Love Is In the Air Volume 1

by Susan Stoker

  “Now you sound just like her.”

  “Well, I’m not her,” I fired back, insulted by the relation. “She never paid you back a dime.” And she threw her own daughter under the bus. Something I would never do to anyone, least of all my child.

  But I hadn’t been raised in a fairy tale. No, quite the opposite. I learned from a very young age how to fend for myself. It was what prompted me to excel in school, to achieve all the best grades and earn a full-ride scholarship to NYU.

  Too bad my mother destroyed my senior year with all this bullshit. I was a semester shy of graduating when her life imploded in my face.

  The day she introduced me to Corban.

  An internship, she’d called it.

  Yeah, some internship that turned out to be.

  He relaxed his broad shoulders on a shrug. “All right. Bring me a similar payment in ten days, and I’ll give you more slack.”

  “Ten days?” I squeaked.

  “Go rob another bank, or whatever it is you did.” The devilish glint in his irises said he knew exactly what I did. Which wouldn’t surprise me. His men had been following me for weeks to make sure I didn’t run. “It’ll bring you to about ten percent of what your mother owes me. Some would call that generous on my part, to even contemplate a down payment. Especially considering your mother’s track record.”

  I gritted my teeth and swallowed a complaint. Because none would matter. If I didn’t produce the funds as he required, he’d find a different way for me to earn him money. One not too dissimilar to that of the other night, except then it would be on his terms and not mine.

  If only this had happened six months after my college graduation and not before. Then maybe I would have found a day job.

  Alas, no one wanted to hire someone with a mostly completed business degree.

  “I’ll have it to you in ten days,” I said, mustering a confidence I didn’t feel.

  How I would manage it was another issue entirely. But I lacked a choice in the matter. I either figured it out or paid the price of my mother’s sins.

  “I like you, Liani,” he said softly. “Let’s keep it that way.”

  A subtle threat, one that scattered goose bumps along my sweater-clad arms. How my mother ever trusted this man… I fought the urge to shake my head and stood instead. “See you soon, Corban.”

  “Yes. You will.” He dismissed me with a wave of his elegant hand, his gold ring glistening in the late afternoon sun streaming in through his office windows.

  His bodyguard stood waiting at the door, the ugly white scar adorning his cheek and jaw seeming to mock me. He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak. He merely twisted the handle and escorted me down the pristine hallway and deposited me in the elevator without so much as a glance.

  I collapsed against the steel walls, alone at last, and let out the shaky breath I’d been holding. “What are you doing?” I whispered to myself, cringing.

  If JBI didn’t hire me, I was fucked.

  When I asked Veronica about it this morning, she said JBI would be in touch either way, and at this point, no news was actually good news. Because it meant they were likely going through the process of bringing me on.

  “It’s much easier to dismiss someone,” she’d said.

  I hope you’re right, I thought for the thousandth time.

  But I couldn’t rely on her, or JBI, or anyone other than myself. That was the one lesson my mother had instilled in me in life.

  The doors opened into an expansive lobby lined with marble and gold, and two more of Corban’s goons. They watched as I made my way across the floor, my heels clacking with every step.

  Then I was outside.

  Free.

  For now.

  “Name three adjectives that describe you,” the restaurant manager said, his attention on the notepad in his sweaty palms. He’d barely been able to meet my gaze when I arrived, making me question his managerial position.

  “Punctual, efficient, and kind,” I replied, using the politest voice I could muster.

  He nodded, writing that down.

  “Tell me about a time when you faced a difficult customer situation”—he squinted at the scribbles on his pad—“and how you resolved it.”

  This had to be the worst interview ever. At least my audition for JBI had been interesting.

  And, well, pleasing.

  I gave him an example, then answered some of his other canned questions before shaking his too-damp hand and leaving the pizzeria.

  Interview number five—done.

  I had two more this week, and less than seven days to come up with the funds for Corban. Despair hung just over my head, threatening to pour all over my future. But I extended my metaphorical umbrella to keep the storm clouds at bay and forced myself to walk the six blocks back to my studio apartment.

  There was still time.

  I could do this.

  I had to.

  There was no other—

  A package on my doorstep had me pausing in the hallway, my brow furrowing. The label was addressed to me, but I hadn’t ordered anything.

  I unlocked the door, picked it up, and entered my tiny studio. After bolting the lock behind me, I turned my focus to the box.

  No return address.

  Handwritten.

  “Odd.” I carefully unwrapped it and gasped at the dark blood-red dress lying inside. Elegant handwriting adorned the card sitting on top of the fabric.

  For tonight.

  —N

  I read it twice, not understanding. Then went in search of my phone—I’d left it charging while at my interview. Not exactly the safest plan, but the battery was almost dead and I didn’t have to walk too far to the restaurant.

  A voicemail and two text messages sat waiting for me.

  All from JBI.

  “Hello, Miss Mikos. Your audition was a success. A new phone will be delivered to you via courier in precisely two hours. However, you already have an interested client. As we have no other means of contacting you, a current client offer will be sent through text message. Should you have any questions upon review, please give our offices a call. Welcome to JBI, Miss Mikos. We look forward to our profitable journey together.”

