“Whatever. You’ll always be Poochie to me. Detective Morales is too formal.” I bit down on my lower lip as I tried to build the courage to ask him for a favor.
“So what’s with the call? Who do you want me to look up this time?” His husky voice pierced through my ears. Anthony “Poochie” Morales was only about five-ten, but his voice would scare the crap out of anyone.
“Drew Seymour. He’s a mortgage broker in Manhattan, thirty-one years old.” I held my breath and crossed my fingers.
“Okay, Brae, I got you. I’ll have him checked out and I’ll get back to you.”
“Thanks, Detective Pooch,” I joked. “Seriously though, thank you, Anthony. This could be a big help.”
“You know I’m always here for you. And you know, my phone does work all the time, not only when you need a favor. I know you’re some hotshot in New York and all, but don’t forget the little people.”
“I could never forget you, Poochie. You know that.”
By Wednesday afternoon, I was relieved that I hadn’t been asked to go to Peyton’s office with the file he’d requested. I felt weak and powerless when I was near him, something that was new to me. The few times we’d been together, it felt like he had this control over me, like I couldn’t will myself to move away from him. So the farther away I stayed, the better. The second I’d realized that Peyton was Haas, the guilt I’d felt was gone. The problem now was that he was the opposing counsel on my case. Big fucking conflict of interest.
The only thing helping my crazy urges to eat ice cream or knock on Peyton’s door was the text I received from Poochie earlier in the day, asking me to call him first thing tomorrow morning.
Anthony Morales: Call me tomorrow morning. I got the dirt you needed.
I didn’t understand why he couldn’t pick up the phone or tell me over text, so I sat in my small, five-by-five cubicle and watched the clock, counting the hours until work ended. My brain began adding the amount of time I would spend at Sara Smith’s house and the time at the gala with Kennedy and Gus. Calculating my average amount of sleep, it would be seventeen hours before I would hear from him again. Yep, I’m becoming a tad neurotic. But I knew from past experience that Poochie always delivered whenever I asked for information. If he had dirt on Drew, it was worth the wait.
I smiled, thinking of how grateful I was for Poochie. He had been my first real friend. My freshman year of high school, Poochie had been my savior. Loren and I had enough to get by, but we weren’t splurging on anything. Food in our house consisted of rice, eggs, white bread, peanut butter, noodles, and Spam. Most of the clothes I wore were from thrift stores. The only nice clothes I had were gifted to me by Jennifer around holidays and my birthday. It had never fazed me that I didn’t have a top-of-the-line wardrobe, but the other girls found it a reason to taunt me.
Girls were vicious. I was picked on for weeks straight about my clothes, the fact that I didn’t have parents, and the apartment we lived in. It wasn’t until Poochie stepped in and defended me that it all stopped. After we’d left, he was the only thing I missed from that awful school.
Shaking the memories of my adolescence out of my head, I looked down at the file in front of me. When Poochie provided me with the information he found on Drew, my cheat sheet would be perfect.
I had my new file for Venturini v. Seymour ready to go. Drew was a thirty-one-year-old mortgage broker with a love of gambling, alcohol, and women. I had a list of all his favorite bars and lounges, a list of his last twenty clients, and a full report on his family and previous relationships.
I was proud of the cheat sheet tucked in my oversized workbag. This was a proper cheat sheet. Not like that crap I got my first day.
I walked inside the elevator and pushed the floor for the Smith’s high-rise apartment. I had been so busy with work the past couple of days that this was the only free time I had to squeeze their home in for a quick cleaning before attending the charity gala. Though the Smith family was not in New York often, I still came by every Monday and Thursday. I was pushing it this time as it was already Wednesday and I was just now getting to it.
The elevator door was nearly closed when it started to slide open again. Great! Now it will be another two minutes before it closes again. I stepped to the side, closer to the corner to allow the person in, and scrolled through my phone to locate the text message Kennedy had sent me with the time and address for tonight. It wasn’t until I felt my heart pounding that I looked up. My head snapped in his direction and I saw those hazel eyes burning bright like the golden sun. A cunning smile appeared on his face the same moment my breath caught in my throat.
