Mister Stand-In: A Hero Club Novel

by C. M. Albert

  “Fucker,” I snarled. “Do I need to go rearrange somebody’s face?”

  Presley laughed. “No, though I appreciate the offer. It wasn’t that bad—but he’d heard the office gossip and knew I was pretty inexperienced. He made it clear that he wanted to be with me, though he had no business doing so, being my boss and all.”

  She sipped her beer, looking out over the ocean. “But he was also handsome and charismatic. And very married. I told him I wasn’t interested several times, but he just wouldn’t take no for an answer. He found me at the Christmas party, alone, and cornered me . . .”

  “You don’t have to tell me, Presley, if you’re uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “It’s okay. It’s more embarrassing than anything else. He kissed me without me giving him the okay. I told him to stop, but he just deepened his kiss. It was confusing, honestly, because I’d never been kissed like that by an older man. He knew what he was doing, unlike most of the guys I’d fumbled around with in college. So it shocked me when I felt turned on by his kiss—even though I didn’t respect the guy or want to be with him.”

  “It’s completely understandable, Presley.”

  “Is it though? That’s what I struggled with. I kissed him back, Carter. It just encouraged Victor in a way I didn’t mean to. Before I knew what was happening, he put his hand under my skirt and rubbed me, through my underwear. I was frozen in place. I knew I should stop him. I wanted to. But he was still kissing me, even though I’d stopped kissing him back. I told him to stop, but maybe I didn’t use those exact words. I think I just said I didn’t think we should be doing that. Someone could walk in. Your wife’s in the other room. We need to go. That kind of thing.”

  “He assaulted you, Presley. You get that, don’t you?” I would find this man and kill him. “Who was it, P? What’s his last name?”

  She shook her head. “It’s fine, Carter. I’m over it. I was madder at myself for not shoving him away or yelling in his face to stop. For not being more vocal about my needs. He was just—so high up at the company. I was afraid to make a scene at the Christmas party and look like a child.”

  My teeth were clenched, but I didn’t say anything. I could tell Presley wanted to get the rest off her chest.

  “He kept rubbing me until I got wet. I was mortified. And scared. I didn’t want anything to do with this man. Yet I’d kissed him back and was obviously turned on or my body wouldn’t have responded that way.”

  “Yes, Presley, it can. That wasn’t your fault. You were young, and he took advantage of your inexperience and position at the company to assault you. But your body is a network of sensory nerves, and it can respond, even if you don’t want it to. That wasn’t your fault. That didn’t signal in any way that it was okay. He was an asshole.”

  “I know that now,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring all this up. I just—I didn’t listen to my instincts then, which is how I found myself alone with him in the first place. And then I didn’t stop something I was extremely uncomfortable with. He ran his finger, under my underwear, when he was done. When he pulled back and looked at me in the eyes, I didn’t like what I saw. He patted me down there, with his sticky finger. Then told me to come find him after the party, and he’d take care of my little problem for me. Meaning my—”

  “I know what he meant, Presley. Did you punch him?”

  “No,” she said, chewing the corner of her lips. “I was shocked. I went home. Then called in sick the next day. I had the holidays off. I talked to Willa about what happened. She offered to rearrange his face, too,” she said, laughing. “But I told her no—it was partially my blame. I put my notice in at the company after the break and didn’t go back. It was a good opportunity, a good starting point at a place I could’ve seen myself writing for a long time. But I wasn’t going to put myself in a position I didn’t feel safe in ever again.”

  “Well,” I said, offering my hand to her, “I’m proud of you. I’m really sorry men can be such selfish assholes sometimes.”

  She came over to me and curled up on my lap. “You’re not, though, Carter. You surprise me. I pegged you as arrogant, and you keep proving me wrong.”

  “It’s you,” I murmured, warm against her mouth. Our lips were inches apart, and she was straddling my lap now, her arms around my neck. “You’ve bewitched me or something.”

  She laughed, low and throaty, then wiggled her nose like Samantha from the old TV show. “If I do, do I get anything I want?”

  “Maybe,” I teased. “Depends on your demands.”

  She leaned forward and whispered into my ear, nibbling it gently when she was done.

  I stood up, ready to haul her ass from the hot tub and back to my room for the night. “Your wish is my command, princess.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Presley

  I HAD TO talk to Dex before I drew any conclusions. And I had to start my interview with Carter today, too. Since he had a work event later, it was imperative to get through my questions, so I had something to start with when I began writing. But first, I wanted an update on his dad. He’d blown me off last night, instead focusing on our physical connection. I helped him work off whatever pent-up energy he’d been carrying early into the morning hours. He was still asleep upstairs, so I used the time to call Dex, instead.

  “Hey, Presley! How’re you enjoying the beach house?”

  “It’s amazing! Thanks so much for letting us stay here.”

  “Yeah, no problem. Anytime. What’s up?”

  I could hear the clack of his keyboard in the background as he multitasked. I took a deep breath. How did I start a conversation that began with, “So, I was accidentally snooping . . .”

