by Amy Brent
“New case,” was all I could tell them, and it had pained me to do so. My favorite lunch buddy, Arnold, who was in charge of intelligence, only lowered his big eyes in hurt when I had told him that. I hadn’t taken time to explain either.
Right now, I had a shitload of notes and a whole bunch of nothing. Even after feverishly reading and rereading my notes, my conclusion was no better than it had been before I had reread everything. It seemed like I had a bunch of factual confetti that spanned opposite ends of the truth, mere particles of proof that couldn’t be pieced together no matter how ambitiously I tried.
“How’s it going?”
Startled, I jumped up in my seat, causing it to roll and bump into the wall. Sticky notes rained down upon me.
“Sorry about that,” Sgt. Williams said, crouching over to pick up one that had landed near him.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, scrambling to pick them up myself. “I was just trying to figure out how to piece all this information together.”
Hands behind his back, Sgt. Williams nodded, his intelligent eyes scanning all the different scribblings of thoughts and observations. I was glad he wasn’t looking at me because I was probably blushing furiously. It was one thing to haphazardly jot down half-intelligible thoughts whenever I had a free moment in the bathroom, or later at home when I was away from Eric and could actually think. But it was another thing entirely to have your sergeant read over the probably dimwitted musings.
Finally, he said what I already knew.
“There’s not enough here.”
“I know,” I said with a sigh, “but what about that lady he fired about a year ago? Wasn’t she let go around the same time we were informed about the bad stuff happening in his company? Maybe there’s a link.”
“Good thinking,” Sgt. Williams said with a decided nod. “That may be worth looking into.”
He strode to the doorway, where he paused to deliver me a more severe look.
“But if you don’t find anything—”
“I’m getting closer, Sergeant,” I said. “I’m sure of it.”
I did have a gut feeling that something was growing, though I didn’t mention it to him. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was, or even if it had to do with the case at all. This investigation had to work out. I’d put too much into Eric Black for this to come up as a false alarm.
“I know,” Sgt. Williams said, his kind eyes drooping sympathetically, “and neither of us wants all your hard work to have been for nothing, but there’s no use in pursuing this case once we’ve reached too many dead ends. It’s a waste of valuable resources, you most of all.”
His backhanded compliment left me cold.
“I know I can find something,” I said, rising to look him in the eye.
“See that you do, or give it up,” Sgt. Williams said before he left, closing the door behind him.
With a sigh, I slumped into my swivel chair. What if he was right? What if I didn’t find anything? I had certainly put a lot into this. Goddamnit, I’d even slept with the man.
A coil of heat twined between my legs at the thought of what I had done for this case. I had to admit, it hadn’t all been a chore. Definitely not.
Guess there was only one thing to do.
Eric picked up on the first ring.
“This is a pleasant surprise.”
“I would’ve expected you to call me the way our last meeting ended,” I said with cheeky good humor.
“I almost did,” Eric admitted. “But the way things ended last time—I didn’t want to be too pushy.”
“You? Pushy?” I said incredulously. “Preposterous!”
We both laughed at that one.
“So, what are you up to?” Eric said, a note of interest in his voice.
I swiveled away from my desk covered in piles of paper.
“Writing,” I said blithely. Which technically, again, wasn’t a lie. I’d combined some of the impossible-to-understand scribblings in one longer note in an attempt to decipher actual use for them.
“Why?” I asked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Eric said, “I just thought maybe you could come make my boring workday less boring. Like maybe hide under my desk and suck me when I get writer’s block.”
Despite myself, I giggled.
“You get writer’s block? Do you even write?” I asked dubiously.
“No,” Eric admitted, “but I would if it meant you could come down here.”
“You’re the worst,” I declared. “We can see each other tomorrow night. Maybe do something nice.”
“Oh?” Eric said. “You’re taking me out?”
“If you want me to,” I offered.
A thoughtful silence, then, “No. I enjoy treating you too much. After all, you are my mistress, paid for and kept by me, for me.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Black,” I said.
“That’s Mr. Sexy Black to you,” Eric rumbled in a low voice. Laughing again, he said, “I should go now. I’ll pick you up tomorrow and we’ll go somewhere nice.”
“Sounds good.”
“Oh, and one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“You wouldn’t happen to have a, uh, fishnet bodysuit, would you?”
A dirty smile appeared on my face.
“No,” I said, in a low voice. “Why? What did you have in mind?”
Eric managed a light laugh at that.
“The real question would be what don’t I have in mind?”
Chapter 14
Eric
Could she have on the fishnet bodysuit underneath that?
As we strode up to the restaurant, my curious gaze skimmed across her high-waist black bodycon skirt and ruffled top. But there was no indication it was concealing a tight fishnet masterpiece or just your regular old bra and panties.
“Stop staring,” Kathryn scolded, although I could hear in her voice that she took pleasure in my extended gaze.
“If I paid for something,” I said, “does it mean I get to look at it?”
“No,” Kathryn said simply, smirking her bright red lips at me.
I really wanted to give her a smacking kiss right on the lips and a big old spank on the ass. But we were walking by the lit-up window of Vincenzo’s, and I didn’t want to embarrass her. Besides, I knew enough from seeing my mom and dad together at fancy restaurants that when women took their time putting on makeup, they didn’t exactly appreciate you kissing it off before they’d even arrived at the place or event they’d so carefully prepared themselves for.
