by Nikki Sloane
“I don’t.” My hands were resting on my thighs, and I tensed them into fists. “It’s complicated.”
“It always is.” Joseph withdrew his ringing phone from his pocket, glanced at the screen, and promptly shut it off. Then he set it screen side down on the table with a soft thump, giving me his undivided attention. “Why is she an ex?”
“Do you really want to talk about this?” His calm demeanor was irritating. I’d deflect. “Why are you my sister’s ex?”
He actually grinned. “I’m not. You’d have to date someone for them to become an ex. And me? I didn’t date.” Before I could ask how he became attached to his fiancée, he added, “Noemi came out of fucking nowhere. I didn’t stand a chance.”
His statement was sort of sweet, but I couldn’t focus on that. “Payton said you two—”
“Fucked? Yeah. You may not be aware, but two consenting adults can have sex outside of a relationship.”
“Watch it. One of those consenting adults was my little sister.”
He lifted a hand, signaling surrender. “It was a while ago, and Payton and I are different people now.”
Yeah. People in love, who I had little in common with.
“Your reaction about your ex makes me wonder what happened,” he said. “Humor me, I’m curious.”
I rubbed away the crease in my forehead. Who liked admitting their mistakes? I’d made plenty with Ruby, starting with taking off for New York without saying goodbye. When I’d called her after, had I even told her what had happened? Or had I been too blinded with anger when she’d slurred out the lie she was with another guy?
I tried to sum up my relationship with Ruby as quickly as possible, giving Joseph the highlights and lowlights. He listened patiently, not interrupting or giving me any hint of what his thoughts were. When it was done and I’d told him about my verbal impotence when she left me by the pool, I awaited his feedback and watched him take another sip of the wine he’d deemed too sweet.
He rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingertips together. “Sounds like the sex was better than fine.”
“That’s your takeaway?”
He ignored my tone. “Was it?”
“Yeah, of course it was!” I had to bring down the pitch of my voice until it was even again. “Jesus, I don’t know which was hotter. Getting to have control, or the way she was into it. But, Joseph, she—”
“You’re wrong.” He leaned forward and his tone dripped confidence. “You do need my help. You want to see this woman again?”
I pressed my lips into a thin line. “Yes. And no.”
“You’re still mad about what she said.”
I frowned. “It’s not the words anymore that are the problem.”
He nodded in understanding. “You don’t know if you can trust her.”
“We both got burned. Wasn’t a whole lot of fun, and I’d like to avoid it happening again.”
Joseph’s gaze went beyond me, as if he was considering, and then his attention snapped back like he’d pulled an idea from the air. “You could arrange a way to build trust.” His expression was cryptic. “It’s unconventional, and she may not go for it, but from what you’ve said, sex doesn’t seem to be an issue.”
Was he serious? “No, it’s not an issue.”
“Good. Then use it. Make it clear you can’t have anything more than a sexual arrangement until you’ve both forgiven each other and the trust is there.”
I stared at him like he was insane, but perhaps I was, since I considered his suggestion. “Okay, how the hell do I work that into conversation?”
“You don’t. Something like that needs to be spelled out with exact language.” Joseph’s mouth lifted into a half-smile. “I think that’d be easy for a man who writes contracts for a living.”
Chapter
FOURTEEN
RUBY
Morgan’s dress was twelve hundred dollars. She’d worn it as a presenter at some broadcaster awards ceremony last year. Since she wasn’t going to use the dress again, she was surprisingly cool about it. I delivered the silk gown to a dry cleaner and tried to explain what happened. The Korean woman didn’t appear to understand a word of it, but she nodded enthusiastically and announced, “Thursday, you pick up.”
Kyle had cleaned me out of almond flour and egg whites. I’d set down the box containing my last batch of macarons in the office break room this morning, and my associates swarmed. It got me to crack a smile. At least my misery brought happiness to others.
Since my macaron making supplies were depleted, I told myself that was enough. I was done thinking about Kyle McCreary. I was successful for the majority of the day, until an email arrived in my inbox from ‘k.mccreary’ followed by his firm’s domain name.
Ms. Carter,
There is business my client needs to discuss, but due to its sensitive nature, I would prefer not to document it. Please call my assistant at the number listed below and arrange a meeting at your earliest convenience.
Thank you for your time,
Kyle McCreary
I fought back the rising anger. The email was professional, but so very him. I drafted and deleted three nasty responses before composing the right one.
Mr. McCreary,
I am no longer involved in the Crawford divorce as it is a conflict of interest. In the future, you should contact Henry Reed directly. I will forward your request to him.
Sincerely,
Ruby Carter
I fired off the email, and was stunned when his response was immediate.
This is unrelated to the Crawford case.
A strange tickle developed in the back of my throat, which I tried to swallow away.
What is it regarding?
This time either his response was slower, or the clock ground to a halt. I held my breath when the new message popped in.
Please see my previous email about the sensitive nature, and call my office to schedule the meeting.
I actually hissed at my computer screen.
