by Marie Force
I take a seat across from Aileen, who offers a warm, welcoming smile. She’s the sweetest person, always happy and willing to lend a hand where needed. We all love her, but no one more so than Kristian, who is positively gone over her—and her kids. The love circulating in the air around here has given me hope that it might happen for me someday. Hopefully, long after I get to take a spin or two around the bedroom of a hot-as-fuck lawyer who doesn’t realize yet that I’m exactly what he needs to lighten up a bit.
“Thanks for coming in, you guys,” Addie says.
I immediately notice that the always-unflappable Addie seems seriously flapped.
“What’s wrong?” Dax asks.
“I’m freaking out,” Addie confesses. “I told Hayden I didn’t want a wedding planner overseeing our big day, and I’ve seen to everything myself, but I keep waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat and riddled with anxiety that I’ve missed something critical, like food or booze or something. I was hoping you guys could go over everything and double-check me.”
The most organized human being on the planet—hell, in the universe—wants my help? I’m in.
She hands out packets that contain detailed plans for the wedding that will take place at the Napa Valley winery owned by the Quantum partners. Pushing aside all thoughts of Emmett and licking, I focus exclusively on the information on the page, reading every word as the others do the same.
While we read, Addie paces.
Food, check. Booze, check. Flowers, check. Tent, check. Arbor built from grapevines for the ceremony, check. Tables and chairs and linens and centerpieces, check, check, check and check. Lodging for the entire Quantum group, check, including room assignments that I don’t look at too closely, but I will later. You can bet on that.
“Music,” I say, breaking the long silence. “Where’s the music?”
Addie stops pacing to stare at me. “It’s in there.”
“Where?”
She comes to me, leans over my shoulder and sifts through the papers twice before letting out a shriek. “I forgot the fucking music?”
My first impulse is to try to calm her, but she’s already around the bend from freaked out and is heading toward nuclear meltdown. The others realize it, too, and immediately spring into action.
“Who do we know?” Lori asks.
“Um, everyone?” Aileen says, her tone calm and controlled, which is what we need. “Who do you want, Addie? We are rather well-connected around here.”
Addie is like a deer in high beams. “I, um, I don’t even know who to ask.”
“Let us take care of it,” I say, as the others nod in agreement. “Tell us what kind of music you want, we’ll figure it out for you and get someone great.”
“It’s next weekend.”
“It’s Hayden Roth,” I remind her, as if she needs a reminder of who she’s marrying or that he’s the most celebrated director of his generation. I’m counting on the fact that just about anyone would kill to play at his wedding.
“Um, I’m almost afraid to ask,” Aileen says, “but you do have a dress, right?”
“Yes, Tenley has taken care of that,” she says, referring to her maid of honor, a top stylist to the stars.
“Oh phew,” Aileen says, smiling. “Hayden already owns a tux and so do his groomsmen, so you’re good there. What about gifts for the wedding party?”
Addie’s eyes bug again, and I realize it’s going to be a long day.
She’s driving me crazy. Does she think I don’t notice her staring at me or how she has a different legal question every day, none of which have anything to do with her job as Marlowe’s assistant? Two days ago, she wanted lease advice for a “friend” in New York with a landlord from hell. I’m an entertainment and corporate lawyer. What the hell do I know about leases in New York? Of course, she knows what my specialty is, but that doesn’t stop her from finding a reason to ask me some stupid daily legal question.
It doesn’t help that I want to toss her across my desk and fuck the sass right out of her. Maybe if I do that, she’ll leave me alone.
But that can’t and won’t happen for many reasons, not the least of which is the ten-year age difference between us. We celebrated her twenty-fourth birthday with a cake in the office last week, and I swear she looked right at me as she licked frosting off her finger, completely oblivious to the fact that we were in the fucking office surrounded by our fucking coworkers, including the partners who fucking employ me to keep them out of the kind of trouble I want to get into with her.
