by Mac Flynn
Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Smashwords Books
The Family Business #1 (BBW Romantic Comedy) (c) 2014 Mac Flynn Book 1 of the adult FAMILY BUSINESS Series
Genre: Contemporary Romance / Romantic Comedy Due to sexual content, this book is not intended for readers under the age of 18.
Smashwords edition
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Chapter 1
The scene was chaotic. Coworkers were strewn everywhere, their bodies twitching and pushing against each other. My own friends were among those most afflicted with the disease, a terrible illness known to many as the dancing itch. It didn't help that we were in a bar,, The Bar, actually, and there was loud music and even louder lights all around us. It was after work, and my coworkers and I were letting off steam after a long day's work at Stacy's Department Store. The Bar was the usual hangout for dancing, drinking, and generally being a public nuisance without the public actually knowing we were a bunch of nuisances.
I, Georgina Trammel, being of sound mind and lazy body, sat alone in one of the cushioned-seat booths watching my friends lumber through the steps of a fast-rhythm song. As I watched them go through the steps like Frankenstein's monster with athlete's foot there was a reason we worked the back room stock and not on a dance stage. I'd look just the same out there on the floor, and that's exactly why I was comfortable in that booth sipping on a soft drink. Don't get me wrong, though, it's not like I resembled the Frankenstein monster's bride. I did have a few extra pounds I'd been meaning to lose in some dark alley for the last couple of years, but I also had some nice, bouncy brown hair I usually kept in a pig-tail, and a pair of brown eyes I'd heard described as soft but that I considered just mud-colored. Not perfect, but not too bad.
I fumbled for my drink and sipped on the glass until I realized it was soy sauce and spat it out. In my defense the lights were dim in the corner. That's why I didn't immediately recognize the guy as a stranger when he slid into the booth on the seat beside me. "Nice night," he spoke up.
"That's a pretty corny pickup line, Phil," I scolded until I realized Phil was out on the floor swinging to the beat. I whipped my head around to the guy and gave him a closer look. Even in the poor light I could see he had sandy hair, a pair of auburn eyes that dazzled, and had a nice, sturdy build. He was about thirty and wore a nice jacket with suit pants that looked out of place with all our baggy clothes and worn jeans. I also had no idea who he was. "Who the hell are you?" I asked him.
"For you I could be Phil," he teased.
"If you knew Phil you wouldn't be offering that," I countered. "Now spit out your name or get out of the booth."
He held up his hands and flashed a wide grin. "I come in peace. I only wanted to ask you a few questions."
"I won't sleep with you, give you my phone number, or go home to meet your mom," I listed off.
"But you might like my mom," he argued.
"If she brought up as rude a boy as you're being than I doubt it, now what do you want?" I asked him.
He nodded at the dance floor and the bar beyond that. "I just wanted to know if this was a bar where Stacy's Department Store workers came to relax. I'd heard it was."
"You heard right." I gestured to the dance floor. "Most of the people there dancing with two left feet are from the store. They usually come here for a good time before staggering off to their homes, but tonight's a little different."
He raised an eyebrow. "Why's that?"
"They heard the store's had an offer to merge with some big company from uptown and a lot of them might lose their jobs," I told him. "So they're partying together like it's their last night."
"The merger's been finalized?" he asked me in surprise.
"It'd be news to everyone if it has, but we haven't heard that," I answered.
"It'd be news to me, too. . ." he murmured. I gave him a suspicious glance and he sheepishly smiled. "Sorry, just talking to myself about business. Are they sure they'll be, ahem, downsized?"
"Pretty sure. Mergers are good for the company's bottom line, but not for the employees," I pointed out.
"You sound like you have a stake in all of this." He leaned in toward me, I leaned back away from him. "You work for the company?"
I didn't feel like giving him too much info on myself, so I shrugged. "I have a few stocks with them." Which was true, if a bit misleading.
"So are you here alone?" he wondered.
