Code-Switching

by Zena Wynn

  Catherine rose and moved so she stood in front of me. “How the hell did you manage to hide all of this?” She ran her finger down the sleeves on my arms and glossed over the ink on my chest. Her touch made my nipples tighten and dick hard.

  “I wear suits, always,” I said. She wasn’t the only one who knew how to code-switch. I’d been doing it all my life.

  Catherine circled around to my back and traced each tat. I flexed my muscles, like a peacock trying to attract a female. Catherine might be attracted to my metrosexual standards, but Tikki would be drawn to the hard-core biker underneath.

  “These are incredible. Who does your ink?” she said.

  “I have a brother who’s good with the irons. He’s an artist and has a shop in Queens. Royce is always booked, but if you want in, I can get you to him.” If she allowed it, I’d have my name tattooed on her so everyone would know whose property she was. We could get matching ink. Turning to face her, I asked, “What about you? You got ink? Let me see it.”

  She undid the single button holding her blazer together and allowed it to slide down her arms to the couch. Catherine wasn’t wearing a bra, and her pointed little nipples stood at attention. She was in the process of turning when my gaze fell on her arm.

  “Wait!” I lifted my hand and gently stroked the bruise forming. “Did that fucker, Manning, do this?”

  She glanced down. “Yeah.”

  “Camera or no, I should have stumped his ass into the carpet for putting his hands on you,” I said.

  Catherine placed her palms flat on my bare chest. “I handled it.”

  I cupped her face with both hands, cradling her jaw. “Yes, you did. Watching you kick the shit out of him gets me hard every time I think of it.” Leaning forward, I brought our lips together.

  It started out tender because, hey, I can be a gentleman when the situation called for it. Soon, soft and gentle wasn’t enough. I gathered her close enough that her unbound breasts pressed against my chest. She sank into me and I deepened the kiss. Catherine moaned as I stroked her back and hips, and her hands did some roaming of their own. When we broke apart, we both sucked in air like we’d spent the last few minutes under water.

  “Thought you wanted to see my ink,” she panted.

  “I do.” I brought my hand up and slowly cupped one breast, giving her plenty of time to object. She didn’t and I stroked the nipple with my thumb. I wanted my mouth here. “Don’t suppose you need to take this off for me to see it?”

  Her grin was pure Tikki as she twisted around and presented her shoulder blade. I studied the tat. It was good, but my guy was better. Facing me again, she lifted the bottom of her gold camisole to just below her breasts. There was more ink on her upper ribcage. I traced it with a fingertip, aware of how close my finger was to the soft mound of her breast. “Nice. Any others?”

  She caught my free hand in hers and pressed it against her upper thigh, in the indent hidden by her pants. “I have one here.” Turning, she pointed to her lower back, below the waistband of her pants. “Another here, and a small one on my left ankle.”

  Placing my hands on her waist, I slid them up under her camisole, stopping just below her breasts. I nibbled my way down her neck, beginning with the soft skin behind her ear, and continued until I reached her shoulder. Catherine relaxed, letting me support her weight, and tilted her head to the side.

  I kissed her nape. “I want my name tattooed right here.” The urge to slide out her hair pins and loosen her hair was strong. I’d never seen it down, but I knew it would be beautiful.

  “Like property?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” I turned her to face me. “My property. When are you going to marry me?”

  She stared at me, her expression suddenly guarded. “I never said I was.”

  I straightened. What the hell?

  “I’ll be your old lady. We can screw each other’s brains out until it gets old, but marriage?” Catherine shook her head as she slid her arms around my neck. One hand played with the hair on my nape as she lifted for a kiss.

  Removing her arms from around me, I stepped back, creating distance between us. “No.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  I reached for my t-shirt and put it on, not caring that it was inside out. I followed with my shirt, which I left hanging open. “In the words of Beyoncé, I like it and I’m going to put a ring on it. Until I do, no dick for you.” I was a fucking poet when I wanted to be.

