She handed him the bag. Their fingers brushed, and they both froze. He flirted with the impulse to stroke along the fleshy part of her thumb with his forefinger. No. Though his body had other ideas, his mind vetoed the action.
Withdrawing his hand and the bag, he noticed the pile of folders resting next to her thigh on the bed. He bunched the covers over his morning erection and withdrew the coffee and muffin from the bag. “Do you have the—”
One folder landed high on his thigh, its edge smacking his arousal and cutting him off. He clenched his jaw and pressed his palm against his crotch in a soothing gesture. Visions of Georgia, her dress pushed past her hips, breasts jiggling as he pumped into her over and over nearly made him curl his fingers around his length. Slowly, painstakingly, he withdrew his hand and opened the folder as he set his coffee on the bedside table. It was her report. All sixty pages of it. His brows rose to his hairline. She had written all this? Researched all this?
“Wait in the kitchen,” he said, needing to get up and get dressed.
Georgia stood, the mattress shifting as she released its springs. “Here.”
He looked up. She held out a gilt-edged envelope. Elegant script spelled his name on the front. Taking the letter from her outstretched hand, he turned it over. A large, gilt G was stamped in a circle of gold on the back.
“Is this from Gigi?” Peter indicated the envelope and slipped his forefinger under the sealed flap.
Georgia waved at him dismissively on her way out of the room. He watched her go before returning his attention to what he assumed was a letter of apology from Gigi for standing him up. Underneath the flap, he encountered a stack of thick paper. Frowning, he withdrew the…wad of cash? All hundreds. Fifteen of them in all. His field of view widened, then narrowed.
Fisting the money, Peter stood and drew the blanket around his hips. When the covers wouldn’t come with him easily, he cursed and kept walking anyway. Over the bedroom threshold, down the long hall, and into the kitchen.
Standing by the table, in the process of setting up her laptop, Georgia didn’t look up until he stood directly in front of her. He shoved the wad of cash under her nose. “Is this your idea of a joke?”
She stepped back. He followed until he had her pressed against the island’s edge. Wetting cracked lips with the pink point of her tongue, she glanced from the money to his eyes and back before slowly lifting her chin.
“It’s my month’s salary, minus taxes. Just so we’re clear you didn’t pay me for last night.”
Fury burned away the edges of his vision. Yanking her close, he used his free hand to pull up her sweater. She squeaked, her palms coming up to ward him off. Too quick for her, he found the peachy lace of her bra and stuffed all fifteen bills into the front. He walked away, giving her a view of his naked ass.
In the shower, he jerked the spray to high and the steam on full. How dare she… How dare… Soap flew from his fingers, and he bent down to swipe it from the floor. He lathered his armpits and soaped his balls, lifting his sac and releasing it with painful jerks.
As soon as he could see Georgia without committing an act of violence, he’d fire her. Then he’d go downstairs to give that harpy, Gigi, a piece of his mind. Undoubtedly that’s where Georgia had gotten the money—and the idea smacked of socialite vengeance. Nobody played him like that. Nobody. He reached for the shampoo as his bathroom door bounced off the wall with a resounding thwack.
A livid Georgia, the fire in her eyes vivid even through the steam curling in the air, stalked toward him. She shook the money he’d shoved between her breasts in her clenched fingers. “I ought to sue you for sexual harassment.”
His bark of laughter resounded, sharp and bitter, off the shower walls.
“That’s rich. Considering how you all but begged me to fuck you senseless last night.” He slammed the shampoo onto its shelf with no little force. “Get out, Georgia, before I have you thrown out.”
“Are you angry because I left without begging you for more?” She dropped the money, the bills scattering like so much refuse to the ground. “Or is it because you let yourself fuck someone for free?”
“Get.” He stepped from the shower, water cascading down his face and into his eyes. “Out.”
Her chin lifted. He shook his head, spraying her with drops. Crossing her arms over her chest, she didn’t deign to wipe the water away. Peter narrowed his gaze. Fine, if she didn’t want to leave, she could join him.
