caddy, but as an assistant, she is lacking. Severely lacking.

Her copper-colored hair is caught in a stack of paper trays balanced on a colleague’s desk, and she’s busy trying to untangle herself, mumbling talk I’ve only heard in American movies coming from the mouths of street urchins. There is no arterial bleeding, but there is a lot of hair involved.

I know I should probably help her, but my week has been dreadfully dull. I lean against the doorframe as I continue my peeping. This is the best entertainment I’ve had since …

No. Stop. I shall not think about that now. The specter of that evening has been haunting me regularly for nearly six days. Six days! Looking down at my watch confirms it. I met the indomitable Jennifer No-Last-Name exactly five days, eleven hours, and twenty some odd minutes ago. Not even a full twenty-four hours with the woman and my life was turned upside down and inside out. It has become painfully clear over the last several days that I need to, as Miss Meechum says, get a life. This appears to be the only way I will get Jennifer out of my blasted steel trap of a brain. I shall begin with the getting a life program next week. After I’ve gotten to the bottom of the P&L issues.

I watch in undisguised admiration as my industrious assistant leans over a cubicle on her tiptoes, takes a pair of scissors from a nearby desk, and proceeds to cut off the offending chunk of hair that has kept her tethered. Why she takes the extra time to retrieve the severed nest of red frizz when she’s free to leave is beyond me. Will she use rubber cement to glue it back on? I wouldn’t put it past her. She can be rather industrious when the mood strikes.

Withdrawing into my office before she catches me gawking, I make efforts to hasten over to my desk. My face is a mask of civility laced with a tich of impatience as she comes into my office. There is a large space on the left side of her head, sans frizz. No hair. Just a space. It presents a serious challenge to my attempts at remaining my sober, English self.

She smiles, her hands gesturing in a frenzy all around her. “Sorry it took me so long. Phew! This office is big. I pretty much just walked like two miles to get here.”

I suppose we’re going to pretend that she didn’t just wrestle a paper tray and lose. My eyebrow lifts. The devil in me refuses to play along so easily. “From your desk?” I pause so that can sink in. “Just outside my door?”

“No, from the coffee room.”

“Ah. A whole ten meters away. I hope you haven’t pulled a muscle.” I push the pile of papers she gave me earlier out towards her. “Have you put it in it’s place?” I ask.

She looks down at the reports. “Put what in it’s place?”

“The coffee pot … or whatever it was that was giving you fits.”

“What?” A light goes on in her head, no doubt a dim one. “Oh, that. Ha, ha. No … I mean yes. I took care of it.” She punches the air for emphasis. “I sure told that coffee pot who the boss is in this place.”

“And who would that be?” I’m quite sure the coffee pot would win the contest if it were based on IQ alone.

“You, of course.” She tries to smooth down her wreck of a coiffure.

“Very well, then. Thank you for seeing to that degenerate coffee pot. Can’t have it overstepping its bounds, now can we?”

“Sir?” She tilts her head. “Are you joking with me again? Should I call your doctor and see if he has time to see you before the weekend?”

“I’m perfectly healthy.” Too healthy. If only I’d been sick with the bubonic plague last week-end, everything would have turned out ever so much better. “I need the P&L from last quarter showing our turnover to include the overseas assets. Didn’t you read my email?”

“Yes, sir, of course. I read all your emails.” Her face turns bright red and she stammers. “I mean, not all your emails of course. Just the ones that come to my inbox from you. I would never invade your privacy that way and hack into your accounts.” Her face is suddenly white.

My eyes narrow of their own accord and I make a mental note to check the history registered to her computer. Spying on me is a terrifically damnable offense that I will delight in firing her over. “Show me.” I say, holding out her papers.

“Show you?” I am reminded of a canine, the way she tilts her head. So confused. So lost.

I sigh deeply and speak slowly. “The P&L?”

She smiles in what looks like relief and rushes over to my desk. “They’re right here, Mr. Stratford.” She moves through the papers like a dealer at a blackjack table in Monte Carlo. It pains me that she’s better at it than I was. She wrestles paper baskets and loses, for God’s sake. Where does that put me? Below the coffee pot in the office hierarchy? Now there’s a thought.

“Riiiight here.” Holding out three papers from amidst the fifty or so I had earlier, she stands before me triumphant. And I am rightfully put in my place when I glance at them and realize they are exactly what I said I did not have.

Who is the canine now? Yes. That would be me. Woof, indeed.

“Thank you. You may leave now.” I ignore her in favor of the documents I hold in my hand. Something is not quite right with our projects in Scotland, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to leave here tonight before determining what exactly the problem could be.

“But … sir?”

“Yes?”

“Um … you have to leave.”

I use the utmost patience and willpower to place the reports down in front of me with barely a whisper of sound. “Are you kicking me out of my own office?”

“Yes. No. Kind of. You have a meeting.” She points at my computer screen. Her finger trembles with the effort.

I frown, turning in my chair to look at my calendar. Glaring out at me is a dinner party I completely forgot. I shall blame my distracted mood on Jennifer No-Last-Name. She is entirely at fault for my loss of focus. Her, Miss Meechum, and the blasted coffee pot that is currently mocking me from the kitchenette.

“Send Edward,” I say, going back to my reports. My brother needs to earn his keep. Let him spend the evening pretending to like those obnoxious playboys and their embarrassingly eager hangers-on.

“He’s already going. Your father said you both need to be there. There will be at least two potential investors attending who he says you have to get on board before the end of the quarter.”

I wave her away. “Stop. You’re babbling. It’s embarrassing.”

“Sir, I’m serious.”

I look up at that. A woman with hair like this simply cannot ever be serious. It’s a scientific impossibility.

Stressed out, I believe, is what they call a person who looks as she does at the moment. “It’s really important,” she whinges. “I don’t want your dad to think I’m not doing my job.”

“What if I find your job performance irritating beyond measure?”

“Don’t be silly. You totally love me.”

My face falls. Did she just say love? Good God. Another one to be culled from the herd, weak, guilty of confusing business with pleasure. This is one of the times that I wish I were born as ugly as a rock. I could get so much more done with a face that only a mother could love.

“Gah! I totally didn’t mean that the way it sounded!” She backs towards the door with her hands up in surrender. Or perhaps she’s directing traffic on her way out. “No offense, sir, but you’re not my type. You’re way too … you know … stick in the mud. Oh, shit. Oh, dammit! I didn’t mean it like that! Help! Ack! I have to go!” She leaves my office in a tangle of limbs and hair, and the sound of crashing comes from around the door jamb. “Please don’t fire me! I’m going to leave before I say something I’ll regret!” This, as if she hasn’t already.

The sound of the ticking clock on my desk becomes more noticeable as the cacophony that is Miss Meechum beating a hasty retreat from the building subsides. I estimate at least five employees will come to work on Monday and wonder what happened to their desktops as her wide rear end has surely taken down both light-as-a-feather papers and fourteen-ounce staplers with equal measure and efficiency. I could send them a personal instant message with one word: Meechum, and solve the mystery immediately. But I won’t. Let her explain her handicaps on her own. I have work to do.

My telephone rings when I’m only five minutes into my analysis. I grind my teeth together in frustration. Will it never end? Why is everyone always conspiring to keep me from my work?

“Stratford,” I say, barely paying attention to my caller, still focused on the numbers in front of me.

“William! It’s your father.”

He’s using his jovial voice. I am instantly on my guard.

“Hello, Father. I’m delighted to hear from you.”

“Bollocks! Are you on your way to the dinner party?”

I stare at my calendar. The awful event mocks me: You want to analyze your P&L? So sorry, but you’ve been summoned to the depths of hell where you must pretend to be charming and thrilled to be present among idiots.

“Actually, I was in the middle of something.” This is useless. My needs are always put in the boot in favor of my father’s.

“Nothing that can’t wait, I’m sure.” Jovial is slipping. We are now moving into darker waters. He may golf his days away, but that does not mean he isn’t still the devil incarnate when he wants something done with his business. I can hardly complain; he has put me in charge of the empire and the position comes with a flat and an Aston Martin. Stratford. William Stratford.

I sigh in defeat. I do not have the energy to fight the patriarch this evening. Perhaps another time when the stakes are higher. Checking the calendar confirms that I have the week-end to figure out the problems that plague our Edinburgh project.

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” I concede.

“Better hurry. You’ll miss the cocktails.”

“And what a crime that would be,” I mutter.

“A crime, indeed. His collection is second to none! Tell Malcolm I said hello.”

Tell him yourself. “Of course, yes, sir, I will. You can depend on me.”

“Good man. Will I see you at Sunday brunch?”

“Must we?” My father has chosen the most annoying of American pastimes to indulge in now that he’s retired.

“Stop being such a fuddy duddy.”

“Fuddy duddy? Fuddy duddy? Who is this fuddy duddy of which you speak? Certainly not me. I am the bell of the ball. A swash-buckling pirate of the high seas seeking adventure at every turn. The man soon to be wearing the lampshade at the party.”

My father chortles, his big belly laughs threatening to dislodge a lung. “That’s my boy. Until Sunday. Feel free to bring a date, by the way.”

“Absolutely,” I say as cheerily as I can. “As soon as hell freezes over, I’ll get right to that.”

My father is probably still laughing as I stand, disconnect the call, and collect my jacket. My wristwatch tells me that I’ll be an hour late to the dinner, and knowing that my brother won’t be sends me out the door in a hurry. Who knows what kind of trouble he will brew up with potential clients before I can stop him.

CHAPTER THREE

Jennifer

CLUB SIXX IS A SWANKY restaurant that doubles as an intimate club after eleven. I’ve never eaten here before but this is just another day at the office for Mia. She saunters in like she owns the place. “Show me to the cocktails,” she said to the maitre d’.