  “What? You’re shitting me,” she said, her voice pure Spanish Bronx.

  “Nope.” I slid on my suit jacket and put my tie in my pocket.

  “You must think your dick’s the shit.” Catherine looked ready to fight.

  I caught her to me and kissed the breath out of her again. “I don’t think. I know.” After dropping another quick kiss on her parted lips, I said, “I’ll see myself out.”

  Before I changed my mind and gave into the temptation she represented, I strode for the foyer and retrieved my jacket from the closet. I took a last glance before leaving to see her standing there, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face.

  I winked. “Don’t forget to lock up.”

  The door closed on the sound of her curses.

  Chapter Twelve

  Zach

  I walked into the office, feeling on top of the world. After a weekend relaxing with my MC brothers, I was once more ready to conquer the corporate jungle. The Scarsdale account was long gone. I still wasn’t sure we’d ever been in the running.

  Sure, we could report Manning’s behavior to his management but doing so might not place us in the best light. Bottom line, the advertising world was still male-dominated at its highest echelons, run by the Old Boy network. They might not see a problem with his behavior.

  “Marisa, is Catherine in?” I asked our Admin.

  “Of course. I got here at seven-thirty, and she was already entrenched. Probably been here an hour or more,” Marisa said, grinning wryly.

  I glanced at my watch. It was seven forty-five. Usually, I was in the office by seven but decided to stop for coffee and muffins at a bakery Catherine and I favor. “I got you a caramel latte and a blueberry muffin,” I told her, setting the items on her desk.

  Marisa grinned widely. “Best. Boss. Ever. My thighs will hate me later but thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  Marisa Russo was an Italian-American woman in her forties. She abounded with plump curves but it looked good on her. Men flirted with her all of the time.

  “Tell Tony I said, ‘You’re welcome.” I laughed as I strode toward Catherine’s office.

  Tony was Marisa’s very Italian husband. He had definite ideas of how he wanted his wife to look and complained every time she mentioned the words diet and weight loss.

  “You’re as bad as him,” Marisa muttered, but her eyes danced because she knew her appeal. “Oh, D. B. Graham wants to meet with you and Catherine in the executive conference room at ten.”

  I paused and turned. “D. B.? I have a meeting with a client at nine-thirty.”

  “I’ve already rescheduled it for after lunch,” she said.

  “Remind me to give you a bonus,” I said as I continued towards my goal.

  Marisa sighed and pouted sadly. “That’s what you always say but the money never appears in my paycheck.”

  After a brief knock, I entered Catherine’s office without waiting for an invitation. She sat at her desk surrounded by paperwork and files, and glanced up with a frown.

  “I heard a rumor Omnicom might be interested in outsourcing some of their marketing. I called one of my sorority sisters who works for them, and she confirmed it was true. They haven’t gone public yet with the announcement, so if we put something together, we might be able to make a preemptive bid,” she said.

  Thoughts of flirting with her were immediately put on hold as my business instincts took over. “If we could get Omnicom Group, that would more than make up for Scarsdale. Their advertising budget is huge.”

/>   “I know. Clarisse gave me an idea of what they’re looking for. I don’t think we should share this with the team. Let’s come up with a concept and target budget first. We don’t want word getting out. What’s that?” She motioned to the drink tray and bag in my hand.

  “Breakfast.” I set the items on her desk, took off my jacket, and pulled up a chair. “Let me see what you’ve got.”

  We poured over documents and brain-stormed for the next two hours, only to be interrupted by Marisa’s meeting reminder.

  As we rode the elevator upstairs to where the top executive offices were housed, Catherine asked, “Do you know what this meeting is about?”

  “Not a clue.”

  She smoothed her clothes and used the mirrored glass of the elevator wall to check her appearance.

  “You look wonderful. No need to be nervous,” I said.

