Leasing Love: A #GeekLove Contemporary Ménage Romance (Your Ad Here Book 2)

by Allyson Lindt

  “Busted. Are you still flying back tonight?”

  In fact, she needed to leave for the airport soon. “Yup. Do you need me in-office tomorrow?”

  “Yes, but not ours. Any chance you got into that media shitstorm that was the Rinslet presentation?”

  “I did…”

  “What did you think?”

  Liz frowned at the phone. “It was pretty. Why?”

  “We’re talking to them tomorrow about licensing exclusive artwork and video. Or rather, if you’re up for it, you are.”

  Liz’s stomach dropped into her shoes. She took a few deep breaths, to calm her racing pulse. They didn’t help. “Yeah. Sure.” It was a huge company. Not as if she was meeting with Jordan or Chloe.

  “Thank you.” Mercy sounded relieved. “My brother pulled strings to get us on their calendar, and I can’t make it. You’re only a few miles from their offices, so… I’ll email you the meeting details.”

  They made a little more small talk. Tried to catch up on how things went. Liz had to let Mercy go after asking, “Say again?” for the fiftieth time when the convention noise kept her from hearing.

  Weird weekend. Liz let the events jumble and roll through her head as she wove her way toward parking. Amazing, but weird. One thing was for sure—this whole exploring-her-sexuality thing was amazing. She’d shied away from anything temporary in the past, but after last night and this morning, she wanted to discover more. Especially if a certain couple was involved.

  She regretted the thought as soon as it surfaced. That was the opposite of temporary. Tomorrow night, she was hitting up the local bars instead. While she walked, she sent Jonathan a quick email.

  Thanks for letting me crash your booth this week. The experience was fantastic. I’m on my way out, but you know how to get a hold of me if you need anything.

  - Liz

  When she’d started working with clients, the less formal correspondence made Liz wince, but she caught on that most of Mercy’s preferred the casual tone.

  She was surprised when a text came through from Jonathan, seconds later. You okay?

  Why did everyone keep asking her that? Last time I checked.

  Good. Have a safe flight.

  A URL sat at the end of the note. She sent back a quick thanks, before clicking the link. She let it load as she took a seat in her rental car, and scanned the headline before she stuck the key in the ignition.

  Assault at E3. You’ll Never Believe Who Was Involved.

  She grimaced at the horrible click bait. It was probably easy to believe.

  And then she saw Jordan’s name. They were right. She didn’t believe for a second he’d beat someone up. Even that nagging Stew guy.

  The words she read didn’t make sense. Or rather, she understood them, but what they claimed wasn’t possible. Logic argued she didn’t actually know Chloe and Jordan, but it didn’t matter. She trusted them, and they’d been with her. She hoped they got everything sorted quickly.

  * * * *

  A good night’s sleep with Chloe wrapped in his arms chased away most of Jordan’s resentment about last night’s arrest. It was a mistake. Done and in the past. He was still pissed off he had to go through it at all, and Dave didn’t quite pull off the feeling they wanted for their demo, but it was time to move on. Not every year could be a screaming success. As far as Jordan was concerned, making things better with Chloe ranked higher than knocking the media dead in a panel.

  “I’m thinking more like this.” He grabbed three dry-erase markers and sketched on the whiteboard in his artists’ office. The three guys shared the large space, because when they needed to collaborate, they got loud, and when they needed to concentrate, no one else could be.

  He let the loose lines flow, switching between the colors for skin, fabric, and shadow. It wasn’t his preferred medium. If he had his way, he’d pencil it, scan it, and then 3D render it. But his job wasn’t creation; he was responsible for direction. If he took this past a rough, erasable concept, he’d end up putting his own flare on the design and hunch down over the computer until it was near perfect—since true perfection didn’t exist.

  A couple minutes later, rough ideas of their flagship curvy heroine and muscled hero filled the board. “Posed similar to this. But—you know—the way you guys do.”

  “…ass shot…?”