“Braelynn, what a pleasant surprise.” His voice was smooth and seductive, causing my palms to sweat.
“Hello, Peyton.” I looked at him for a brief second before turning away. I began to tap my foot in hopes that it would mask the thumping sound of my heart.
He walked toward me and I instantly closed my eyes. His scent was overpowering, driving the butterflies in my stomach crazy. Knock it off. Where was the liquid courage I’d had the first night I met him? Every time he got near me, I became a mess, whimpering and gasping for air. What happened to that confident woman I tried so hard to portray?
He tapped his key card over the electronic pad, lighting the button for the top floor. I took a deep breath as I tried to regain my bearings. Every ounce of self-control I had, I used to avoid his gaze. But my efforts were in vain. I was drawn to him like a moth to the light.
Breathe, Braelynn.
“Are you here to see—?”
“The Smiths. I usually come earlier in the week, but I’ve been busy with work and school. I’ll have much more free time … well, when I’m not studying for the bar, of course.”
Seriously. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.
When had I become this girl?
“Can I convince you to come up with me?” He bit his lower lip.
“No, you know we can’t. You’re the defense attorney on the case.” I looked away, focusing on the numbers as they lit up the electronic display, waiting for the elevator to stop on my floor. Almost there.
“We don’t have to talk about the case when we’re together.”
“Peyton …”
His name rolled off my tongue like velvety chocolate spread. Every step he took toward me caused the oxygen to escape my lungs a little faster. His eyes undressed me slowly.
“We can’t do this.” The elevator doors opened and I walked out, hoping Peyton wouldn’t follow. I didn’t know if I could turn him down again.
By the time I slid my key in the keyhole for the Smith’s home, my legs felt like jelly. That man turned my insides with one look. I couldn’t trust myself around him. I needed to get a grip. Maybe Kennedy was right. Maybe I needed to get laid.
With the bucket of cleaning products secured in my arms, I made my way to the master bathroom and began cleaning. I loved losing myself in cleaning; I didn’t have to remember any state laws that might apply, and I didn’t have to worry about jurisdiction.
I just cleaned.
Spray.
Scrub.
Rinse.
Wipe.
Two hours later I was finished—not having them here made my job a breeze. I put all the cleaning products away and locked the door behind me. The stench of bleach followed me into the hallway as I pressed the elevator call button and waited. When the elevator bell finally rang, I moved forward. If I ran home, I would still have time to paint my nails before the gala. With my eyes on my chipped nail polish, I started walking into the cart, but my head snapped up when I realized someone was in there already. My eyes met Peyton’s, and I cursed under my breath.
This must be a cruel joke.
Not only was Mr. Come-Hitter-Toe-Curler-Off-Limits in the elevator, but he was also freshly showered, shaved, wearing a fitted tuxedo, and a beaming smile from ear to ear. He stood dead center, daring me to enter with his eyes.
How many times does this elevator run thro
ughout the day? What is my luck that twice in one day I get stuck in here with him?
It was as if the universe was sending me a big “fuck you:. I cleared my throat and stepped inside, bowing my head. I cracked my knuckles and waited for the slowest elevator door ever to close.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” he said, rubbing his forefinger and thumb down his chin.
I met his gaze but didn’t reply. How could I? I reeked of bleach, my shirt was stained, and my hair was tossed up in a messy bun. He was out of my league. He smelled like forbidden fruit—the kind you bite into and then let the succulent juices slide down the side of your mouth.
“Can I ask you a question?”
I tucked the loose strands of hair behind my ear, hoping I looked somewhat presentable. “Sure.”
“You’re a woman who grew up in Newport, graduated top of her class at Northeastern, is acing NYU Law, and landed one of the most prestigious internships in the city. Why do you clean houses?”
“So you’ve been checking up on me, huh?” I crossed my arms over my chest defensively, anticipating his reply.
“A little,” he admitted. A boyish grin appeared on his face, and I found myself staring at a dimple I hadn’t noticed before. When he caught me staring, he winked at me.
