I’m not going to lie though; it’s hard for me to concentrate on what I’m doing. My younger brother is proposing to his girlfriend, if not tonight, then soon. It’s crazy to think he’s only known her for such a short time, but he already knows she’s the one he wants to spend his life with. I was with Bridgett for several years, and I never felt a pressing need to officially make her mine, and that’s a sobering thought. I always brushed it off as my need to not rush into things, but now that we aren’t together anymore, I’m realizing deep down I might have had reservations about her. That I had a gut instinct something wasn’t right and maybe we didn’t belong together long term. Turns out, my gut was spot on. I need to listen to it more often.
When I decide to date again, that is. Right now, I want no part of it. I’m finally content with the way things have been going. This Wesley boy is single, and I’m going to continue making the most of it, like I have been for the last few months. For now, there are plenty of gorgeous women looking for the same thing I am—no relationships, no strings, no drama, and plenty of good fucking.
How much easier can a plan get?
Chapter Two
Elizabeth
“Miami fucking Florida!” I shout, for at least the third time today. I’m insanely excited to finally be here. Dropping my bag in the foyer by the door, I walk into the open floorplan, looking around at our new home.
“Geez, what’s with you and that filthy mouth?” Carson speaks with disapproval in his voice, but the laugh he can’t hold in gives him away. I hear the door close and he follows behind me, tossing his duffle bag onto the floor next to mine and a packet of papers onto the entry-way built in cabinet.
‘Sorry, but you know how excited I am. OH!” The greatest idea in the world dawns on me, and in my excitement, I jump up and down clapping my hands. “We should totally blow off all the grown-up things today and hit the beach.” I turn and give him my most pleading puppy dog eyes and signature pout. “Please, please, please?”
Carson can’t help but laugh while he’s already shaking his head no. I know I won’t win, but at least I can say I tried. My brother’s resolve is insane.
“As much as I would love to do that, I have a team meeting in a few hours even though it’s our off day and you, dear sister, have to be here for the movers. They should be here any minute. You also have to handle the service people when they come by today too.”
“Service people?” This doesn’t sound fun. I may or may not be whining.
“Yep,” my brother says. “Cable, internet, and the security system company. I think that’s all for today. And obviously, you need to go to the store for food unless we don’t plan on eating anytime soon.” He sits down on the floor in our unfurnished living room, stretching his long limbs out across the hardwood.
“Ugh. Party pooper.” I walk over and sit down beside him. It feels good to finally get off my feet and relax for a few minutes. “For the record, the next time we move, we need to schedule a day for us to have fun before we have to deal with all that other shit.”
“There isn’t going to be a ‘next time.’ At least, I hope not. I have a good feeling about this team. I think I’ll fit in well here.” He tries to keep the doubt out of his voice, but I can still hear it. This is his second trade in his first three years in the big leagues, and I know it makes him doubt himself as a player. He shouldn’t though, because he’s one of the best—if not the best—shortstop in the league right now. Besides, the first trade shouldn’t count. It had more to do with me than it did with him. But I push that thought aside because it’s the last thing I want to deal with right now. Today is all about new beginnings.
“I think you’re right. I can totally see you kicking serious ass here.” He laughs at my enthusiasm. Carson was traded to the Florida Thrillers early last week, rounding out the hole they had in their infield, and now, with their current roster, they have a World Series contending team. It’s a huge step up from the team he was traded from in the northeast. They were last in their division and looking to rebuild their team this year, which meant they needed to free up money for younger talent. And if you know anything about baseball, then you know younger usually equals cheaper.
So, they traded their best player to Florida, and here we are. Of course, I came along too. Not only is he my twin brother, older by five minutes—which he will never let me forget—but Carson is also my best friend and my boss. I’ve been working as his personal assistant since he made it to the minor leagues and it works out well for the both of us. We drove down together in his truck while he towed my car. We’ve been living out of a hotel these past few days and while Carson went to practices and games, I went house hunting. It didn’t take long to find this beauty. We both fell in love with it immediately and, with the owner looking to sell sooner rather than later, Carson got it for a steal. It’s not extravagant, since that’s not his style. With a gated community, large backyard for him, and a substantial sized kitchen for me, it was the perfect find. It’s a modest four bedrooms with him taking the master suite on the second floor. Being the gentleman my mother raised him to be, he offered the master suite to me, but I didn’t feel right taking it. After all, he’s paying the bills so it’s only fair he gets the bigger room, even if he won’t be spending as much time here as I do, what with his travel schedule and all.
There’s a smaller guest suite on the bottom floor anyway, and that one is all mine. I love it too. It’s twice the size of the room I had up north, and don’t even get me started on the huge adjoining bathroom and monster size walk in closet.
The doorbell rings and I know my time of laziness is over. Well, it was fun while it lasted. I stand up and make my way to the door, swinging it open to reveal a well-built man with a clipboard standing on our small porch, three more just like him bustling around a moving van parked out in the driveway. I turn my attention back to Mr. Mover Man in front of me, and he smiles.
“Afternoon, ma’am. I’ve got a delivery here for Vaughn.”