  Catherine shot me a frown. “Making sure everything on my person is in order is not a sign of nervousness. I can never forget that I’m a double minority and as such, have to work twice as hard as everyone else.”

  “What you are is a Harvard graduate with a Master’s degree who has made this company a shitload of money,” I growled, infuriated with the way she saw herself.

  She patted my arm. “You keep telling yourself that, white boy.”

  The elevator doors opened before I could respond.

  We walked into the executive conference room, the last to arrive. At the head of the table was Graham, Berkley-Adams’ Chief Executive Officer. Next to him was Kline, the Chief Financial Officer. The rest of the table was filled with members from the Board of Directors. They’d left two seats at the end of the table open for us.

  I held Catherine’s chair for her as she sat, released the button on my suit jacket, and settled beside her. We both assumed the same attentive pose as we gave Graham our full attention.

  “I’ll come straight to the point. It’s been brought to our attention that on Friday night, you assaulted a client—” Graham began.

  “Potential client,” I interrupted. “A man who was just dicking us around for what he could get out of the expense account. A man whose behavior towards Catherine caused him to be walked out of the restaurant in handcuffs by New York’s finest.”

  Kline glanced at Catherine. “Is this true, Ms. Brown?”

  “Yes,” she said calmly. “Mr. Manning suggested we swap favors—me in exchange for a contract with Scarsdale. I declined.”

  “When she said no, Manning got handsy. Not only did a waitress witness the assault, but the footage was caught on security camera. The police reviewed it and determined that anything that happened afterwards was self-defense,” I added, pissed Catherine was sitting here having to defend herself.

  Kline glanced at Graham. “I see.”

  Cunningham banged his fist on the table. “That’s not the point. You’d think a woman with your background would have found a more discreet way to handle things. Manning comes from a respected family in this city. The Scarsdale account would have brought millions to this company.”

  “A woman with my background?” Catherine repeated, her tone noticeably cooler.

  Cunningham waved a hand, indicating her body, while his bushy white eyebrows drew together over faded blue eyes. “You grew up in the Bronx. Your mother’s a stripper. You had your first child at age twelve. You can’t tell me a woman like you doesn’t know how to handle a man who makes a simple pass.”

  Every cell in my body froze. Jamie was Catherine’s son? It all made a strange sort of sense.

  “At the age of eleven, I was raped by a man who refused to stop when I said no. So, you’ll have to forgive me if I’m not inclined to allow myself to be trapped in the same sort of situation again, no matter who that man is.” Catherine stood in a controlled movement. “I’m no man’s whore. Never have been. Never will be. If that’s the type of woman you gentlemen want, you can take this job and shove it where the sun don’t shine.”

  Cunningham and a few of the other Board members sputtered in outrage. Kline and Graham winced.

  Catherine snatched her notepad and cellphone off the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an office to clear out.”

  I caught her wrist and used it to hold her in place as I stood. “That sentiment goes for both of us. Consider this my resignation notice.”

  Linking our fingers together, I led her out of the room. We both ignored the mutters and shouts we left in our wake. We took the stairs rather than wait for the elevator.

  On one of the landings, she stopped and looked at me. “You just quit your job. Have you lost your mind?”

  I tugged her into my arms and held her to me with one hand at her nape and the other around her waist. “No. Fuck this place. You mean everything to me. Haven’t you figured it out yet? We’re ride or die, baby. Ride or die.”

  She cupped my cheek and sighed dramatically. “You’re crazy as fuck, you know that? You’ve given me no choice. I have to marry you now.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “Really? Why now?”

  Catherine shrugged. “Love, I never really understood, but loyalty and respect? Hell yes, I’ll be your ride or die for life.”

  I planted a quick kiss on her mouth and then dragged her down the stairs behind me.

  “Hey! What’s the rush?” she asked, laughing breathlessly as she ran to keep up with me.