She’s twenty-four. I keep telling myself that puts her firmly off limits. She’s young, naïve, inexperienced, vanilla and thoroughly out of her league with the likes of me.
Her best salvo yet came yesterday when she brought in the company handbook and asked for a clarification on the fraternization policy. Does she think I can’t see right through her game? She came around my desk and leaned over me to point out the area that had her confused: Employees must seek the written approval of their supervisor before embarking on a romantic relationship with a fellow employee, and no employee shall date or otherwise fraternize with an employee under their direct supervision.
“Does that mean I need Marlowe’s approval before I date someone from the office?”
“Yes,” I’d said through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the press of her breast into my shoulder. “That’s what it means. And your potential date needs to do the same. Now can I get back to work?” Who the hell is she thinking about dating anyway? And why the fuck do I care? Whoever it is, I pity the fool. She’d be a handful for the most patient of men.
“Is there a form or something we have to fill out before we embark on our relationship?”
“An email will suffice,” I told her, my patience nonexistent where she’s concerned. I had fourteen million things to see to on behalf of the five people who pay me a king’s ransom to oversee their legal matters, and all I wanted to do was strip Marlowe’s assistant naked and have my wicked way with her right there on my desk.
That’s not how I roll. I’m a consummate professional. I value my job and friendships with my employers, both of which are the most important things in my life.
In this era of enhanced scrutiny on workplace behavior, I have no time or tolerance for a twenty-four-year-old troublemaker who wants to walk on the wild side. She can find someone else to go wild with.
Except… I no sooner have that thought than I’m filled with unreasonable rage at the idea of any other man’s hands on her sweet, lithe body. When I first met her, I wasn’t immediately attracted. No, that special treat came later, when I saw her in a bikini at Flynn’s house and realized she was hiding a smoking body under conservative work clothes that don’t begin to do her justice. Since then, I’ve made an effort to keep my mind—and my eyes—from wandering in directions they shouldn’t go.
But when she was leaning over me, pressing a small but plump breast to my shoulder as she pointed out “inconsistencies” in the policy I drafted myself, it was damned hard to ignore her.
She’s baiting me intentionally. I get it. She’s set her sights on me because I’m one of two guys in our group who’re still single after the love bug set off an epidemic of happily ever afters among our friends. Sebastian would squash her like a proverbial bug, so she probably sees me as the “safer” alternative to big, dark, broody Sebastian.
Little does she know that I have a wild side of my own, and if I ever let it loose on her, she’d run screaming for her young life. Part of me would enjoy that. A lot. But it’s not going to happen.
Yesterday, it was the fraternization policy. Today, it was an invite for after-work drinks. What will tomorrow bring? As much as I wish she’d go away and leave me alone, I find myself wondering what she’s got planned for me next.
Chapter 2
I watch a lot of Judge Judy these days, trolling for things I can bring to Emmett for legal advice. I’m not proud of this strategy, but as I watch a former couple du
ke it out over who gets custody of their poodle, I begin to formulate my next plan. A guy I dated in New York borrowed my original copy of Abbey Road and never gave it back to me. The album belonged to my grandfather, who gave it to me before he died. I want it back. I’m going to ask Emmett to write a letter on scary-looking lawyer letterhead and send it to the guy for me.
From my sofa after work, I make a few calls on behalf of Addie’s last-minute search for a wedding band. I’m thinking about what to make for dinner when Natalie calls.
“What’s up?” I ask my former roommate, who has become one of my closest friends despite the fact that we’re as different as two people can be.
“We’re throwing together a last-minute cookout, if you’re interested.”
“That sounds fun. What can I bring?”
“I could use some more white wine, but I have everything else.”
“I’m on it.”
“Bring your suit to swim. It’s still seventy-five.”
“Be there shortly. Thanks for the invite.”
“See you soon.”