Never had I been so incredibly annoyed and curious at the same time. What the hell was this about? Life would be just great if I didn’t see him again, even in a professional capacity. There were plenty of attorneys in Chicago. I’d gone more than a year without running into him, and it stood to reason I could go the rest of my career without it happening.
I dragged my feet about making the appointment, knowing if I wanted answers, I’d have to do it. Did he have a client he wanted to push off on me? Was this some sort of offering as a way of apology? Like throwing work my direction would make everything better?
Because if so, fuck that. I snatched up my desk phone and punched in the numbers with force.
“James, Franklin, and McCreary. This is Suzanne. Can I help you?”
I took a deep breath. “Yes, Suzanne. This is Ruby Carter, calling from the Law Offices of Sterns and Clifford. I need to set up an appointment with Kyle McCreary.”
“Sure, please give me a moment to pull up his schedule.” There was a short pause. “It looks like the only thing he has available is tomorrow at four. Does that work for you? He’s booked solid next week.”
I clenched my teeth. I didn’t want to meet with him, and definitely not on a Friday, an hour before close of business. If his office was anything like mine, the senior staff cleared out early, and the junior associates were scrambling to finish work before the weekend.
“Is he available during his lunch? I’m fine with meeting outside the office.” In fact, neutral ground was preferable.
“Sorry, no. His schedule is tight.”
I sighed. “All right, please put me down for tomorrow at four.”
“Do you need directions to our office?”
“No, thank you,” I gritted out. “I’ve been before.”
I wanted to add last time I’d been there, I’d told the younger McCreary to fuck himself in their conference room, but I refrained.
The couch in the lobby of James, Franklin, and McCrear
y looked expensive, and I perched delicately on the edge. The receptionist had offered to take my coat while I waited, probably to avoid my snow-damp wool from getting anywhere near the fancy leather furniture. My shoes were safe. I’d changed out of my lace-up sneakers into leopard print pumps during the elevator ride up.
I wore a thin, three-quarter length sleeve black cardigan over a white blouse, both tucked into a camel colored pencil skirt. I’d rolled up the sleeves to my elbows and left several of the top buttons undone on the blouse. I’d also tamed my hair up into a top knot, so the weather couldn’t get at it.
I wasn’t going to dress like I was an attorney who charged five hundred an hour, because I didn’t, and my wardrobe reflected that. Instead, I looked the part of a business professional, but there was also a hint of sexy. At least, I hoped. It was cold in the lobby, but I was already sweating and hadn’t even seen Kyle yet.
Approaching footsteps made me clutch my slim briefcase tighter. When he stepped into view and his gaze landed on me, my heart clogged my throat. He wore a pale gray suit, once again, slim cut to show off his lean form. The fabric was a matte silver. Beneath was a plain white dress shirt and a sapphire blue tie.
He looked handsome and devastating.
I pushed myself to my feet just as he thrust his hand out. “Ms. Carter. Thanks for meeting me.”
A handshake? Was he for fucking real? I gave his dick a handshake with my vagina just a week ago.
I stared at his offered hand for a full second before finally taking it. He wrapped his fingers around my palm with a sure grip, and then closed his other hand on top. It was unadulterated domination and, judging by the enjoyment in his eyes, he knew it.
The shiver that slipped down my spine was unstoppable, and it was embarrassing when the corner of his mouth twitched up into a smirk. Yeah. He definitely caught my reaction.
“It’s cold in your lobby,” I announced, my voice as tight as his grip still holding my hand.
“Sorry about that.” He released me and gestured to the hall. “Please. My office is this way.”
I straightened my posture and held my chin high as we marched down the corridor, determined to appear unaffected when the proximity of him had my heart racing. The urge to look around the office was strong. I’d left in a hurry last time and had been too flustered to realize since this was his family’s firm, there was a good chance Kyle’s parents were in this office.
I’d never met any of Kyle’s family. His sister had been studying abroad the year we dated, and the relationship between him and his folks was strained. He didn’t talk much about them.
Most of the offices we passed were closed and no light spilled from beneath the doors. As I suspected, the weekend exodus had begun. Down the line of offices, one door was open. He cast a hand out, but I hesitated before crossing the threshold. This is a professional meeting. Be a professional, Ruby.
I stepped inside.
Kyle’s office was nice enough. For starters, it was an office. I was still sharing a room with three other junior associates. He had a window. The pane of glass stretched from floor to ceiling, and the fading January sunlight cast a warm glow in the room. If our meeting lasted more than thirty minutes, it’d be dark when I left.
His computer monitor and keyboard occupied most of the large desk, but otherwise it was bare. A diploma from Randhurst law school hung on the wall. There was a half bookshelf below it, which held mostly books, and one framed family photo. I forced my gaze onto something else. Anything else. I needed to treat Kyle like he was just another attorney.
As he closed the door, I set my briefcase down on the seat of one of the chairs facing the desk, and sat in the other. There’d been a strange click as he’d shut it, as if he’d locked the door behind us. My surprised gaze found his, but his expression was plain.
