by C. M. Lally
I arrive home and shower quickly before heading out to work. My head is pounding with the damage that I did to it last night, but I’m a big girl. I’ll survive the day, because one night out in Miami is nothing compared to my first four years in Spain. I’ll just make it a quiet paperwork day. I grudgingly exit the elevator and hear my phone ringing from down the hall. Without a personal assistant, it’s my responsibility to get it, so I pick up my pace and grab the receiver in what I guess is the last possible ring before voicemail.
“Hello. Brooke Childer speaking,” I say politely, albeit a little breathy.
“Well, I thought for sure you wouldn’t be in your office today with your night out last night...especially the way you slinked outta my place this morning,” he chuckles under his breath at that last snide remark.
“I did not slink out, like you suggest. I was in a hurry to get to work, and I needed to shower. That’s all,” I offer up as my rebuttal. Why am I even responding? “What do you want Thiago?”
“Is that how you speak to potential clients?” he asks admonishingly. His deep voice reprimands me like a school girl in the principal’s office. Except he’s the kinda trouble I’d love to be in.
“No, Sir. I apologize,” I say, stumbling over my words before clearing my throat. Clearly I’m still nursing a hangover. “How may I help you, Mr. Solis?” correcting my rude manner with a huff of exasperated breath and a very long, drawn out eye-roll. I may not like the situation that I’m currently in with him, but I need him to help secure my promotion with Dad...if that’s still a stipulation.
“Okay, straight to business then,” he says, sounding a little dejected. I was expecting more bossy arrogance from him. “I was wondering if you could help me find a very expensive bottle of cognac for a friend of mine. He’s looking for something in particular, and I’d like to see if I can oblige him.”
“I can see what I can do,” I advise. “What do I get out of this deal? I still need my promotion.” My voice is as matter-of-fact as I can make it. I’m all business now that the ball is in my court.
“There she is. Her father’s daughter. Shrewdness. I knew I’d run into it at some point, or at least I hoped I would,” he teases me with another chuckle in that deep timbre of his voice. Just the sound of his voice causes the blood to race faster through my body. Every nerve ending is firing at the same time, and they all seem to be centered at my sex. Just knowing that he’s teasing me with his words is causing my clit to throb.
“Okay. Just for that comment, agree to this deal. I will find you the bottle of Cognac that you need without delay, barring any unforeseen difficulties since I still don’t know exactly what I’m looking for. Plus, I’ll consult with you on re-designing all three bars at the club for the mere exchange of one night with you. For my birthday next week...,” I offer, throwing that time table in there to put an edge to the proposal. There. I’m sure that shocked him.
The phone line buzzes with silence. Craning my neck, I peek over at the phone and the timer is still running so I know he’s on the line. Patience is a virtue I have crafted over time. I can wait him out, but it only takes a minute before he clears his throat and begins his counteroffer.
“How about this? You search for the bottle, and help re-organize the bars. I’ll let you keep that VIP pass you were provided last night, and I’ll grant you my Tequila business for six months? If that works favorably, we’ll consider a contract extension at that time. And I’m sorry to have to remind you, but you’ve already had your ‘one night’ with me last night. Are these terms agreeable to you?” he asks hopefully. I can almost hear his lips stretching into the Cheshire cat smile on his face. He thinks he won this battle. I may not be experienced in the ways of lust and sex, but I know how to negotiate fairly.
“These terms are not agreeable. If I can’t have you, then I want my lap dance that I paid for and was denied,” I demand. My voice is calm and steady, professional even, although my words were not. My parents would be shocked. And in thinking that, I began to wonder if the calls here are recorded for quality assurance.
“I don’t do lap dances, kitten,” he says, before he laughs out loud directly into the phone. Oh, that does it. Now he’s just pissing me off.
“Well, I’m sorry to have to remind you, but I didn’t pay for one from you either,” I boldly point out. “My money. Original choice of dancer. My birthday. The cognac and the bar consultations. Final offer. Take it or leave it.” Now who’s smiling wide? I wish he could see the look on my face. I’ve won this battle. I stomp feet in a giddy happy dance, knowing he has no other options to negotiate with.