Another thing I love about living in LA and being part of the Quantum family are the regular gatherings that are always so much fun. For reasons I prefer not to think about, I had complicated relationships with my peers growing up and even into college, so I’ve never been part of a group like this one. Being friends with these people is a whole other level of cool. They’re all so accomplished and smart and talented. I often feel like a wannabe in their midst, but that hasn’t stopped me from gleefully joining their group, and I’m especially gleeful at the thought of seeing Emmett. Maybe he’ll be shirtless. Drool.
Natalie has been incredibly generous and supportive of me as I made the move to LA and started a whole new life. I’ve never once felt alone or lonely in my new city thanks to her and Flynn and their amazing friends, who made me feel right at home from the beginning. Marlowe has also been so good to me, making sure I’m included in everything that goes on.
She doesn’t have to do that. I mean, I’m her employee, after all, but she treats me more like a girlfriend, and I really appreciate that. Sometimes I still can’t believe that the woman whose movies I’ve adored since I was a teenager is now my boss and my friend. For someone who hasn’t had a lot of girlfriends in her life, I feel like I’ve hit the girlfriend jackpot with my new friends. I hope every mean-girl bitch who tortured me in high school has heard about my fantastic new job. Fuckers.
I pack a bag with a swim suit, towel and sweatshirt, grab the big bottle of Chardonnay I bought last week, and head out of the Santa Monica condo the Quantum team made available to me after Addie moved in with Hayden. Because I do a lot of running around on Marlowe’s behalf, they even leased me a car, a red Volkswagen Beetle convertible that I absolutely love. When I say that mine is a sweet deal, I wasn’t kidding. And I haven’t even mentioned the six-figure salary and benefits that came with the job, thus my newfound affection for La Perla bras and thongs, which were way out of reach on a teacher’s salary while paying rent in New York.
Life in LA is very, very good, to say the least.
I was thrilled for Natalie when she met and fell for Flynn, but I couldn’t have begun to imagine how my life would also change along with hers. Things got crazy for Flynn and Nat—and me by extension—after she met him, and the media found out about a past she’d gone to great lengths to bury. We were surrounded by reporters and photographers at home and work, and quickly discovered that being “famous” isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Thankfully, Flynn, his security team and his hot-as-fuck lawyer swooped in to protect us both, but it had been pretty damned insane for a few weeks. After Natalie moved to LA to live with Flynn, I’d missed her and her bitchy little dog, Fluff. New York wasn’t the same without them. Then I came out to LA for their wedding, met Marlowe, and the rest, as they say in Hollywood, is right out of a movie.
The late-day traffic is daunting as I make my way to the Hollywood Hills home Natalie shares with Flynn and Fluff. She’s expecting her first child, and everyone is so excited about her baby as well as the one Ellie and Jasper are expecting. Natalie and Ellie will be great moms, but I’m so not ready for anything like babies or forever. I’ve got a lot of fun left to have before I’ll want to settle down and nest. Although, if I could nest with Emmett Burke, I might be convinced to move my timeline along.
I laugh to myself, because nesting is the least of what I want to do with him. I’d be satisfied with some hot, sweaty sex. I’m certainly not looking for anything complicated or long-term. I figure a night with him will scratch the itch I seem to have for him, and then we can both move on. The thought of shackling myself to one guy at my age is preposterous, even if I can plainly see how thrilled my friend is to be shackled to her movie-star husband. What they have is special. Anyone who knows them can see that. I hope I find that for myself someday in the far-off future. For now, I’ve set my sights on a lesser goal—one night with Emmett.
I weave through traffic, listening to Metallica at my usual earsplitting volume. I’ve never outgrown my love of metal bands, and Metallica is my all-time favorite.
When I arrive at Nat’s twenty minutes later and see Emmett’s silver Mercedes AMG among the collection of fabulous cars owned by the Quantum family, I’m giddy with excitement to know he’s here. The brand-new AMG is almost as hot as its owner with its black wheels and sleek lines. As I walk by, I let my hand brush up against it and feel a charge of power go through me that makes me shiver. If touching his car makes me shiver, I wonder what it’d be like to touch him.
