by Megan Hart
She held out her hand, and Elliott took it. “Elliott Anderson.”
“I know you, Mr.… Anderson.” She put an unwieldy pause between the two beats of his name, and his blank look must’ve given him away, because she laughed again. “You’ve never seen The Matrix?”
“No.”
She shook her head. “That’s too bad. It’s a good one.”
The elevator bumped open on another floor, the door opening and staying open long past the time it would’ve taken even a crowd to get on. Simone sighed and pushed the door close button again. She gave him a shrug.
“You’re working late, too. No party for you?” He asked.
“No. No plans either. Maybe a glass of wine and a book.” She eyed him as the elevator jerked to another stop. “I could be convinced to go to a party, though. Since you don’t have a date, I mean.”
Startled at her boldness, but intrigued, Elliott let his eyes meet hers, giving her an extra-thorough perusal. She was pretty, he thought. Not beautiful, not trying to be. He liked long hair on women, but her short cut emphasized her features and brought out the slightly catlike tilt of her eyes. Her mouth, even with that quirking smile, was lush.
Still … He shook his head. “You wouldn’t have a good time.”
“I always have a good time,” Simone said.
The elevator opened again to reveal nobody waiting. Irritated, Elliott leaned past her to stab the close door button. “What the hell is the matter with this thing?”
“Safety feature?” Simone asked. “Maybe they program it to stop on every floor so that if someone’s in here after hours and they get assaulted on the elevator, they have ample opportunity to escape.”
He laughed, then saw she was serious. “That seems inefficient.”
“Not if you’re being assaulted.”
She was quick-witted. He liked that, quite a lot. A few more floors to lobby level, and he was actually going to be a little disappointed he’d have no more excuses to talk to her.
“So. The party?”
He shook his head again, making a show of being obvious in his study of her. “You wouldn’t fit in. Sorry.”
He’d been too blunt; he saw it in the flutter of her blink, the tiniest droop of her smile. Shit. Think before you speak, Molly always told him, but he’d never quite gotten the hang of figuring out when that was important. For the second time that night, heat spread to his face. He turned away so she wouldn’t see it, and so he wouldn’t have to see what his casual cruelty had done to her.
The elevator at last opened onto the lobby. Elliott might not know when to curb his words, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still be a gentleman—he paused, a hand on the door to make sure it didn’t close, though the past ten minutes’ trip had made that seem unlikely to be a problem. He waited for Simone to walk out ahead of him, and when she didn’t, turned to see what was taking her so long.
She straightened just as he turned, settling her foot further into a black patent stiletto and tucking her flats into the shoulder bag. She gave him a smile from red, lush lips. The top button on her white blouse was undone to show a hint of creamy cleavage and a white lace bra, nothing too revealing but definitely no longer office appropriate. The skirt had magically become shorter, showing off that shapely ass and now her thighs through a small slit. She’d done something to her hair, too. Spiked and ruffled it.
She’d transformed.
Giving him an up-and-down glance, Simone shrugged her bag over her shoulder and pushed past him with her head held high and that ass swaying. Mesmerized, Elliott could only stare after her until the door nudged his hand like a puppy begging for affection. Then he stepped out.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Are you still up for a party?”
* * *
You wouldn’t fit in.
Elliott’s casual comment shouldn’t have stung her, but it had. Mostly because of the way he’d said it, so obviously sincere and not trying to hurt her feelings at all. Just being honest. That was somehow worse than someone trying to be mean. She could dismiss nasty, no problem, with both her middle fingers and a sneer.
Honesty was always harder not to take to heart.
He’d been right, though. The moment they stepped out of the elevator and into the penthouse apartment where the party waited, Simone felt out of place even with her quick change in the elevator. All the other women here wore evening gowns or cocktail dresses. Sparkly jewelry. Blondes, brunettes, and redheads in a veritable cascade of beautiful women who hung on the arms of the men they accompanied. Women who spoke when spoken to, and only then to giggle or coo.