Grabbing her by the upper arms, he lifted her from the floor. Feet swinging at his shins, she shrieked as he dropped her on her ass on the shower bench and closed the door behind him.
“Tell me, what is a woman with your prep-school background doing slumming at a two-bit newspaper?”
She sputtered and tried to stand. He pushed her down and leaned in, cornering her.
“Does Gigi give you her cast-off sweaters and keep you in the wings to do her bidding—hide her identity while she shits out so-called news stories—so you can make bank? Or do you lick at her heels just to remember what it feels like to have money and social standing? To actually matter?”
The crack of her hand across his cheek spun his head to the side. Peter turned his face slowly back to hers. Bedraggled tendrils of hair plastered to Georgia’s forehead, the dark spikes of her lashes blinking rapidly to keep the water at bay.
“Fuck you, Peter Wells.” Water dripped from her lips and ran in a river that stuck her sweater to her chest. “Without me you can’t even make a cup of coffee. Tell me, when was the last time you wiped your own ass?”
She hiccupped, and he realized those fatter drops on her lashes weren’t from the shower. Slowly, he stepped back. Rather than standing, she continued her diatribe.
“Even with the stink of you all over me, I stayed up all night.” She punched the air with one finger. “All fucking night! Just to finish that asinine report you wanted. And you dare to question my intelligence and dedication to my job?” Her chin lifted impossibly high, the angle of her head tipping more tears to her face. “I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me who I am. What I am. What I can do. And it’s a hell of a lot more than getting you off against a wall.” Her voice cracked on the last, and he gave her room to stand.
God, he really had used her abominably, hadn’t he? He’d obviously hurt her by walking away last night. He wasn’t used to this—feelings getting in the way of sexual relations—and he had no idea how to deal with the mess he’d created.
His anger melted in the face of her vulnerability, and he reached out to help her. “Wait.”
She batted him away and stepped from the shower. “I’m going to get changed.”
“There’s a robe—” The accusing look she threw over her shoulder made him shut up.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Wells. You’ll get your money’s worth out of me today.” With regal stature she stalked to the threshold and paused, hand on the jamb. “We all know that’s all you really care about.”
Well…shit.
He watched her go, then shut off the water and steam. The drip, drip of the shower heads sounded at his feet as he stared at the space she’d occupied on the bench. He ran a hand through his wet hair and wondered at the regret tightening his belly.
Shrill ringing sounded from the bathroom counter. His personal line. After snapping a towel from the pile, he wrapped it around his hips and stalked from the shower to examine the number on the display. The 203 area code caught his eye first. His parents? Lifting the phone from its cradle, he thumbed the button.
“Yeah?”
“Peter?” The quizzical lilt to his mother’s voice said she’d read his mood on that one word. Damn, she was perceptive.
“Hi. Yeah, Ma.” He grabbed another towel and rubbed at his hair.
“What are you doing showering so late?”
In the background, he heard his father grumble about long-distance telephone charges and her getting to the point.
“I overslept.” No sense lying to he
r. She’d only hound him for the truth.
“When will you be here?” Utensils rattled in the background, a drawer opening and closing. “I’m trying to figure out how much pizza to order.”
He made a face. God, please not pizza. “Ma, I’ll get something from the city for you. Bring it with me. What do you want? Maybe a roast from Balducci’s?”
“Your father wants pizza.” And he knew that settled it as far as she was concerned.
“Okay.” Peter breathed deep.
“We couldn’t get in touch with Emma to see if you were bringing anyone. Then Carl said you were bringing your new girlfriend, Georgia.”
There was a pause as Peter frowned and pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at it. What the hell was Carl thinking?
“Is she a, you know, real girlfriend?” his mother asked, not waiting for him to speak.
Heat flooded his cheeks, and he clenched the phone hard. He gripped the cool edge of the marble vanity with his free hand.