Blushing, I tucked my hair behind my ear again and studied the descending numbers on the panel. “You haven’t dug deep enough.” I didn’t know why I said that. I didn’t want anyone digging into my past, especially not him. “I moved to Newport my sophomore year of high school.”
He moved closer. “Have dinner with me? You can tell me about it then.” Luckily the elevator stopped and the door opened.
“No,” I said, walking out. “Besides, you look like you have plans already.” I stopped to look at him one last time and admire the form-fitting tux that hugged his muscular frame.
“I’ll cancel. Just say yes.” He followed me into the front lobby.
“Good night, Mr. Haas,” I shouted back to him, hooking my thumbs into the belt loops on my jeans. When I felt his hand wrap around my upper arm, I almost lost the last bit of poise I had.
“This is fun for you?” he asked. “I know you like to act as if this is a game, but I was in that elevator with you on Monday. I know how quickly your pulse raced when I touched you, and I know how wet you were under that lace thong. You can play now, Braelynn, but I do plan on having you at some point.”
He leaned down and kissed my cheek, which burned from both his warm touch and embarrassment. He pulled his lips away from my skin and walked directly into a waiting black limo without looking back at me. When I saw him leaning down, I had expected his lips to meet mine, but instead he’d left me speechless—and breathless—on the sidewalk.
I lifted my chin from the floor and held my head up high as I walked home. There was a fresh pint of ice cream with my name on it waiting for me.
Braelynn
After Peyton left, I rushed home and ran directly to the kitchen. I opened the freezer, but then closed it again. If I kept this up, I’d double my weight before my internship was over.
Luckily for me, Jennifer insisted she could never be photographed in the same outfit twice, so her beautiful gowns and chic wardrobe came directly to me. Ever since the incident with Peyton in the elevator, I had a new obsession with feeling sexy underneath anything I wore. It never hurt as an additional boost of confidence either. And it was bad enough that the last time I saw anyone worth screwing, I was in ripped jeans and a dirty T-shirt, with a sloppy bun on my head.
I grabbed the beautiful hunter green Chanel dress out of my closet; Jennifer had given it to me five years ago, but I’d never had a reason to wear it before tonight. It wasn’t in season, but it would have to work. The sweetheart bodice hugged tight around my breasts, elevating them and letting my ample cleavage out to play. I curled my hair in spiral curls then loosely braided it into a low side bun. With my lips parted, I applied mascara, taking my time to make sure it didn’t clump.
“God damn! You look hot, mama,” Kennedy said as she walked into my room. She looked stunning in her Valentino cream satin dress.
“Speak for yourself. You look gorgeous, my friend.” I rotated my finger, urging her to turn around. “The perks of having a rich boyfriend, I see.”
“Correction. He and I are only friends,” she said with a mischievous smile.
“Friends, my ass. None of my friends ever buy me the stuff he buys you.” I turned back to the mirror to finish applying my mascara. “He loves you, Kenn, and he loves showering you with lavish gifts. When are you going to just admit you love him too?”
She walked over to my dresser and took the lip-gloss from my makeup bag. “You know I don’t have time to commit to him. My main focus has to be my career.”
“Yeah, but what happens when he’s tired of waiting around for you? You’ve shut him down on numerous occasions.” I closed my mascara and reached for a nude lipstick.
“He knows where I stand. I don’t have time to commit to him full-time. He knows he can go if he wants to, and that what we have is just for fun.”
“If you say so,” I said, before applying a final coat of lip-gloss. I knew that if Caleb really left her, she would be devastated.
“Are you two ready?” Gus popped his head into my bedroom. He walked over to Kennedy and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek before walking over to me and kissing the back of my head. “Damn, Brae, I’m gonna have to fight men off you all night.”
“Right?” Kennedy said, adding fuel to the fire. “Her sexy vixen kitty cat has emerged.”
My cheeks burned with embarrassment. “The both of you knock it off. Come on, we’re going to be late.”