“And you are with what party?”

“Don’t play, Pierre. You know who I’m with. And I am the party, by the way.” She winks at me.

I’m about to panic and run out of there when he smiles and disarms my fear with one sentence. “Mia, where have you been all my living?”

“It’s all my life, Pierre. All my life. Have I taught you nothing?”

“Of course, Madame. Where have you been all my life?”

“Right here waiting, sweetie pie.” She drops her saccharine sweet smile. “Seriously. Where’s Malcolm and his posse?”

“They are in the back room waiting for you. Allow me to lead the way.”

“You do that,” she says, watching his butt as he walks in front of us. He’s old enough to be her father, but she’s never been one to practice age discrimination.

I bump her on the arm, leaning in so no one will hear me. “You’re terrible.”

“No, I’m not. I’m teaching him proper English. That’s a good deed.”

“You’re teaching him corny pick-up lines.”

“But they’re charming when he uses them.” She stops talking when we reach a dark red, velvet curtain that Pierre lifts to the side for us.

“You will find your dinner companions inside.”

“Thank you, Pierre,” Mia says, kissing him on both cheeks. “Bisous.”

“Je vous en prie, Madame. Party like it’s nineteen hundreds and ninety-nine,” he says.

I step behind Mia to access the room as she corrects her student. “Nineteen ninety-nine, Pierre. Party like it’s nineteen ninety-nine. You’ve heard the song, I know you have. Those numbers always screw you up, don’t they?”

“Yes, Madame. The numbers are difficult, it is true.”

My eyes scan the room. It’s paneled in dark mahogany wood. There’s a long table made up with dishes, silver, crystal and linen. Candles twinkle and champagne bubbles from a nearby tray being held by a waiter in black and white. A man lifts a glass to his lips and my heart skips a beat.

“What’s the matter?” Mia asks in my ear, startling me.

“Oh … nothing.” I let out the breath I was holding in a big whoosh of air. “I thought I saw a ghost or something.” It’s not William. It’s a very cute guy, but he’s not William. His hair is darker, his face less angular and his body stockier. Phew. That was a close one.

“Don’t look now, but I’ve been targeted.” Her expression goes from annoyed to charmed as the predator gets closer. Pierre fades away into the main part of the restaurant, leaving us to enter the room behind the curtain.

“Mia! I thought you weren’t going to make it.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she says, reaching up to kiss her boss on one cheek as they hold hands briefly between them.

I smile awkwardly, trying not to picture him as a married man hitting on my BFF. Instead of stomping on his foot like I want to, I shake his hand when they pull apart. “I’m Jennifer. Nice to meet you.”

“Jennifer, so very nice to meet you.” I’m pretty sure he means to say, “Hello, Jennifer’s hooters, nice to meet you. Can I fondle you later? Or now?” I hate guys like this one, the kind that talk to my chest and never quite look me in the eye. I’ve only met him once before and that was enough. Tonight only solidifies my impression that he’s a letch and he doesn’t deserve my friend. I feel really sorry for his wife.

“So who’s here tonight and what are we trying to get done?” Mia asks. I think she’s trying really hard not to rub her hands together. She can be pretty hardcore business when she’s in the mood. I see people, she sees business opportunities. That’s probably why she mingles with the high rollers and I don’t.

Malcolm leans over and takes two glasses of champagne from the tray that’s moving past, handing one flute to me and one to Mia. I stare down into the glass as the bubbles rise up to the top. It strikes me that I could take one sip and start the process of an allergic reaction; that would get me out of here in a hurry. I could throw my drink down Mia’s dress too and get her out of here with me. I chew my lip as I contemplate my other options.

Malcolm nods at the man who gave me a heart attack when I came in. “That gentleman over there with the dark hair is new to me. He’s the plus-one of Gloria Goodman. I believe he’s new to the area. And in the corner over there with the mustache we have Victor Villanova. I would appreciate it if you would introduce yourself to both of them and make yourself available should they have any questions. We’ll go for the soft sell tonight. Everyone else is just … decoration. You can ignore them.” He rubs his hand on her arm as he says ‘soft sell’ and Mia waits two seconds before moving sideways, bumping into me.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, flustered.

Seeing Mia flustered is enough to get me freaking. Panic mode, engage! “Hey! Cheese!” I say probably way too loudly, grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her towards the small buffet of appetizers at the end of the long room. We leave Malcolm in our dust.

“Cheese? What are you doing?” she asks, trying to look graceful as we plow across the room. A few of those decorative couples are in our way, but I’m good at bobbing and weaving.

“Shut up, I’m saving you.” We stop at the cubes of cheese and look at one another. “Thanks,” she says, taking a long swallow of her champagne. “That was a close one.”

“Just stay away from him. He told you to talk to those guys, so that’s the excuse you need. Whenever you see him coming, go schmooze the other one. Like a tennis match. Bap, bap, bap.”

“Okay, gotcha. Good plan.” Mia takes another swig of her champagne, acting more like it’s a bottle of Bud than anything from France.

“Might I interest you in a puff pastry?” says a British-flavored voice from behind me.

My heart drops to the floor and all the blood disappears from my face as I break out in a cold sweat. So, this is what cardiac arrest feels like.

Mia smiles. “Well, hello there, English. Don’t mind if I do.” She takes a pastry from the man behind me and pops it into her mouth. “Mmm, delish,” she says after swallowing it down.

I stare at a flake of pastry on her lip. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I’m frozen, imagining all the things I will say to William when I turn around. Can I be cool? Can I act like he didn’t rock my universe exactly one week ago and leave me a mess?

“So … how long have you been in town?” Mia asks. She’s trying to turn on the charm, but I think I’m distracting her. She keeps casting me funny looks.

“Just long enough, it appears.”

I’m confused by that. He’s flirting with my friend while I’m standing right here? I know he saw me from across the room. How rude. Apparently that might meant nothing to him. How is that even possible? How can one person be so turned upside down while the other remains completely unaffected? How is that even fair? I clamp my mouth tight to keep from saying something I’ll regret. Getting Mia fired will definitely get my BFF card revoked, and she did keep me from committing suicide by Vitamin C today.

I slowly turn, pasting a casual, uppity bitch expression on my face. If he can do it, so can I. I can just look him in the eye and pretend like nothing ever …

Zzzzzip … Zzzzaap … Ziiing! My brain short-circuits as the face registers.

“You’re not …” I point at him and frown.

William’s voice or something very close to his voice comes out of the wrong mouth. “I’m not … what?” He grins, revealing teeth that twist around just like William’s. Or kind of like William’s. My heart skips a beat as I remember that mouth of his coming so close to mine, touching me, making love to me. Will I feel this way every time I see an Englishman? If that’s the case, I need to move somewhere much farther away.

Words come pouring out before I can stop them. “Does everyone in England have crooked teeth like that?”

“Whoa nelly,” Mia exclaims, “that’s enough champagne for you!” She grabs my glass out of my hand and hands it unceremoniously over to the handsome William-imposter. He takes it without a word. “Excuse us while we go powder our noses,” she says, pushing me away from the buffet and towards the velvet curtain.

“Where are we going?” I ask, half glad I’m being led away and half wanting to look over my shoulder. I’m beginning to think that what just happened was some sort of hallucination. I really shouldn’t have drunk that last gallon of orange juice. Did I really just say that?

“Are you completely and totally insane?” she whisper-growls at me. “Do you want me to lose my job? He’s a potential investor, Jennifer.”

I try to play it off like it wasn’t awful. “I just asked him an innocent question.”

She pushes me into the ladies room. “You don’t tell people who you just met that their teeth are all fucked up!”

“I didn’t say that!” I stand in front of the sinks and mirrors, facing my friend. “I like them like that. I was just wondering …”

“Yeah. I heard you the first time. You were wondering if everyone in England has fucked up teeth.” She shakes her head at me in disgust. “Jesus, how much OJ did you drink before I came over?”

I look down at the ground. “Not that much.”

“Seriously, Jennifer, you cannot sabotage my night tonight. This is important.” She leaves off lecturing me to lean over the sink and stare at her face. “Big things are about to happen for me. I can feel it.”

“I know. I don’t mean to be a freak. It’s just that his teeth reminded me of someone.”

She pauses and turns to face me. “Don’t tell me … let me guess … the one night stand guy?”

I nod.

She rolls her eyes and then goes back to rubbing invisible marks off her cheek. “Give it a rest. It’s over, just like you said. You knew the deal going into it. No use crying over it now.”

“You said I should call him less than an hour ago.”

“I’m stupid. Don’t listen to me.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

“Seriously, Jen. Stay away from that phone and that guy. He’s completely messed you up and it was only one night. Could you imagine what would happen if you really got together?” She shakes her head. “Holy nightmare on Elmstreet.”

“It’s not that bad.” I’m not sure I believe myself, but it feels like at least a token protest is in order.

“You need to just swear off men for a while. Recalibrate your hootchie and your brain. Maybe do some yoga or something.” She straightens and goes into a stall to pee. She talks over the sound of the stream. “Do like a hundred downward dogs and call me in the morning.”

“Does that mean I can go home now?”

“No. You have to stay for dinner and then go to the club with me.”

“This club?”

“No. The Monster Club place.”

“I don’t want to. I can’t dance.” Memories of a certain waltz come in to mess with my head.

“You don’t need to dance. You just need to gyrate a little bit. Standing in place.”

I lean against the sinks. “I suppose I can gyrate.”

“There you go.” She comes out of the stall and washes her hands. “Are you ready to go back out there?”

“No?” I look at her with my most pitiful expression, hoping she’ll feel sorry enough for me that I’ll get a pass.