“Yep, that’s us.” My brother’s right beside me now, ushering the guy inside and giving him a few directions on where to put things. I labeled almost every box with the room it belongs in. After having to do this on several occasions, I’ve become an expert packer/organizer when it comes to moving boxes. It’s all about eliminating the clutter and keeping it easy and simple. The guys waste no time getting started, and I have the simple task of letting them know what room is what and how I want the furniture arranged.
After a few hours, the house is crazy with activity. Carson already left for his team meeting. The movers are more than halfway done unloading the truck, and most of the larger furniture is already placed in the right rooms. We still don’t know what to do with the extra bedrooms yet so those rooms remain empty. The cable/internet guy already came and went, his job taking the least amount of time. He’s already gone by the time the security team arrives, making sure the existing system is still functional and adding on any extra bells and whistles Carson opted to put in. He always goes overboard with all the safety stuff, but I can’t blame him. When we were about fourteen, our neighbors down the street were killed in a home invasion. Their son, Holden, was Carson’s best friend and thankfully happened to be at our house the night the shooting occurred. He had a younger sister too, who luckily hadn’t been there either. Even though the police determined it wasn’t a random act—some guy obsessed with the wife had broken in and shot them, including himself—that’s not something you easily forget. Because of this, Carson has always opted to err on the side of caution and upgrade any security features he can.
My cell phone rings from somewhere in the living room amid all the boxes and once I locate it, I swipe my finger across the button to accept my brother’s call.
“Hey. The meeting over already?”
“Nah, it’ll be longer than I thought. I need you to do something for me.” He’s having to raise his voice over the noise around him, which sounds like a bunch of guys talking and
laughing. He must be in the locker room. I’m almost positive I hear the word ‘pussy’ at least twice during his pause. “Do you see a packet of papers I left on the built-in over by the front door?”
I walk over to it and pick up the thick manila envelope I saw him leave there this morning. “Yep, got it right here. What’s in it?”
He sighs. “Those were all the legal documents I planned to drop off at the lawyer’s office after I left my meeting today, but I walked out and forgot them. And now it doesn’t look like I’ll be leaving here in time to come home, get them, and take them in. Do you think you can do it?”
“Ugh, fine. Geez, I do everything around here. You act like I get paid to do shit for you or something.” I tease with as much sarcasm in my voice as I can muster, and I can hear his chuckle through the line.
“You do get paid to do shit for me, remember?” He laughs again.
“Oh yeah. Well, in that case, sure, I’d love to!”
“Smart ass. The business card with the address is clipped to the front. The lawyer’s name is on there too. Sloan Wesley. Let me know if he needs anything else from me.”
“No problem. I’ll take care of it after these people leave and before I head to the store. Want anything specific?”
“Nah, get the usual stuff. And I’ll bring dinner home if you want. I know you have a lot to do.”
“Sounds good. I’ll text you when I leave for the office. See you tonight.”
“Bye sis.”
I hang up with my brother and drop the packet of papers near my purse in the kitchen where I won’t forget it when I leave, and set about supervising all the people again. It’s an easy job since they require little more than an occasional direction or two. And I can’t complain too much because the eye candy is phenomenal. Something about having a hunky, sweaty man with bulging biceps to watch makes the time pass quickly. It takes another hour for all the guys to complete their respective jobs, and when they’ve left, I shoot my brother a text letting him know I’m on my way to the lawyer’s office. I’ll worry about unpacking boxes and washing clothes and dishes later.
I’m still not too familiar with the area so I plug the address into my phone’s built-in GPS and it only takes fifteen minutes to get there. I pull up in front of a five-story brick building with a large sign on the front proclaiming it Wesley & Associates and stop near a valet stand. “Good day ma’am,” the young man greets me when he opens my door. He hands me a valet ticket, and when I step up onto the curb, he climbs into my car, taking it off down the block and around the corner.
The friendly lobby attendant tells me the office I’m looking for is on the fifth floor and directs me to the bank of elevators off the side of the entrance. When I get to the top floor, I’m greeted with a smile from the woman manning the circular reception station.
“Hello there. May I help you?” She asks me in a friendly voice.
I return her smile. “Yes, please. My name is Elizabeth Vaughn. My brother Carson Vaughn plays with the Florida Thrillers and was told to bring these documents to one of your attorneys here—a Mr. Sloan Wesley. Carson was held up at the ballpark and asked me to bring them by. I apologize but I don’t believe he had an appointment.”
“Of course. Please have a seat and I’ll let Mr. Wesley know you’re here.” I sit in the plush waiting chair while she talks on the phone, but I don’t wait nearly as long as I would have expected.
“You’re in luck. Mr. Wesley has a few minutes right now. You can go on back.” She points down a hallway behind her. “Down that corridor, the last door on the left. He’s waiting for you.”
“Thank you.” I stand, smoothing my flowy skirt as I make my way down the hall. The door is slightly ajar when I reach it, and I push it open after a slight knock to announce my presence.