Hell no, Simone didn’t fit in here, not on any level. She did fit perfectly on Elliott’s arm, however. Together, the pair of them turned heads as they moved through the crowd to greet his friend Barry. Let them look, Simone thought, giving every single one of them a broad, bright smile. Sometimes a wink. Looking was free.
“You made it!” Barry clapped Elliott on the shoulder hard enough to make Simone wince, though Elliott didn’t so much as blink. Barry zeroed in on Simone, and if she surprised him, he was polite enough not to show it. “And this is…?”
“Simone Kahan,” she said without waiting for Elliott to introduce her. Who knew if he even remembered her name. He’d barely said a word to her in the cab over here. Barely even looked at her. She held out her hand.
Barry took it. “Nice to meet ya.”
Simone laughed. “The pleasure is all yours, I assure you.”
“I like this one.” Barry squeezed her fingers and looked at Elliott. “Where’d you find her?”
“He picked me out of a catalog.” Simone tucked her hand into the crook of Elliott’s elbow and gave him a grin he didn’t return.
“I met her in the elevator.”
Barry didn’t seem shocked, just gave Elliott another one-two punch to the shoulder and a knowing wink. “You’re the man, as always. Did this bad boy get you a drink yet?”
“No.”
“That’s cuz he’s an arrogant prick,” Barry said and held out a hand for her to take. “C’mon. Let me get you set up.”
With an amused glance over her shoulder at Elliott, Simone let Barry lead her toward a full bar set up, complete with bartender. “Gin and tonic, please. Extra lime.”
“I’ll take a vodka tonic.” Barry gestured toward the room and then toward Elliott, who’d been immediately swarmed by a cluster of women.
Simone might have been jealous, if it looked like Elliott were enjoying himself. Or if she had the right to be, she reminded herself, watching as he discreetly brushed off every clinging touch, every simpering smile.
“How’d you say you met again?”
“We work in the same building,” she told him. “We bumped into each other on the elevator. He needed a date for this party. I like parties.”
Barry downed half his drink and then held the glass out to the room. “Elliott hates parties.”
“What kind of person,” Simone said, looking across the room where Elliott was still besieged by women, “hates parties?”
Barry laughed. “A cranky bastard, that’s what kind.”
“So why invite him?”
Barry looked at her in surprise. “Because he’s been my buddy since college, and he’s one of the few people who I can count on not to kiss my ass. And he’s good at finding out stuff I need to know.”
That was an interesting insight into Barry’s character if ever there was one, and Simone totally got it. She gave the room another glance, this time taking in the rest of the party and not just Elliott. “About what?”
“People,” Barry said.
Simone had no idea what that meant. “So … what’s the party for, anyway? Birthday? Bar Mitzvah? Quinceañera?”
Barry snorted out laughter again and gave her another assessing look. “He really picked you up on the elevator?”
Simone leaned closer and said in a conspiratorial voice, “I picked him up, if you want the truth.”
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br /> “I like you.”
Simone grinned and toasted him. Their glasses clinked. Barry drained his, but Simone still sipped. She hadn’t eaten anything since a very late lunch, and the booze was going to go straight to her head if she wasn’t careful. Maybe other places, too, not that she’d mind that.
“The party,” he said after a moment. “Well, I’m what you might call a dealer in promises.”
“Are you the devil?”
Barry burst into a round of laughter so loud it made all the other conversations stop while everyone stared. He wiped his eyes and gestured at the bartender for another drink. “You are something else. Yeah, I might be the devil, at least according to some. What do you do?”
“I work in human resources for a global marketing corporation in the same building where Elliott makes his millions.” Simone teased the rim of her glass with her tongue, amused by the way Barry’s gaze went straight to it. Well. So far at least it wasn’t her tits.
“He’s a lawyer.”
“I know what he does,” Simone said.
Barry frowned. “See that guy in the corner, talking to the one in the gray suit?”
“Of course.”
“He’s the future governor of Louisiana.”
Simone barked out a laugh she covered quickly with her hand. “That guy? That kid? He’s what, twenty years old?”