  “…torn leather to the cleavage…”

  “…give him scars and a bullet wound…”

  Saving the eye roll for when he was out of the room, Jordan waved and closed the door behind him, to let them brainstorm. They’d have mock-ups for the limited-edition T-shirts by the end of the week, and finals not too long after. Now that E3 was over, it was time to start planning for the next PAX. A thought occurred to him, and he opened the door long enough to say, “No ass shots.”

  “Full frontal?”

  This time he rolled his eyes. “Only if you do the same for both.”

  “Really?”

  “No. Strategic rips are fine, but don’t show more of her than him. H and h get equal billing on all graphics. She’s the fucking star of the game.”

  He let them get back to work. They had plenty of time to make their deadline. Even as the dates clicked off, his more immediate calendar joined in. Who was he meeting with next? And if he walked back into the art room and spent the next thirty-six hours doing the images the way he wanted, how many people would he piss off?

  With any luck, not Chloe. She might enjoy the distraction as much as he would. Staying up all night, plotting, eating too much pizza—being eighteen again and living the ultimate dream of being hired as head writer and artist for a struggling software company with bigger dreams that pockets.

  He sighed and archived the past, in favor of making it through the day. He loved his job, but sometimes he missed the freedom and creativity he surrendered to do it.

  “Jordan.” Scott’s sharp voice snagged his attention, and he turned. “What are you doing for the next half hour?”

  “Catching up on email if I’m lucky.”

  “You’re not. We’ve got a vendor coming in at…” Scott glanced at his phone. “She’s in the third-floor conference room now. I’ve got a crisis to deal with. Can you talk to her?”

  “About what?”

  “I’ll forward you the meeting invite. Thanks.” Scott had his head down and was walking away before he finished talking.

  Whatever. Jordan headed for the stairs and jogged down one floor. He tried to pace himself between not keeping the appointment waiting and getting the information he needed for the meeting. The new email buzzed through as he reached the conference room. He entered and ignored the forwarded information when he saw Liz already seated. The pinstriped jacket, matching skirt, and satin shirt were out of place in the casual Rinslet offices, but she looked gorgeous.

  Her wide-eyed expression when she saw him shifted to a smile, and she stood. “Scott McAllister?” she teased.

  “I wish.” He shook her hand and took the seat next to her rather than across the table. “Well, not really. Dude’s gotta be pushing an ulcer, and he’s not even forty. But I wouldn’t mind the bank account.”

  “Is he joining us?”

  “No. He had a crisis. Asked me to fill in. Which means… I’m not up-to-date about why you’re here.” Looking for Round Two? He kept the mental question from his expression. “Give me thirty seconds, to read the itinerary.”

  “I’ll fill you in.”

  He’d prefer that. Watching her was a lot better than staring at his phone. Fuck. What was wrong with him? Not appropriate. Still, he couldn’t pull his gaze from her clear blue eyes.

  She looked away first, blushing. “I’m sorry. Isn’t this a conflict of interest?”

  “A wh— Why? Oh. Right.” The same reason he was imagining asking her to join him and Chloe for lunch—drifting into fantasies about what the three of them could get up to. Which was completely off the table now. “It was a one-time thing.” The words tasted foul.<
br />
  The way her brow flickered into a frown before an impassive mask returned made him wonder if she felt the same way. “Exactly. And it’s not as if it impacts whether or not we make this deal.”

  “Not at all.” Though it did make it tempting—and a very bad idea—to ask if he could personally oversee this partnership. “So, we’re good?”

  Her smile from earlier returned and froze in place, not reaching her eyes. She gave him a brief rundown of what they were looking for. “I didn’t even know you dealt in licensed art.”

  “It’s a new market for us.” His idea, too. “I wanted my people branching into new designs, so we set up an independent group that works directly with advertisers and marketers.”

  “Wow.”

  Her awe cranked up his smugness a notch. “Yeah. It’s done pretty well. Have you had a chance to look at our standard contracts?”

  “No. I didn’t find out about this until last night. But I have a feeling, if we move forward, I’ll be your point of contact.”

  He liked the sound of that and itched to share the news with Chloe. “I’ll make sure you get a copy of everything. Do you want the standard sales pitch to go with it?”

