Public (Private Book 2)

by Xavier Neal

  Public

  Private Series #2

  Xavier Neal

  Public

  Private Series #2

  By Xavier Neal

  © Xavier Neal 2017

  Cover by Angie Merriam

  All rights reserved

  License Note

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without authorization of the Author. Any distribution without express consent is illegal and punishable in court of law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedicated to The Universe...Thank you for the amazing experiences I have had in private, as well as in public.

  Playlist Selects

  Here are seven songs from the “Private Series” playlist!

  Feel free to follow the playlist on Spotify to find more songs I felt related to the series.

  Hard- Jagged Edge (R&B)

  Money Honey- Lady Gaga (Pop)

  That’s What You Get- Paramore (Rock/Punk Rock)

  4. Smile- Slim Thug (Rap/Hiphop)

  5. Echo –Trapt (Alterative Metal)

  6. Don’t Tell Me It’s Over- Gym Class Heroes (HipHop/Fun/Alernative Rock)

  7. Simple Things- Usher (R&B)

  More songs: http://spoti.fi/2hXSMj9

  (One year after the end of Private…)

  “Yeah, I'm coming for the closing meeting,” I say into the earpiece just as Brynley strolls into our living room. She gives her bedhead a ruffle, her curvy mocha body completely naked, to my delight. “I gotta go.”

  As soon as I end the call she questions, “Why'd you hang up so fast? Was that the wedding planner again? Did I sleep through another one of those calls?”

  “No,” my retort is followed by pulling her into my boxer covered lap where I’m sitting on our gray, L shaped couch. Once she's settled in a straddled position, I trail a finger down her chest to her nipple, enjoying the small shudders that are the result of my light touch.

  “Then who was it?” She moans her question.

  “J.T.” I lower my face and give the hardened nub a tease with my teeth. “Business.”

  “Closing the deal with the Morgan brand?”

  Once I repeat my action on the other side, I hum, “Mmmhm.”

  About a month after the media frenzy of my return began to simmer, we successfully started the paperwork to acquire a small company with big promise. Having the Morgan brand join the Wilcox family is part of our decision to dip our toes into the world of beer. Our name being synonymous with whiskey is beneficial at the same time harmful. Wilcox is the trusted name of liquor not beer. Different fields. Different requirements. However, the board, myself, J.T. and Brynley all agree branching out to the other side of the fence could grow the brand exponentially. And that's the place in life I've entered. Trying to grow. It's happening in my private life as much as it is my public one.

  Brynley allows for my tongue to roll and tease her nipples for only a moment more. “What happened to saying good morning?”

  “I'm trying to make it a good morning,” I counter, my cock nudging against her dripping heat. The alacrity her body always has for mine makes me even harder. Hungrier. “Actions baby. Actions are always better than words.”

  Her arms tangle around my neck as she hits me with a stern expression. “Quit saying clever shit to try to get laid. You know I have to go in early today. I have to check on some of the new adoptions.”

  When Brynley's internship at the Bower and Powell Institute ended, she wasn't hired on for that particular job. Instead, due to her vast knowledge of marine life, they felt her expertise could be better used in other departments. For a couple months, she taught other trainees about the types of creatures in their care. Then she taught the tour hosts some interesting facts and showed them better presentation points. Most recently she was asked to be a part of the research and rescue team. Part of her job requires on site rescue assessment at times, which calls for a couple days at the rescue location to analyze a creature's behavior and possible recovery time. I hate not sleeping beside her on those nights. Hell, I don't actually sleep. I typically spend the time working around the clock, so when she returns home I can spend around the clock hours on top of her. Underneath her. Beside her.

  “Yes, but the institute isn't far from our penthouse, which is the entire reason we've been sleeping here all week. I'm going to take advantage of its benefits, the most important being that I can fuck you properly and still get to work on time.”

  Acquiring the penthouse had dual intentions. Brynley wasn't thrilled about the drive or ride to the city every morning and evening as well as some late nights she ended up pulling. My reestablished presence in the company building also ended with many late nights at the office. With that in mind and Brynley's desire for us to have a place to call our own as opposed to having her just move in with me, grabbing a place downtown seemed like the perfect solution. It was like pulling teeth with her to let me buy the damn thing all on my own. She kept insisting if it was going to have both our names on it then it should come out of both of our pays. I compromised by letting her pay the monthly bills, which thankfully ended that discussion. I love how independent she is. Determined to take care of herself. Fend for herself tooth and nail, but it gets frustrating having to learn to fight for middle ground. Just like she gets frustrated with my resistance to large social settings and the overwhelming need to assure everyone's safety in a situation before proceeding. At least I know the biggest threat we've dealt with is no longer an issue. She's still healing in the Swiss Alps. Since she's been admitted to the psychiatric facility, she's called Clark to apologize and seek reprieve. He and Lauren seem to be a little more forgiving than I am. Definitely more forgiving than Brynley. However, I did offer to fly Clark over there any time he would like to visit. I'm not sure he's ready to look his daughter in the eye after what she did just yet.