“Tough titties. Come on.” She hooks her arm through mine and pulls me out of the sanctuary that is the potty. “No champagne, okay? Stick to wine only.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

We near the red, velvet curtain. “Did you hear me?” she asks.

“Yes, wine only, I heard you.” A mumble beneath my breath. “A deaf man could hear you.”

“I heard that.” Mia sweeps the curtain aside, and I stand very still with my eyes closed as I recover from the material hitting me in the face.

“Oops, sorry.” She pulls me harder and I step forward, my eyes still closed. “Oh, my,” she says, her tone switching to one of admiration. “Our English friend has company. And my, oh my, oh my is he a hunka-hunka burnin’ love.”

I lift my lids and nearly have a stroke when I find myself staring across the room into William’s eyes.

CHAPTER FOUR

William

I’VE TIPPED MY HEAD DOWN to listen to something Edward is saying, but he stops in mid-sentence. “There she is,” he says. “Lady Perfection and her awkward friend.”

I lift my eyes to see the object of his latest affections. Apparently, Sleeping Beauty herself is in our midst and she is not the woman he came here with. Surprise, surprise.

My gaze locks on the beauty now staring at me from across the room, and I feel my chest go completely numb. I’m too young to have a heart attack. Perhaps it’s heart burn. I shall blame it on the cheese.

“Do you see her?” he asks.

“Mmmm?” I take a sip of my wine. It’s musty and oaky, a flavor I’m all too familiar with after having attended many events such as this one in the past. I wish I could drown myself in an entire cask of it right now. Anything but be here to face my dreams and my nightmares all rolled into one memory.

He elbows me in the ribs. “The totty across the room over there. She’s a stunner, eh?”

“She’s passing attractive.”

“Passing attractive? That’s bloody bollocks is what that is. Have you gone naf, then? Become a poofter? Lost your eyesight? No longer able to see any farther than the end of your nose? I told you all that work was going to stunt your growth. Now look at ya.” He snorts in disgust as he looks down at my waistband. “Your winkle’s all shriveled up in your trousers. Doesn’t even know what a girl looks like anymore.”

“Father would be so proud,” I say, referring to his crass talk. He always did favor the more colorful aspects of our language. I’m trying not to let it phase me that Jennifer No-Last-Name is walking this way in the company of another woman. I’m still not sure which woman to which he’s been referring.

“Oh, do shut up about the old tosser, would you? I’m trying to have some fun tonight.”

“Well, don’t let me stand in your way of that.”

He ignores me in favor of staring at the girls. “Yeah, she’s fit, she is.”

I can tell from his tone he’s already dreaming of getting her out of her knickers. I’m positively manky thinking that my brother could be lusting after the girl I haven’t been able to get out of my mind for an entire week. Not many women can resist his charms. It’s true that I agreed to one night only and upon its conclusion that would be the end of things between us, but I’m not certain that I can stomach the idea of my brother enjoying the same arrangement with her. With Jennifer.

Jennifer is nearly here and yet she’s looking up at the ceiling. I cast my gaze heavenward to see if I’ve missed something important, but all I see are mouldings and a chandelier. Perhaps she’s keen on faceted crystal. I recall her dress selection having several blinky things sewn to it.

“Put on your happy face, brother, and help me land this fish.”

“She’s not a fish,” I say, instantly annoyed with my brother’s put-on adolescent humor. He loves to do this for the sole purpose of getting under my skin.

“Touchy, touchy,” he says, just before lifting his glass and holding it out to the approaching ladies. “Good evening. We meet again.” His eyes are first on the blond and then on Jennifer. I move to the side and step on his toe.

“Och, watch it, graceful,” he says, scowling at me. Then he’s back to smiling. “Fancy a glass of the sparkly stuff?” he asks them both.

I catch Jennifer shaking her head no out of the corner of my eye. That chandelier is quite lovely.

“My friend is only drinking wine,” says the second girl. “She’s allergic to champagne.”

“Allergic?” I ask, before I can stop myself. I stare at the blond, focusing on her so I won’t be caught gobsmacked in front of the woman I was never supposed to see again.

“Crazy, right? She and I met when she tossed her drink right down my dress about ten years ago.”

“You’d think I would learn,” Jennifer says, laughing with a slightly shrill tone.

“Yes, right. So, beautiful lady, fancy a turn about the room?” Edward asks, holding out his elbow.

Everyone one of us but him freezes, looking at him. It’s not clear who he means to take him up on his offer. Please don’t take his arm, Jennifer. Don’t do it.

“Well, don’t everyone leap at once,” he says, put out. “I’m not a leper, I promise.”

“Take care of her for me,” Mia says to me, sticking her arm through Edward’s proffered elbow. “And make sure she doesn’t drink any champagne.” She’s gone with Edward in tow before I can even blink my eyes.

An awkward silence ensues.

“Nice chandalier,” I say, affecting a French accent for the last word. If I could slap myself without looking the lunatic, I would. For some reason I slip into French when I’m at the outer limits of nervousness.

“What?” she asks, as well she should. I’m ready for the loony bin with only one sentence between us.

“The large lighting fixture above our heads. Grand, isn’t it?” Burning cheeks is not a sensation I’m well familiar with. Perhaps I’m coming down with a fever.

“Yes. It’s nice. And big.”

A lightening quick glance at her face tells me she regrets the choice of words as much as I wish they were intentional.

“Oh, sod it,” I say under my breath, looking over at the cheese cubes. Building my nerve takes monumental effort. I want to kiss this woman. I shouldn’t, but I do. There. I’ve said it to myself. Now I just need to say it aloud.

A waiter hands her a glass of red wine as he passes by.

“Excuse me?” she asks.

“Sorry?” I finally look at her. Really look at her. She is simply breathtaking. My memory did not do her justice this past week. John Thomas has come alive in my trousers, making me long for the jacket I’ve left with the coat check girl.

“Why are you apologizing?”

Is that a hint of a smile I see? “Pardon?”

“Oh, so I’m pardoning you now.” She tilts her head. “Whatever have you done to need an official pardon?”

Thank the Queen Mother and all her blessed princelings, she’s joking with me. Perhaps this isn’t such a disaster after all.

“Many, many things,” I say, “but none of which I will admit to.”

She stares at the floor, letting the silence come over us once again.

“I say …” My mouth has once again taken charge of the evening, “you haven’t seen a girl walking around with a single shoe have you?”

She looks up, her expression too confusing for me to interpret. “Why do you ask?”

I almost reach out to touch her but at the last minute, I reach up and push my hair out of my face instead. “It could be that I’ve a shoe in need of a foot.”

“How do you know it’s my size?” she asks.

Yes, she did in fact ask that question. And now John Thomas is on full alert, ready to go, high the ho and merry we will go. If only she gives me a sign.

“I’ve an eye for these things. I believe it would be a perfect fit.”

“Not too big?” she asks, a twinkle in her eye. A twinkle! A God’s honest twinkle and possibly a sparkle as well. I’m sure of it.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” I say, feeling every inch the man. I believe she’s practicing the fine art of penis flattery and I’m always game for a bit of that.

“Not too small?” she asks, biting her lip when she’s through speaking.

I’m about to come undone from that little movement alone, but I play it as cool as a cucumber on a chilly spring day. “Certainly not, don’t be absurd. Small would never be an adjective to apply in my presence.” My mock outrage is being picked up by the other people round the buffet, so I calm my features and speak in a softer tone. “Be careful, girl.”

“Be careful? Of what?” She runs her fingertip around the outside rim of her glass just before tilting her head down to lick a drop of wine off her finger. Her eyes never leave mine.

A shiver moves down my rod and settles in my ballsack. Tonight is going to be one hell of a torture, but strangely, I find myself looking forward to it. “Be careful of biting off more than you can chew,” I say, angling her to face our host who approaches.

“Biting off more than I can chew?” she says so only I will hear. “I can’t even imagine what you might be talking about.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Jennifer

I HAVE BEEN POSSESSED BY a demon slut. That is the only explanation for the words that are sliding out of my mouth and the sheer, naked confidence that I feel coursing through my veins. I am She-rah, listen to me roar!

I leave William with my parting shot and face Malcolm. He appears just a tad cranky for some reason, his tone coming out curt. “Would you like to take your seats? Dinner will be served in a moment.”

“Jennifer,” I hear in a near-whisper behind me as Malcolm moves away to speak to his other guests.

I look over my shoulder at the man who’s been haunting my dreams for a week. I cannot believe I’m actually looking at his face and not a picture of him on Google. “Yes?”

“My apologies if this is … awkward for you.”

I lose a little of my fire. His words make me feel silly, like I had no business being flirty just then. I shrug. “It’s fine. I’m totally fine.” I smile, like I don’t have two gallons of orange juice sloshing around in my stomach. “Bon appetite.”

He nods his head at me and moves around the table, leaving me to stand in front of a seat that has Mia + One written on it.

Mia is suddenly at my side and whispering loudly in my ear. “Don’t sit there!”

“But it says …” I point to the place card but she whips it off the table before I can finish my sentence. “You are sitting here,” she says, quickly shuffling the little tented cards around before anyone else approaches. Mia + One is now two seats down from its original position, right next to Malcolm.

“But …”

“Just do it!” she says, and then she grins like a lunatic as she pushes me away from her a little. “Malcolm, hi!”

“Mia.” He takes her by the hand and frowns. “I was coming to show you to your seat.”

“No need, I’m already here.” She grins even more as she points to the crooked table card that has her name on it, sitting on my former plate. I worry that she will spontaneously and permanently wrinkle with the effort of feigning her extreme happiness.