  I blinked, stunned.

  Then read the first message.

  One-week assignment. No packing required. Dress and shoes will be provided for tonight’s dinner.

  “Uh, okay.” That didn’t tell me anything. Like where I would be staying, what he wanted from me, or even a name. Although, the card with the package indicated it was Nero. Still, a little more detail would be appreciated.

  The second text said: Pickup scheduled for six.

  So, I didn’t even get to agree to the terms? No contractual review? Just an expectation that I accepted?

  Which, yeah, I wasn’t really in a position to deny anything at the moment. Nor did I really want to…

  Nero had been passionate. Hot. Demanding. And so fucking sexy. My lady parts tingled at the thought of another night with him. A completely insane reaction after the rough way he’d handled me, but there’d been a hint of tenderness, too.

  And possessiveness.

  I shivered at the thought. He’d commanded me with every touch, then sealed his ownership with a gaze before he left.

  “Don’t commit to anyone else.” His words had branded my mind, making it impossible for me to even consider engaging in an arrangement with another man. A ludicrous reaction when I hardly knew him.

  Oh, but I gave my virginity to him.

  Willingly.

  Mostly.

  And also for money.

  Which made me a whore for hire.

  Awesome.

  I clenched my teeth and swallowed a growl. Belittling myself wasn’t the answer. Accepting, however, was, because I needed that money. Of course, I had no idea how much he was offering.

  A week? Doing what? Living where? Here?

  My lips pinched to the side. I had JBI’s number saved in my phone
, something they requested during the prolonged interview process. And I used it now.

  Might as well see what they had in mind, and how best to prepare myself. Because there was no doubt in my mind that I would be accepting. I just wanted to know the details.

  And also, maybe, to make sure it was Nero who had booked me.

  He said he didn’t share, and I believed him.

  What is this madness? I wondered with a sigh, lifting the phone to my ear. Why do I feel compelled to bow to him? Better yet, why did I want to?

  The notion of kneeling at his feet sent a thrill down my spine, heating my blood. No one had ever evoked such a response from me, hence my former virginity. But Nero, he’d lit me on fire with a glance, as if awakening a part of me that lay dormant just waiting for his nearness and touch.

  I closed my eyes, picturing his chiseled features and dark, ocean-blue eyes.

  Please let this offer be from him.

  A female answered on the third ring. “Hello, Liani,” she greeted me. “Are you calling regarding your offer?”

  “I am.” I nibbled my lower lip, my eyes still closed, Nero a painting I refused to stop envisioning. “It said it was for a week, but the client’s name wasn’t included.”

  “Yes, to protect his privacy, of course. Text messages are so easily shared, particularly from a personal phone. That’s why we’re issuing you a company mobile—one that is controlled and monitored by JBI. Is now a good time to review the details of the client’s request?”

  “It is.” I gripped my small kitchen table for support, suddenly needing it. “I would like to hear the entirety of the offer, including any requirements and where I will be staying for the next week.”

  “Of course. One moment while I pull up the contract on file from Mister Rotanev.”

  My eyes opened, my brow furrowing. Mister Rotanev?

  “Ah, yes, here we are. He’s requested a week in his Manhattan residence, no hard limits, and he says everything will be paid for, so no packing required. We also couriered over a dress for you this evening, at his request. Did you receive it?”

  “I did, but what do you mean by ‘no packing required’? It’s a week-long stay.”

  “Mister Rotanev will be providing everything you need, including clothing, if he so wishes.”

  Meaning he might not allow me to wear anything at all. Thus, the no-limits requirement. “What is Mister Rotanev’s first name?” I asked, a lump forming in my throat.

  “Nero, Miss Mikos. But I recommend you address him as ‘sir’ or ‘Mister Rotanev,’ unless he states otherwise.” A hint of censure entered her tone, as if she were a teacher scolding a student. Given the relief her words had provided, however, I didn’t mind.

  “Yes, of course. Thank you. I accept.”

  “No negotiation? And you don’t require the financial details?” She sounded surprised. As she should since money was my primary reason for doing this.

  What the hell is wrong with me? Accepting just because it’s Nero? I shook my head. “I would like to hear his full offer.”

  “Keep in mind, you can always negotiate, and most of our employees do.” With that, she gave me a figure that had my jaw dropping to the floor.

  “For seven nights?” I squeaked.

  “Yes, with no limits. As I said, counteroffers are expected. This is just the initial estimate.”

  My lips were moving without sound because I couldn’t believe that was just the baseline. It more than covered the amount Corban wanted next week. Hell, it almost covered the total amount owed. “I-I…”

  “Might I suggest a twenty percent increase as a counteroffer? I believe that to be a conservative play in this situation.”

  A twenty percent increase?! Holy shit. “Is that, uh, normal?”

  “Yes.” No elaboration, just a firm response.

  “O-okay,” I replied, my stomach in knots.

  “I’ll have it drafted and sent. Would a text message confirmation be acceptable? Or would you prefer another call?”