“Be here at 3:30 pm today for our meeting. Mateo is back early. And bring your notebook of observations. I’d like to finish reading it,” he states before hanging up.
Bossy bastard. I shouldn’t show up just for that alpha male ego push at the end when he hung up on me. But he might renege on our agreement. I want the business and I want that extended contract, but I especially want my lap dance. And I want him to know about it. He didn’t even tell me about the cognac, but I’ll be damned if I call him back. It can wait until the meeting.
And that jackass. He read my notes. How dare he open my personal notebook and leaf through it. He knew it was mine. Nosy. And they say women are bad for that. So are panty-dropping gorgeous men with spine-tingling voices who own strip clubs.
I work efficiently for the next hour planning sales calls, verifying appointments, re-arranging a few to accommodate my new schedule this afternoon, and review a couple of proposal presentations. Being the boss’s daughter doesn’t excuse me from doing the actual work. Maybe it doesn’t matter to Dad if I get any other accounts besides The Glass Stripper, who knows. I’m not a half-asser, no matter that it took all the willpower I had not to let Thiago roll through my mind ten times. I put in the work for the rewards all the same.
I also take the time to send an email to Mark Johnson with a cc: to my dad. Mark is the Director of Human Resources, and I am going schedule a meeting to discuss the state of potential illegal immigrants working here. I’m sure that will set off a firestorm of email responses, but the company stance on this issue will change when I’m in charge. Grabbing my purse and papers, I set off about my day out on the streets. It’s a great day to go out and start growing this business of mine.
* * * *
I pull into the parking lot of The Glass Stripper a little too early. Traffic in this area of town can be crazy right after the local schools let’s out, so I thought I’d arrive a little early for this appointment. My phone has been on constant buzz through my last two sales calls, which I have promptly ignored. My dad is blowing it up with missed calls, voicemails, and texts. I scroll through and find the last one and hit reply.
Brooke: Hectic sales call schedule today, Dad. Heading into a final meeting now. Will call soon.
I set my phone down just as I hear giggling outside my car. It must be time for the dancers to arrive, as a hoard of beautiful, but scantily clothed women cross the lot laughing and teasing each other. I admire their gorgeous faces and lean bodies for a moment before they enter the front door. They aren’t wearing makeup right now and are still gorgeous. I’ve never been up on the 2nd floor to see them in all their erotic finery, but I can only imagine the final version of these girls. No wonder Thiago doesn’t want me. Why would he when he’s got this around him all the time?
I saw the way those women were practically lying in his lap last night in his booth. They were stroking him like you would a very long-bodied cat. Hanging onto his biceps and stroking up and down his legs. Not that I saw them do that, but I saw their arms moving in that consistent motion, so I assume that’s what was going on. Let’s be perfectly clear here, I was not staring at them. It was more like several quick glances, possibly multiple times.
My calendar chimes on my phone for my two minute meeting reminder. Time to go. Throwing my purse over my shoulder, I push open my car door and practically knock down a man walkin
g in the parking space next to me.
“Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry about that,” I apologize profusely. I’m horrified at actually hitting him in the knees, since he’s rubbing them so hard. “How bad does it hurt, Sir?” I finish closing the car door and stand directly in front of him trying to console him in his pain, begging for forgiveness.
He stands to his full height and our eyes meet. He’s beautiful, just like Thiago. They’ve got to be related with both having those same deep-set chocolate brown eyes and strong macho jaw line. “Hey, Beautiful. It’s no worry. You didn’t cripple me, but too bad. I would have liked having you nurse me back to health,” he says, busting out the widest smile I’ve ever seen. His full lips stretch across a beautiful set of full, white teeth that are perfectly straight. It’s the kind of smile that puts you at ease. He’s a teaser with a smooth act. And even though he’s a beautiful man, he does absolutely nothing for me.
“I am truly sorry. I didn’t want to be late for my meeting with the owners,” I blurt out, still not knowing if he’s one of them, “so I swung the door open a little too quickly.”
“Are you Brooke from Childer’s Wine & Spirits?” he asks.