I take Malcolm by the elbow. “Show me where to sit, Galahad. I’m completely and totally lost without you.” Now it’s my turn to grin like a loon. Could I be any more dorky? No, I don’t think so. The lengths I won’t go to in order to save a friend… I’m totally getting lunch out of this deal. At least a lunch and possibly a spa day.

Malcolm indulges me with a watery smile. “I would hazard a guess that you’re sitting next to me tonight.” He glares at Mia once before leading me away.

I breathe a sigh of relief as he settles me into a chair at his left and disappears again, but my feeling of triumph only lasts about two seconds. That’s how long it takes for William to sit down next to me on my other side.

He pulls out my chair without saying a word.

I take it silently, settling my napkin in my lap so I can busy myself with doing something other than having a heart attack.

“So …” He clears his throat. “How long have you been friends with Malcolm?”

“We’re not friends,” I say, cringing at how fast it comes out. I sound desperately scared.

“Are you stalking me?” he asks.

I turn to him, outraged at the idea. It’s then that I catch him grinning and it takes some of the embarrassment away. “No. I’m way too busy to stalk men.”

His expression goes dark and he hesitates a moment before responding. “Busy having one night stands?”

I lift my chin. “Yes. Busy doing that.”

“I see.” He puts his napkin on his lap and acknowledges the person sitting next to him on the other side.

I stare straight ahead, watching as Mia engages in an animated conversation with the man I can only assume is William’s brother. She looks a little riled up. I cross my fingers under the table, hoping she gets angry at him and storms off. I will be right on her tail when she does, too. Talk about awkward. I was not cut out for flirting or playing this … game or whatever this is. I am completely out of my league.

Waiters arrive as people are seated and baskets of rolls are placed on the table.

“Would you be so kind as to pass me the bread?” William asks, way too close to my ear.

I nearly have a stroke when I feel his hand on my leg. Am I imagining that? No, I am not. His fingers are long and hot. I can feel them through my dress. Breathing becomes difficult.

“Of course,” I say, reaching over and taking the basket, dropping it on his plate with a very ungraceful bang.

Everyone stops talking and looks at me.

“Oopsy. Dropped it,” I say, cringing.

William chuckles and I glare at him, feigning playing with my napkin so I can push his hand off my thigh. “Stop it, perv,” I whisper. “I’m here to eat dinner.”

He takes a roll and spreads it open. “I wish I were here to eat you,” he says in a low voice, never once looking at me.

My heart leaps into my throat. “What did you just say?” People are taking their seats around us and pulling apart dinner rolls while William continues to act as though we’re having a perfectly normal dinner conversation.

“I didn’t get the chance to do that, did I? I suppose it was because our evening ended prematurely.”

That makes me cranky. “No, it didn’t, actually. It went exactly according to the agreement.”

“Technically speaking, it didn’t.” He spreads some butter on one side of his bread. “Just one night is an entire night, not just a few hours.”

“So what are you saying?” I pick up my roll and try to break it open all sexy-like but fail miserably when the roll is too hard. Flakes of it fracture off and land all around my plate.

“I suppose I’m saying that I didn’t get my money’s worth.”

My jaw drops open as his words sink in. I nearly growl at him. “Are you calling me a prostitute? Because I didn’t ask you to pay for that dress, in case you’ve forgotten.”

His hand drops below the table and squeezes my thigh again. “I’m saying nothing of the sort.” His hand travels up closer to the edge of my panties. My dress is going with his hand. “I’m actually trying to flirt with you but it appears I’ve botched it.”

I try to chew my role in a way that doesn’t tell the whole world that I’m getting felt up during the appetizer portion of our meal. “No, you’re doing just fine.” I can feel my face going red with heat.

“Perhaps that’s why you left me so early last week-end.”

“What do you mean?” I glance up at Mia and she’s smiling at Edward. Malcolm’s pretending not to care but he’s not doing a very good job of it.

I don’t give a hoot about any of that right now, though. The only thing I can think about is wondering where his hand will go next. It’s not like it can go anywhere with all these people here, but that doesn’t stop my mind from going crazy.

“Well, apparently my technique left something to be desired,” he says.

Does he really think that? I feel terrible. I drop my roll to the table in my haste to reassure him. “No, no, not at all.” When I realize that I’m talking way too loud I take a moment to calm myself and adjust my volume down about four notches. “Your … technique was perfect. Great. I mean, really good.”

“So which was it? Perfect? Great? Or just really good.”

I can’t help but smile. Anyone looking at his expression would assume we were talking about the weather and not how well he does the wild thing. “It was perfect.”

“I don’t believe you. Perfect sex would have encouraged a second round.”

I’m not sure what to say to this. I knew even then that a second round would have been my undoing. I would have shouted out stupid things in the throws of sexual ecstasy and begged him to see me again. That would have been awful. I saved us both that night by leaving so early.

His hand leaves my leg and comes up to the table. “Not to worry. I shan’t pressure you to make up the difference. I’ll just take my lumps and move on.”

I should probably let it go at that, but I can’t. I don’t want to. “Make up the difference?”

He glances at me, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Finish what you started.”

I lift an eyebrow in challenge.

“I dare you,” he says.

My heart skips a beat. “You’re daring me?”

He pauses and looks up, as if considering his actions. “Why yes, I believe I am. The word dare was probably a dead giveaway, though.”

I can’t stop smiling. I’m trying really hard not to, because being cool right now would be the best way to handle things, but I’m just not cool. I’ve tried all my life to be cool and I’ve always failed. Besides … he’s basically telling me he wants to have sex again, and didn’t I place an ad to have more sex? That’s something to smile about. He’s just giving me what I want, what I need. It’s not like he’s promising me roses or a second date. This is just the end of the one date we agreed to.

We never got our true ending. I need to see this thing through, all the way to the end. Plus, maybe the second time with him will suck and I’ll be able to move on without feeling so bereft. I mean, what are the chances that he’s really as amazing as he seemed on the first date? Probably zero. Zilch.

“Could be I’ll take you up on that dare,” I say, all nonchalant.

“Could be?”

“Depends.” Let him be the one to say what he means. I’m not going to assume anything.

“Now this is getting interesting.”

He puts his hand under the table, but I don’t feel it on me anywhere. It makes me breathe faster as I wait for his next move.

I shrug. “If you say so.” Yeah, that’s right. I am totally cool. I am pulling this off! Mia would be so proud. I look up at her to see if she’s admiring my awesomeness, but find that she’s too busy sipping wine and staring over her glass at Edward to pay me any mind.

Then his hand is at my knee, his fingers working their way under the edge of my dress. Slowly, slowly he inches it up.

“Would you care for something hot or something cold?” says the voice at my ear.

I jump nearly a mile when I realize a waiter is there and he’s offering me food.

“Something … hot?” I say, a little nervously. William hasn’t moved his hand down; in fact, he’s still moving it up. Thank goodness the tablecloth is too long for anyone to see. I break out in goosebumps as the soft material of my dress slithers across my heated skin.

Three small appetizers are placed on my plate by the waiter with tongs. After he leaves William his food, William leans towards me. “Would you please pass me the salt?” His fingers have reached my panties and his pinkie finger slides into the edge of them, lifting the material to give access to his other fingers. He strokes me gently with a middle finger as I reach for the shaker, and I begin pulsing with need. That’s all it takes is one little touch and I’m a mess. Ugh, I hate myself.

I hand him the salt, trying to act like I’m not sweating with desire. “Here you go. Salt for your food. Salt.” I drop it before it gets to the table, but he catches it in midair.

“Thank you,” he says, smiling slyly and putting it down gently.

“No, thank you,” I say under my breath.

His finger enters me and then comes out again to move around my wet folds. I squeeze my fork tightly to keep from moaning out loud. This is crazy. This is nuts!

“How’s your dinner so far?” asks Malcolm. He’s looking right at me.

“Good?” William’s hand stops moving.

“You look at little … under the weather. Are you sure it’s okay?”

William pulls his fingers out and his hand disappears from my lap.

Damn you, Malcolm! I hate you twice as much now, you killjoy. “Yes, I’m fine. Just um … need to add some salt.” I grab the shaker and go to town on my appetizers.

Mia stares at me with daggers in her eyes.

I put the shaker down and take a bite of my food. It’s so salty I feel like I’ve just swallowed sea water. I give Malcolm a thumbs up as he waits for my reaction. “Great stuff,” I say, smiling through the pain.

He turns to the person on his other side and talks low so I can’t hear him.

“Here. Try this,” William says, putting one of his pieces of food on my plate. “No need to add salt.”

“That was your fault,” you know, I say in a low growl.

“I take full responsibility. Here. Have another.” He puts more food on my plate.

It’s hard staying grouchy with a man who fingers me during the first course and then gives me his share when he’s done. “Thank you.”

“So what are the terms?” he asks, putting a bite of food in his mouth.

“Terms?” I take my wine glass and hide behind it. “Terms for what?”

He wipes his mouth off with his napkin. “For the rest of our evening. The one we missed last week.”

“I don’t know.” My ability to play it cool is gone. Wet panties equals fried brain. “What do you think they should be?”

“I’m free after dinner tonight.”

He went and said that. Just when I thought I’d at least have some time to figure things out, he said that.

“I’m going to a club with my friend Mia after.”

She hears her name and looks up, grinning. “You talking about me?”

“I was saying that you and I are going to a club after.”

Malcolm stops talking to the girl on his other side. “A club? What club?”

Mia wants to kill me, I know this, but she’s really good at acting like we’re all good. “We haven’t decided yet. We’re waiting on a call. From our dates.”

I nod. “Yep. Waiting on a call from our dates. That’s what we’re doing.” I lean in by William’s shoulder and whisper, “That’s a lie.”