  I flip Brynley onto her back and nudge her legs apart with mine. She lets out a frustrated sigh, “Can we at least talk about what the wedding planner said yesterday?”

  Sliding my boxers off I mutter, “You talk. I'm not listening.”

  “Wes.”

  “Bryn.” She twitches a momentary glare that's washed away by a wave of ecstasy from my shaft slipping in deep. Her heady moan causes me to cock a smirk and whisper, “How's that for a good morning, baby?”

  The rocking of her hips is all the answer I really need. I bury my mouth in the crook of her neck, consuming the best breakfast a man could ever ask for. She locks her ankles together around my waist trapping me in place. Her aggressive nature mercilessly feeds mine. My teeth scrape the skin underneath them as I ferociously thrust over and over again. Brynley’s moans melt into whimpers, and my mouth becomes desperate to devour them. Her hands work their way up to my shoulders where they’re instantly captured. I pin them above her and piston my dick with such vigor the entire couch scrapes across the dark hard wood floor. Brynley’s mouth fights for separation. Her tongue violently thrashes, commanding respite from the overpowering pleasure engulfing her senses. Each rough stroke stretches her wider. Drives me to the hilt. When her mouth is finally granted its freedom, her head dips backwards on a harsh gasp. The intensity of the sound and the amount of force her body trembles with tempts my dick to come earlier than expected. A fierce groan escapes from behind my gritted teeth just as her tight, wet muscles begin pulsing wildly around my cock.

  Bryn promptly pulls the perfect string to unravel me. “I need you to come for me, Wes…”
>
  The demand is immediately met. My body locks in place, and my groan reverberates around the room. Scorching surge after surge is stolen from me until the two of us are completely sated. At that moment, her head pops up, revealing her blue eyes that are filled with love and mischief.

  This is the look that rules my life. I may have all the power in the boardroom, but I’m basically defenseless when she pairs it with a pouty expression.

  Lord help me if we ever have a daughter.

  “Wanna meet back here for lunch and make it a good afternoon too?”

  I groan at the salacious suggestion before dropping my mouth back onto hers.

  An additional benefit of having this penthouse. Going out to lunch typically means meeting her here for a quickie and returning to the office a very satisfied man. J.T. enjoys making juvenile jokes about it, but I’m starting to think it’s to hide the jealousy of not having someone for himself. I want him to have happiness outside of the business like I do. Happiness I never thought was possible after the accident. Happiness Brynley burst into my world and demanded I accept. I hope someone does the same for him. I also hope it happens sooner rather than later.

  After Douglas signs the final document, the two of us shake hands, and pause for the publicity photo.

  I still loathe getting my picture taken. Loathe allowing the world to gawk at my discolored flesh and the distorted burn patterns on my skin. Part of becoming more involved requires I remind the public who Weston Wilcox is. What he looks like. How he carries himself. What matters to him outside of making money. Which actions he takes that would make his predecessor, also known as his father, proud. As much as I enjoy doing things like acquiring new companies and helping them grow, meeting new owners and reassuring them the business world is ruthless, but I sit at the top for a reason, I despise being a public figure. Having to answer to social complaints and play specific social roles. Having to edit my speech like an ongoing performance. Having to constantly be monitored like a newborn. All of it creates a lack of control I don’t enjoy.

  “You ready to do this?” J.T. asks from over my shoulder.

  Unlike getting my photo taken or having a one on one interview, I am still blatantly uncomfortable during press conferences. I grit my teeth when I’m supposed to be smiling. Glare when I should be cheerful. I fidget. I clear my throat too often. I constantly present the wrong body language. The list from the PR department and our shared personal publicist, Evie, goes on for an eternity. She actually resigned working for all other clients because of the difficulty Brynley and I present. J.T., however, is her golden boy, and he takes extreme pride in her excessive praising.

  “Wes,” his voice cautiously calls when I don’t answer. “You can do this. It’s easy.”

  Douglas gives a nod indicating he’ll meet us on the other side where the reporters are waiting.

  Once the door shuts, my eyes meet his. “This was easy.” I tap the document on the table. “That,” I point the direction Douglas disappeared, “is not.”

  He grows a grin I despise. “Only way you get better is by practicing.”

  “Did Evie teach you to say that?”

  J.T. chuckles and folds his arms across his chest. “What do you hate more? Her nagging or the reporters’ questions?”

  “Her nagging.”

  “Then I suggest you get your ass out there because if I have to go and answer questions because you pussyed out, I bet the brand new personal jet you just bought, Evie will retaliate with a month’s worth of interviews to be done in a week.”