“Yes. I am. And you are?” I ask in return. Which brother is this?
“Hi. I’m Dante,” he holds out his hand to shake, so I do. “I’m baby brother, as Thi and Mat like to remind me.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Dante. Shall we go in before Thiago thinks I’m not coming?” I wink and tease him in question.
“Oh yes! We don’t want to break his heart. That’d piss him off royally,” he smiles innocently to me. I’m not sure I understand that inside joke, so I just smile and link my arm around the one he holds out to me as an escort. Oh boy! These Solis men are true gentlemen. I can’t picture them in New York City.
Chapter 7 - Thiago
I’m standing at the bar watching the door like a hawk. She’s late. Now, most women are usually late—I know, but for some reason, I didn’t expect it of Brooke. She’s not like other women. There’s a maturity to her that draws me in, but when I got past her first barrier of professionalism, I stumbled into her innocence. It was so soft and subtle; it was like bumping into a cloud. It stunned me. When the haze cleared, I saw excitement and thrill in her eyes. She wants adventure; probably craves it. I’m gonna be the man that provides it.
The glass doors pull open and in struts Dante with Brooke wrapped around his arm. Both of their heads are bent low towards each other and they’re laughing, like two kids sharing secrets. Brooke looks up and spots me across the room at the bar, stopping dead in her tracks when she sees I’m not amused at her lateness. Her stop is so abrupt that it pulls on Dante’s arm. He looks up, and smiles at me like a damn fool not even noticing the tight set of my jaw or the grip I have on my tumbler glass.
“Thiago, look what tried to hurt me in the parking lot,” he says laughing, while grabbing her fingers and twirling her in front of me. I love my baby brother, but he’s got a jokester streak a mile wide and I only have patience for about an inch of it.
I set down my drink and turn to her just as her twirl stops short in front of me. She puts her hands out to stop and they splay across my chest sending an electric spark through my blood so quick, I actually feel faint for a moment. “You’re late!” I growl at her, tweaking my jaw line from the intensity of gritting it as I waited for her to arrive. Her hands fall quickly from my body like I burned her.
“Thiago! You jackass,” Dante yells at me in disbelief. “Stop threatening her like a pit bull behind a fence. Didn’t you hear me say we had a little accident together in the parking lot?” I turn towards him and unleash some more of this anger on him, as well.
“Dante. Go get Mateo and tell him the meeting is about to start,” I command, but he just stares at me with that familial red heat of anger flushing his face. “Now.” I command more darkly so that he knows I’m not in the mood to be fucked with. He shoots me with a poisoned glare and walks off in the direction of our apartments without looking back. I can almost hear the steam whistling in his head.
“Why are you pissed at me?” she asks. Her stance is tight as her arms cross over her chest. It takes two steps to box her in between me and the wall. My quick movements make her gasp and choke on her last inhaled breath, as she looks up at me with watery eyes. Pulling her to me, she slams into me and her hands land on my chest again, exactly where they belong. “I usually get what I want. And I want you, but I can’t have you,” I grumble low enough so only she can hear me. “I may not be able to have you, but I’ll be damned if anyone else here is going to either. I won’t sacrifice my family’s future on a word I know isn’t real.”
My fingers reach for her chin and tilt it up just enough for me to ravage her mouth. She yields to me almost immediately. I feel her fingers tighten and curl around the buttons of my shirt. She even pulls me into her. My tongue forces its way past hers in a duel that proves I’m in control of her now. The heat of her exhaled breath on my lips empowers me to take the kiss deeper as it continues and our bodies wind together in lust. My erection brushes against her stomach and hip causing small whimpers to release from her throat. Her hands slide down my chest, past my belt to grab hold of my dick. Her fingers massage its girth up and down, moving along the indention of it through my pants. Jesus Christ, I want to lay her down and spread her out wide to take my time feasting on her.
“Alright, where’s this meeting happening,” Mateo says, clapping and rubbing his hands as he rounds the corner of the bar. “Oh, shit. Yeah, big bro! Going for it, as usual.”
