by Kat Addams
“I spread my legs on my bed and played with my pussy while I thought of how I fucked your face on Halloween night.”
I felt his ass clench as he pushed all of himself into me and howled like a monkey.
“Shh!” I clasped my hand over his mouth and then my own as I shuddered against him, releasing all of my tension, every last bit of it.
He collapsed on top of me, smiling and planting tiny kisses all over my face, my forehead, my lips, my neck.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now,” he groaned, slowly pulling himself out and tossing the condom into the wastebasket below his desk.
I hoped Sara wasn’t the one changing his trash bags.
“Me too. It’s a pleasure doing business with you.” I gathered myself together and hopped off of his desk. “You were … amazing out there, by the way. I mean, of course, you were amazing in here too. I’m sure you know that. But, out there, being a commando-in-chief and connecting with your employees, you have a talent for that. You should do it more often.”
“All of that? You mean, having to tell everyone what to do and delivering it in a manner so that they will actually listen effectively? If I could run away from doing this type of thing and join the circus, I would. I’m a bit tired of being the boss man.”
“Really? But you’re so good at what you do. Aren’t you happy, being Mr. Big Easy?” I wiggled back into my pantyhose and slipped my heels back on.
He sat on the edge of his desk, ran his hands through his hair, and tucked his cock back into his pants—his still-erect cock.
How is he still hard? What kind of trickery is this?
“It’s not what I wanted. Don’t get me wrong; I’m happy with my life. I have everything, and if I don’t, I could probably get it. I still feel so … empty though. I’m not passionate about my job. But I’m a Beaumont, and making rum is what is expected of me. Plus, none of my other brothers stepped up to carry on the family business. So, it’s all mine. The good parts and the not-so-good parts.” He slumped his shoulders forward and sighed.
“So, your brothers get to do … what makes them happy, I’m guessing? Did they get to choose? But you didn’t?”
“Kind of. They had other plans with their lives. But I couldn’t just leave my parents hanging like that, you know? Someone had to do it. Malcolm would have, but hell no, my parents wouldn’t have gone for that, and I wouldn’t have allowed it either.”
“Malcolm? Is he … was he … the clown? Is your brother a clown?”
“That would be him. I’m pretty sure he dressed as a clown that night to tease me.” He straightened himself up to his full height and began to arrange his things back on his desk. One of those things happened to be a picture of him and his brothers—Malcolm included.
“What do you mean?”
“As I said, I would join the circus if it wasn’t for the family business,” he said as he hung his head.
“Wait, so that wasn’t just a figure of speech? You really want to join the circus? For real, real?” I dipped my head and tilted it to the side, trying to catch his gaze.
“Yep.” He sucked in his breath and straightened his tie.
“I think that’s amazing. Shocking but amazing. A clown then? You want to be a clown?”
“Oh gosh, no! Malcolm just probably wanted to poke fun at me. I would be a magician. I’ve always liked to perform, and I’ve always liked magic. Like right now, I would love to disappear in a cloud of smoke and get the hell out of this uncomfortable situation, but I’m not that good—yet.”
“So, the condom, that really was magic.”
A wide grin spread across his face. “You liked that? Been working on that one for a while—with coins, of course.”
“Yeah, right! I bet you do that little trick with all the women you fuck on this desk. You’re Bachelor Beaumont.”
“Ugh! You read that nickname too? I swear, some of these news reporters have no shame. I’ve only fucked two women on my desk, including you. And you’re wrong about the trick. I’ve only ever tricked you—twice, I guess, if we’re going to count the phantom mask thing. No one knows about my silly childhood dream job, except of course my family. They still tease me about the magic shows I put on when I was younger … and maybe well into my teens. It hasn’t come up in years though. I suppose they all think I’ve grown up by now. I haven’t. I’d still run away and join the circus in a heartbeat.”
“I think you might be on to something with this circus thing … or, sorry, not a thing—but your talent, passion, lifelong dream.”
