“It sucks that the heating broke, but I can’t help but be a little bit grateful that you couldn’t get in touch with the landlord,” he said, pressing his lips to hers. He meant it. The fact that she couldn’t get hold of her friend meant she was all his. “Although, I’m mad that you just intended to stay there and freeze your ass off.” He slid his hands beneath her and squeezed gently, the altered position opening her up to him. “Because I’m becoming very attached to this ass of yours.”
“There have been times I’ve wanted to tell you to kiss my ass,” Holly replied, and he pressed his cock against her core. “You know, over the last few days.”
Ryan pressed his lips to hers, kissing her firmly. “You don’t mean that.” He rose to his knees and flipped her onto her stomach. He could see the chakra symbols tattooed down her spine and ran his fingers over each one slowly before reaching the dimples just above her butt. “Plus,” he said, leaning down to kiss her, “I’d happily kiss your ass if it’s naked and presented to me like this.”
Holly looked over her shoulder and grinned.
He lay down over her, his chest to her back, his cock sitting in the cleft of her ass. The skin behind her ear was smooth as he kissed her. He moved her hair away from the nape of her neck so he could kiss her there, too. “God, you’re addictive, Holly,” he said, running his nose along her shoulder. He slid his hands beneath her hips, lifting her gently, changing the way he could press against her.
She tilted her face to his, and he rewarded the effort with a seriously long drawn-out kiss, the kind that made his toes curl at the same time his cock cried out for relief.
Holly moved her hips against him, seeking what he was more than willing to offer. He slid his hand so it sat beneath her pubic bone, his fingertips simply pressing against her clit. “What do you need?” he whispered into her ear.
“You,” she gasped.
Ryan flipped her over, wanting to see her this first time they came together. He reached down between the two of them and took himself in hand. There were so many ways he wanted to experience her, for them to experience this together, but he couldn’t wait a moment longer. Slowly, he guided himself into her warmth, groaning as she welcomed him home. “Fuck, Holly,” he gasped when her hips moved with his, as she tilted herself so he could slide in farther.
Her hands fisted in the comforter, and he placed his own hands over hers as he began to move. A slow withdrawal, a fast push forward. Damn, she was wet, yet she squeezed him tightly.
His vision blurred as she welcomed him over and over.
Skin against skin, he closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to her shoulder, her neck, the side of her face. She was a drug he suddenly couldn’t get enough of. The need he had for her consumed him.
“Oh, yes,” Holly cried out.
He could feel it, feel her and the way she tightened around him. It was a thing of fucking wonder, the way she came around him, squeezing him, driving him over the edge no matter how hard he fought to prolong the glorious sensation around his cock.
His balls tightened, and a fucking earthquake rocked his insides as he came and she shuddered beneath him, crying out his name.
When he released the tension in his arms, rolling the two of them to their sides as they regained their breath, he thought about all the songs he’d ever listened to, and how none of them came close to the beauty of the sound of his name from her lips as she let go.
Chapter Nine
Holly slowly opened her eyes and smiled.
She was sore, and well used, and warm. Ryan’s grip around her middle, pulling her back flush to his chest, made her feel secure, a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time. At least, not since before Joshua had disappeared with a portion of her savings and her career.
It had left her feeling stupid, and coming second on the show had left her feeling the same. She’d done her best work on the show. Damn, it had been the best work of any contestant, and it still hadn’t been enough.
Holly slipped out from under Ryan’s arm.
“Come back here,” he mumbled gruffly but fell straight back to sleep.
As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t simply lie there with all the thoughts racing around in her head. She needed a distraction, something that would replace the loop of thoughts. Perhaps she should spend the time finishing the sketch she’d started of Jordan as Jean Valjean. The quiet strength of Victor Hugo’s character, plus Valjean’s love for his adopted daughter, a family he’d created, reminded her of the often silent Jordan and the clear love he had for his fellow band members.
Plus, she and Ryan still had work to do. Perhaps she should get up and get a start on revising her report instead.
Quietly, she opened the door to his closet and slid a white shirt off its hanger. She slipped it on as she left the room and wandered to the living room, where they’d been working on Sam’s files the previous day. Their papers were still spread across the floor. Holly grabbed her own, and her laptop, and sat on the carpet, her back to the sofa.
When she was feeling stressed, work always saw her through. Drawing designs for clients she might have in the future and managing her social media profiles took her mind off her troubles. And now she had this job—it wasn’t the one she wanted to do but seemed to be doing well at.
She looked at the updated plan she intended to present to Ryan. The first section, the band’s social media mission statement, would need some minor refinement, but she was confident that it was the direction in which the band needed to go. The second section, about how various social media platforms could assist them getting there, was full of practical things they could do to foster engagement and promote their music. She’d reviewed all of their current accounts, many of which had dried up with content since Sam had left the band. They’d found invoices from a third-party social media management firm on Sam’s laptop—invoices that had gone unpaid despite reminders. It was no wonder the company had stopped creating any new content for the band.