"If you're asking if you can whisk me away without people noticing then I'll tell you I have a great pair of lungs and weight a bit," I warned him.
He raised a mischievous eyebrow. "Really? Any other talents I need to know about?"
"I have other talents, but you don't need to know about them. The only thing you need to do is get up off the seat and-" My friendly warning was interrupted when a commotion arose from the bar area.
One of the Stacy workers had gotten into an argument with our rivals at the Ken Department Store, located a few blocks away from our work, and they decided the most gentlemanly way to settle their disagreement was to duke it out. Ken-worker struck first with a fast blow to the chin that sent Phil, the same one I'd mistaken the stranger for, into the bar. Phil didn't take that lying down, though he got close to ending up on the floor out cold. He swung back at the Ken-worker, who took the blow in the jaw and toppled onto the dance floor. Fighting chaos erupted from the dancing chaos, and Stacy worker fought Ken worker as both sides, tired and exhausted from work, swung slow punches at each other. It was like watching the geriatric boxing championship but without the false teeth.
The dancers who weren't fighters scattered off the floor and several of them knocked into the booth table. My drink, a perfectly good glass of milk, spilled onto my clothes and a plate of food slid off and landed on the stranger's lap. People screamed, lights flickered, and I remembered I'd forgotten to pay my electric bill. The stranger took me by the arm and dragged me away from the scene of the crash and over to the door. Most of my friends had already evacuated, leaving me the lone survivor as the battle raged on.
The guy led me outside and I breathed in the fresh smell of car exhaust and city sewer. "That's a rough place," he spoke up with a laugh.
"You think that's rough you should see us when we play bingo," I quipped. I pulled my shirt out and surveyed the damage. "I'll have to get this milk out quick or the alley cats will eat me alive." The next problem was that my ride was AWOL and I had no other way to get back home to my apartment. There was only enough money in my purse for a tip, and not the eighteen percent gratuity they usually liked.
"My place isn't far off. You can wash up there," he offered. I raised an eyebrow, and he smiled. "I swear my intentions are pure."
"Then how come I smell manure?" I countered.
"Must be the city air." We heard a crash from inside the bar, and police sirens echoed down the road toward us. The man nodded in their direction. "Unless you want to stay here and play twenty-questions with the cops."
"All right, but you'd better behave," I warned him.
"That's a pity. I had planned to seduce you," he teased.
"Flattery will get me to go with you, but not sleep with you," I quipped. I gestured down to my chubby self. "And don't try any funny business. I know how to use this flab."
"Fair enough. I'll try to behave myself," he promised.
"And before you drag me off to the great unknown I have to tell
a friend where I'm going," I spoke up. I looked through the crowd and spotted one of my inebriated female friends, Jamie, beside the curb. Unfortunately, she wasn't my designated ride or I could have swiped her keys. I walked over and steadied her. "Jamie, you sober enough to know who I am?" I asked her.
"Santa Claus?" she replied in a slurred voice.
"Did you just call me fat?"
"No, I wouldn't do that to you, Santa." A hiccup interrupted her words. "I've been meaning to ask you for that pony for a couple of decades now." I sighed, rolled my eyes, and gave her a gentle slap across the face. That snapped her out of the worst of her stupor, and her face lit up when she recognized me. "George, what's going on? Is the party over?" George is what everyone called me rather than Georgina. Fewer syllables that way.
"Yes, and I'm going home with a strange man so I can get this milk out of my clothes," I told her.
Jamie raised both eyebrows for my news. "A man? What's his name?"
I opened my mouth to tell her, but I didn't know. "Um, Man?" I guessed.
"This doesn't sound like a good start to a relationship," she scolded me.
I sighed and nodded. "I know it looks bad, but that's why I was telling you where I was going. If they find me in the river, that's the guy you have to describe to the police sketch artist." I gestured to the man, who waved at us. "Got his face down?"
