by Kylie Parker
“Dylan, please,” I say again.
“I'll take you home if you want to go,” he says, moving me out of the way and talking to the massive man guarding the velvet rope.
He comes back, looks around the area before saying, “Let's go.”
I hesitate. The last thing I want to do is go home with him. Or is it. My body is still humming. I begin to reason with myself. I already went this far and have vowed to never do it again, but since the damage is done for tonight...I look up to see him standing and waiting for me at the rope.
I can take him home, sleep with him once and then vow to never do it again. It can't be any worse than what just happened, right? Isn't that basically double jeopardy?
“Are you coming?” he asks.
It is I who gives him the dangerous, mischievous smile, “Not yet,” I whisper. My body lights up as I move towards him, my goal to seduce him set. I want this man to finish what he started. Once my mind is made up, it is all systems go and I mean go!
I slowly move towards Dylan as he motions me to go ahead. I purposely walk close enough so my breasts will gently rub across his shirt. Target achieved. I grin when I see his body jerk as if I have stabbed him.
I know he is right behind me, so I do my best to sway my hips as I cross the dance floor, heading for the exit. Then to make sure my prey is ensnared in my trap, I turn my head, look over my shoulder and keep moving. Yep, he's there alright. His eyes are focused on my ass. He looks up, his eyes a dark shade of cocoa. I know they are dark with desire and it makes me want to purr.
I give him a knowing smile, flip my hair around and keep going. He is like a fish on a hook. The only way he is getting free is if I let him.
“You're playing with fire, Alexa,” he growls into my ear as I stand outside the door of the club. The cool air brushes over my skin, cooling the fire Dylan had stoked earlier.
I turn, exposing a bit more of my neck, look up at him, “I'm not afraid to get burned, Dylan.”
My body leans into him, demanding his touch, but he refuses me. I look up to question him. He stares back, giving me no quarter.
“Car's here,” he says.
Not exactly the words I was hoping to hear. He puts a hand on the small of my back and ushers me forward. I crawl into the black SUV and move over just enough to allow him enough space to sit beside me. I wait, my nerves tingling. I can't wait to get him alone in the backseat. This time, I am going to have him begging for more.
I grow impatient, waiting for him to crawl in next to me. He is standing on the street, talking to one of his security guards. I look at him, demanding he look back. He doesn't.
“Humph,” I say in complete frustration. I am ready. I want to go. Just as I am about to remind him I am sitting here waiting, I see Jessica. He says something to her and before I know it, she is crawling in.
“Scoot over,” she grumbles.
“What?” I say, completely confused.
I look up, see him standing there staring at me. He gives me a strange look before slamming the door, slapping the side of the SUV twice and before I know it, we are being whisked away down the city streets.
“Are you going to scoot over or do you want to cuddle?” Jessica asks, slightly irritated.
“Oh,” I say. “Sorry, I, well, I wasn't expecting you to be getting in.”
She nods, “Yeah, me neither. What did you do? I was ready to have some fun with that guy. He is hot and the way he moves on the dance floor, woo!” she says with delight, using her hand to fan her face. “I nearly jumped him right there in the middle of the dance floor!”
I shrug my shoulders as I settle into the seat on the other side of the SUV. I'm pouting. I'm embarrassed and ashamed.
“What happened?” Jessica asks again in a soft voice.
I sigh, “I don't know. I don't care. I want to go home and go to bed.”
She nods, “Hmm, something happened. You'll tell me soon enough.”
The rest of the ride first to her place, then my own was in silence. I was not in the mood for conversation. My pride had been seriously damaged and I have to figure out how to face Dylan next week. I thought he was in to me, but clearly I misread some signals.
I stomp up the stairs to my second floor apartment, venting my pent up frustration with every pound of my feet. I feel like a complete idiot. I strip off the dress, not bothering to put on my ratty old t-shirt and crawl into bed to wallow in self-pity. I feel like a complete fool. I will never forgive that man for doing that to me. What a pig!