He moved to his desk and sat. “How’ve you been?”
“How’ve I been?” I gave him a dubious look. “I’m fine. What did you want to discuss?”
For a long moment that stretched between us, he was silent. Then, he leaned back in his chair, pulled open a drawer, and produced a stapled packet of paper. As he reached across the desk to hand it to me, tension seemed to coil in him. The document was serious.
“What is this?” I grasped the packet and waited for him to let go. A cursory scan said it was a contract. The top sheet was full of dense paragraphs.
Finally, he released it. “It’s a partnership agreement.”
“Partnership agreement?”
“I’m proposing a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
Was he purposefully being vague? “Between which clients?”
He blinked slowly. “It’d be for us, Ruby.”
Chapter
FIFTEEN
Kyle’s expression was stoic, but I watched the rapid lift of his shoulders. He was nervous, which of course, made me very nervous.
“How’s that, now?” I asked, dumbfounded. My gaze fell to the agreement in my hands, and as I began to read, all my blood rushed to my toes.
Holy. Fuck.
“What am I reading?” I gasped.
His gaze didn’t deviate from mine, even as I looked down at the papers and back up to him. His intense stare pinned me to my seat while his tone was soft. “Take as much time as you need.”
I tried to keep reading, but the phrase ‘partnership of a sexual nature’ short-circuited my brain and now I couldn’t interpret a goddamn thing. “Okay, seriously.” I dropped the document on his desktop and jabbed a finger at it. “What the fuck is this? A joke?”
“No. I can’t stop thinking about New Year’s Eve. I want that again. I want more.”
Air constricted in my lungs, making everything in my body feel tight, yet weightless at the same time. What exactly did he mean? “More . . . sex?”
“More sex, more of you. More of us together, seeing how much further we want to go sexually. There are things I want to explore, and I think you do, too. This agreement lays the foundation for us to do that together.”
I stared at the document. “For fuck’s sake, you put it in writing?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I communicate better this way, and I believe the same can be said of you.”
He did have a point about our shitty communication, but still. This was so fucking insane, I had no idea what to say. I wanted to see inside his crazy head and figure out what he was thinking. Yet he gave nothing away.
“Everything is open for discussion,” he said. “Except the last paragraph.”
He wasn’t going to elaborate. I picked up the agreement in a shaky hand and tried once more to read. The first paragraph outlined during the duration of the agreement, we were to remain exclusive to each other. The second was about both partners being willing to play whenever the other wanted to, within reason.
Meaning if I signed this bat-shit crazy proposal, I could call him up anytime, he’d come running, and would have to put out, unless he had a valid excuse. And the same would apply to me. I kept reading, because how could I not? It was the most ludicrous and exciting legal document I’d laid eyes on.
The third paragraph stated we would provide our partner with a willing list. This would detail all the sexual avenues we individually wanted to explore, and gauge our level of mutual interest.
Cold crept over my skin as I skimmed the final paragraph. The proposed partnership was about fucking only. Any discussion of a relationship outside of the sex would nullify the agreement. This meant there’d be no hurt feelings, no messy emotions, and certainly no use of the L word.
Okay. I hated him, right?
So why was I feeling one iota of disappointment? I wasn’t about to enter into this ridiculous agreement, and besides, I’d been foolish enough to fall for him once. I wasn’t going to do it again.
Kyle’s gaze on me was crushing. I pretended not to notice as I turned to the next page. Well, yep. There was no dancing around it with legalese here. The willing list was a menu full of sexual debauchery.
My face heated as I scanned the page. Some of my darkest fantasies were on here. Only . . . “Where are your answers? This is blank.”
Heat flared in his eyes, and my body threatened to turn into liquid. “You want to see my willing list?” He placed his palms on his desk and pushed up to stand. He spoke the words with so much weight, I felt each one pressed against me. “You want to know every dirty little thing I want to do to you?”
I squeezed my knees together. The agreement was no longer in my hands. At some point, it had fallen to the desktop, and now my fingers curled around the armrests of the chair and dug in. He stalked around the desk, coming closer. I wasn’t moving. My gaze never left his. Yet I felt like I was prey fleeing from a predator.
And I’d never make it. I couldn’t outrun him.
The chair creaked as he leaned over and set his hands on the back. It trapped me beneath him, his tie dangling close to my face, and as I forced myself to suck in a breath, I caught the delicious, woodsy scent of his cologne.
“All you have to do,” he said, “is sign.”
“I’m not signing that.” My voice was a ghost.
His was seductive and confident. “Oh, yes, you fucking are.” He dropped his lips to mine, and I was too stunned to move. My body reacted to his soft kiss, and silently protested when he drew back. “You haven’t put ink on it yet, but you will. You told me you would when you asked me to spank you again.”
The muscles in my core contracted at the memory, trying to squeeze back the rush he gave me. “I was drunk.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m not signing it.”
“Bullshit.” He hovered over me, his mouth a breath away and teasing a kiss, all while a smirk rolled on his lips.
“I’m not interested in casual sex.”
