by LK Farlow
“So, she’s being mean to you on the internet because you botched her pictures?”
Red colors my vision at this man’s nerve. Luckily, our waitress appears, saving me from tearing him a new one in front of all of the other patrons.
“Hello, I’m Shain, and I’ll be taking care of y’all today. Our specials are—”
Mr. Williams cuts her off with a wave of his beefy hand. “We’ll each take a vodka soda. I’ll have the filet, and she’ll have the green salad.”
I bristle. “Actually—”
He waves his paw of a hand through the air again, this time shooing our waitress away.
“I wanted a steak as well,” I tell him.
“Gotta watch that figure,” he replies, and I clench my fists. This man is an imbecile. “Now, the thing is, doll-face, this lady has the right to free speech. You can’t stop her from saying how she feels. Even if it hurts your feelings.”
I place my palms flat down on the table, glaring at him as I speak, barely keeping my anger in check. “It is far more than my feelings being hurt, Mr. Williams. This is slander—no, this is libel. She is after me with a pitchfork when all I’ve done is upheld a contract we both signed.”
Licking his lips, he looks me up and down, his eyes trailing over me in a way that leaves me feeling dirty. “I’ll tell you what, I think I can make this whole thing go away.”
His sudden change in attitude gives me pause. “Okay…” I say hesitantly. “How?”
“I’ll need my retainer plus a little something extra. A favor of sorts.”
Red flags wave and alarm bells blare in my mind. “A favor?”
He shoots me a predatory grin. “An oral favor.”
It takes my all not to gag. This man truly is deplorable. “Are you asking me to suck your dick in return for professional services?” I shove my chair back and stand, not giving time to answer. “You’re disgusting!”
“Now, hold on!” He pushes back and stands as well, reaching for me.
I turn to flee, only to run smack dab into a solid wall of…muscle. “You’re okay,” a deep, familiar voice says.
“Colton?” I say, tilting my head a fraction of an inch to look at him.
“Let’s go,” he murmurs down to me, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard.
And just this once, instead of arguing with him, I allow him to slide his arm around my waist and guide me out of the steakhouse.
9
Colton
I’m still shaking with rage as I guide Ashley out of the restaurant and to my car. The mere sight of them seated together at the small two-seater table was enough to have me grinding my teeth, but hearing that cocksucker actually proposition her had me wanting to send his face through the fucking tabletop—with my fist.
“Where are we going?” she asks, her head swiveling back toward her car as I bypass it in favor of mine.
“Give me a minute,” I reply through clenched teeth, opening the passenger door of my coupe to allow her entry.
I take a few calming breaths before joining her.
“Colton, you’re kind of freaking me out,” she says as I start the car and pull out into traffic, all without speaking. “Seriously, blink once if you’re okay and twice if you’re not.”
At the red light, I give her two slow blinks.
“Okay.” She draws out the word, her uncertainty evident. “Elaborate a little, please?”
“I told you he was a snake.” The words leave my mouth on a choppy exhale.
“Yes, you did,” Ashley says slowly. “What were you doing there?”
I glance at her from the side of my eye. Dressed in a white, form-sitting dress topped with a black blazer, she looks like a secretary—you know, if your secretary is sexy as hell, with candy-colored hair and pouty lips that love to sass you, so you fuck her from behind over your desk as punishment.
Hell, that exact scenario is probably what Douchebag Danny was hoping for. Over my dead fucking body.
“I was there for you.”
“There for—who has stalking tendencies now, Mr. Banks?”
I offer her a tight grin. “Call me Colton.”
Ashley tips her head back and laughs, the sound soft and lilting. “How generous of you.”
“Smartass.” I drive us toward the city limits, feeling lighter than I have in a long, long time.
As we move further away from Cottonwood, the scenery changes, going from stately homes and manicured lawns to boarded-up shotgun houses and dry, weed-choked grass. “Where are we going?” she asks again.