“He’s almost thirty. Got a baby face. But he’ll be governor, don’t you worry about that. He’s got old money behind him and a daddy who wants nothing more than to see his baby boy get into politics.”
Simone watched the guy, who wore his suit like it weighed too much. He had a woman on each arm and a drink in one hand. His eyes were a little red. “What’s he doing in Philadelphia?”
“Daddy owns a construction business. Low-cost housing mostly, though there’s some commercial work in there, too. He’s up here to get bids on materials, and it’s my job to connect him with the people who are gonna give him what he wants. So I’m gonna get him a little drunk. A little laid. And then I’m gonna use the stuff Elliott found out about him to lean on him a little. Nothing serious. Just … persuasive.”
Simone’s brows went up. “What kind of stuff does Elliott find out for you?”
“Legal stuff,” Barry said. “Of course.”
“Of course.” They stared at each other until Simone laughed. The gin was making everything seem brighter than it was. She patted him on the shoulder. “You know what makes a party even better? Food.”
“Buffet is through that doorway right there, honey; you go get yourself a plate.” Barry gave her an appreciative glance that Simone tried and failed to find irritating.
The thing with men was, she thought as she followed Barry’s directions and helped herself to the buffet, most of the time, they had no idea they were being giant douche canoes. Getting all bent out of shape about a stranger calling her honey was stupider than getting mad about him ogling her breasts, especially when her breasts were pretty damned spectacular, if she did say so herself.
She’d filled her plate with a delicious-looking assortment of spring rolls, cheese and mustard, and some little quiches when Elliott found her. She held up the plate. “Want some?”
“No, thanks. I don’t eat from buffets.” Elliott put a hand lightly on his stomach for a second, scanning the room behind her before focusing on first the plate, then her face. “You’re going to eat all that?”
Simone paused with a spring roll halfway to her lips. “Yes. Is there a reason I shouldn’t? Barry told me to help myself.”
“There’s fruit over there.” He pointed.
Simone deliberately bit into the spring roll and chewed, then swallowed. “And?”
“Fruit would be better for you.”
He still wasn’t looking at her, but beyond her, so Simone waited without answering until he gave her the benefit of his gaze. “I’d rather have a spring roll. Mmmm. You should try it. Want a bite?”
“No.”
It was hard to miss the look of fleeting disgust. She didn’t ask again. Instead, she glanced behind her. “Who are you looking for?”
His eyes met hers. “Who says I’m looking for anyone?”
“The way you keep scanning the room behind me. A girl could get a complex.” Simone licked her fingertips and watched him watch her do it. She kept herself from smiling. She didn’t want to scare him off, and something told her that if she acknowledged that she saw Mr. Elliott Anderson ogling the way her tongue flickered on her fingers, he would pull another one of those strangely endearing retreats. She dragged another spring roll through a smear of mustard and bit into it. Flavor exploded on her tongue, so good she had to make a little noise. “Mmmf. You really need to try this, Elliott.”
“No, I—”
“C’mon,” she said and stepped closer, offering the food.
He jerked his head to the side to keep her from his mouth. “No. Thanks.”
At that moment, someone in a damned hurry to get at the buffet pushed behind her, shoving her into Elliott’s arms. He caught her just above the elbows to steady her, but in the few seconds before Simone caught her balance, they were pressed against each other. Belly to belly. Chest to chest. She breathed in the scent of him, felt the heat of his skin even through the material of her blouse. The roughness of his trouser leg scraped for a second at the inside of her thigh.
And then they were standing with only inches between them, and his gaze had gone dark. His mouth parted. His tongue came out to wet the center of his lower lip, and oh, fuck, did she want to kiss him. No. She wanted something else.
She wanted him to kiss her, hard and bruising, bringing the taste of blood. And in that instant, something in the flash of his gaze told Simone that maybe, just maybe, Elliott wanted the same thing. It was gone as fast as it came. When his grip on her arms loosened, she let out a small, disappointed sigh.
“You spilled,” he said with a grimace of distaste.