No matter how much I now hate him, I keep replaying the scene on the couch. I really wanted more. I shouldn't have, but I did. Now, I'm laying alone in my bed, longing for his touch. My plan to get him out of my head completely backfired.
9
Alexa
It's Monday morning and I am in a shit mood. I spend a little extra time getting ready, making sure I am completely frumpy. I want to hide away and by disguising who I am, I can do that. I spent the entire weekend bemoaning my terrible judgment. I didn't leave my apartment even once. Instead, I went on a cleaning tear. You could eat off my damn floor and lick my bathtub and not have to worry about a single speck of dirt.
I am on a mission, today. I know Dylan is going to have his little minion demand I go to his office for one reason or another and I am not going to comply. I will be buried under a mountain of work or in meetings. That will teach him to play with me and toss me out like last week's trash.
I hesitate before going into the coffee shop, not sure if Anna is still totally freaked out by what I said. Fuck it, I need coffee and I no longer care what anyone thinks of me.
I get in line, waiting my turn, when Anna sees me, she smiles, “Hey! I think you're on time! This has to be a record.”
I am so relieved she isn't being weird.
“I know,” I smile back. “I think I have turned over a new leaf. I have had some kind of aha moment or whatever the hell Oprah calls them,” I giggle.
She punches in my order without me having to tell her. I pay and move to the side, like a good little customer. The whole scene is ridiculous. We humans get in line, wait up to 15 minutes to get our coffee order, exchange a few pleasantries and then move to the side without being told. We are well-trained.
As I stand there waiting, those little hairs start to stand at attention on the back of my neck. I sense him. My body starts this slow burn, knowing he is near.
“Oh no,” I groan, afraid to turn around. I will absolutely die if he is standing behind me, staring at me like he did just a few short days ago.
I decide to ignore it. I'm not going to turn around. When my name is called, I rush forward, grab my coffee and beeline for the door, averting my eyes from where I know he is sitting.
I keep walking, full speed ahead. I am not going to look back. I get to the corner, violently smash the button, demanding the light change. The others who were already there standing, waiting to cross look at me like I have lost my mind. Obviously, they had already pushed the button.
I sip my coffee and scan the newspaper machines lined up on the sidewalk. My eyes bulge and I spit coffee all over as my eyes land on one of the gossip rags. I quickly look left and right to see if anyone recognizes me. Judging by the way they are looking at me, they think I escaped some facility. They don't know I'm the girl on the couch.
I step forward, staring at the picture in horror. There are two pictures, side by side. The first, is Dylan practically mauling me the second is moments after the orgasm that rocked my world. The pictures are in black and white and very grainy, but my face is visible. That is my O-face. Someone captured me at my absolute most vulnerable moment and splashed it all over the cover of some shitty paper.
I can't stop staring at the images. My eyes finally move away from the picture of my face to the headline. “Most Eligible Bachelor Caught Making Out with Mystery Woman: Is He Off the Market?”
I roll my eyes, before muttering, “Hell no.”
“I wanted to t
alk to you before you saw those,” a voice cuts in. It was the voice I had been dreading and dodging.
I groan and look at him, standing there in his expensive suit, perfectly tailored to fit his wide shoulders. He looks a little embarrassed, but not nearly as mortified as I am.
“Can't you do something?” I say in my haughtiest tone.
He shrugged, “You're the lawyer. You know this is all perfectly legal. Freedom of the press and all that.”
I shake my head, “I see it as a violation of privacy.”
A thought popped into my head and I panic. I start fishing in my purse for change. I have to get that paper. What if the cover photo isn't the only one that was taken.
“Relax,” he says, gently putting a hand on my arm. “The story is vague and there aren't any other pictures. Whoever took that picture followed us outside. They saw you leave with your friend. We didn't leave together. The story will die down. It will be old news by tomorrow.”