I pull off the road and park along the curb. “You see that house?” I ask, tipping my chin toward a little hovel with peeling blue paint, a busted-out-and-tarped front window and leaning front steps.
“What about it?”
“That’s where I grew up.”
She doesn’t reply right away, but the widening of her eyes betrays her thoughts.
After a considerable pause, she asks, “Why are you showing me this?”
I drum my fingers on my plush, leather-wrapped steering wheel. “You were right—we got off on the wrong foot. This is me…trying to make amends.”
“Not that I’m unappreciative, but how does bringing me here do that?”
I was hoping she’d get it without me having to spell it out. Foolish, because luck has never been on my side. Just like I had to crawl my way out of poverty, I’m going to have to fight tooth and nail to get Ashley to see me as anything other than heartless.
The question is when did I start caring about how she sees me—and why?
“Most people, you included, see me as an asshole. Arrogant. Cruel.” I force a humorless laugh. “Hell, I am those things. But I’m more, too. I’m the son of two blue-collar mothers who worked five jobs combined to keep that shitty roof over our heads and cheap-ass food on the table. I’m the first in a long line to obtain a high school diploma, much less a Juris Doctor in law. People see my nice car and my expensive suits and assume I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. But I wasn’t. If anything, I was born with a chip on my shoulder. I busted ass for everything I have. And, yeah, I’m more than a little jaded, but—”
Ashley’s small hand enveloping my larger one silences me mid-sentence. “Colton, I’ve always known you’re more than the mask you wear.”
“Oh, yeah? And how’s that? Did a little birdie tell you?”
She chuckles. “It’s like you have an asshole reflex.”
I flip my hand beneath hers so we’re palm-to-palm before interlacing our fingers. “Pretty much. Would you believe me if I said I’ll work on it?”
“Not even a little.”
“Fair enough.” I give her hand a squeeze before letting go and putting my M8 back into gear.
“Do your moms still live here?”
“Not in that hovel. They have a house here, but spend most of their time in Dogwood, at their beach house.”
“Ooh, fancy,” she sighs wistfully. “A beach house sounds nice.”
We both fall silent after that, until halfway back, when Ashley’s stomach rumbles loudly, reminding us both that she missed her lunch. “You wanna grab something to eat?”
She glances at the clock on my dash and then back to me. “I would, but I have a lot of editing to do. And I need to find a lawyer.”
“Let me represent you. Please, Ashley. I’ll even cut you a deal on my fees.”
She nibbles her lower lip, contemplating my offer. “Fine,” she concedes, “but no discount.”
I pull my car into a spot a few down from where she’s parked. “Stubborn woman. I’ll email over the contract. Look it over, let me know. If everything looks good, drop it off at my office?”
“Oh, I’m allowed to drop by now?”
“Ha-ha, funny girl.”
She shoots a saucy wink my way before climbing out of my car. My eyes remain glued to her as she walks toward her Subaru, only dipping down to her firm ass and long legs twice.
10
A
shley
I decide to take Colton at his word and drop by the following day with the signed copy of his contract. However, I also have a tray of cupcakes I baked last night before bed, to temper his asshole reflex.
When I walk into his office, he’s in the middle of a phone call. He’s using his lawyer voice, and I’m not going to lie, the commanding tone is making my panties a little wet.
“Unacceptable. Absolutely unacceptable.” He quiets as the person on the line has their say. His frustration is evident in the furrow of his brow and the staccato rhythm he’s beating out with his pen against the wood of his desk.
“The answer was no the first time, it is no this time, and it will be no every time you ask in the future. You know our terms, and we’re unwilling to move on this.” More silence ensues, followed by, “Then I guess we’ve said all we need to say.”
Colton ends the call and shifts his attention to me. “Ashley.”
“Sorry to barge in,” I say, lifting my right shoulder in a semi-shrug as I test the waters of our newly forged friendship.