  “I’d lo—appreciate that.” She sat rigid in her seat, gaze flitting everywhere but at him.

  He spent the next little bit running through the basics of the product. Samples. What she could expect from the partnership. Each time innuendo slipped out, she clenched her jaw. So much for the fun they had the other day. “I can’t do this.” He let his dry-erase marker clatter into the dust tray. “Not if it’s going to be awkward.”

  “What else should it be?” Liz asked.

  A chance to figure out the possibilities three people had. Fuck. He was doing a poor job controlling himself today. “We all had fun Wednesday night, even before the sex. Didn’t we?”

  “Yes.” Her response was so quiet, he wasn’t sure he heard it right.

  “We’re all still those people who made the funny voices.”

  She met his gaze again. “True.”

  “Problem solved then.” Not that he’d be giving into the desire to ask to work with her. “Can I answer any other questions for you?”

  She worked her jaw up and down, and then shook her head. “Let me take this to the boss, and we’ll be in touch.”

  He escorted her to the lobby, neither speaking much in the elevator. They exchanged polite goodbyes, and she turned away.

  “Liz.” He fished a business card out of his wallet and snagged a pen from the front desk. He scribbled his and Chloe’s personal cell phone numbers on the back of the card. “We’ll do more not-awkward stuff.”

  She smiled and tucked the card into her purse, before vanishing through the front doors.

  Speaking of Chloe… Jordan had three minutes until his next meeting. Not enough time, but he’d make it work. He wanted to share the distracting, taunting images of her kissing Liz.

  He strode toward Chloe’s office as quickly as he could without sprinting. When he reached the room she was gathering a stack of papers from her desk and standing. She’d pulled her hair into twin braids, which gave her a deceptively innocent look.

  She furrowed her brow when she saw him. “I have to be somewhere.” Apology filled her words.

  “Same place as me.” He kicked the door shut and closed the distance between them. “You have two minutes, and if anyone cares we’re late, they can go fuck themselves.”

  “Okay?” she said with an uncertain laugh.

  He took her bundle and set it back on her desk. Before she could say anything else, he grabbed her pigtail braids, dipped his head, and kissed her hard. The whimper that escaped her throat drilled into his thoughts, and he nudged her back onto the desk. Her breathing was jagged when they broke apart.

  “I don’t want to lose track of this peace we found in L.A.” His voice was gravelly. He moved one hand to her hip and gripped tight. “Whatever we need to talk through.” He nipped her bottom lip. “Whatever it takes to work this out.” He pushed up the bottom of her shirt.

  She dug her fingers into his chest. “One minute.”

  “You and your numbers.” He glided a finger under her waistband, toward her navel. “We’d fall apart without you to keep track.”

  She squirmed against him. “Did you lock the door?”

  “No.” Why did she want him to think? He unbuttoned her jeans.

  She bit her bottom lip when he slid under her panties. “What if someone walks in?”

  “They can watch.” His cock dug into his zipper, and the pain mixed with her reminder that timing and location were less than ideal. The flush on her cheeks and the rise and fall of her chest overrode his common sense.

  “You’re wicked.” Her teasing words faded in a gasp when he dipped between her legs.

  “You realize the whole office knows we’re fucking.”

  She gyrated her hips against his touch. He found her swollen button with ease and stroked her clit.

  “You’re so wet.” He kissed her again, devouring her mouth.

  “Not until you got here.”

  He stroked faster, pace matching her moans. One of his favorite sounds. She was holding back, trying to keep quiet, but it tempted him. He wished they had time for more. But watching her get off. The way her face scrunched up. Her nails digging into his arms. The gasp and hold of her breath before climax spilled through her, making her shudder away from his touch. It was a nice image to burn in his mind and hold until this evening.

  “Where’d that come from?” She leaned her head against his chest.

  “You inspired me.”

  Her giggle was light and airy. “I won’t argue with that. Minus three minutes.”

  He tugged her braids to lean her head back and look her in the eye. “Tonight, after work, we’ll do the forming-of-the-words thing. I’ll pick up sandwiches. We’ll talk and we’ll screw around.”