“You think it’s silly, don’t you?” He shoved his hands in his pockets and bounced on his heels.
“No, I don’t. I might have misjudged you a bit—but only slightly. My guard’s still up with your type. Always will be. But I do think you just gave me the theme of your holiday event.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that mean, your guard is up with my type?”
“Never mind that. Remember, it’s just business? I’m thinking for your next event, you’ll have your circus and do your voodoo magic. Voodoo Victor, conjurer of condoms!”
“A circus … yes.” His eyes lit up. “Except Voodoo Victor is a little eh. I need to be the Marvelous, Spellbinding, Fantastical, Genius Wizard of Crescent City.”
“That’s the type I was talking about. You see, you can be a magic man, but you’re still Victor Beaumont.” I pinched the skin between my brows and sighed.
Four
Victor
I told my driver to drop me off in front of the Hotel Monteleone. The air was chilled, and I didn’t want to walk in this weather, but the clients had insisted on a tour of the city. All of my non-local clients preferred to stay in the French Quarter, and I always suggested the Monteleone.
The limousine pulled up in front of the hotel where our tour guide, Cindy, was waiting.
“Mr. Beaumont! It’s good to see you again. Ready for another razzle-dazzle day of Nola magic?” Cindy asked, rubbing her palms together and grinning.
“Hello, Cindy. I’m always up for some razzle-dazzle magic. How’ve you been?” I took her wrinkled hand in mine and patted it. If I gave her my firm business handshake, she might just crumble.
“I’ve been good. My granddaughter just had her little girl, so that makes me a great-grandma now! Can you believe it? I swear, I feel like, just yesterday, I was in the hospital, having my own babies, and now, look at me. I’m a fossil!”
“Congratulations to you and your family, Cindy! And you are anything but a fossil! Why, you could razzle-dazzle your way into any man’s heart with that beautiful smile of yours.”
I made a mental note to send Cindy a bouquet, congratulating her on her new great-grandma status. Truth be told, I thought she was well over great-grandma status. If we stood outside much longer, I worried she would shrivel up and blow away.
“Are you sure it’s not too chilly out for you today? And you’re up for the walk?” I asked.
“Who said anything about a walk?” She pointed toward a row of electric scooters parked on the curb.
“Um, I thought those weren’t even legal here. They don’t look very safe.”
I could see it already. The front page of the local paper would have my death on it tomorrow. Victor Beaumont died as he traveled on an electric scooter and went headfirst into the river, snapping his spine in half.
I rubbed the back of my neck.
“Oh, fiddle! They’re safe. It’s what all the guides are using these days. And just because something isn’t legal here—yet—doesn’t mean we can’t indulge. Don’t you know what city you’re in? Anyway, the scooters certainly help with my arthritic knees. You’ll be fine, and I bet your clients will love it.” She patted me on the back.
This hundred-year-old lady was offering me encouragement.
“If you say so. I agree that they’ll certainly not forget their time here. For better or for worse. Maybe I shouldn’t buy everyone Hurricanes at lunch this time around. I don’t need any
lawsuits.”
“Good thinking.” She tapped her head and pressed her lips together.
I waved over my clients and made the usual introductions. Most of them were only slightly older than me, and all of them were surprisingly excited about our scootering adventure. That was what usually happened in New Orleans. People came to the city and lost all inhibition—mostly from my rum, but also just from being in Nola. I tugged on my jacket and shuffled my feet as Cindy explained to the group the dynamics of riding the scooters.
“So, you want to go at it slow. You don’t want to turn the handle at full power or else it’ll take off on you before you’re ready. See?” She hobbled off the two-wheeled death trap and laughed. “Easy-peasy! Now, y’all give it a try!”
I watched as my clients hopped on their scooters and zipped around the street. Their faces beamed as they got the hang of driving it.
“This is great!” Sean said. He was the eldest of the group—not including Cindy.