Ah. So that’s what Carl had been thinking. His friend smoothed the way for his father’s birthday the only way he’d known how, by making certain his family thought him legitimately attached and over his shenanigans. The only question was after today could he trust Georgia to behave if he brought her? And could he lie to his mother convincingly when they were introduced?
“Um…sure, Ma. She’s real.” He raked one hand through his hair and decided not to blow it dry. No sense going into the office today. Too late and he had to get on the road by three. “You sure you’re okay with her spending the weekend?”
“You’re a big boy, Peter.” She sounded resigned to disappointment.
The thought tightened his chest as he tried to ignore his conscience, which waved red flags and shouted liar! in his direction.
“Thanks, Ma.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll bring Georgia with me.”
Truth be told, he could use the buffer for once between him and his brothers. They wouldn’t dare mention the scandal in Georgia’s presence.
“See you at five?”
“Sure, yeah. See you at five.”
They hung up without good-byes. He dialed Carl without preamble. The PR exec picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Peter.”
“My mother said she called you when she couldn’t reach Emma or me to find out who I was bringing this weekend. I know what you did, Carl. You e-mailed her, didn’t you? Put that idea in her head? I’ve never brought anyone with me before. She wouldn’t come up with this on her own.”
“Oh.”
The weighted silence made Peter pause, his hand over his underwear drawer. “You did give my mother the idea I was inviting Georgia, right?”
“Well…” One wary word.
“Carl…”
A chair squeaked. “I may have intimated that she was the kind of person you might like to bring around.”
“Could you warn me next time?” Sinking to the leather padded bench, he decided he’d had it with this day already.
“You weren’t answering your phone this morning, and I figured you could kill two birds with one stone.”
“Two birds?”
Picturing how he’d have to convince Georgia of the plan made his left eye throb.
“Keep her around, probe her for more information in a relaxed setting while she helps you convince your parents you’re not a social pariah.”
When he put it that way, it sounded like a brilliant idea. Completely well thought out and balanced. Almost sane.
Not.
Carl was obviously going crazy.
“Carl?”
“Yeah?”
“Warn me next time.”
“You didn’t give me much to work with.”
“Just…” Peter sighed through his nostrils and stood. “In the future, don’t exercise your public relations muscle on my family without asking me first.”
He thumbed the Off button before Carl could reply. Tossed the phone on the bench beside him and rose to dress. Jeans. Loafers without socks. A fisherman’s knit sweater over a long-sleeved T-shirt. Hair damp, he padded into the kitchen and found it empty. Same with his study and the living room.
“Georgia?” he called, though he knew she wouldn’t answer. His penthouse felt empty of her presence. No light or sparkle, just space devoid of warmth.
God, could his balls get any more in a knot? He certainly hoped not, or he’d end up singing soprano during the carols with his family. He shook his head and put on his coat. Then realized he had no idea where Georgia had gone. He pulled up the contact info for her work cell. Dialed. Of course it went directly to voice mail.
“Hi, this is Georgia. Leave a message.”
He pulled the phone away and gave it a narrow-eyed glare while the beep sounded. Putting it back to his ear, he said, “Really? Is that the most professional greeting you could manage? It’s Peter. Call me. We have work to do.”
Cells were a real disadvantage in the temper tantrum department. Maybe he could have someone invent an app that sounded like an old-fashioned receiver slamming into its cradle.
In his bedroom, he put his briefcase together, stuffing the manila folder containing Georgia’s report into the side pocket. The leather creaked ominously at his rough handling. Angrier with himself than with Georgia, he jabbed his pen into the specially designed interior pocket.
His conscience asked what he had expected. He’d more than flashed the woman today and abandoned her after fucking her against a wall last night.
The devil in him answered that she’d stalked into his bathroom knowing full well he was in the shower, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t wanted the sex last night. She’d encouraged it even.
Yes, but did he have to dump her under the water, or leave her so soon last night?
The devil shot back that she’d only gotten what she’d deserved for the trick with the money.