  “I have something important to ask you, Dex, if that’s okay?”

  “Sure. Does it have to do with the story you’re doing on Carter?”

  “Maybe? I’m not sure. Have you ever heard of Pennington Cartwright before?”

  The clacking of his keyboard stopped.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  I swallowed. That wasn’t the yes or no answer I was expecting. “I found a picture of him in Carter’s house. He didn’t seem to know who he was, but his father was in the picture, too. Your dad, as well.”

  Dex cleared his throat. “What does this have to do with the story you’re writing? Carter wasn’t even alive then.”

  “No, nor were you. But it seems as if your fathers knew each other.”

  “Is there a question in there somewhere, Presley?”

  There were so many questions, but I wasn’t sure which I had the nerve to ask. “Your family owns The Grove outright, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, we do. Why?”

  I could hear the agitation in his voice, and I knew I was tiptoeing a very narrow line right now. One question the wrong way could blow up a friendship I wasn’t willing to risk losing. I thought of Bianca. She’d been so brave pursuing the article she’d written about Dex, back in the day when she was still at Finance Times full-time. Surely, he’d understand where I was coming from?

  “I couldn’t let the feeling go that there was more to that picture than met the eye, so we did a little research, and—”

  “I’m sorry, who’s we?”

  “You know,” I hedged, “my guy at the Times.”

  “What’s your question, Presley? I have a one o’clock.”

  “Why is Carter’s name on a trust that’s tied to the deed of The Grove?”

  “Talk to my assistant and get a meeting on my calendar for the day you get back in town. Tell her to move whatever she needs to make it happen,” he said curtly. “Have you spoken to Carter about this yet?”

  “No, I—”

  “Don’t.”

  Okay, then.

  “Can you just tell me—”

  “No, Presley. I won’t
. It’s a bigger conversation than this. We’ll talk in person when you get home. Just do me a favor. Don’t share this information with anyone else at the Times yet, okay? And for god’s sake, don’t say anything to Carter until we’ve had a chance to talk. Got it?”

  What in the world had I stumbled into?

  “Sure, Dex.”

  “Good. It was nice chatting with you, Presley. I’ll tell Bianca you said hello.”

  Then the line beeped and his secretary’s soft voice greeted me. She set an appointment for first thing Monday morning. I’d have to sit on my questions for several more days, and I wasn’t sure how I could do that while juggling my interview with Carter and sleeping in his bed at the same time. I put my head in my hands and closed my eyes. Did I really want these answers? Were they even important to the interview at hand? I didn’t think so if I was being honest. So why couldn’t I just let it go?

  Then it hit me.

  I cared about him. Really cared about him.

  Fuck.

  A warm palm resting on my back nearly had me flying out of my chair. I squealed as I turned and saw Carter standing there, looking all sexy and rumpled in his cotton sleep pants and nothing else. “Jeez, Carter, you scared the crap out of me!”

  “Got a guilty conscience or something?” he teased.

  “What? No! Why would you ask that?”

  He put his hands in the air. “Calm down. It was just a joke,” he said, kissing my forehead. “Good morning, beautiful.”

  He nodded toward the coffee pot. “Mind if I steal some?”

  My heart rate slowed as I watched Carter stride across the kitchen, every step so confident and . . . masculine. His round ass filled out the pajama pants, and I suddenly had an urge to run my hands over them. But I had to stay focused today.

  “You ready to sit down and chat?” I asked.

  “First thing?” he asked, a lazy smile creeping over his face. “I could think of a better way to ease into the day.”

  He sipped his black coffee and looked at me over the rim, his eyebrows raised. THIS. This was how Carter had gotten into some of the most elite circles in New York City. He had a way about him that just charmed the pants off everyone.

  “Have you ever slept with a client before?” I asked.

  “Really, Presley? You have to ask that?”

  I shook my head. “It just seems like it would be so easy. You have some pretty big doors opened for you with the clients you keep. And it’s no secret how good-looking and charismatic you are—”

  “You think I’m good-looking and charismatic?” he asked, stalking toward me.

  I stood, putting my arms out straight in front of me. “I do. You know I do,” I said, walking backward around the table as he followed me, smirking. “God, Carter! Stop that. I have to interview you, for heaven’s sake.”

  “What if I answered every question in bed? You ask a question. I answer. You get a reward.”

  It was tempting. Too tempting. There was already a significant chance my article would be majorly biased. If I was taking down his answers with his face pressed between my legs, I’d never be in a sane enough state of mind to write this damn thing. And it was a possible game changer for my career if I nailed it. I was up against three others for the front story, I’d found out. It wasn’t a given that mine would make it. I had to stay professional. Focused.

  I glanced down at Carter’s abs and the walls of my pussy clenched. Shut up! I told it, silently. I made it to the couch and picked up a pillow. “Don’t come any closer,” I warned.

  “Or what? You’re going to smother me to death?”

  “Smart ass,” I said, laughing. “Seriously, Carter, I can’t think straight with you half naked and looking all, all—”

  “All what, princess?”

  “Delicious and shit.”