One of Holly’s recommendations was to continue to outsource this work, but with strict control guidelines. The previous company had employed a very simple promotional strategy. Every piece of content was about buying something from the band, like tickets to appearances, albums to buy, merch to wear. Holly’s vision for the band’s social media future went well beyond that.
Her goal was to turn Preload into a lifestyle that listeners wanted to be a part of. Their music was a huge piece of who the band was, but how they lived their lives was something the listeners had never been given access to. The content they created needed to be more personal, something she felt the men would push back against, at first.
Whoever took the band on as their client would need to tap into that as-yet unmet demand. And the band would need to become more comfortable with sharing pieces of themselves. She knew it would be difficult for them, but listeners were more loyal to bands they felt they knew.
The piles on the floor and the files on Sam’s laptop contained everything they currently had on Preload’s future. She gazed over the financials for all the elements of their empire. Ryan was going to suggest that the financials be separated into three distinct business units—concerts, merchandising, and recordings—but managed as one company and run by an experienced CEO, someone who would work tirelessly on the band’s behalf to ensure they were financially looked after. Sam had only been able to get them so far.
She looked at the physical binders that Ryan had pulled together, all neatly filed so he could take the band through step by step. They were a good team, she and Ryan. As different as they were, their skills complemented each other. In the office and the bedroom.
Holly pulled one of the binders toward her, and as she did so, a file slipped out. She recognized the title immediately. It was the original report she’d presented to Ryan in his office, but it was covered in red ink.
Naïve in places was the first comment that caught her eye. Her heart began to race as she flicked through the pages.
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Unique doesn’t always equal good. Where should she begin unpacking that one? It was on the page where she’d case-studied the positioning of several metal bands and suggested the band had a unique selling point, a USP. Didn’t he see how the band was already so different, so unique? She thought back to the email responses she’d gotten from the band after she’d asked them what they thought they’d stood for. Dred’s response had focused on being leaders in the metal genre, challenging and contravening norms. Jordan’s had focused on the quality of sound and instrumentation. Nik had focused on how they should lead the way as musicians using new technologies and ideas. Elliott had gone on about how he wanted them to be the best live band in the world in any genre. But Lennon had simply responded with, “We stand for family. And stop asking me stupid fucking questions.”
Unique did equal good. And in this case, it equaled something greater.
Niche versus crossover can be bad for sales. Her point was that they should be whatever they wanted to be, their sound undefined in the marketing plan allowing them to be as fluid and creative as possible, leaving their creativity unconstrained.
Feasible but improbable… Unrealistic… They’re metal heads, not beauty vloggers.
By the end of the report, her eyes stung so badly with unshed tears that she squeezed them shut. He had never intended on taking her ideas seriously. He’d just been humoring her until her time with Preload was up and he could hand over his own plan.
She gathered up her own clothes from the floor where they’d dropped them the previous evening and began to slip them on. Damn Ryan and his fucking attitude. If it were his plan versus hers, another competition, she wouldn’t settle for coming in second again. She wondered when he’d been planning on telling her that her ideas weren’t welcome. They were supposed to meet the band in Toronto in three days with a consolidated plan, one they both signed off on. Was he just planning on including his own material and springing it on her in the hope that she wouldn’t say anything about it during the meeting?
Once she was dressed, she shoved her files and laptop into her messenger bag. She was going to go home, and, thanks to the broken boiler, take a cold but necessary shower. The smell of him was all over her body. While she’d loved it the previous evening, it was now a reminder of the colossal mistake she’d just made. Then, she was going to spend the next three days perfecting the shit out of her plan.
“Fuck you, Ryan,” she muttered under her breath.
“You already did that, babe,” he said, and Holly turned around quickly. His voice was still rough with sleep, his hair standing up in every direction. He stood in the entrance to the hallway, dressed only in the jeans he’d worn the previous day, the zipper still down, the fabric hanging on his hips. He reached up for the top of the doorframe, his entire body flexing, and it infuriated Holly that her body still responded to him. “Want to tell me where you’re running off to?”
“I’m not running,” she said with a calmness she didn’t truly feel. “I’m leaving.”
He walked toward her, his eyes pinning her as he moved. “I gave you a lot more credit than that, Holly,” he said. “What happened, between the last orgasm and now, that has you cursing me as you bolt for the door?”
“Not fair,” she said, taking a step back when he reached for her. If he placed his hands on her, she might forget the way he was about to screw her over and let him kiss her one more time.
Ryan shook his head. “What’s not fair would have been waking up this morning to an empty apartment and not knowing why.” He looked over to the chair arm and saw his own shirt lying there. “You obviously didn’t wake up mad, or you wouldn’t have taken the time to grab one of my shirts to wear.”
She watched his eyes scan the area near the shirt and saw the moment he found the report. Her report.
“Oh. Shit. You’ve gotta let me explain, Hols.”
Holly shook her head and bit the side of her tongue for a moment to hold back the disappointment and hurt. “I don’t really gotta do anything. I’m going home, and I’ll see—”
“Holly, stop. Ten minutes. That’s all I’m asking to prove to you that this isn’t what it looks like.”