I nod, trying to wrap my head around what he is saying. No more pictures. There aren't any pictures of him with his hand up my skirt. Thank God.
I can't take my eyes off the paper. If my boss or anybody I work with sees this, my reputation is going to be ruined. I will look like a hussy, sleeping with the wealthiest man in the city or possibly the world, to get ahead.
“Don't give it another thought,” he says, cutting into my downward spiral.
I look at him, “That's easy for you to say. You don't have to work your ass off to prove you are more than a pair of great legs and even better tits. I have to dress like this,” I say, waving a hand over my atrocious outfit, “to hide my body so the men at work will look at my work instead of wanting to bend me over the closest desk.”
He looks down at his feet, then meets my eyes, “I wanted to bend you over a desk the first time I saw you in that get up. You aren't fooling anybody with those hideous clothes and ridiculous glasses. You are a beautiful woman and it doesn't matter if you put a paper bag over your head, men are going to want you.”
I look at him. I don't know whether I should be pissed or flattered.
“Whatever. I have to get to work—if I still have a job that is,” I mumble. I turn to walk back to my corner only to find the light has already changed. Everyone has already crossed and I have to wait another cycle. “Dammit!” I shout at the world before attacking the big silver button on the pole again.
“Alexa, I am sorry. I didn't mean to put you in that position. I sent you home alone to stop the gossip,” he said, standing beside her again.
“You what?” I ask, flummoxed by the real reason for him denying me that night.
He shrugs, “That stupid bitch from the dance floor, the one that took that picture, she followed us outside. My security took her phone, but it was too late. She had already uploaded the picture to her Instagram.”
“Oh,” I say, not sure what else to say. “Uh, thanks, I guess.”
So, he wasn't a complete jerk. It didn't change the fact he was still a little bit of a jerk or the fact he may have cost me my future at the firm. He was dangerous. I needed to get some distance between us—literally.
I can't wait another minute and dart into the street. I'm crossing one way or another. I don't bother saying goodbye. Nope. I have to get away from him. He makes my brain turn to mush and my body hum. My body craves his. Every time he is near, I get a little wet and my thoughts turn to sex.
I laugh to myself, “This must be what it's like to be a guy.”
Earl looks at me as I enter the door, “What?” he says.
I start laughing again, “Nothing, Earl, I was only saying good morning.”
He looks at me, not buying my story, but smiles anyway, “Good morning to you, Alexa.”
I punch the elevator button and prepare to face an onslaught of dirty looks from the women in the office and the lecherous eyes from all of the men. By the end of the day, my reputation as the hard working and very dull Alexa will be destroyed. I will be known as the harlot that fucks rich guys in the club.
Perfect.
10
Dylan
I stroll into my office, ignoring the whispers. It is nothing new. I go out, have a good time and it ends up on the front page. I don't care.
“Good morning, Mr. Hawke,” Mrs. Daniels greets me.
I smile. I love this woman. She ignores the gossip and always treats me the same. She knows me or maybe expects me to behave like a bachelor and never looks down at me when I get caught.
“Blake is in your office,” she tells me. “That boy never listens to me. One of these days I am going to lock that door and he won't be able to make himself at home.”
I smile, “Thank you for trying, Mrs. Daniels. I will remind him of his manners.”
She nods before slowly lowering her body into the chair behind her desk.
I stroll into the office to find Blake sprawled out on one of my brown leather couches. He has a bottle of water pressed to his head and another in his hand.
“Looks like you had a rough weekend,” I say, not surprised to see him begging for death on a Monday morning.
“I need one of these couches in my office. How come I don't have one?” he whines.
“Because you don't own the company. If you want one, go buy it yourself.”
He stays on the couch, his eyes closed, “You will not believe the phone calls I have been fielding already this morning. It gave me a headache.”
I laugh, “No, the heavy drinking, lots of sex and no sleep has left you with a headache.”
He moans, “Maybe, but the phone calls are what I don't like and that's what I am blaming.”
