Hers for the Evening

by Jasmine Haynes

86

  The Stand-In

  He blinked, sucked in air. “No. Your offer is satisfactory.”

  She smiled. “Perhaps you would like to be in attendance when I conduct the session with Larry.”

  “No, no, Devon”—underscored with vigorous head shaking—“I’m satisfied.”

  “Good.” She rose, meeting adjourned. Auditors weren’t generally a stupid bunch. In fact, she had great admiration. They had a bad reputation to overcome after the series of shakedowns, and the majority, in her opinion, were pretty damn good at what they did. It was Myron and Larry who were inept. The kid saw himself as some sort of investor avenger, ferreting out accounting evildoing and making a name for himself as hard-core and no-nonsense. Myron should have reined him in. What a team the company had been saddled with. Pulling out midstream, though, would not be good. Damn. She was really bad off, because that last thought made her contemplate sex again. With Hunter. Though she could want all she wanted, but she could never have. That wouldn’t fly with the audit team. Collusion would be their first assumption.

  Five minutes later, the meeting over, Hunter took her elbow, guiding her onto the empty elevator car. So polite. His touch sent a hot shiver through her.

  “That went well,” he said.

  She turned to him, liking the fact that she could still look up to him despite her three-inch heels. In the main, Devon didn’t like having to look up at men. Hunter was different. Always had been.

  “He’s an asshole,” she answered. She’d known Hunter more than ten years. They’d worked together at Simcoe Systems, moved on to other jobs, but she’d always had great respect for him. When she took over as CEO at GDN four years ago, he was her first choice as CFO.

  They’d both been married back then at Simcoe. Now they were both divorced. She was also his boss.

  Hunter unbuttoned his suit jacket. “We’re stuck with him, unfortunately.”

  “And we’re stuck with that little pissant Larry.”

  He laughed. “Your language is definitely colorful today.”

  With Hunter, words popped out of her mouth, she was that comfortable with him and their working relationship. “I say it like it is.”

  “You always have.”

  In the garage, he led her to his car, beeped the remote, opened the door, 87

  The Stand-In

  and handed her into the passenger seat. In the coolness of the interior, his aftershave, something sexy and smooth, still lingered from the earlier drive up to San Francisco. His touch still heated her skin, reaching all the way to her belly. Now that was bad. And getting worse.

  He climbed in, shut the driver’s door, and the masculine scent intensified, tantalizing her senses. She closed her eyes to breathe him in, letting him fill her as he backed out and headed down the ramp for the exit.

  “You want to stop for lunch?” he asked after paying the exorbitant parking fee. That was San Francisco for you.

  “No,” she said, eyes still closed. The attraction had been slow-growing, infiltrating so subtly she hadn’t recognized it for what it was until it was too late to eradicate. Now she could only make sure she didn’t put herself into nonwork situations with him. “I’ve got a meeting with Garrison.”

  Hunter snorted. “Our illustrious S&M veep has his head up his ass.”

  Devon couldn’t help the answering smile. The moniker was their private joke. Garrison was her Sales and Marketing vice president. Hunter had coined the S&M

  phrase. He had a bawdy sense of humor he kept in check while in a work environment. They were friends. He didn’t worry she’d misconstrue. The mere allusion to sex did not constitute sexual harassment. However, that was her personal opinion. As a matter of company policy, she had to display zero tolerance. Garrison had stepped over the line with one of his subordinates. Hunter’s lips curled in a semi-smile. “It’s humorous in a rubbernecker sort of way.”

  “What the hell was the man thinking?” she mused, head back against the seat. Garrison’s antics had put her in a very difficult position.

  “What the hell was his wife thinking? That’s what I want to know.”

  Devon blew out a sharp breath. “God only knows.”

  Garrison had committed the sin of having an affair with his administrative aide. He’d compounded the stupidity by e-mailing her from his home computer. Which his wife discovered. She’d started calling his peers in the company, all the other VPs, including Hunter, to ask if they knew anything about Garrison’s affair. Everyone was too dumbfounded to reflect properly before they answered. Only Hunter kept his cool and told her she should discuss it with her husband. She didn’t. She called his boss. Which would be Devon.