Even though she was mad, and even though the hurt still tasted like vinegar on her tongue, she found herself agreeing.
Ryan’s heart stammered in his chest. Goddamn his fucking egoistic reaction to her report.
“The day we met,” he began, “was the day after I’d just been told by Jack that they weren’t going to make me the permanent manager of the East Coast. They’d told me I was only interim, without a full explanation of why beyond not being ready.”
He stopped to collect the shirt she’d obviously worn. It smelled of her, of the two of them, as he slipped it over his shoulders and fastened three buttons. If they were going to have a serious conversation, he needed to be dressed. Otherwise, the temptation to strip her naked and prove to her in other ways how his feelings had changed for her would be too great.
Ryan walked to the sofa and sat, patting the cushion next to him. “At least put your bag down and come sit while I explain.”
Holly sighed, but conceded, lowering the bag to the floor before sitting stiffly next to him. She’d kept a small but meaningful gap between the two of them. “Is that why you didn’t want anybody else’s help?”
“Yeah. I mean, I just wanted to prove that I had everything under control, that I could do this, that I was capable. And I was worried that if I had help, the management team would see it as a weakness on my part, or that perhaps they’d think the best ideas came from someone else.” He looked at her, hating the hurt he saw in her eyes. “Stupid, huh?”
Holly’s posture softened. “It is stupid, but understandable, after what happened with Duncan. Surely, they have to see how good you are. You handled the record label, something I could never have done. You fixed so many of their contract obligations, you built them a calendar they should be able to get behind. And the whole time you’ve been on your phone dealing with every other crisis that has come up.”
Ryan smiled softly at the compliment. “Thanks, Hols. But I don’t know that it is that simple. They want someone with more experience.”
Holly tapped her fingers to her lips. “I’ve always called it as I see it with you, so I’m not going to stop now,” she said. “Perhaps what they want is someone with leadership skills. Someone who is willing to delegate, someone who can find talented people and help them achieve great things for their clients.”
He was used to feedback. It had always been a critical part of MCB’s culture, but Holly’s words hit him squarely in the chest. He needed a minute to process what she’d said.
The shock must have shown on his face.
“I’ll make us coffee,” she said, squeezing his hand as though she understood where he was at. Suddenly, she was comforting him when it should be him comforting her. He’d been a dick when he’d first read through and marked up that report.
But now…
She needed to see the final version of his report. She needed to see that even though he had years of experience in the industry and business, her ideas had grown on him, had shaped his own opinion of how the band should grow and progress.
And he needed to tell her she was right. He’d always needed to prove himself. Prove that he was capable. Insecure overachiever that he was, he’d always assumed his best wasn’t good enough and had worked harder to be on the safe side. On the high school football team, at business school with some of the brightest and best students, at MCB. He’d always wanted to be the best, and anything less felt like failure.
But was his quest to go solo, to prove himself to be the best, actually holding him back? Was that the gap that MCB was seeing?
He felt the answer in his gut. She was right. He’d known that when he’d written the first version of the plan. The one he’d ripped up and started again because he couldn’t get her ideas out of his mind.
Holly came back into the roo
m and placed two mugs on the table in front of the sofa.
“I’m sorry, Holly. You’re right. When you first gave me that report, I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to listen.” He reached for the report he’d shamefully covered in pen and put it to one side. “You weren’t naïve. There were some great ideas in here. Some things I hadn’t thought of.”
A smile finally replaced the hurt. “You thought they were good?”
“Better than good,” he replied and reached for her hand, a feeling of relief flooding through when she linked her fingers with his. He reached across to another pile and presented her with the latest version of his document. The one with her name next to his, the one she took and flicked through, her eyes getting wider as she realized how much of the content was her own. “You’re so exceptional that if you didn’t have your heart set on opening your own tattoo studio, I’d try to get you to join MCB. In someone else’s department, obviously.”
“Why someone else’s department?” she asked, although the smile, which had now become a grin, told him she knew exactly what he was saying.
“Because we have rules on sleeping with employees. And considering I intend on doing a whole lot more than just sleeping with you, Holly Eden, I wouldn’t want to get fired before I have even been hired for the full-time position.”
“It’s a good thing I simply want to be a tattoo artist who happens to do a great job with her own social media then, isn’t it?”
Ryan tugged her toward him, and she giggled as she fell against his chest. “I’m sorry, Holly. Sorry I didn’t listen to you from the start. I planned to go through this with you today, and I should have done it sooner. I was a jackass. And one day, I’m going to figure out how to be around you without continually screwing shit up.”
“This report with my name on it and ideas in it goes a long way.”
He pressed his lips to hers, savoring the way she melted against him. He wanted more, so much more of her. In his bed, in his apartment, in his life. It was crazy the way she’d become so important to him in such a short period of time.
The Greatest Risk (Second Circle Tattoos Series Book 5) Page 9