She looked down at her blouse, now stained with splatters of soy sauce and mustard. Frowning, Simone set her plate down on the small table meant for used dishes. “Damn it.”
“There’s a bathroom down the hall. To the left.” Elliott pointed.
In the bathroom, which was almost the size of her entire apartment, Simone shrugged out of her blouse and held it at the sink, scrubbing at the stains, hoping they wouldn’t set. Of course, even though the stains faded, now her entire blouse was transparent. Standing in her bra at the sink, she sighed. She’d be trapped in here until it dried.
It could’ve been worse. Technically a powder room because it had no tub or shower, the bathroom still had two sinks and, an odd choice for a residential bathroom, two toilets in separate stalls. A small alcove held a padded bench. The decor was a mix of French Provincial and what Simone could only call “Grandma’s House” chic—gilded faux gas lamps on the walls, ornate frames around pictures of small children in Victorian clothes, and dried flowers over the mirror, which was also in a fancy gold frame.
All proof that money didn’t mean you had taste to match. Shaking her head, Simone shook out her blouse and held it to the light to see if she needed to do more scrubbing. Behind her the door opened just as she realized that one, she hadn’t locked the door and two, it was a coed bathroom.
“Sorry,” Elliott said upon spying her with her wet blouse held up in front of her almost bare chest. “You were taking so long, I wanted to be sure you weren’t sick or something.”
“I’m fine. Just trying to clean my blouse. Why would you think I was sick?”
“You ate from the buffet,” he began, but before he could finish, the door behind him rattled.
Before she knew it, Simone was again pressed up against him, though this time it was in the first bathroom stall with a soaking shirt between them. When she opened her mouth to protest, he covered it with his hand. His palm pressed her lips against her teeth.
Her knees went weak.
Elliott leaned closer, closer, closer,
but he didn’t kiss her. Instead, he said into her ear, “Don’t say a word. I don’t want anyone to know I’m in here with you.”
* * *
Simone’s eyes were very blue in the light streaming down from the hideous overhead fixture. They’d gone first wide, then heavy lidded when he pressed his hand over her mouth, but when he spoke, they narrowed. She nodded though, after a second or so, and he took a chance on uncovering her mouth. Her lipstick had smeared a little, and he used a thumb to wipe the smudge.
She shrugged herself into her shirt, every motion pushing her against him. In the narrow space, he became very aware of her smell. Floral. Something like lilies, but faint and undercut with the fresher scent of soap and water so that maybe she wasn’t wearing perfume at all, but simply smelled of her last shower. It would’ve been a misstatement to say that he wasn’t used to his women smelling so … clean … because certainly none of them were ever unhygienic. But all of them, to a one, scented themselves so thoroughly that it was hard for Elliott to tell them apart in his memories, when he thought of them at all. Which wasn’t often.
He leaned close again to breathe her in, lips and nose brushing the flesh of her neck. She didn’t shrink away from him, but instead turned her head to give him complete access to her skin. That simple acquiescence, along with the way she’d so readily given in to the press of his hand over her mouth urging her to silence, sent a rush of sensation straight to his cock.
“Shhh,” Elliott mouthed against her as the sound of voices rose and fell outside the stall. Simone sighed softly but didn’t say a word. “Good girl,” he breathed.
At that, she pulled away from him enough to shoot him another narrow-eyed glare. It seemed all he could do tonight was misjudge women, but too late now because the voices outside the stall were louder and closer, and they didn’t sound like they planned on leaving anytime soon. Quite the contrary, as a matter of fact. Judging by the rustle of clothing and murmurs, the people on the other side of the door were going to be there for quite awhile.
When the doorknob turned, he should’ve stepped away from Simone and made his apologies, ducking out. Instead, he’d overreacted, pushing her into this bathroom stall, where she was pressed up against him as though she’d been made to fit there. Now, they were trapped. The only way to deal with it was to wait it out, or to open the stall door and reveal themselves in this compromising position—which would be more embarrassing than if he’d simply left when the door opened originally.