The better part of him, the half his mother had managed to discipline into some semblance of a gentleman, grimaced at him in the dresser mirror.
“Idiot.” He scooped up his briefcase and the travel bag Miles had packed for him the night before.
On his way to the front door, he dialed Sid. If anyone knew where his temporary PA hid out, it’d be her male sidekick. The phone rang six times before the man picked up.
“Uh, yeah?”
Peter made a face and punched the call button to his personal elevator. “Where’s Georgia?”
There was a wary pause. “She’s…not with you?”
Peter heard the elevator ding. He pictured the doors sliding open to reveal a fiery pit into which he could push Sid, who was rapidly earning a demotion to newspaper delivery boy.
“Please don’t make me dignify that with a response.”
“Uh…” A rustling sound said Sid either cupped the receiver with his hand or stuffed his head and the phone up his ass. “She’s…”
“Not here,” Georgia hissed in the background. “Don’t you dare give me away to that asshole.”
Peter’s phone speaker relayed her unintended message loud and clear. It paid to invest in top technology. A feral grin spread over his face.
Gotcha.
And to think he’d intended to apologize to her for this morning and last night. He disconnected and stepped off the elevator to find a taxi. One way or another, he and his difficult little assistant were going to come to an arrangement.
Chapter Nine
Georgia flopped onto Sid’s ratty plaid couch. The fabric was pure polyester, and the cushion stuffing leaked out in orange-brown clumps. Still, this spot, right here in the corner, with the brown-and-harvest-gold afghan swaddling her shoulders, was home. More than her flat, more than her parents’ estate, and more than her desk at the office, she felt safe here in Sid’s company. She lived for the moments she spent in front of the telly watching Facts of Life reruns and eating take-out Chinese like a normal person.
Sid collapsed at the other end of the couch, tossing the phone between them as he went. “Wh
at’d you do to him now?”
Georgia groaned and let her head fall back. The lumpy cushion cradled her neck, and she closed her eyes. “Nothing he didn’t deserve.”
Silence reigned. She felt Sid’s disapproving stare like a ten-pound weight pressing slowly into her chest. He’d keep adding pounds until she fessed up.
Without opening her eyes, she said, “Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“I slept with him,” she said, though the term sleep had nothing to do with what they’d done. Hell, they hadn’t even been horizontal.
“Oh jeez, Georgie.”
He didn’t sound surprised. Then again, very little she did seemed to surprise her best friend anymore. Either she was getting predictable or, worse, boring.
She rolled her head to the side. Opened one eye. “He was phenomenal.”
Just alluding to the tryst with Peter made a warm flush spread over her skin. The way he’d taken command of her body? She’d never experienced sex like that, where she knew beyond a doubt the guy was in complete control. He’d known exactly what he wanted and precisely what he was doing, and made sure she’d enjoyed every moment. In college she’d slept with a frat boy or two just to make sure she wasn’t missing anything, and until last night she could’ve honestly said she didn’t see what all the fuss was about. A lot of huffing and puffing certainly didn’t seem something to wreck a marriage over. Peter, on the other hand?
“I’d walk over hot coals to shag him properly.”
If only he had kissed her.
Sid scooted closer and folded his legs lotus style. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She realized she’d unconsciously mimicked the Americanism. “He was completely hot. And completely…cold.”
Sid sat back a fraction. “Cold?”
“He finished and left me.” Georgia pulled her lower lip between her teeth, then released the flesh with a sucking pull. “I’m not sure if he was still zipping up when he stepped back into the gallery.”
God, that had stung. Opening her eyes to realize Peter had no intention of kissing her. The door closing to cut her off from light and sound. From him. She’d expected it, every bit, and yet when it came down to the moment of truth, she’d hoped for better. Known at the very least she’d deserved better. What woman wanted to be left standing alone in a hallway without any underwear after sex? Come to think of it, he’d kept her thong. He’d kept it like a trophy—probably had a drawer full of underwear once worn by his conquests.
Public Relations Page 9