I really, really want to find out.
Everything female in me gets tight and needy at the thought of sex with Emmett. I’m honestly not like this most of the time. I’ve had my share of fun with guys, but I’m never the dog in heat that I am around him. And yes, I just called myself a dog in heat, and I can’t even argue with my own description of the situation. That’s what it’s come to: pant, pant, pant. Oh, and don’t forget lick.
Knowing everyone is out back by the pool, I let myself in and walk through the kitchen on the way to the pool area. I’m a frequent visitor to Flynn Godfrey’s home—and yes, that still cracks me up nearly nine months after Natalie met him—so I know my way around. I’m close personal friends with celebrities who used to exist in some fake dream world before I got to know them as the real people they are. As I cut through the kitchen, Fluff comes running, barking and snarling until she sees it’s me.
I bend to pick her up and get hit in the face with dog breath as well as a wet, sloppy tongue. That’s what I get for all my thoughts about licking, I suppose.
“Hello, to you, too, Fluff.” I carry her outside where I put her down on the patio. She takes off running toward Natalie.
Emmett is in the pool with Flynn’s nephews, who are all over him like monkeys. I’d like to be all over him like a monkey, and it’s all I can do to tear my hungry gaze off his muscular body. From the looks of it, if he’s not at work or asleep, he must be in the gym, because the guy is built like a brick shithouse. Am I drooling? I think I might be. The sun is hitting him just right, highlighting the gold tones in his brown hair. As Flynn’s nephew Connor hits Emmett in the head with a beach ball, Emmett cracks up laughing and spins around, his melted-chocolate brown eyes connecting with mine in a moment of hyperawareness that I feel everywhere.
I’m dumbstruck, speechless and definitely drooling.
Natalie waves her hand in front of my face. “Earth to Leah.”
Dear God, did I just get caught gawking at Emmett in front of everyone? I take a tentative glance around to find that only Natalie—and Emmett, of course—seem to have noticed the gawking. The others are fully engaged in conversation around the bar that Flynn is tending.
“Are you okay?” Natalie asked. “You’re looking a little flushed.”
Sexual frustration will do that to a girl, not that Natalie would remember what that’s like. She’s got a perpetual freshly fucked look to her these d
ays that would fill me with envy if I didn’t love her so much. No one deserves to be happy more than Natalie Godfrey does, and I mean that sincerely. The girl lived through hell on earth to get her happily ever after with Flynn. “I’m fine,” I respond, noticing my tongue feels too big for my mouth. Is it possible for a tongue to get a hard-on? If so, my tongue is hard for Emmett, which takes me right back to inappropriate thoughts of licking.
“Come with me.” Natalie hooks her arm through mine and leads me into the house, which is cool in comparison to the warm patio. “What did I just witness out there? And don’t say it’s nothing. I know you too well.”
Living and working closely together for months in New York bonded us in an unlikely friendship. Though we have almost nothing in common, I recognized a quality friend in her from the beginning. But I can’t forget that she’s now married to one of the bosses, and if it comes down to him or me—
“Whatever it is, just tell me. I’d never tell Flynn.”
God, I want to tell someone. I need to tell someone before I do something stupid that gets me in trouble at work. “I want to lick Emmett.”
Natalie bursts into laughter. She laughs so hard that tears fill her eyes, and her face turns red. “You have such a way with words,” she says when she’s recovered enough to speak.
“I’m serious, Nat. I look at him, and all I can think about is licking him, among other things.”
“He is a rather sexy specimen.”
The thought of other women, even my very married friend, finding him sexy makes me murderous, which is also a first for me. I’ve never cared enough about any guy to be murderous on his behalf. “You’ve got your own sexy specimen.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t spot another when I see one, and Emmett definitely qualifies.” She crosses her arms over the gentle swell of her abdomen and leans back against the massive island in her state-of-the-art kitchen. “How long has this licking situation been going on?”