He waves his hand dismissively. “No worries. That call was inconsequential. What brings you by?”
I set the confection-housing-container down onto the coffee table and slide the contract from my purse. “Wanted to give you these.”
He takes the papers from my outstretched hand, quickly scanning the pages. “Glad to see you came to your senses.”
“You sure are packing a lot of ego, Mr. Banks.” My focus dips below his belt; I wonder what he’s packing there? I slowly bring my gaze back to his. His pants and button down cling to his lean, muscular physique. Good glob. If the rest of him is anything to go off of, I bet he’s huge.
His cornflower eyes darken to navy pools, as if he heard my dirty thoughts.
“What’s that?” he asks, nodding toward the coffee table.
“Cupcakes.”
He nods. “Still plying me with sweets?”
I pivot around and bend to retrieve the tray. As I turn to face him, his eyes fly back up to mine. Deciding to call him on it, I ask, “Were you checking out my ass?”
Colton’s cheeks pinken as he clears his throat. “Figured I’d repay the favor.”
“Touché.” I pop the lid off and pass him a cupcake.
A sense of deep satisfaction fills me as he bites into it and groans his appreciation. “Fuck, this is delicious. What is it?”
“A cupcake.” I grin, knowing my reply will annoy him.
“The flavor, Ashley.”
“You’re too easy.” I nudge his shoulder with mine before grabbing a sweet treat for myself. “It’s strawberry with a strawberry white chocolate buttercream.”
“This is better than the muffins,” he mumbles around a bite.
I quirk a brow. “Oh, so you ate them? Interesting.”
He pops the last bite into his mouth. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“I don’t know, that seems like a high praise from the likes of you.” I do my best to look demure, twirling a strand of hair around my index finger as I bat my long, sooty lashes. “In fact, I think it’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“That smart mouth of yours—” His eyes drop to my lips as he speaks the words.
He steps closer to me, and my heart pitter-patters hard and fast beneath my breastbone. He leans in, a fraction of an inch, but it’s enough to have my breath sawing in and out of my lungs.
My skin turns to gooseflesh as Colton lifts his hand to cup my cheek, his thumb swiping over my lower lip. “You got a little frosting…” The rumble of his voice has my core pulsing with need.
And when he pops his thumb into his mouth and sucks the buttercream off, my ovaries pretty much explode, imagining it’s my cream he’s sucking from his fingers instead.
“Um. Thanks.” My voice is breathy as I step back from him, hoping like hell a little distance will calm my out of control libido.
“Right.” Colton retreats behind his desk to the relative safety of his leather swivel chair. “Why don’t you have a seat and we can talk about what’s going on.”
Like a switch has been flipped, he’s all business.
His mood swings are faster than my damn shutter speed. Nevertheless, I lower myself into the chair in front of his desk and launch into an explanation of the nightmare that landed me in this very office a month ago.
The entire time I’m speaking, Colton remains as stoic as ever. “I need you to send me a copy of your contract with her, as well as the images. Can you do that?”
“Is a link to a viewing gallery acceptable?”
“More than. Once I look over everything, I’ll give you a call.” He turns to his computer screen, clearly finished with me.
His easy dismissal stings, but I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s Colton, after all, and it seems our newly forged friendship comes with a learning curve—or maybe it’s a minefield.
11
Colton
Thoughts of Ashley have plagued me since our near-kiss last week. I wanted to kiss her; hell, I nearly did. It was pure luck she had icing clinging to her lower lip, providing me the perfect alibi.
While I wasn’t lying to her when I said she wasn’t my type, it seems perhaps my type is changing, because suddenly all I can think of is tangling my fingers in her lavender hair and feeling her long, slender legs wrapped around me. She’s become almost an obsession, which is unacceptable. Not to mention, unethical. From the minute Ashley signed her name on the dotted line, she became strictly off-limits.