I sigh, already knowing what's coming, “Why the phone calls? Who and what are they bitching about?”
Blake slowly sits up, “A rep for the Larsens canceled our meeting. They apparently saw the picture. You offended them or some bullshit.”
I roll my eyes, “I don't care. I can fuck my way through the city and it is none of their concern. Tell them it can be a nice, polite purchase or it can be a hostile takeover. I will take them down. No one gets to dictate my life.”
“It isn't just the Larsens. Investors are bitching as well. They are convinced you have turned into some drug crazed sex maniac that is destroying the company,” Blake says with a heavy sigh.
“It's my company,” I shoot back.
He shrugs, “But they have stock and they put in money and all that B.S.. Don't make me explain it all. My head hurts,” he whines again.
I shake my head, this has been brewing for a while. It is coming to a head and I have a feeling it is going to blow up in my face if I don't address it head on.
“Schedule a meeting with the top shareholders. I will take care of this.”
Blake looks at me with one eye, the other squeezed closed as if the light hurts, “Really? What are you going to do, Dylan?”
“I'm going to set the record straight and then I am going to remind them I am a 30-year-old man who isn't required to report to them about my personal life.”
Blake pops open his other eye, “Dylan, I don't think that is a good idea. Your personal life is their business in a way. If they think you are spiraling out of control, they are going to get squirrely. They are going to pull their money out. I know it sucks, but man, you have to try and convince them you aren't a loose cannon. Telling them to shove it isn't going to help anything.”
“I am not going to tell them to shove it, but these old codgers need to realize the gossip rags blow up even the most innocent moments. They seriously can't believe everything they read about me. Are they that stupid?” I ask with incredulity.
“I don't know. I'll schedule the meeting, but we need to talk about what you are going to say. I'm on this ship, too. If you plan on sinking it, give me a minute to get my life boat ready,” he says, deadly serious.
I look at him. I can see he is truly concerned. Maybe I should be as well.
“The sooner you get that meeting scheduled, t
he better,” I say, flipping open my laptop.
Blake nods, “I'll let you know.”
I quickly pull up the Google news homepage, wanting to check the tech news, but freeze. A close-up picture of Alexa is at the top of the page. The story has been picked up by the national news syndicate. Every blogger from here to the farthest corners of the world are trying to find out her identity. It's only a matter of time.
I click one of the images to read the article it accompanies. Of course, the piece is filled with anonymous sources that are close to me and the mystery woman. I smile. I always find it amusing to read about my antics. The inside sources are bullshit as well. I know no one has or will betray me. I pay them all too well. I know the stories aren't true, but apparently, the rest of the world, including my investors, believe it all.
So far, Alexa's identity is still a mystery. I hope it stays that way. She will never forgive me if the press finds out who she is.
The day stretches on. I am lucky and have Mrs. Daniels, who is an absolute mama bear. She refuses to send any calls to my office unless the person has legitimate business. I have a feeling she had heard the gossip that had spread like wildfire through the office. She heard it and admonished anyone who dared breathe a bad word about me.
“Mr. Hawke,” her voice cuts into the room I have been essentially hiding in all day.
“Yes, Mrs. Daniels?”
“Blake is on line one. He says you aren't answering your cell phone. According to him, it is an emergency. Do you want me to put him through?”
I sigh, not really, but he probably wants to tell me about the meeting, “Go ahead.”
I pick up the phone, “What?”
“It's out,” he says.
“What's out?” I ask.
He clears his throat, “Her name.”
“Oh shit,” I mumble. “When?”
“About 30 minutes ago. I have already called the security team. They will be picking her up at her office.”
I can't say anything. I know I have put her in a horrible position. Her life is going to be shredded over the next week. Every skeleton she has in her closet is going to be dragged into the light. Every person she has ever spoken to, gone to school with or worked with is going to jump at the chance to get their 15 minutes of fame, riding on her back.