“Maybe we’ll follow you over,” Malcolm says. “I haven’t been dancing in a long time.”

Several heads around the table are bobbing up and down.

Great. Now everything is ruined. Mia’s going to kill me and I’m not going to get laid. Double penalty.

“I’ll let you know where we’re going as soon as I know,” Mia assures him. Then she goes back to talking with Edward while shooting me hard looks from time to time.

“Do you have a date later?” William asks me.

“No. I’m supposed to get Mia away from her boss after dinner. That’s it.”

“Hmmm … that could present a problem as it relates to my plan.”

“Your plan?”

“Yes. My plan to ravish you tonight.”

I can’t help but giggle. “Ravish me? Are we in a Jane Austen novel now?”

“Oh, role play. Brilliant. I’m game if you are.”

I nudge him with my elbow. “Stop.” My face is back to pink now. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. He removes all sense of sophistication from my person when he’s around.

“How late do you normally stay out with your friend?”

“Depends. If she’s having a good time, we can stay out until three in the morning. If she’s tired or not having fun, we could be done by midnight.”

“Then I suppose I will have to manufacture some sort of disaster so that she will give up early and leave you to your own devices.”

I look over at my friend. “Actually, you could just tell Edward to take her out and that would solve all our problems.” I can tell she’s into him by her body language. She’s completely ignoring Malcolm and oblivious to his annoyance over it.

“I wouldn’t do that to a friend of yours,” William says, his expression darkening.

“Why would you say that? He’s your brother.”

“Only by the grace of biology and some rotten luck. He’s incorrigible. You can ask anyone.”

“Mia likes incorrigible.”

“Does she like having her heart torn in two? Because my brother has a string of broken hearts behind him. Believe me when I say he’s not her type.”

Mia glares at me and then motions that she’s texting something. I reach into my purse and pull out my phone to read the message waiting for me. I show it to William.

Double date dancing, English style?

“What does this mean?” he asks.

“She wants to go to the club with you guys.”

William takes his time responding, finishing his food and wiping his lips off with the napkin. I know I’m staring at him as he does it, but I can still remember the feel of his mouth on mine, on my body, on my breasts. I want to feel that again.

“I will go on one condition.”

I hold my phone in my lap as I wait to hear it. I haven’t typed out my answer yet.

“That you warn your friend about my brother first. I cannot have her misery on my conscience.”

“Fine. Done.” I tap away before either of us can change our minds.

He glances at me once and smiles before going back to paying attention to his food. “You’re not a very good negotiator.”

I smile back and I press Send. “Maybe I’m an excellent negotiator.”

“How is that possible? You gave me exactly what I wanted without a fight.”

I look up as I put my phone back in my purse. “No point in fighting when I’m getting exactly what I want too, right?”

CHAPTER SIX

William

SHE IS A SLY ONE, this Jennifer No-Last-Name. One minute she’s blushing like an innocent princess and the next she’s bringing me down a peg with her hidden promises and skilled negotiating, making me think she’s the one running the show. I find I quite like the dichotomy. It’s sexy.

All I need to do is get through this dinner and we’re off to end the adventure that only really just got started. Yes, it’s only for the remainder of one night, but that should be just good enough. We still will have no commitments, no strings to get tangled amongst, and no complications, while at the same time having another few moments to enjoy each other’s company. A simple continuation of a night with some debauchery thrown in for good measure and then we’re through. Done. End of the road and that is that.

That’s the plan anyway. I have this little thought niggling the back of my mind, telling me that this is a tremendously daft idea, but I’ve chosen to ignore the inconvenience my conscience presents. It’s not like I’m taking advantage of her. She’s an adult woman; she knows what she’s getting into. And I know what I’m getting into. Her. Her lovely, hot, slippery wet body that I have not been able to forget, try as I may, try as I might.

I keep staring at her hands. It’s not just the pale, silky softness that I see and remember that draws my attention. It’s the image my brain has conjured of those same lovely, delicate fingers wrapped around my cock. I would love to see that with her mouth on the tip, my cock moving in and out as my ballsack seizes up in ecstasy.

Yes, it’s true, I’m afraid to admit it, but every man fantasizes about fellatio, even when the girl he’s imagining it with is the kind that can refuse to do it and never hear a word about it, and even when the man who’s doing the fantasizing should be above such things.

“Hello? Anyone in there?”

She’s caught me lost in fellatio-land. A quick recovery is my only hope. Luckily, a few words from her recent conversation have filtered into my brain. “Right. You were saying you like to dance.”

She giggles. “No, I wasn’t. I was saying that when we go to the club, don’t expect me to dance.”

“Not even one dance?” I do my best imitation of a pout. My brother catches me and frowns in confusion, so I immediately cease that ridiculousness. I don’t know what came over me.

“They don’t exactly do waltzing at club Monster or whatever it’s called.”

“My repertoire is not limited to the waltz, I’ll have you know. I can cut a rug with the best of them.”

“Cut a rug? Now you’re scaring me.”

I rest my fork against my plate and turn to face her. “Did I steer you wrong the last time we danced?”

It takes her so long to answer I’m forced to lift an eyebrow.

Her smile is sad. “No. You didn’t steer me wrong.”

I want to reach out and touch her chin, to tell her there’s no reason to look so lost. But I don’t because we’re at a dinner table and there are too many people here who would not understand that I’m merely being friendly. “Well then, you can put your trust in me.”

“I do trust you. So far you’ve done an excellent job of living up to your agreements.”

“And why do I get the feeling that you’ve just insulted me?” Something is happening here, but I’m not sure what it is.

“No, not at all. You’re honest and straightforward. You don’t play games.”

“I’ve no time for games.”

“Me neither.”

“Then you and I suit.” I smile. “Are you ready for dinner?” I look over her shoulder at the waiter standing behind her.

She moves to the side so he can access her plate and replace it with another that has a full meal on it.

“What’s this?” she asks.

“Salmon with champagne cream sauce,” the waiter responds.

She looks at me at the same time as I look at her.

“Should I worry about an allergic reaction and an emergency trip to the dry cleaners?” I ask, smiling as the memory of her champagne disaster comes to mind.

“I sure hope not.” She lifts her fork and brings it to the plate.

I miss her first bite as I’m drawn into a conversation about investments in wine by Malcolm. I can feel Jennifer’s leg up against mine, which makes me think that she’s opened her legs for me in an effort to feel me and maybe even dream of me being inside her. The words our host is saying go in one ear and directly out of the other. I believe I’m nodding in all the right places, but it’s about all I can do to coordinate my hand and mouth to eat. I’m not tasting a single thing on my plate even though I am consuming it all.

“So you’ll come by and view our latest collection?” Malcolm asks.

“Yes, we will,” says Edward. “Just name the date and time.”

I clear my throat to try and focus my energies. Edward is committing us to something that sounds like a bad idea. “Actually, it would be better if you contacted my assistant and cleared it with my calendar.”

Edward shakes his head. “Never fails.”

I’m not interested in airing our dirty laundry here at this table of strangers, so I ignore him and the smile that comes across Jennifer’s friend’s face. Hopefully she’ll take my warning seriously and avoid my brother like the plague.

Jennifer takes her napkin and puts it on the table. I pause my eating to watch her rise from her seat.

“I’m just stepping out to the restroom.”

“Oh, I’m coming with you,” says her friend, getting to her feet and taking her small handbag from the back of her chair.

“Warn her,” I say calmly as I wipe my mouth with my napkin. “About Edward. You promised.”

Jennifer smiles. “I will. But you should probably do the same for your brother.”

I watch her pixie-like friend come around the table. “I hardly think that’s necessary.”

“Don’t let looks be deceiving. She’s way more than he’s bargaining for, I can promise you that.”

I cannot stop the words that demand to come. “Birds of a feather?”

She frowns at me confused, but doesn’t have time to ask me for an explanation before her friend is taking her away.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Jennifer

“HE SAYS I NEED TO warn you.”

“What? Warn me about what? Edward?” Mia is putting on lipgloss, admiring the way it makes her lips appear fuller. I hope she’s not using that stuff that has snake venom in it. She did that once and it made her look like a prize fighter.

“Yes, about Edward. His brother. Apparently he’s bad news.”

“Mmmm, tasty. I do lurrrve me some bad boys.”

“I told him he should warn his brother, not the other way around.”

Mia holds up a hand without missing a beat. “Word, sister.”

We high five.

“So, I guess you get to do a second night with your Englishman, eh?” she asks.

My heart flips over a couple times. But then I realize she doesn’t know what my arrangement is with him and I shrug, trying to play it cool. If she catches the scent of anything it’ll ruin it. “No, it’s just a little bit of dancing, that’s it. No big deal.”

She stops her ministrations and stares me down. “Please. You were a mess over this guy just a few hours ago. Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on here. And can you believe he’s here? I mean, what rotten luck is that?”

Heart flips. Again. “There’s nothing going on here, okay? I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

She takes me by the upper arms and looks me in the eyes. “I know you can. If you decide you don’t want this guy, he’ll be toast. Yesterday’s news. Just don’t make the decision to keep him in your life, because then it’ll just be heartache city.”

I pull my arms from her grip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs as she drops her lipgloss back into her purse. “Just that … he’s the kind of guy who doesn’t want anything long term, right? I mean, he answered your ad.”

My heart plummets into my toes. She’s absolutely right. “Yes, that’s true. And that’s fine. It’s totally fine.” I smile hard so she’ll see that I mean it. “This is just a very short, very fun fling, and that’s all. I got what I wanted out of the deal and tonight at the club is just a bonus.” I won’t say anything to her about any after-the-club action. All I’ll get is warnings, and I don’t need to hear any more of those from her since I’m already playing them like a broken record over and over in my own head.