  “Tempting. Two naked, dirty minds on display for each other to see? Pull an all-nighter plus a little smut, like the old days?”

  “You’ve got such a way with words.”

  “Damn straight, I do.” She smiled, nudged him back, and did up her jeans. “Don’t be late tonight.”

  He kissed her again. “Cross my heart.”

  Chapter Eight

  Chloe’s face was hot, and she was pretty sure one of her braids had come loose. She made her way into the conference room with Jordan, thoughts on anything but the PAX planning meeting. Someone teased them about being late, a couple of people exchanged raised-eyebrow looks, and then everyone turned back to the itinerary.

  Which was fine with her. She was only here because they wanted department heads. Her marketing team already had the copy written for this project, and the demo was the same they shared at E3, so her action-item list was small. This was a rare moment to catch her breath, and try not to lose it again by falling into what happened in her office.

  She and Jordan had never done anything like that before. Before the other morning with Liz, the most risqué not-at-home sex they ever had was in a hotel room. It wasn’t all on Jordan. It took Chloe some time to realize she wanted more. And he got it. She wished it didn’t take months of snipping at each other, to the point of almost falling apart, but at least they were finding common ground.

  A thought she couldn’t quite grasp nagged in the back of her mind. The harder she reached for it, the further it slid, until it evaporated.

  “I’m going to say what everyone else is thinking.” Dave’s brash voice drew Chloe’s attention. “The whole kinkier than thou thing is for shock value. No one wants to see the tentacle-porn innuendo in our teasers.”

  Chloe rolled her eyes. She expected this. Dave raised questions like this every time. It was fair. Not everyone liked the joke, and he preferred his half-naked a bit more traditional. She hoped he’d let the topic drop if she made a concession. He saved them with the demo yesterday and didn’t deserve grief in return. “All right. We’ll cut the sexy
Cthulhu joke. Not everyone’s up for novelty-sized.” When she started here, being so vocal about anything sexual would have turned her beet red. Her reputation required her to be shamelessly vocal, though. “We’ll change it to alien probes instead. Add in a little seventies porn music.”

  “Why do you keep subjecting us to your fucked-up fantasies? Not getting enough at home?” Of course. Not only didn’t he drop it, he also made it personal. Maybe he wasn’t as cool with taking over the panel as he said.

  She spun a mile-long list of possible retorts through her thoughts, to figure out which had the highest laugh it off and move on probability.

  Jordan spoke before she could. “She wasn’t complaining ten minutes ago.”

  The room erupted in a series of nice one, bro and dude, no way. Chloe’s cheeks cranked back to flaming hot, for different reasons this time. Off-color jokes didn’t bother her, but these people didn’t get to know her and Jordan’s private life. She forced a smile past the scalding heat on her face. “Fine. You and your repressed world views can have Catholic school-girl skirts,” she told Dave. She glanced at her phone, pretending it buzzed. “I have to take this. You boys keep fighting the good fight.”

  “Don’t be like that.” Dave’s tone softened. “We’re fucking with you. That’s all.”

  “Enough.” Again, Jordan cut her off before she could reply. Was he intentionally shutting her down, or was he looking out for her?

  “Don’t worry.” She smirked at Dave. “No hard feelings. But your girlfriend is on the phone asking if I’ve got what you don’t.” She shouldn’t have said that, but taking it back would mean losing face, especially amid the chorus of ooh, burn.

  Dave clenched his jaw, and she whirled away. She strode from the room with her head held high, despite the frustration clawing at her chest. Moments later, she sat at her desk with her fingers poised over the keyboard, determined to get work done with her newly discovered free time.

  Her mind wouldn’t be redirected, though. What was wrong with her today? An exchange like that wasn’t uncommon. Dave had a point—it was harmless teasing. A variation on the same conversation she had with the rest of the group at least once a week for the past decade. This time, she got emotional and wrecked the fun. She should have laughed it off, redirected things to jokes that didn’t attack anyone, and then moved on. A nagging tick in the back of her thoughts wanted to blame Jordan. For bringing them into it. For not looking bothered.