Caleb was waiting for us downstairs, champagne flutes in hand. Though Kennedy couldn’t make up her mind about him, he and I had been friends for years. I just wished he and Kennedy would get together already. Caleb was a rare catch: extremely wealthy, but never flaunting that he had more than anyone else, and incredibly hot. They both looked like cover models. Kennedy’s hair changed with the weather, but it was never too bold. She always made sure it complemented Caleb’s light features, even if she’d never admit to that. He was much taller than she was; lean and fit, not muscular, with ash blonde hair and light green eyes.
The limo stopped at the red carpet, and the cameras immediately started flashing once Caleb stepped from the car. He reached for Kennedy’s hand and escorted her out, clutching her to his side, ensuring every picture taken was of them together. Gus climbed out behind Kennedy and turned back for me. The cameras continued down the red carpet, following Caleb and Kennedy, ignoring Gus and me—the nobodies.
“Madam?” Gus joked, bowing and extending his hand.
“Why thank you, kind sir.” I tried my best southern accent as his lips softly kissed the back of my hand. “What does a lady have to do to get some attention around here?” We both laughed.
Gus held my hand as we strolled down the red carpet. We didn’t get photographed, but we were asked to walk slowly so that the press had enough time with Caleb. When we were halfway down the carpet, a new limo pulled up and the mob of photographers rushed to catch the new arrival. Gus and I looked at each other and behind us, seeing if we knew who the newcomer might be. I shrugged my shoulders at him before we caught up to Kennedy and Caleb.
The ballroom at the Waldorf Hotel had been magically transformed. One section was dedicated to a silent auction; the other side boasted a lavish bar with high tables for mingling. The adjacent room was filled with dinner tables, a dance floor, and a jazz band. Gus and I made our way to the bar area while Kennedy and Caleb checked out the silent auction items. We stood near a high table and a cocktail waitress approached with two flutes of champagne.
“To the good life,” Gus said. We clinked our flutes and sipped the top-shelf bubbly. Gus pulled me closer and whispered in my ear, “So should I to act like the overprotective boyfriend or the loving best friend? I can do either.” He winked.
<
br /> I leaned my head on his shoulder. “How about the loving best friend? And if I need you, you can totally act like the crazy psycho boyfriend.” He kissed the top of my head.
“Loving best friend is easy to do.”
High-pitched giggles accompanied a small crowd of people as they moved to a couple of tables behind us. There was a group of women and men surrounding someone we couldn’t see. Gus and I continued to look, hoping to catch a glimpse of a celebrity. When the man in front of me moved to get his drink from the cocktail waitress and created an opening in the crowd, my eyes immediately connected with yellow-hazel irises, and I gasped for air. Peyton was staring directly at me, biting down on his lower lip.
And the award for the person with the worst luck goes to … me!
Gus lowered his lips to my ears. “That’s the McAlister heir, right?”
I couldn’t answer him; my eyes were glued to the man who had left me breathless outside his home. Peyton’s sly smile vanished, and a look of what I assumed was anger appeared on his face. I managed to pull my eyes away from his long enough to take in the group surrounding him. He had women lined up to talk to him, including a stunning brunette who had her perfectly manicured hands wrapped around his bicep.
“Braelynn?” Gus spoke softly into my ear. “Do you know him?”
I brought my eyes back to Peyton’s one last time before facing Gus. “Please be overprotective boyfriend. The overbearing, needy type.”
“You sure?” He looked back toward Peyton, then back at me. “I could feel the heat flashing between you two,” he whispered softly.
Lifting up on my toes, I brought my lips mere centimeters from his. “Gus, my love, that’s Peyton Haas. The one I almost slept with, the one who pinned me in the elevator, not to mention the one who is the defense attorney on my case. So please, overly jealous boyfriend.”
Gus’s hand held my face. Then he pecked my lips softly before kissing my cheek. “Your wish is my command.”
I felt my body relax for a split second before my skin began tingling. This only happens when he’s close by. I closed my eyes, preparing for his voice or his touch.
Consensual Page 5