  An annoyed groan idles in the back of my throat. “That woman has too much power.”

  My best friend chortles. “People say the same thing about you.”

  The two of us adjust our jackets, our ties, and our smiles before heading out of the room to join Douglas. Once we’ve settled behind the podium, we allow the cameras a couple of minutes to capture the photos they’ll be running alongside their article. Out of the corner of my eyes I notice Douglas doing his best not to show how truly overwhelmed he is by the crowd. His middle aged face oscillates between smiling too wide and not wide enough. He turns to the side in an effort to conceal his slightly large stomach while I do my best to maintain my well-rehearsed, composed demeanor.

  When J.T. has decided they’ve had long enough, he steps closer to the microphone to make the formal announcement about the merger. His eloquent speech outlines the important information and mutual excitement with such ease the lingering concern I’m harvesting over this being a good decision is demolished.

  It’s moments like this when I realize he’s just as much a Wilcox as I am. That my father had two sons he’d be honored to have running his beloved company.

  “Now, we’ll open the floor to a few questions for Mr. Morgan and Mr. Wilcox,” J.T. announces to the waiting crowd.

  Hands eagerly fly into the air, and he calls upon the first reporter with a swift point.

  The man stands at the same time he states, “Justin Lakes, with Highland Herald, Mr. Morgan, are you nervous about joining a company who has basically no footing in the beer industry at this point?”

  Douglas offers a kind smile. “Absolutely not. While Wilcox Whiskey may lack a specific beer reputation, their brand is irrefutably one of the biggest in the alcohol industry. With that reach and level of respect, I have no doubts that they will not only make an amazing first impression into the world of beer, they will rise to the top of it as well.”

  I allow my smile to naturally expand, and the cameras instantly start flashing to capture it.

  Hearing his unwavering belief in me and the company swells my chest with content. No. Not all of my past choices would’ve made my parents proud, but decisions like this? Giving the smaller brands a chance to rise up? Guiding them down the path of success? These are the ones they would’ve commended, the ones I feel in a way they silently are.

  J.T. calls on another reporter, this time a woman with frazzled hair and glasses. “Courtney Peeps, with Cliffsworth Chronicles, will there be some sort of event to commemorate this merger?”

  “We have organized a small celebration for the current employees of the Morgan brand to mingle with those they will be working with in the upcoming months. It’s a low key opportunity for both sides to come together like a family,” I casually answer, “which is what we prefer to think of ourselves as.”

  My best friend signals to a petite woman sporting a bobbed haircut. “Monica Simmons, with Global Laundry, if you are a family, Mr. Wilcox, then why hasn’t the latest addition to your personal family been seen supporting you in this new endeavor?”

  The question takes me off guard. “Excuse me?”

  “Your fiancée, Miss Brynley Winters,” the woman continues, “has yet to be seen at your side during this process. Actually, she has been seen during very few of your business encounters with the Morgan brand over the past couple of months. Is this because she does not support or agree with this merger?”

  A twitch runs through my fingers, and I shove them in my pants pockets to prevent from noticeably balling them. “Brynley is very supportive-”

  “Then why hasn’t she been by your side, Mr. Wilcox?”

  “She’s busy-”

  “Too busy to support her future husband?”

  “She-”

  “That doesn’t sound like a good addition to your so called family, Mr. Wilcox. Which if that’s what you refer to your company as, and what you’re suggesting this merger is, then what does it say about the start of your new partnership if one of its new ‘family members’ is too busy to do something as simple as show up for something as small as a press conference?”

  Her implication grits my teeth. “She has her own responsibilities-”

  “Which are more important than you? Than yours? Than being at your side during your first steps towards a new collaboration?”

  My heart begins to brutally bang against my chest.

  “Or perhaps what you’re really trying to avoid
saying is that Miss Winters, your fiancée, didn’t deem this merger important enough to witness in person because she doesn’t believe in the so called pending success that Mr. Morgan does.”

  A roar rumbles loud enough that J.T. drops a firm hand onto my shoulder and says into the microphone, “No more questions at this time. Thank you all for coming.”

  Monica lets a nefarious smirk slide onto her olive skinned face.

  She got exactly what she wanted. She not only smeared my fiancée’s name but the faith in the success of our companies coming together. Worst of all, she successfully pushed until the monster many speculate I am, threatened to appear. It’s people like her who make me regret coming back into the light, coming back into the world where opinions weigh heavier than facts. I may have mastered the art of thriving in private for ten years, but it pales in comparison to the battle of trying to withstand the public’s judgment.

  Growing…conquering…prospering…are all the things I am trying to accomplish, but the grim reality is most days I am barely even surviving. Thankfully, I’m not alone as I learn to swim in shark infested waters. I’ve got Brynley. If anyone can help me find the strength to deal with them, it’s her.