If Sean could ride the thing, I could ride the thing. I could usually excel at anything if I tried. I was sure this scooter business would be a piece of cake—king cake. Voodoo Victor!
“All right, Cindy, let’s start the party! Show these lovely people what New Orleans and Fleur-De-Lis have to offer!” I steadied myself on the scooter, practicing my balance before I turned it on. This would be an excellent time to remember that when I had said I excelled at everything, I was only kidding myself. I was never one for balance.
I put one foot on the scooter and tapped my other foot along for a kick-start while I watched Cindy and her fleet take off without me. My body veered to the left, and my feet stayed put on the scooter, making it look as if I were crop-dusting down Royal Street.
“You okay back there, Mr. Beaumont?” Cindy called from the lead.
“Yep. Yes. Perfectly fine!” I answered, puttering along in last place. I did not like that. Something was going to have to change.
The chill in the air beat against my cheeks as I aimed for full throttle and weaved my way around the clients and toward the front. I dodged a street dancer, a stray cat, a drunk, and—
Samantha?
There was no mistaking those long, blonde locks trailing down her back and the way she moved from one heel to the other, using her hands to talk. I knew it was Samantha from down the block.
She was standing outside of Cafe Beignet, wrapped up in a scarf three sizes too big and laughing. She wasn’t just giggling. She was full-on, slap-your-knee laughing—at a dude. His back was to me as I was coming up on them fast. I tried to veer across the street, but old man Sean cut me off. I was forced to ride past her. I gripped my handlebars and gave it full-speed ahead. I planned to whizz by her as fast as I could, leaving my cologne hanging in the air to mark my territory. Unfortunately, today was not my day because, as I’d said, I couldn’t fucking balance.
“Victor?” Samantha called as I passed by with my chest puffed out and my abs tucked in.
Everything was going smoothly and would have continued to go smoothly if she hadn’t noticed me. But the second her eyes locked on mine, I knew I was in trouble. My butt was sticking out too much on the left to keep me from losing balance and toppling over, and with her and the little man friend distracting me, it was all too much. My ass hit a streetlamp, causing me to thrust my hips forward, lose my balance, and howl out in pain like a dying coyote—or even worse, a dying female coyote.
I could see my clients and Cindy up ahead, trudging along and oblivious to me, Victor Beaumont.
What the fuck?
“Oh my gosh, Victor! Are you okay?” Samantha rushed to my side.
Her blonde hair framed her face as she leaned over me, putting her hand over her mouth. I didn’t know if she was shocked or about to burst out in laughter.
“Hey, man. That was a nasty wipeout you had there. You okay, bud?” her man friend asked, holding his hand out to help me up.
I gritted my teeth and took it.
Bud? Does he have any idea who he is talking to?
“Oh, yeah, sure. I’m fine. Just a little tumble. Nothing I can’t handle.” I brushed myself off and clenched my jaw. My ass felt like it had been ramrodded by a pole … or a streetlamp.
“Are you sure? That looks really painful.” Samantha stepped in closer to me, lowering her voice. “I mean, I just saw your ass play Whac-A-Mole with that lamp—and you whacked it pretty hard.”
Whack. Hard. My dick thickened. Yep, I am back in Samantha Land.
“I’m fine. Really,” I repeated, picking up my scooter and trying to get the hell out of there before she—or he—noticed my junk bulging in my pants. I didn’t need any more embarrassment.
“Okay,” she said.
“Okay. It was good to see you.” I regained my composure and took off at a snail’s pace.
My team was stopped ahead at the street corner. They must have finally caught on that I, Victor Beaumont, the guy they were here to meet, wasn’t with them anymore. I rolled up to them with my plastered-on fake smile.
“Sorry! I saw someone I knew and had to take a quick moment to say hi. I didn’t want to be rude. Carry on!” I gave them my best business smile as we continued on our way.
Sara picked up on the first ring.
“Sara,” I said. “Hey! I need you to send me the contact info for Samantha Masson.”
“Okay … just her number or address or—” she stammered.