Jamie squinted and her brow furrowed. "Haven't I seen him before?"
"How can you recognize anyone that far away with your beer goggles on?" I muttered.
"Because you smacked the beer out of me," she pointed out. "And I know I've seen that guy's face somewhere."
"Well, hopefully you won't see it splashed across the front pages tomorrow with a picture of me in memoriam," I replied. "Now I've got to go and test him."
"Test him?" she wondered.
"To see if there's some hope for mankind and that he behaves himself."
"Good luck. Call me after the hot make-out session," she requested.
I rolled my eyes, waved goodbye to my friend and walked over to the guy. "I'm all ready to go except what thing. I don't have your name."
"And I don't have yours," he pointed out.
"It's George." He looked bewildered. "Georgina, but everyone calls me George. Easier that way."
"Unless you're me and a little slow. Mine's Alex."
I snorted. "Maybe we should trade names."
"It would cause less confusion to the people we met," he agreed.
"But that wouldn't be as much fun," I protested. "Now where's this place of yours so you can show me how well you behave?"
Chapter 2
He didn't behave himself all that well. Hell, he didn't even tell me the whole truth about his 'place.' It wasn't a place at all, but a fancy hotel a few blocks down. I stopped in front of the short flight of stairs that led up to the four front glass doors. "This isn't behaving," I scolded him.
He shrugged and offered me his hand. "It's my place right now. I'm only in town for a business deal."
I frowned and glanced at the doorman. "If you see me in the papers under the obituaries, tell the police about this guy, will ya?"
The doorman did a terrible job of hiding his snicker, but nodded. "Will do, miss."
"All right, I'm ready." I took his hand and he led me to the elevators. We got on and he pressed the number seven on the panel. "Lucky number?" I guessed.
"The only available floor," he replied.
"Floor?" I asked him.
My question was answered when the elevator doors opened to reveal a suite lobby. There was a living room beyond the lobby, and doors led off to connected bedrooms. I realized the whole floor was one giant apartment which meant this mystery guy had it all to himself. I let out a whistle. "This place must cost a fortune."
"But it's worth it for the privacy, and I'm not sure how long my business dealings will take," he replied.
I peeked into several of the rooms, but didn't find what I was looking for. "I may as well ask you where the laundry is before I get lost in this place looking for it," I spoke up.
"I don't have a personal room, but if you'll take off your clothes I'll ring up the staff and they can have them washed in an hour or so," he informed me.
I swung around and scowled at him. "If you think you're going to get a free show you're seriously mistaken."
He grinned. "You can borrow some of mine while you're waiting, and we can play some games to pass the time."
"Those games better not get more serious than spin-the-bottle," I warned him.
He held up his hands on either side of his head like in a stick-up. "I swear I will always remain the gentleman."
"Really? When did you start?"
He laughed. "I suppose I walked into that one."
"Sauntered, but let's not mince over words. Politics and religion are much more fun."
"Those are two subjects I try to avoid when speaking with people, especially women."
"A wise idea, now you were saying something about the laundry?"
"Oh, right, you need to strip-"
"-uh, no-"
"-down to your underclothes and put on a shirt and pants of mine. Unless you'd rather wear those clothes for the rest of the evening?"
I glanced down at myself. The milk stain looked like I'd gotten into a fight with a cow and lost. "Fine, you win, but let me see the goods before I get out of these."
"This way, my Lady George," he invited. He led me through one of the doorways and into a large and comfortable bedroom. There was a bed big enough for two and a scene of the city that took my breath away, especially if I fell from that high up. The thought of a quick drop with a sudden stop made me stay inside the room. Alex pulled out a long white buttoned shirt and a pair of black pants. "These should be big enough to hide your assets," he announced.
I swiped them from his hands and playfully scowled at him. "Out."
"But perhaps you need some help," he kindly offered.
My arm sprang up and I pointed at the door. "Out."