  “We’re going to get the marriage license now before you change your mind,” I said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tikki

  Five days later, I waited with my butt propped on Axel’s desk for Ma to give the signal. Today was my wedding day. Once we’d secured the marriage license, Zach hadn’t been willing to wait any longer than necessary for the ceremony. The other old ladies had been horrified at the lack of decorations. They’d sent me back here to cool my heels while they remedied the situation.

  “You sure you want to marry this guy?” Jamie asked.

  I glanced up from contemplating my freshly done nails to see him watching me. He wore a pair of new jeans and a screen print t-shirt of some band he liked. I could tell by the stiff way he moved that he hadn’t completely healed from the gunshot wound.

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” I became more certain every day that this thing between Zach and me was meant to be. “Didn’t you give Zach your approval?”

  Zach had said since I didn’t have an old man, he would get the kid’s permission. I’d thought it was cute.

  Jamie shifted uncomfortably and toyed with something on his pants. His gaze bounced everywhere but me. “Yeah, I said it was okay. Does he know I’m your kid?”

  Both of my eyebrows rose to my hairline as I stared at him. “Yeah, he knows. How’d you?”

  He glanced at me, then away, and jerked his shoulders in a shrug. “I heard you and Ma arguing one night when I was six.” Finally, he met my gaze. “I kept waiting for you to say something, but you never did.”

  My eyes steady on his, I said, “I was waiting for you to get older.”

  Jamie scowled, and it was like looking in a mirror at myself. “I’m almost fourteen.”

  “I know how old you are. I was there, and I still say you’re not mature enough to understand the shit that went down. You know the most important piece—I love you and won’t ever let anything bad happen to you, if I can help it,” I said.

  He hunched his shoulders and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I wanna meet my dad.”

  A snort escaped my throat before I could stop it. “Not happening, kid.”

  This boy had the nerve to glare at me. “Why not?”

  “Because he’s in the PEN and if I ever see that fucker again, I’ll stick a knife in him.” When Jamie’s face fell, I added, “And that right there is why I said you’re not mature enough to know this shit. Don’t go building fairytales and rainbows about your sperm donor and me. I’m twenty-six. Do the fucking math. I was twelve when I had you. Younger than you are now.”

  He flinched and looked at me with te
ars in his eyes. I sighed, stood, and walked over to put my hands on his shoulders. “Look, I will forever hate the ground your father walks on because of what he did to me, but one good thing came out of it—you. I wouldn’t trade you for all the gold in Fort Knox. So, whatever thoughts are going through your head, stop it. When I discovered I was pregnant, I had the opportunity to get rid of you. Hell, everyone told me it was the right thing to do. I was too young to be a mother. I had no way of supporting you. I deserved the chance to be a kid. I listened to the advice, took everything they said into consideration, and decided to have you anyway. You know why?”

  I had his full attention now. “No, why?”

  “Because you don’t blame the child for what the parent did. You and me? We were innocent. I didn’t see having you as punishment for what happened. You were a gift, and you don’t destroy something precious just because you don’t like the way it was delivered. You get me?” I stared hard into his eyes, seeing if anything I said was getting through.

  He sniffed and nodded. “Yeah, I understand.”

  “One day, when you’re older, you and I will sit down and have that talk. You can ask all the questions I see buzzing around in that brain of yours. Okay?”

  “Yes.”

  I ruffled his hair. “We done here, or you got another surprise you want to spring on me?”

  “Can I call you Mom?”

  Grinning, I rolled my eyes. “Whatever floats your boat. Call me Tikki or Mom. Either way, doesn’t change who I am.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” He hugged me tight. I held him and blinked back tears. It felt good to finally have everything out in the open.

  “They’re ready for you out front,” Ma said from the doorway. I wondered how long she’d been standing there. “Jamie, go take your place.”

  “Okay.” He gave me a grin and left the office.

  “Zach’s a good man. He reminds me a lot of your father. I’m happy for you,” Ma said.