  “I’m not saying what Garrison did wasn’t bad. You never screw your 88

  The Stand-In

  subordinates.” It was a proverb Devon had been repeating to herself. “Or anyone else in the company for that matter.” Especially at the senior level. It looked bad. “She went further and laid out her personal business for all the world to see.”

  Despite being a midday Friday in San Francisco, Hunter made it to the freeway with a minimum delay. “Unfortunately, she’s tied my hands,” Devon said as he merged into traffic. “If she hadn’t made it so public, we could have gone for some sort of disciplinary action. As it is, I have no choice but to ask for his resignation.”

  Per company policy, she wasn’t even required to give him severance. His resignation was better than getting canned for misconduct. Garrison had two kids in college. People talk, word gets out. It would be difficult for him to find another job at his age. Devon had come up with the strategy in tandem with Human Resources, but she wasn’t happy with it. There were no winners. Not the company, not Garrison, not his wife, not his kids. Garrison’s admin quit before she was fired. Devon sighed.

  Hunter reached over to pat her knee. “He made his own bed, Devon. It’s not your fault.”

  “I understand that,” she answered, concentrating on the conversation rather than how much she enjoyed his comforting touch. In a very noncomforting way.

  “But firing people has never been one of my favorite things.” Despite having the reputation for being unemotional and a hard-ass.

  “Yeah, I realize that.” He squeezed her knee this time. He didn’t mean anything by it. He couldn’t guess the shivers the touch sent through her body. He couldn’t know how the heat of his hand skewed her concentration. “Have a good soak in the tub tonight, and you’ll feel a lot better.”

  She’d once told him of her not-so-guilty pleasure. Steaming water, bubbles, chocolate, champagne cocktail, and a really good book. Problem was these days when she was having a good soak, a sexy novel wasn’t enough. Fantasies of Hunter kept wandering through the pages of her mind. Funny how everything came back to Hunter. Garrison and his peccadillo with his AA, the mention of a hot bath, her mind had a way of twisting every thought back to Hunter. She needed relief. But what? Not one of her male courtesans. More and more often, she found herself closing her eyes to imagine it was Hunter doing all those things to her. There had to be a way to tame this need. Maybe a new man. A substitute 89

  The Stand-In

  to take the edge off.

  Because no matter what, Devon was not going to go the way of Garrison by compromising her relationship with Hunter for a little hot nookie. 90

  The Stand-In

  2

  THE IDEA CAME TO DEVON IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT WHEN SHE was masturbating to fantasies of Hunter Nash. She called Isabel first thing Saturday morning.

  “I need a stand-in,” Devon said a few hours later as she stroked a delicate black-and-red feathered Mardi Gras mask.

  Isabel had agreed to meet her if but only if Devon was willing to accompany her on an impromptu shopping trip. Isabel was attending a Halloween ball the following weekend.

  “A stand-in for the real thing never works.”

  Devon laughed. “You sound like the voice of experience.”

  Isabel winked. She
was off-hours from Courtesans. At least Devon thought so, but who really knew with Isabel. She was almost always available for a call. The few times Devon had been forced to leave her a message, she’d called back within half an hour. Isabel lived and breathed Courtesans, providing the ultimate pleasure for her clients. Thus she was always elegantly attired, even if it was pairing a silk blouse with designer jeans. Today was an ultrafeminine, soft gray pinstriped suit with a formfitting tailored jacket, the skirt long, hugging her rear and flaring at the bottom, her hair piled high in the usual elegant topknot.

  “So tell me why you’ve used a stand-in,” Devon wanted to know.

  “They’re all stand-ins for someone we knew a long time ago, aren’t they?”

  Isabel’s mouth was a gentle smile, her eyes unfocused for a moment. “It’s a long story.”