I’ve never acted inappropriately with a client before, and I don’t plan to start now. However, what happens in the privacy of my own home between myself, my hand, and my very vivid imagination is fair game.
And imagine her I do as I stroke myself languidly—only in my mind, it’s her small hand wrapped tightly around my rigid cock. She pumps me once, twice, three times before leaning forward and closing her lips around the crown.
She hollows her cheeks, sucking me like it’s her God-given duty. I quicken my pace and envision her staring up at me with those green eyes of hers. “I wanna taste you, Colton.” She practically moans the words, as if the thought of getting me off gets her off.
I’m all too happy to oblige. I clutch the sheets as my hips buck, fucking my hand the way I’d like to do her pouty pink lips, until my release spills hotly across my abdomen.
Feeling calmer after my release, I soap up and rinse off in the shower before collapsing into my bed. As expected, I fall asleep to thoughts of her.
An indiscernible amount of time later, a loud noise wakes me. It takes a second for me to realize it’s the sound of someone knocking on my door. “Who the fuck?” I mumble, bleary-eyed and half asleep. I stomp down the hall toward the incessant banging, ready to tear a new one to the asshole playing my door like a drum at three o’clock in the morning.
“What?” I snarl as I fling the door open, bringing me face-to-face with someone I was sure I’d never see again—my old college flame, Kelsey Langmore. Shock at seeing her renders me speechless. It’s been nearly seven years since I last saw her.
If I’m being honest, she looks like hell. She’s rail thin, with gaunt cheeks. Her once-vibrant eyes are lifeless and her skin dull. “Long time no talk,” she rasps coolly, like we’re old friends instead of former lovers who crashed and burned in a raging dumpster fire of destruction.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice even. Our relationship was the very definition of toxic. We both sought out every string of insecurity in the other and tugged until it unraveled. We partied nightly. I was failing my classes and almost lost my scholarship.
I’ll never forget waking up in a random frat-house bedroom, butt-ass naked, sandwiched between Kelsey and her best friend, with no memory of our night together.
I worked too damn hard to get out of the shit-hole I grew up in to risk going back. I knew then and there, something had to change.
She agreed—or so I thought—only wh
ile I was busy trying to get back on the right path, she was out partying it up.
Getting my shit together was hard, really hard. But I managed. I even scored an internship. We clawed our way back from the depths of college-party hell. I thought Kelsey did, too, right up until she vanished, leaving only a note.
I haven’t seen or heard from her since. Until now.
She steps to the side, revealing a young boy. He’s a tall, gangly thing, with golden blond hair and pool-blue eyes. My heart races as bile creeps up my esophagus. Because looking at this kid is tantamount to looking at one of my childhood photographs.
“This is Cruz,” she says, pushing him toward me ever so slightly. His clothes are stained—his cheeks are, too, with what looks like a mixture of dirt and tears. My heart aches for him, and I’ve only just learned his name.
“And he is?” I ask, needing to hear her actually say it.
“Your son.” She spits the words, her tone lacking all maternal affection.
“I see.” Questions race through my brain, rapid fire. Where has she been the last seven years? Why did she hide my son’s existence from me? Is he really mine? Judging from the fact that he is my exact replica, I’m pretty sure I know the answer to that, but any lawyer worth his salt knows that DNA is king. Why are they here now?
“Could we…could we stay the night?” She shifts on her feet as she scratches at her collarbone. “I’ll be out of your hair before sun up.”
Every shred of good sense I possess is shouting at me to say no, all-caps yelling at me that this is a terrible idea. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she robbed me, judging by the way she keeps straining to see into my condo.
But there’s no way I’m turning my son away, especially when his mother looks so strung out. I know this is most likely a monumental mistake, and still, I push the door open wider and invite them in.
The following morning, I wake earlier than usual, despite my nighttime disturbance. A million and one different emotions are rioting through my body—the biggest of all, regret for not speaking a single word to my son upon meeting him last night.