He sighed and sauntered out. I closed the door behind him and latched it so he couldn't 'accidentally' walk in on me. The clothes fit as well as expected considering I was smaller than him, and I walked out to find him talking with a young man in a hotel staff outfit. Alex smiled at me. "This young man said he can have the clothes back in less than an hour."
I placed the clothes, and my future escape, in the staffer's hands. "And hand them to me when you're done," I requested of him. He bowed his head and left us alone.
Alex raised an eyebrow in question. "Hand them to you?"
"Just to make sure I get them back," I replied.
He chuckled and led me to the living room. It was about the size of half my apartment, complete with a flat-screen television on the wall with lots of channels but nothing to watch. He gestured to the long couch while he himself went around to the back of the living room where sat a bar. "I get the feeling you don't entirely trust me."
"You've got a woman's intuition," I complimented him.
"An interesting compliment. Did you want any wine to drink?" he offered.
"I don't drink alcohol on a first date," I replied as I looked over the couch. The cushions looked fluffy enough to swallow a rhino with a couple of chihuahuas thrown into the cracks.
"Is that what this is?" he wondered.
"If I'm going to be in your clothes we may as well make this formal," I teased. I pointed at the couch. "Is this thing safe to sit in?"
Alex fixed himself a drink and wandered over to inspect the couch for himself. "Yes, but I barely made it out of that thing earlier today. It nearly ate me alive."
I plopped myself down on the couch cushions and laughed when it had enough spring to bounce me a few inches off the cushion. The cushions were as soft and silky as they looked, and I stretched my legs across the cushions and leaned back. "If I had to choose a place to die, it'd be on this couch."
"I hope you're not planning anything drastic," he r
eplied.
"No, just planning on taking your couch with me when I leave." I glanced around the room. "Any silver utensils and money I should know about? I can stuff those in the cushions."
He laughed and sat down, or rather, tried to sit down. My legs stretched clear across the couch. "Mind if I sit down?" he requested.
"Maybe I do," I teased. "Besides, there isn't enough room on this couch for the two of us."
"Let me see if I can find some." He reached down and tickled my socked feet. I giggled, kicked and retracted them, and he plopped down before I could put them back. "See? Plenty of room."
"That's cheating," I protested.
He raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"Taking advantage of a poor girl like me with my condition."
"Condition?"
"Tickle-itis."
"I was counting on that condition." He scooted a little closer to me, and I scooted back against the arm of the couch.
He was getting too close for comfort. "Maybe I will have a drink. A glass of water," I hurriedly spoke up.
His shoulders drooped. "Right now?"
"Unless you want me to start drooling sand all over your nice couch."
Alex sighed and got up to fetch me a glass. I took the opportunity to stretch my legs back out so when he came back he had an unpleasant but not unexpected surprise. He smiled and plopped the glass down on the coffee table in front of me. "I feel like I just fell for the oldest trick in the book."
"No, the oldest trick is the banana peel slip. This one's the second oldest because we had to invent couches first," I corrected him.
"Mind showing me a trick and scooting your legs down?" he pleaded.
I nodded at the other pieces of furniture such as a few chairs and the coffee table. "Plenty of other places to sit."
Alex straightened and playfully frowned at me. "Then you leave me no choice. I'm going to do a cannonball."
I blinked in bewilderment. "Into my glass of water?" I wondered. Alex grinned and moved a few yards back from the couch. His eyes dodged from his wanted couch cushion to my face and back, and my eyes widened when he tensed his body. "Don't do it, Alex! It's not worth it!" I warned.
He ignored me, hunkered down close to the floor, and then shot up like a cork. He sprinted the few short feet from his starting point to the couch and jumped into the air a yard from cushions. I yelped and yanked my legs up against my chest before he landed on his butt at the other end of the couch. The bouncy action of the cushions was amplified by a million, and the whole thing rolled and rocked like a water bed filled with stormy ocean water.