“And after that you’re going to go on with your life, right?”

I nod. “Yes. Absolutely.”

“And you’re not going to mope or cry or drown your sorrows in orange juice, right?”

“Nope. I’m going to go to work, do my thing, date around, and have a good time. Just like you.”

Mia pauses as she’s walking to the door. “I’m not sure being like me is going to make you happy.”

I sigh heavily. “Are you trying to bum me out? Because you’re doing a good job.”

She shakes her head and pats me on the shoulder. “Ignore me. I’m just being a butthead.”

“Thank you for admitting that.” I pull the door open. “Come on. We have dessert to finish.”

“And some dirty dancing ahead of us.” She’s grinning like a crazy fool now.

“Don’t embarrass me at the club, that’s all I ask.”

“Who, me?” She pulls the velvet curtain open. “I would never do that to you.”

“Famous last words,” I say, taking my seat next to William.

CHAPTER EIGHT

William

THE MUSIC IN THE NIGHTCLUB is so bass-heavy, I can feel it in my bones. I’m delighted to find that the club is also ridiculously crowded. Jennifer has no choice but to press her body up against mine on the dance floor as a result.

“Ready to pull shapes?” Edward yells at Mia. He’s way too happy and entirely too loud. I wish he’d hurry up and go legless with the scotch he’s drinking so I can stop worrying about the poor girl.

“Pull shapes?” she yells back. “Do I even want to know what that means?”

He grabs her around the waist and pulls her onto the dance floor. “Dance, baby, it means dance. Come dance with me!”

She lets out a whoop as they disappear into the crowd.

“They’re having fun,” Jennifer says.

“You warned her, correct?” My days of watching over my brother as he raises Cain will never be over.

Jennifer’s hands slide up my chest as her hips begin to move with the beat. “Yes, I did. I promised I would, didn’t I?” She’s looking up at me with those innocent eyes of hers and bats her eyelashes. I want to see her face turned sideways as she closes her eyes, lost in the passion between us. I want to watch her go witless as I’m pushing inside her. I can’t stop thinking of all the ways she’s made me want her and made me laugh too. I should probably send Malcolm a thank you note for hosting that stupid party. Without him, where would I be tonight? In my office with the P&Ls. A dreadfully dull evening compared to this one, indeed.

I put my hands on her hips and slide them around back to her arse. It’s just as lovely as I remembered, soft in parts and firm in others, more than just a handful. I want to bury myself in her right now.

How long must a man pretend to enjoy clubbing before he can get to the rogering bits, anyway? I resist the urge to check my watch.

“Yes, you did promise to warn her,” I say, back in the present. I take a deep breath in and then let it out, trying to control my runaway libido. At this rate I’ll be leaving the floor with a stain on my trousers, and that would never do.

“Are you having fun?” she asks me, pressing her breasts against my chest.

I can’t help but look down at her cleavage, imagining exactly how it would feel to push my cock up between them. Oh, it would be such a tight fit, just like it was between her legs… “Yes, love, I am.” I mumble. Am I drunk? I feel as though I am.

Her movements cease for a moment and then start again. “You’re staring at my breasts again, William.”

I blink hard and look into her eyes. “Oh. Indeed. How naughty of me. My apologies.”

She giggles. I love the way it lights up her features, even in this dark place. “You are naughty. I’m not going to forgive you, though.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because. That would mean I don’t like it when you’re naughty.”

If this is not an open invitation, I don’t know what is. And I don’t need it to be engraved when a simple flirt will do. Sliding my hands up her back, I made sure to bring my thumbs around to the front of her ribcage so I can rub them over her beautiful breasts.

“You like it when I do things I shouldn’t?” I ask.

She presses into me, wiggling her hips side to side. “I like it when you do things you should. Like what you’re doing now.” She slowly turns in time with the music so that her back is to me, our bodies never losing contact as she goes round. Her arse is now pressed against my cock and she’s grinding against me in a circling, pulsing rhythm that matches both the music and the beating of my pulse. It crosses my mind that it would be a very simple thing to unzip my trousers, lift her skirt, and bury myself deep into her slippery wet pussy. I am in very big trouble.

Her arms come up and reach around to the back of my neck as she arches her back just slightly. Her breasts push up and over her top, begging to be touched, licked, and all manner of other things.

Yes, we are completely surrounded by strangers, but does that stop me? No. It absolutely does not. I reach up, cup her amble breasts, and pinch her nipples.

She spins around and grabs me by the front of my shirt. “Hey!” Her face is flushed and she’s pretending to frown.

My hands pause at her waist and I try to act chagrined. “Too much?” I lean down and kiss her neck. “My apologies. I get carried away with you sometimes. It isn’t my fault.”

She presses into me, and it feels as though her body is melting right into mine. “I think I need a drink,” she says in my ear.

Perhaps this is code for something else, but concern for her welfare has me taking the literal meaning. “Follow me,” I say, heading off the dance floor and over to the nearest bar. I can see the purple lights that mark its location, but there are several dark places and a throng of writhing bodies to get through before we reach our destination.

“This way!” she shouts, pulling me away from the path I’d created in my mind.

Assuming she knows this place better than I do, I follow. Our fingers intertwine, hers much smaller between mine. I admire the swing of her hips as she precedes me through the crowd. Her hourglass figure is every boy’s dream. Certainly it’s mine. I cannot wait to see it in all its naked glory again, and I pray that our plan will come to its fruition this evening. If Edward screws this up for me there will be a punch-up.

We enter a dark corridor that is decidedly empty compared to the packed room just on the other side of the wall. I see a niche coming up on our right, and I cannot help but take advantage of it. I hope she’s not too thirsty to be bothered by a minor detour. Grabbing Jennifer around the waist, I pull her into the small alcove with me.

“What the …”

“I need to touch you,” I say. Simple honesty. That’s my grand plan.

Lucky for me, the fire in her eyes is unmistakable. She puts her arms around my neck and pulls me down, her lips ready for me and her tongue coming out to greet mine.

It’s like we never left each other, as if last weekend is this weekend and we somehow skipped over time to be here at this club and not in our hotel room. The notion of coming home skitters across my mind as we find our groove and deepen the kiss. My pulse is growing more rapid by the second and my cock becomes hard as steel. She presses into me and moans.

“Be careful, dove, or I’ll forget how to be a gentleman.” I kiss and suck her neck, leaving a mark. I leave it to kiss her hard on the mouth when I feel her body respond.

“Forget,” she says in a whisper against my lips. “Forget all that.”

I step forward, forcing her towards the wall. Her backward motion grinds to a halt when she comes up against the unyielding surface. My hard body presses into her softer one, and I revel in the way my rod sinks into her soft cleft. It’s as if we were built for each other, hand in glove.

“Fuck me right here,” she says, her voice stronger than before. Her hands are grabbing at me in desperation, pulling my shirt out of my trousers, her nails pressing through the fabric to lightly score my skin.

“Here?” I ask, making sure I understood properly. My heart is already pounding away like a jackhammer. I don’t need more than a mere suggestion to completely forget my manners and the fact that I’m in a public place. “Fuck you. Right here in the club?”

“Yes. Here. Now.” Her leg hitches up to ride over my hip.

That’s it. The end. Done and dusted. Just as I suspected earlier, it does not take much to unzip my trousers and lift her skirt. The minor issue of panties being in the way is solved when I rip them right off her body.

“Oh my god,” she whispers hoarsely as the material falls away.

“That’s right, Jennifer,” I say, my words coming out as a growl. “Pray.”

She’s so wet, it takes no effort. My cock slides all the way in and I roar like a pathetically sex-starved lion as the sensations overwhelm me.

CHAPTER NINE

Jennifer

I HAVE COMPLETELY LOST MY mind. I’m having sex with a near stranger in the back room of a nightclub. People could come walking by at any second, and I do. Not. Care. I have never been so turned on in my entire life.

Holding onto his shirt is the only thing keeping me from falling to the ground. I can smell his cologne, his shampoo, his skin. It’s intoxicating. With every thrust he gives me, I meet him with one of my own. His dick is swollen and heavy. I’m being violated in the very best way. I can’t get enough. It’s never going to be enough. I’ve done it again, set myself up for a fall. But I’ll just go ahead and fall and worry about the consequences later.

“Harder,” I beg.

And he does exactly what I want. He nails me to the wall, grunting the entire time. I will probably have bruises on my back, but I will wear them with pride. Hurt soooo good, baby.

“Is that what you want?” he asks as he pumps me over and over.

“Yes … that’s … exactly … what … I … want…” I can barely breathe. I’m so close. When he talks to me and sounds so angry it only makes me wetter and hotter and closer to the end. It’s torture knowing it has to end and I want it to, but that I also don’t. I wish this feeling could go on forever, with the promise of extreme pleasure just around the corner, ready to consume me and make me forget everything but this.

“You’re so hot … you’re so fucking hot,” he says against my neck. “I’m going to come. Fuck, I’m going to come and I don’t have a welly on.”

“Pull out,” I say with not a lot of volume. I hate that he has to do that, but reality is what it is. I’m not ready to be a single mother.

He yanks out of me and we both grab for his dick at the same time. I stroke it right along with him and watch as he unloads into his hand. Maybe it should be gross, but it’s not. It’s hot. I made that happen with just a few words and my body. It makes me feel incredibly sexy and powerful that I can bring a man like this to his knees. William is not the type to have sex in a nightclub hallway, I’m sure of that.

I’m tingling with unspent passion and the knowledge that we just did this in the club, while hundreds of people are dancing not twenty feet away. I’ll probably never do it again, but I’m glad I did it this time. Now I just have to think about what to say to ease us through the awkward moment I feel coming on.