  Devon had been utilizing Courtesans for almost five years, since her divorce when she realized that relationships in general, and men specifically, could be a pain in the ass. Truth to tell, the only decent relationships she’d ever had with men were working relationships. Her friendship with Isabel had blossomed over time, and while Devon considered herself an open book, Isabel had always been more reticent about personal details. Devon didn’t take it as an affront to their friendship.

  Isabel held a white latex nurse’s uniform against her. “What about this?”

  It was short and tight and sexy as hell, at least from a man’s point of view, but, “Not you. You need to be . . .” Devon tipped her head one way, then the 91

  The Stand-In

  other, letting her gaze slide over Isabel’s lithe form from head to toe.

  “Cleopatra.”

  Isabel laughed, a pretty, musical sound. “I don’t feel like getting bitten by my asp.”

  Devon quirked an eyebrow. “How about Marie Antoinette?”

  “I fancy holding on to my head.”

  “Catherine the Great?”

  “Isn’t there something about her dying while having sex with a stallion?”

  “Stallions are good,” Devon mused.

  “Not an Italian stallion, a real stallion, a horse.”

  Devon couldn’t help the laughter. “Okay, not your style. So what do you want to be?”

  “Sleeping Beauty’s stepmother.”

  Devon laughed until it hurt. “You’re more like everybody’s sexual fairy godmother.”

  “I haven’t a clue what to choose,” Isabel moaned. “Let’s talk about your stand-in instead. What do you want?”

  They wandered through the store, picking up costumes, casting them back onto the rack. “I want a stand-in for Hunter.” Over coffee, drinks, lunch, dinner, Devon had slowly revealed her growing obsession with her CFO. “I’m surprised you hadn’t already guessed.”

  Isabel winked. “I had an inkling.” She held up a pleated school-girl outfit, discarded it when Devon guffawed.

  Devon pulled a photo from her bag. “I want someone with his general stats, his approximate age, forty, forty-one. He’s six two, about one-ninety-five, black hair, blue eyes.” She handed over the picture that had been taken at a company Christmas party.

  Isabel perused the photo for a few very long seconds, raised just her eyes to glance at Devon, then puffed out a breath. Finally, as if it were an afterthought, she made an appreciative sound. “Not bad looking,” she understated, then gave Devon a direct look. “Why don’t you just do him?”

  “It’s against company policy.”

  “Darling. You can do it discreetly without hurting anyone.”

  “It could jeopardize his career.”

  Isabel snorted. “What about yours?”

  92

  The Stand-In

  Devon thought of yesterday’s meeting with Garrison, the condemned-man look on his face, the watery eyes when she told him to submit his resignation. The interview had been exceptionally painful. “My career, too.”

  “If it’s consensual, it can be considered personal business. You’re an adult and wouldn’t let it affect how you make your decisions.”

  “It’s the appearance of impropriety.” Devon held out an Elvira dress. Isabel shook her head. “Too common.” She drew in a deep breath. “He could be good for you. He’s divorced, you’re divorced.”

  Despite their marital statuses, she still couldn’t justify a relationship with him. If the auditors—Myron and flunky Larry—were ever to stumble across something like that, they could start talking collusion, cooking the books, cookie jar accounting, et cetera, all of it fraud. No, she couldn’t risk that, for Hunter’s sake and for the sake of the company. “It’s not possible.”

  “I understand, I get it.” Isabel flipped through another rack of endlessly common costumes. “So, how do you want this to go down with the stand-in?”

  “I’d like it to take place in my office.”

  Isabel gave an incredulous laugh that didn’t have an ounce of mirth. “You’re worried about company policy and jeopardizing your career, yet you intend to do this in the office?”

  Devon had thought about that issue all morning. “If it’s not at work, it’s not going to seem like the real thing. Most of my fantasies about him take place in my office.” She had to have it this way or it wouldn’t alleviate the pressure.

  “Naughty girl,” Isabel chided.

  “It sounds crazy, but I’ll figure out when the cleaning crew is done, the auditors have cleared out for the weekend, and the place is completely empty. Late on a Saturday night.” She’d make sure nothing would go wrong. Isabel shook her head sadly, as if she thought Devon were delusional. “You know what they say about the best-laid plans.”