I don’t know what I was expecting this Sloan Wesley to look like, but when I get into the office, I know one thing is for sure. This wasn’t it.
Wow…
Hello Mr. Wesley…
Chapter Three
Sloan
Well, well…
What have we here?
I must admit I’m taken aback when this beauty walks through my office door. When my secretary told me Carson Vaughn sent his sister in his place, I thought little of it, but damn. Now that I see this girl, all I can think is today is my lucky day. She’s hot.
Standing at the door in a floral skirt and a coral colored top, her mile-long legs draw my attention first. My gaze makes its way north to her blouse, sleeveless and almost skin tight, her breasts straining against the fabric. I’m not an arrogant guy, but judging by the way her nipples are straining against the silky material of her top, I think she likes what she sees. It sure looks like it, anyway. Her lips are slightly parted and she stumbles a bit when she first makes eye contact with me. I can positively say I’m liking what I see too. In fact, I like it a little too much right now. I figure I have about one minute to get behind my desk before the outline of my cock becomes visible through my pants.
I gain my composure and put on my best Wesley smile, the one I use when I want to charm the pants off people.
Great, now I’m thinking about her without pants.
Or a skirt.
Whatever.
The point is, now I’m thinking about her panties.
Or better yet, naked.
Get a grip already.
I shake off the image, which sounds easier to do than it actually is. Walking up to her I reach my hand out to shake hers. When she moves, her blonde hair falls forward, shielding her face, and coming to rest against her top and her bare arm. There’s a lavender hue to the silky blonde strands—very subtle—almost not even there. It’s then, when we’re closer to each other that she snaps out of whatever haze she’s in, and takes my hand in hers with a firm, sure grip.
“Ms. Vaughn, pleased to meet you. I’m glad you caught me. I was about to leave for lunch.”
“Oh, I won’t take up much of your time then. And please, call me Elizabeth.” She smiles and sits in the chair I’ve directed her to, the one across from my desk. I make my way behind the slab of oak furniture—just in time, I might add—and give her my attention.
“Okay, Elizabeth.” I love the way her name rolls off my tongue. “What can I do for you today?”
Besides bend you over my desk.
Get a hold of yourself Sloan. One step at a time.
“My brother. Carson. was going to bring these documents today, but his team meeting ran over, and he couldn’t make it. He asked me to bring them by.” She places a thick envelope on my desk in front of me and I instantly recognize it as my standard starter packet for all Florida Thrillers players. If memory serves me right, Carson Vaughn was traded to the team last week, and since I handle all the team’s legal needs, management gives them this packet to get the ball rolling. She speaks up again. “All the documents you asked for should be in there, but if you need anything else, please let me know. I’m Carson’s personal assistant.” She looks around the surface of my desk. “Do you have a pen?”
I hand her one from inside the drawer, watching as she scribbles her name and phone number across the back of the manila envelope the packet came in. When she’s done, she slides it back across the desk in my direction. I look up, and for a moment, we make eye contact. She speaks, an undertone of mischief in her voice before her eyes trail back down to the numbers written across the paper. She underlines them as she says, “I mean, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”
I study her for a moment, reveling in the fact she’s openly hitting on me, my mind drifting off to whatever the ‘anything’ is she could be referring to. I sure as hell know what I want that statement to mean. And I think she means it in the same way I’m hoping she does. I want to address her statement, but instead I let her comment slide—for now. Because before this day is over, I plan on getting to know Ms. Vaughn much better, if I have my way about it.
Picking up the packet and pushing it ov
er to the side of my desk, I test my luck and ask, “Listen, like I said before, I was about to leave for lunch. Would you care to join me?”
Her green eyes sparkle and for a second, I think she’s going to accept my offer, but then she looks up and says, “Oh, I appreciate the offer, but I couldn’t impose.”
Her traitorous stomach chooses that moment to make itself known. I arch an eyebrow at her, my lips quirking up in a smile as I glance first at her stomach, then back up at her. I can’t hold back the smirk, but I don’t say anything. With a beautiful laugh, she tells me, “Well, if you insist.”
“I absolutely do.” I move around the desk and when she stands, I lead her toward the door, my hand at the small of her back. Her skin feels warm through the thin fabric, and all I can think is that if I slipped my hand a few inches lower, it would be right on that tight ass currently stretching out the fabric of her skirt. We pass by my secretary again as we head to the elevator bank and I see Sophie grab the phone and make a quick call before we even step through the doors, no doubt down to the lobby to have my car waiting for us.
When we’re in the elevator, she asks, “Where are we going? I’m not too familiar with the area yet. I’ll need the address to put into my phone’s GPS.” She takes out her phone from the small purse she’s carrying, but the elevator reaches the bottom and opens before I can answer her. We make our way through the lobby and out into the sunshine, to the valet stand where my car is pulling up to the curb. I finally answer her question.
“It’s about ten minutes down the beach.” I walk over to the passenger door and open it. “My car’s already here. Why don’t you come with me?” She looks up from her phone, first at me and then to the car, and hesitates for a moment, unsure if she wants to get in. I do my best assure her.
Sloan Page 2