“Your turn,” he says, wiping his hand off on a handkerchief that he pulled from his pocket.

“What?” I look up at his dark expression.

He gives me the most devilish look I have ever seen on a man, and then he drops to his knees.

CHAPTER TEN

William

NO ONE WHO HAS EVER known me or even met me would believe this story if they heard it. I don’t believe it myself, even as it’s actually happening. Call me crazy, call me swept away with the passion, but do not call me stupid. Burying my face in her pussy in the middle of that club was the best decision I made all night.

She squeals with what sounds like a combination of surprise, fear, and delight as I lift her skirt and place my mouth on her.

“William! What are you doing?!”

Rather than answer with words, I let my tongue do the job of responding. I gently pull her lips apart with my thumbs to give myself better access. She’s thick with need and dripping with salty sweetness. Her nub stands out ready for my attentions. I lick, kiss, and suckle it, doing everything I can to hasten her satisfaction. We’re going to get caught if I don’t get down to business right away. I’ll save a more leisurely worshipping of her womanly parts for another time, hopefully later this evening.

“Oh my god … William … it’s happening!” She grabs two fistsful of my hair and squeezes, guiding me right to the spot where she needs me most. Her hips roll with her emotions, grinding her mound into my face. I can’t get enough. I’ve never been with such a passionate, lusty woman.

I focus all my attention on her nub while I move first one and then two fingers into her entrance. Her wetness makes it very easy to slide in and out with the slow rhythm that I know will drive her mad. My free hand holds her skirt out of the way, ready to drop it back down in case we have visitors. I pray that we don’t before she’s finished.

Within seconds, a pulsing of her walls grips my fingers, and a liquid warmth gushes down and into my hand. I keep licking and sucking, moving my fingers in and out. She jerks and quivers against the wall as her grip in my hair lessens and she’s overcome with her orgasm. Her legs tremble and her breath comes in gasps. I send up another quick prayer, this time to the god of fucking, that no one will come along to spoil our fun.

“Oh my god … oh my god … oh my god …” She’s nearly crying and I take that as a good sign. I stroke her gently with my tongue a few more times for good measure, reveling in the power I have over her body. She cannot sit still or stop moaning as I lick away all evidence of her orgasm.

When her quivers turn into convulsions of pleasure mixed with pain, I draw away, dropping her dress down to where it belongs and taking to my feet again. Her scent is everywhere, and I know I will miss it when it’s gone.

Sweat has caused her hair to stick to her face in places. As I wipe my mouth and then wet hand off on my handkerchief, I pause to use the other to move her hair off her cheek. “Happy?” I ask. Silly question, really, but I feel as though I should say something that will end our moment on a positive note.

“Very,” she says, sleepily.

A cackling, drunk laugh comes down the hall in our direction and it has the effect of waking Jennifer up almost instantaneously. She pushes and pulls her dress into place and then makes a few swipes of her hair and face.

“Oops! Sorry!” says an inebriated woman in very high heels. She staggers past us on the arm of a half-conscious man a foot shorter than she is. “I think we just caught them fucking.”

I look down at Jennifer and take in her disheveled glow. “She’s right you know. She just caught us fucking.”

Jennifer grins, even though I know she’d rather be outraged. “You are so bad.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Funny… I rather thought you found me good.”

She moves her hand until it’s resting against the front of my trousers. A few strokes and she has John Thomas already considering another go. “I do find you rather good. Rather awesome, actually.”

“This isn’t the rest of our date, I’ll have you know.” I’m worried she’s going to play Cinderella again and disappear with only one shoe. I’m not ready for that yet. I’ll be ready later.

“I know. I just needed to get a drink, you know. You didn’t need to go all caveman on me.”

I lean down and give her the chastest of kisses. “I am not a caveman. I am just an English gentleman enjoying a passionate moment with a fun-loving American girl.”

She gives me what looks like a sad smile. “Come on. Let’s go get a drink.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jennifer

I DON’T KNOW WHY, BUT every time William says something that brings up the fact that this is a temporary moment, it bursts my happy bubble. I’m just coming down off hot sex against the wall and I’m reminded again of how this will all be over in a matter of hours. I seriously need to get my drink on. My emotions are too raw and out there for safety. I need to deaden the feelings that keep rising up to choke me.

We reach the bar and battle a crowd at the edge of it to get the bartender’s attention. He stands in front of us and holds up a finger to tell us not to speak. His finger goes to his ear and he cocks his head, as though he’s listening to someone. When his hand moves back away, I see an earbud there. He’s smiling at us like a total pervert. It makes me want to leave this place and never come back. I rub my upper arms trying to make the feeling go away and shake my head at my irrational response to a bad smile. I think I’m already beginning the process of experiencing my next William hangover.

“Can I get you a drink?” he yells, leaning across the bar a little. He’s staring at my boobs, of course.

“Yes.” I look up at William. “What do you want?”

“I’ll have a vodka martini, rocks, with a twist.”

The bartender is waiting for me. I chew my lip as I try to decide whether to go for a beer or something more ladylike.

“How about a sloe comfortable screw up against the wall?” the bartender says.

With a straight face. Just like that. He offers to make me a mixed drink that describes exactly what I just did around the corner from his work station. Okay, so it wasn’t slow, but it was a screw and up against the wall. Oh my god.

“Uhhh … what?” Yeah, that’s it. Play dumb. Try and use the stall time to figure out if this is just a fluke.

“Thought you looked like the type that might like that.” He shrugs and smiles again. Or maybe it’s more a leer than a smile. It skeeves me out, whatever it is.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you have some information you’d like to share,” William says, moving me over to the side a little and putting himself more prominently in front of the bartender.

“Share? Me? Nah. But if you’re the type to share, well, sure.” He shrugs. “I’d maybe take you up on that.” He looks at me again, or I should say, he looks at my chest.

It happens so fast I never see it coming. William’s hand goes across the bar and grabs the bartender’s shirt. He yanks hard and pulls him towards us, causing the guy to drop the glass he’d been holding as he crashes into the bar top.

“What the …?!” The bartender is as shocked and surprised as I am.

“Give me that fucking thing,” William growls, pulling the ear bud out of the guy’s ear.

“Hey, asshole! What the hell!” The bartender struggles against William’s grip with little success.

I back away to avoid being hit by swinging fists.

William’s furious. My charming, sexy Englishmen has become a raging bull. He pulls the bartender completely over the bar and throws him to the ground at his feet. “Where are the cameras?” he yells in the guy’s face, holding him down with two fistsful of shirt now.

“Fuck you, man! This is a private club! You don’t have any rights here!”

A bouncer shows up and grabs William by the shoulder, pulling him up and away from the bartender below him. “You gotta leave, man. Don’t do anything stupid.”

The bartender stumbles to his feet and tries to straighten his shirt.

William brushes the bouncer off, standing up straight and fixing his hair. “I want to talk to the manager. I believe he’ll know what about.”

The bouncer rolls his eyes, sighing like he’s incredibly tired. “She’s up there.” He points to a dark space at the end of a set of stairs. “I’ll have to escort you.” He puts his hand up to his ear and speaks. “I’m coming up with this dude.” He points at William, nods once, and then gestures across the room. “Come on. After you.”

I stand there dazed and confused. What just happened here? Why was William so angry at a complete stranger? And what’s with the camera comment? Did someone take a picture of us? Oh, my god … that would be soooo embarrassing.

Mia shows up at my side. “What’s going on? Did you get in a fight?”

“William did. I think.”

Edward walks over to his brother and puts a hand on his shoulder, looking at him and talking quietly. Everyone in the vicinity was giving them room and starting at them, but as the seconds tick by, they begin to fill in the spaces around us.

“Come on,” the bouncer says. “I ain’t got all night.”

“Wait here,” William says to me. He’s distracted, not really seeing me.

I want to respond, but nothing I can think of will come out right, so I shut my mouth.

Mia is not suffering the same dilemma. “What the fuck, man. Edward, where are you going?”

“Just cool your jets, love. We’ll be back in a flash.”

She screws up her face. “Don’t tell me to cool my jets. Who do you think you are?”

“Do what you want, then. See if I care.” And then he’s gone, following his brother through the crowd that parts to let them through and up the stairs into the darkness beyond.

Mia spins and turns her anger on me. “What the hell just happened here?”

My jaw drops open. I throw my hands up and sputter. “How is this my fault?! I warned you about him, didn’t I?”

Mia grabs my arm and starts dragging me away from the bar. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

I yank back and stop her. “No, I don’t want to leave.”

“Oh! Okay! So you’re choosing that limey fruit basket over me?” She throws her hands up and lets them come down to slap her legs.

“He’s not a limey fruit basket. He’s … nice.” That sounded lame even to my own ears, but it was way better than saying he just went down on me in the hallway and we had plans to continue more of the sexy stuff later.

“Yeah, he’s nice. But he’s done with you after tonight, remember? And it’s midnight and I’m cranky and I don’t want to be here when that asshat Edward comes out of that office up there.”

I ignore the harsher part of her grand statement and focus on her hurt feelings instead. “Why not? You seemed to like him.”

“Him? No way. He’s a cocky jerk who obviously fell in love with himself at a very young age. I was just using him to get away from Malcolm and to help you have some sexy time with your fruit basket. Come on. I’m serious. Let’s go.”

I cast another glance up the stairs, wishing William would appear to save the day. I totally hate myself for picturing him as a knight in shining armor. Have I not had my heart broken by other people enough times that I need to do it to myself?

“He’s a one night stand, Jennifer. Give it up. He’s not interested in a relationship.”