  “Uh, a text is fine.”

  “Excellent. May I assist you with anything else, Miss Mikos?”

  Yeah, you can help me find my mind. Because I’m pretty sure I lost it somewhere five minutes ago. Instead of saying that out loud, I cleared my throat and voiced a negative, adding, “Thank you,” to the end.

  “Anytime, Miss Mikos. Welcome to JBI.” She hung up, leaving me staring at my phone.

  “Holy hell…” How was this happening? Seven nights with Nero for a tiny fortune. “Shit.”

  A new text came through not even two minutes later.

  It displayed two words that made my heart jump.

  Counteroffer accepted.

  Rotanev will be re-released as a complete standalone novel in Summer 2021.

  Visit https://www.lexicfoss.com/rotanev for details

  About Lexi C. Foss

  USA Today Bestselling Author Lexi C. Foss loves to play in dark worlds, especially the ones that bite. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband and their furry children. When not writing, she’s busy crossing items off her travel bucket list, or chasing eclipses around the globe. She’s quirky, consumes way too much coffee, and loves to swim.

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  https://www.lexicfoss.com

  Tell Her Tonight

  Lisa Suzanne

  “Tell Her Tonight”

  SHORT STORY PREQUEL TO VEGAS ACES SERIES

  LOVE IS IN THE AIR ANTHOLOGY

  © Lisa Suzanne 2021

  1

  I’m going to tell her tonight.

  I’m going to tell her tonight.

  I’m going to tell her tonight.

  Fuck that. I’m not going to tell her tonight.

  My little sister has been best friends with Nicki Blair since her sophomore year of high school, and even back then when I was a senior, I thought she was hot. You know, for a sophomore.

  I’ll never forget the first night she spent at our house. I heard giggling coming from Ellie’s room, and the sound of Nicki’s laughter rang in my ears for days after.

  The second time, she snuck down to the kitchen for some popcorn after Ellie fell asleep, and I happened to be in there looking for some Doritos. We got to talking, and we sat at the kitchen table until the sun came up.

  I was a senior, though. It didn’t matter that I thought she was hot. She was too young for me. Too sweet and too innocent. Too much Ellie’s best friend for me to be anything more than a friend to her, too. I knew better than to come between high school girls. Hell, I’d already done that with a few different pairs of best friends my own age.

  She was fifteen, and I was seventeen—a few days away from my eighteenth birthday, when having a relationship with her was a stupid idea. The last thing I wanted was to end up on some offender’s list for life when I had a bright future ahead of me in football, so I wrote it off as a dumb crush.

  But we’re not in high school anymore. She’s not a sophomore anymore.

  Actually, technically that’s not true. She’s a sophomore in college now, and I’m a senior. I’ve got my entire future ahead of me, and my dumbass is hung up on a girl two years younger than me who’s been best friends with my sister for the last four years.

  My dumbass has been hung up on her for a long, long time.

  Ellie invited me to hang out for the weekend at Illinois State where she and Nicki share a dorm room. It’s an easy one-hour drive from the University of Illinois, the school I attend and play football for. Go Illini.

  I’m guessing she invited me because I’m twenty-one now and can buy them beer, but since I have a rare free weekend, I’m down for hanging out with my sister.

  And her best friend.
>
  I’ll get to that World History paper when I get back home Sunday night. I’ll study for my stats test Monday morning.

  This weekend is for fun.

  When I pull into the parking lot, Ellie is waiting outside the double doors that let us into the dorm. This is hardly the first time I’ve been here visiting, but something tugs on the borders of my consciousness that tells me this time will be different.

  Because you’re going to tell her tonight, Dumbass, my brain reminds me, but I shut that thought the fuck up as I grab my duffel and follow my sister into her building after greeting her with a hug.

  My heart races as we take the elevator up to Ellie’s floor and walk down the hallway toward her room. I wonder if Nicki’s in there. Maybe she’s studying, poring over a textbook as her shiny blonde hair falls across her face. I wonder if her hair still smells minty like it did that summer day when I caught a whiff of it as we bumped into each other in the small hallway leading to the bathroom at my parents’ house in Chicago.

  I shift uncomfortably on my feet as the thought of her hair turns me on in an unexpected way.

  After four years of knowing the girl and pretending like I don’t have feelings for her, I have to admit...I’m tired of pretending.

  What’s the worst that could happen? I tell her, she rejects me. Ellie doesn’t understand why and cuts off their friendship. They have to live out the rest of their sophomore year in a tiny dorm room hating each other. Ellie can’t take it and ends up shacking up at some guy’s place just to get away from her, but he’s from the wrong side of the tracks, so to speak, and he gets her involved in nefarious activities and she ends up in jail after she throws her entire life away because of her druggie boyfriend.

  But at least I admitted to Nicki how I really felt.

  As a side note, Creative Writing is the one class I’m currently pulling higher than a C in. Coach tells us to make sure to have a minimum of a C average, and that class alone is putting me into the C+ range. Not that it matters since my college playing days are over, but my parents would kill me if I failed out my last semester.