“I’ll get the hose to get him off her,” Dante laughs.
They both start whistling and clapping. How fucking immature, but I don’t really give a shit because I’m not done tasting her. I angle my body to shut them out and continue running my tongue over her lips. She tastes like strawberries. Mateo & Dante continue to make fools of themselves, so I suck her bottom lip into my mouth and release it slowly, savoring its flavor as long as I can. I watch her reach up and wipe her mouth as she lifts her indigo eyes to mine. I wink to reassure her not to be embarrassed before stepping away from her. My dick is still a bulging spectacle, but I don’t give a fuck about that either. We are in a strip club after all.
She squares her shoulders and shuffles her bag from one arm to the other before stepping out and walking over to one of the tables. I look at my brothers and gesture sweepingly for both of them to follow her. They snicker and laugh as they pass me, acting like ten year olds. Bullies. I’ve raised bullies. I give them both a slight smack on their heads to settle them down.
We sit at the table surrounded by the notes she’s already taken, mock up drawings of our current bars, as she flips the pages of her notebook to where she wants to start. “Okay, boys. Here’s what I know,” she begins, and proceeds with her long list of noted issues. We discuss several possible designs, brainstorm our wants versus our needs, and hammer out another list of price check points, knowing that we will use the same company that helped us get set up in the first place. Everyone is delineated roles and tasks. God, I love the way she operates: clean, efficient, and sexy as fuck when she’s in control.
Before I know it, two hours has passed and my stomach growls. Loudly. “Damn Thiago,” Dante says. “You’re starting to sound like me, always hungry.”
“Maybe we should wrap this up. I’ve got to get upstairs and check on the dancers,” Mateo says standing and winking at Brooke. “It’s been my pleasure. Please don’t let my brother scare you away.”
“Yeah, I need to go too. I need to get the cash drawers ready for tonight,” Dante grumbles. Before I can stop him, he picks up Brooke’s hand and plants a kiss on the backside of her knuckles. “Here’s to hoping my brother messes up.” He winks at her too, before turning away.
“Wow. You are definitely brothers,” she says teasing me. “I didn’t know smooth was a DNA characteristic.”
“They’re jerks. Ignore them,” I advise, clearing m
y throat and boldly taking one of her hands in mine. I twiddle my fingers around with hers, caressing the length of them. “Thank you for coming today and for taking control. I appreciate your expertise in this matter.”
“What are you doing?” she asks. “I need you to stop caressing me if you can’t be with me.”
“I can’t,” is all I can mumble before my words catch in my throat.
“You can’t...what? Be with me or stop caressing me?” she asks pointedly. She shows no fear of my possible answer. She simply waits for it. I’m mesmerized by her self-confidence.
“Both,” I answer, raising my eyes to her. “I’m not trying to be an asshole. I’m not very good with people, unless it’s business. I’m used to everyone wanting something from me, so I’m always trying to figure out their motives. My suspicion gauge is always running—like it’s broken.”
“Would it make it easier if I always stated what I wanted from you?” she asks, lowering her head like she can’t believe she just asked that. She’s a mystery to me, and I’m caught up in the little clues that she leaves. My past two days with her have contained more sparks of excitement than my last twenty-nine years.
My dick is hard for her again, and that little electrical pulse I always feel around her is zinging up my spine. Is this woman real? “And what do you want?” I feel inclined to ask continuing to play with her fingers. I’m immediately intrigued with her words. She has my mind racing in anticipation of her response. She sighs heavily, but responds quickly...like it’s an answer that she knows well and has perfected over time.
“I want to be the only woman in a man’s life. I want to be cherished and know that they wake up every day for me,” her voice is small, but her words are clear. “I want to be handled like glass and polished like silver. I want to be adored and respected. I want to be in a mutually viable relationship with as much receiving as giving, and not just eye candy or convenience. I also want to feel every intimate pleasure known and reciprocate in kind with trust. That to me is love and lust. They can go together.” The longer she speaks the bigger her voice gets as she gets lost in her own words. She knows exactly what she wants, and for once I’m brought to my knees in awe of the depth of her words.