“Everything. Just text it over now, please. And thanks! Have to run. Meetings.”
I hung up before she could respond. We had finished up lunch, and after I’d eaten an entire muffuletta, an order of beignets, and two scoops of ice cream, I’d noticed I was eating my feelings. Feelings, me. Something wasn’t right here. I was having the Mondayest Monday ever.
I slid my phone back into my pants pocket as we hopped on the scooters yet again and made our way to a candy shop. Of course, after all that food, no one could pass up pralines—including me. I wanted to stuff my face with candy, possibly stuffing the feels back down where they belonged—deep down inside me and out of sight.
“Wow, you really are magic. Appearing out of nowhere and vanishing just as quick,” Samantha said as soon as I walked through the door to the candy shop.
My jaw dropped as I quickly pulled my jacket around my gut. I remembered I’d left the top button of my trousers open after I feasted too much at lunch. This wasn’t sexy. It would be at least a week before this bloat left and I was my former ripped self.
“Samantha! What are you doing here?” I asked. My voice was two times too high, like I had just hit puberty and was trying to hide a boner. True story.
“What am I doing here? I’m buying candy and heading home. I live in the area. What about you? I know you don’t live anywhere near here.”
I nodded toward my clients, who were already checking out with a basketful of goodies. “I have clients in from Memphis today. I’ve had to do the usual touristy stuff, which brings us to this place.”
“Oh, I see. So, that’s why you were hauling ass on that scooter earlier. Sounds like you’ve had a fun day.”
I looked around the shop, but Dude wasn’t here with her. “You can say it’s been fun. But I’ve had better business meetings.”
She sighed, bringing her hand to her collarbone. “I’m sure you have.”
“Speaking of business meetings, how’s the circus?” I straightened my posture as I caught sight of Sean looking back at me.
“It’s coming along. I have a few ideas. Do you think you can get Sara to schedule a time to meet with me?”
“Why can’t you ask me?”
She stepped closer to me and whispered, “Because every time we meet, we tend to fuck.”
Yep, my cock was growing again. I picked up a bag of treats and held them out in front of me, trying to cover my shame—and admittance to her being right. I was already ready and willing for her.
“Huh. Well, how about we meet in public? We can’t do that in public, ca
n we?” My voice hit another high note. Fucking Monday. I was not on my A game today.
“I don’t know. We did it in the guest house, right out there in the open living room. Then, we did it on your desk. So, next time—”
“There’s a next time?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you did.” I brushed against her as another customer made his way around me.
She caught her breath. Goose bumps trailed up her arm where we touched.
“So, this business meeting—and I mean just that, a business meeting—when are you free?”
“Tonight. I mean, later tonight. Too soon?”
“No, I need it ASAP.”
“You do?” I grinned.
“Damn it, Victor. I need my questions answered, not the other …” She folded her arms across her bouncy chest.
I saw her internal struggle. She needed the other.
“Okay, how about this? Meet me at the Carousel Bar in Hotel Monteleone at eight thirty. I’ll be done with the client dinner then, and we can discuss your business over a drink or two. Sound good?”
“You told me a public place. You want to meet me at a hotel?”
“It’s not like that,” I lied. “My clients are staying there. It’s in your area and also easiest for me. Besides, have you been to the Carousel Bar? Total inspiration for this circus we are throwing.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Okay. But it’s just business.”
“It’s just business,” I repeated. If I kept telling myself that it was only business, maybe I would believe it too.
My eyes followed her as she walked out the door. She hadn’t even made a purchase. I must have made her too flustered to think or too annoyed to care. I filled my basket with enough candy for a small family and made my way to the counter. I quickly paid for my items and rushed out the door in hopes of catching one last glimpse of her walking away.
“Another client?” Ms. Cindy raised her eyebrows.
“Not exactly. She does work for me though. She’s my event planner.” I unwrapped a praline and shoved the whole thing in my mouth before hopping on the scooter.