I want to tell her she doesn’t know that, that she doesn’t know him, but I don’t waste my time. She’s right. She’s not candy coating it, but that doesn’t make it not the truth. He answered my ad precisely because he’s that kind of guy. Yes, we are completely compatible sexually and we have a good time chatting, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to turn him into a man he isn’t … the marrying kind. Reality is what it is, and I’m not someone who can change that. No one can.

“Fine. I’m coming.” Leaving on my own terms is probably way better than being a mamby pamby whiney baby who falls into tears as William drives off into the sunset.

I slog through the writhing mass of people who quickly went back to their bumping and grinding as soon as the excitement of William’s fight died down. I refuse to look over at the bartender because I know he’ll be smirking in satisfaction. I don’t make eye contact with anyone. There’s no way I can hide the fact that I am totally and completely disappointed in how my life is working out, and the idea of seeing pity in their eyes is too unbearable in a place like this.

I wonder if the grocery store that has the pulpy orange juice is open right now.

CHAPTER TWELVE

William

I TAKE THE STAIRS TWO at a time, livid with anger not only at the gross violation of my privacy but also at myself. I should have checked for cameras. If I owned this place, that dark hallway is exactly where I’d put one. Or three.

The bouncer moves around me when we get to the top of the stairs and pushes in the combination on a keypad lock. “After you,” he says as the door swings open.

At the end of the black-painted hall is a green door. “She’s inside. I’ll be out here when you’re done. Then you have to leave.” His voice would be a lovely baritone if I weren’t so angry. Now I would describe it as having more a grim reaper quality to it. I’m quite sure the slow and steady way he carries himself is nothing to judge him by. I will not be crossing this man tonight. I’ve been fighting Edward and his enemies most of my life, but that doesn’t mean I have a death wish. Just a bit of a Galahad complex, maybe.

Edward takes offense on my behalf, laughing with irony. “Get a load of this bloke, Will, telling us to shove off after we’re done here.” He turns on the bouncer. “Right! As if we’d want to stay in this skip? Think again, dustman. Think a-gain.” He pokes the guy’s chest twice for emphasis.

I open the door before my brother can get us into any more trouble than I’ve already managed. I find myself in the entrance of a large, open office with a desk at the far side. There is a woman sitting at that desk in a high-backed leather chair and I’m not sure whether to feel sick or elated over the fact that I know her face.

“Well, well, well, would you look at who we have here,” she says. Her Cheshire Cat smile tells me she has me exactly where she wants me. I’m nervous but not cowed, worried but not yet desperate.

“Who’s this, then?” Edward asks, abandoning his harassment of the bouncer in favor of getting details on my private life. “Do you two know each other?”

“Not as well as I thought we did,” she says. Her smile turns downright evil. She is enjoying this way too much for my comfort.

I sigh heavily and face my brother. “Edward, this is Ingrid. She works as a solicitor in my building.”

“Actually it’s my building,” she says, all traces of humor gone. “Your brother works in my building. And apparently he also comes to my club in his free time.”

“Got your hands in a lot of pots, is that it?” Edward says to her, turning on the charm. “Exciting, isn’t it, Will? I love a woman with power.” He leans in closer to me and murmurs in my ear. “You think she has a torture dungeon below the club?”

She ignores him in favor of laser-beaming me with her serpentine eyes. I’m afraid to confirm whether her pupils are longitudinal instead of round.

“You asked to see me?” she says, playing the innocent.

I look at the bank of computer screens to her left. As I suspected, they’re projecting images of things happening around the club. Several of the images show dark corridors.

“I want all copies of the tape you made of the incident in the hallway.”

“Incident?” She lifts a penciled brow at me and has the goolies to smile about it. “Incident? What incident? You mean the fight? That happened at the bar, not in the hallway.”

“No, not the fight.”

Edwards nudges me. “What’s the bird squawking about?”

“Leave my office,” she says to Edward, all her innocent playfulness gone.

“Who, me?” He points to his chest. He actually sounds genuinely shocked. It’s not often he gets kicked out of anywhere.

“Yes, you. Leave.” She raises up her hand and gestures at the door. The bouncer comes in and holds it open for Edward.

“You okay?” he asks me. He sounds a bit like the younger brother I remember from our childhood. A little nervous, a little wary. Like he needs me. My protective instincts rise up like a tidal wave.

I nod, not happy at all about where this is headed. “I’ll be fine. Wait for me outside.”

Once the door is closed, Ingrid stands. She smoothes down her tight skirt and looks up to see if I’m watching. I’m not admiring her angular looks as she probably believes I am; I’m looking for my way out. I need to take possession of any recording Ingrid made of my tryst with Jennifer, and I need to get it from her without threats. Especially now that I know she’s my father’s landlord.

Good God in heaven, how do I get myself into these things? Normally it’s Edward’s doing, but this time I must take all the blame on myself. Well, not all. I shall put it mostly on myself. The rest I shall put on Jennifer’s breasts. They are not blameless in all this, let’s be honest.

“So here we are,” she says, coming around the side of her desk.

“I want the recording erased.”

“What recording?” she asks when she’s standing in front of me.

“You know what recording. Or perhaps there isn’t one. Perhaps you’re bluffing.”

She lifts up her hand and points a small remote control over her shoulder. “Oh, silly me. You mean this recording?”

A blurry image of myself on my knees worshipping Lady Jennifer pops up on the screen. Och, this is not good. My father will have an absolute cow and a goat. The reputation of the firm will be in tatters. How can an irresponsible numbskull like me be trusted with such a huge amount of responsibility and investor funds? This is not good. Not good at all.

“Yes, that recording. Erase it.” I clench my teeth together to keep from saying the wrong thing. This woman is horrible. She’s enjoying this. I wonder if her jaw unhinges and if I should keep more space between us, just in case.

“I don’t know …” She’s taunting me. “I do like the steamy stuff. I might keep it for my personal collection.” She takes a step closer. “What do you think about that?”

I take a step back. “I think that it would be a very unwise decision on your part.”

She shrugs. “How so? The way I see it … I get not only a few hot scenes to help me work off a little steam, but I also get some insurance at the same time.” She smiles and gently taps the remote against her cheek.

I ignore the masturbation reference in favor of the other issue; the one striking fear in my heart. “Insurance? For what?”

“Anything I want.” She rests the top of the remote under her chin. “Insurance that gives me anything I want.” She points at my chest with the remote, but says nothing else. The hard end of the plastic pushes into my skin.

“I’m not certain I understand your meaning.” Actually, I’m quite sure I do, but the idea of spending another moment of time with this viper is distasteful in the extreme. I cannot say it aloud.

“It’s very simple, William. Or should I call you Will?”

“William would do nicely. Or Mr. Stratford. That might be better. Keep it on a professional level.”

“Fine, Will. It’s very simple. I want … you. I’ve suspected it for a while, but this video confirmed that in my mind.” She smiles slyly. “I like your style. I think we could get along well together. We’re both intelligent, upwardly mobile, focused, professional, and passionate.”

I have several options here. I don’t want to be too hasty, so I run through them in my mind as quickly as possible.

One: I can run from the room screaming. That would bring the full weight of this woman’s madness down around my shoulders and those of my family. Good enough for me, not so good for everyone else I care about.

Two: I could laugh, great big chortles of gut-busting pleasure, hoping that she’ll take the hint, become dreadfully embarrassed, and turn this into one big joke we can all laugh about later. I find the likelihood of that scenario ending the way I’m dreaming to be slim to none.

Or, three: I could take her up on her offer and protect the family name and the empire my father has worked all his life to build simply by selling my soul to the devil. It’s a small price to pay, some would say. I’ve heard my employees speculating that I don’t even have one to sell.

Technically speaking, she’s right about everything she said. We’re both intelligent, focused, and upwardly mobile. I’ll have to take her word on the passionate part because I have no intention of finding out first-hand, and I might argue the professional aspect since I believe she’s in the midst of blackmailing me - something I believe the Bar frowns on - but I’m not here to turn her against me. I must do what I can to salvage the situation. And the fact is, Jennifer is gone once more. She may be still physically present in my life for a few hours, but after that I shan’t see her again. She was never mine, and she was never meant to be mine. She has been clear about that since the moment we spoke on the telephone and she refused to meet me for a coffee.

I sigh heavily and let my arms fall to my sides. “Just what exactly would your terms be, then?”

Part 3

Each part of this serial romance will be published approximately two weeks apart. Stay up to date and get a notice to your inbox when I have a new release by joining my newsletter list, located here:

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Elle Casey is a prolific American writer who lives in Southern France with her husband, three kids, and several furry friends. She writes in several genre and publishes an average of one full-length novel per month.

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OTHER BOOKS BY ELLE CASEY

NEW ADULT ROMANCE
Shine Not Burn

By Degrees
Don’t Make Me Beautiful
Rebel
Hellion
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YA PARANORMAL ROMANCE
Duality, Volume I (Melancholia)
Duality, Volume II (Euphoria)

YA URBAN FANTASY
War of the Fae: Book 1, The Changelings - FREE!
War of the Fae: Book 2, Call to Arms
War of the Fae: Book 3, Darkness & Light
War of the Fae: Book 4, New World Order
Clash of the Otherworlds: Book 1, After the Fall
Clash of the Otherworlds: Book 2, Between the Realms
Clash of the Otherworlds: Book 3, Portal Guardians
My Vampire Summer
My Vampire Fall*
Aces High (co-written with Jason Brant)

YA DYSTOPIAN
Apocalypsis: Book 1, Kahayatle
Apocalypsis: Book 2, Warpaint
Apocalypsis: Book 3, Exodus
Apocalypsis: Book 4, Haven

YA ACTION ADVENTURE
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