  “I’ll check card key access for the last few weekends, and choose a time when the building is consistently empty.”

  “It’s your neck.”

  “No, it’s my fantasy.” She was aware it was near insanity, that it was risky, which made the idea even hotter. Yes, it seemed at odds with her desire for discretion and following company policy. Yet she was willing to take the chance to get what she needed. If she didn’t play it out the way she’d built her 93

  The Stand-In

  fantasies, she was afraid the obsession would go on. She had to purge Hunter from her system. Lying in bed last night, going over and over every detail, it seemed the only way.

  If by some off chance she was caught, it would only be her at risk, not Hunter, not GDN. She was a lot more willing to risk herself to get what she needed than to jeopardize anyone else.

  “All right.” Isabel stared at the picture. “I have a man in mind, his name is—”

  Devon held up a finger, shushing her. “Don’t tell me his name. When he walks in, he is to be Hunter Nash. That’s what I’ll call him, that’s how he’ll refer to himself. He’s a CFO. He’s divorced. He has two children, a boy and a girl in their early teens. Everything he says has to fit with Hunter Nash.”

  Isabel scoffed again, then quickly softened it with a smile. “You’re a freak.”

  Devon laughed. “Yeah.”

  “I’ll work on it. I can probably get the correct stats, but I’m not going to find his twin.”

  “I realize that, but as with everything else you’ve done for me, you’ll do the best.”

  Huffing out a breath, Isabel pointed at the abundant racks. “There’s not a damn thing here.”

  “You’re not an off-the-rack kind of woman.”

  Isabel bit her lip, still staring at the jumble of costumes. “I’m usually not. I guess I don’t care to impress. I was looking for quick and easy.”

  “Quick and easy in costumes? Or men?”

  “Both.”

  “Do you need to talk, girlfriend?” Devon was there if Isabel needed it.

  “He’s not worth talking about.”

  Then why go out with him? Devon thought it, but didn’t ask. There was way more to this story and Devon suspected a whole lot of understating, but Isabel was a mystery until she wanted to reveal herself.

  “Now help me f
ind that perfect costume.”

  Devon hoped in return Isabel would find her the perfect match.

  BY WEDNESDAY, DEVON HAD IT ALL PLANNED OUT. SHE’D CHECKED card key access. The cleaning people came in on Sunday, not Saturday. On weekends, especially during audit time, people were in and out. Hunter tended 94

  The Stand-In

  to do Saturday mornings. No one had carded out or set the alarm any later than five thirty on a Saturday. If she could arrange it for this Saturday, it was Halloween with lots of parties or taking the kids out for trick or treating. Now she needed to hear from Isabel. It was four o’clock on Wednesday and she’d been carrying her private cell phone all day, practically to the ladies’ room, she was so anxious. Wrong word. Excited. She wanted this, needed it. She didn’t take most personal calls at work and she didn’t use her work phone for personal use, either, but she’d been feeling jumpy for days wanting to put her strategy into action.

  It was planned, she was ready. All she needed was the right man. When the cell rang only five minutes later, she almost jumped. The displayed number: Isabel’s. Her desk facing the door, Devon glanced up to see where Robert, her admin, was. Outside her office at his desk, nearby to call through the open doorway if necessary, not close enough to eavesdrop.

  “Devon Parker here,” she answered formally, as if it were a business call.

  “You gave a tough order, darling, especially since you wanted to shoot for this Saturday.”

  Devon swiveled her chair slightly. She didn’t want her voice carrying straight out the doorway. “Never too tough for you, Wonder Woman.”

  Isabel gave that lovely tinkling laugh that always had men turning her way. “I should not have let you talk me into that costume.”

  “It’s perfect. And you’ll find me someone equally as good.”

  “Under the circumstances, I did pretty darn well, considering the enormity of the task. Funnily enough, the best choice is the man I originally thought of, but I didn’t want to shortchange you so I did some further scanning through the files.”

  “I had no doubt you’d be thorough.” Devon shivered with anticipation.