  Carter full out belly laughed. “Rain check? If I answer every question you have, you’ll go swimming naked with me later?”

  “Wait—what? Out there?” I asked, pointing over my shoulder. “In the day? No way. Anyone could see us.”

  “But no one will. They’re paid to not notice things that go on around here, Presley. And no visitors can access this part of the island, or this beach.”

  My eyes glanced over my shoulder at the blue waters, the gentle waves crashing into the shoreline. It was on my list. “Fine. But only if you answer every question I have first.”

  “Deal,” he said, coming closer.

  “From a distance!”

  “I thought we’d just seal the deal with a kiss?”

  “Nope. No way. That’s how my panties get wet and I can’t think straight, and then I wind up bent over the side of a hot tub,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “You fucking loved it, though,” Carter said, stepping closer.

  Without thinking, I threw the pillow at him and ran back around to my side of the table. Carter grabbed my wrist before I made it all the way and twirled me into his chest. I was laughing, looking up into his dark brown eyes when the knowledge sucker punched me right in the gut.

  I was in love with Carter Wright.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Carter

  SHE ASKED VERY insightful questions, and I answered them all, though I was still uneasy about the prospect of this interview. How could I celebrate being a millionaire, while possibly outing my clients? Our relationship was based on trust, and I couldn’t help but worry that this would break it every way to Sunday.

  “So, no, I don’t sleep with clients,” I reiterated. “It’s a hard line I never cross. Now, and this is off record, but I want to be honest with you on a personal level, Presley. I have slept with a client’s friend or relative before. We go to a lot of high-profile events, and the adrenaline is unlike anything I can explain. And sometimes, that adrenaline, along with a couple of drinks . . . well, I’ve had a couple lapses of judgment. But never with a client. It’s important to me to distinguish that line. I would never do that for money.”

  “I was just kidding, Carter. I would never put anything like that in the article, either. I just realized, I guess, how easy it would be for a client to fall head over heels for you.”

  “I don’t let that happen, Presley. I’m more careful than that.”

  “Okay,” she said, nodding, “I believe you, Carter. I’m sorry I asked.”

  “It’s all right. What’s next?”

  “Well, I was wondering why you have so many concerns about your business getting more exposure. I would think you’d be proud of the fact that you’ve built this niche company into a multimillion-dollar business in such a short amount of time. Wouldn’t more exposure mean more work?”

  “Yes and no,” I said. I leaned back in my chair and crossed my hands over my stomach. “Let me start with a story. Bear with me.”

  She nodded, turning up the volume on the voice recorder she used.

  “When I was in the military, my commander came to me one day. We were friendly, even though he scared the shit out of me, too,” I said, chuckling. “He confided in me that his daughter was getting bullied a little in school because of her Down Syndrome. Pissed me off, and I didn’t even know her. Kids can be so cruel.”

  Presley nodded, concern softening her gaze as she listened intently. “When I left the military, I asked after her. I hadn’t heard him talk about her again, but then, he was a quiet kind of guy. Kept his emotions to himself. He looked surprised that I’d remembered. Her prom was coming up, and he and his wife were torn about letting her go. She wanted to, badly. But the bullying hadn’t gone away, even with school intervention. That only seemed to make it worse, despite the fact that her father was a decorated five-star general.”

  I took a sip of my coffee. “I offered to take her to the prom, so she didn’t have to go alone. And I’d certainly never let a soul bully her while I was there.”


  I could tell Presley was surprised.

  “Her dad took me up on it, and the rest is history. I took Val to the dance. I made sure she had a great time. And I made sure no one bullied her at school ever again.”

  “Do I even want to know?”

  “Nah,” I said, winking. “But they left her alone after that. I didn’t care so much about that part as I did helping her get a normal experience of going to prom. She deserved that.”

  “Once again, you surprise me, Carter. But, how does this affect you today?”

  “Presley, my clients come to me for so many different reasons. Val’s dad made an off-handed remark that night about standing in for his daughter when she had no other friends in her corner, and something just clicked. Maybe I could help others, too. Her dad was very wealthy, and despite me protesting, he paid me for taking her that night. I hadn’t done it to make money. I did it because I knew what it was like not to have friends in high school. Hell—I didn’t even go to my own prom.”

  “What?” Presley asked in disbelief.

  I shook my head. “You saw what I wanted you to see, Presley. A cocky, too-cool-for-school kid with a run of the island. But my inner circle was small for a reason.”

  “Carter, I didn’t realize.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” I said, blowing it off. “I don’t give a shit about any of the kids I went to high school with. But it taught me compassion for those who weren’t in the in-crowd. I got into a lot of fights standing up for others. Almost got expelled.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “My English teacher saw something in me. Made me keep fighting. Encouraged me to go to college first before joining the military.”

  Presley nodded, jotting down notes even though the recorder was still going.

  “Anyway, Val’s dad referred me to other clients, and word of mouth took off quickly. It seemed there was quite a need for someone to step in and save the day.”

  “So, that’s what you do as Mister Stand-In? Save the day?”