“I have to admit,” Kathryn said as I held open the door for her and she strode in, “when you told me we were going out tonight, I didn’t exactly expect you to take me all the way to New Jersey.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I found this place by accident myself.”
I didn’t mention that it was after some superhot model insisted we go here. The date had been a bust, but still. For some reason, talking about other women in front of Kathryn seemed, well, just wrong.
“No one from New York really ventures very far out of the city since it’s so big and exciting, which is a pity,” I continued. “I never would have found this place under normal circumstances.”
“You know, you’re right,” Kathryn said, letting out a little laugh. Pausing, she shook her head stubbornly. A wicked smirk came over her face. “Actually, I’m not sure if you’re right at all. I haven’t tasted anything in here yet.”
“Patience, girl,” I said, patting as low on her back as I could go before touching her ass.
Kathryn smirked my way as we were approached by an efficient little man with a carefully groomed moustache.
“You have a reservation?” he asked in a heavily accented voice.
“Yes. Reservation for two under Eric Black,” I said.
His nod sent his long, sparse fringe of dark bangs flopping up and down, although it didn’t obscure the slight widening of his eyes. It was hard for me to tell whether I was being recognized or paranoid. Being a celebrity wa
sn’t always a good thing considering I had graced the cover of tabloids more than actual technological magazines. It was just how it had panned out, one rollicking drinking-and-girl spree with Mark at a time.
Whatever the reason, the man gestured us to the side with a golden-bordered menu.
“Alfonso will be able to help you,” he said.
Kathryn and I went to Alfonso, another short man with a moustache, who had already turned on his heel and started gliding toward the back, toward their private table I had requested—one so elite that Vincenzo’s didn’t even reveal the existence of it to its regular customers. The private seating and cast-iron table overlooked a tiny glen with its own pond—assuming I recalled correctly and didn’t have my private dining sites mixed up.
Sure enough, Alfonso gestured for us to sit down at a private little table that overlooked the nature spot I remembered. Only once the waiter had provided menus and disappeared did Kathryn turn to me with a full smile on her face.
“Eric, this is amazing!”
She angled her body a bit too far for my liking, looking over the railing, gazing avidly at the dark and yet still visibly pretty landscape below us.
“Careful,” I said, putting my arm around her front protectively.
“Worried about the merchandise getting damaged?” Kathryn joked.
For some reason, I couldn’t seem to laugh at that one.
“Even the candles are set in a gold saucer,” Kathryn said in a clearly impressed voice as she turned back to face me.
I took in the flickering flame with a bit of surprise. I hadn’t even noticed it to be honest, not this time, nor the last. Was I really so in wrapped up in Kathryn that I couldn’t see anything else? And how had I overlooked how romantic this place had been last time?
“It was really sweet that you brought me here,” Kathryn declared, taking my hand and squeezing it.
I peeled my gaze off hers.
“Don’t thank me until you’ve tasted the food,” I said grudgingly.
Frowning, Kathryn withdrew her hand.
Under the table, I felt her hand snake along my lower and then upper thigh. Bent with only her head over the top of the table, she asked in a husky voice, “Is this why you ordered a private table?”
There was something bitter and savage about the question. I turned away.
“No. Stop, please.”
The sound of Kathryn’s chair scraping along the stone floor was jarring.
“I’m sorry,” I said to her. “I don’t know what my problem is. You look beautiful by the way.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Kathryn said stiffly, although there was already half a smile on her face as she said it.
Alfonso returned, and we still had no idea what to have. So, with Kathryn’s agreement, I took the lead and ordered us a heaping portion of spaghetti bolognaise and two glasses of wine.
Once he left, I returned my hand to squeeze Kathryn’s.
“So what are your thoughts about sloths?”
The random question rolling about in the clear night air took me off guard is much as Kathryn. Regarding me with a smile dancing in her eyes, she asked, “What do I think about sloths?”
“Yes,” I blustered. “Perfectly normal question.”
Giggling, Kathryn replied, “I guess I’m like just about every other non-sociopath out there. I love sloths.”
“Excellent,” I declared, seizing her other hand and squeezing it warmly. “We’re going to get along just fine then.”
Kathryn’s eyes sifted through me, but I said nothing. I wasn’t actually considering inviting her on the sloth sanctuary retreat with Mark and I, was I? That was months away, and it was definitely not my style to invite some girl with me. I was just tired; that was all.
My gaze lit on Kathryn. The alluring way she was scratching at her neck got me thinking. Looking around to make sure we wouldn’t be seen, I slid one sleeve off her shoulder and partway down her arm.
“Eric!” she said, grabbing at it protectively. “What are you doing?”
I didn’t answer her, because what I had seen, right there before my eyes, was a patch of fishnet.
“You wore it,” I said simply.
A flush crept into Kathryn’s cheeks as she nodded without saying a word. I found that I couldn’t tear my eyes off her.
“When do I get to see baby pictures of you?” I finally said.
Visibly relieved at the change of subject, Kathryn took a sip of water before replying, “Probably never.”
The easy grin slid off my face. But as soon as I thought about it, her answer made a lot of sense.
“You’re right,” I told her, “It definitely wouldn’t be good for me to meet your parents.”
Kathryn’s laugh sounded forced.
“Oh yeah, I’m sure that would go over well. Mom, Dad, meet my employer. I’m his mistress.”
Both of us were chuckling drily as the waiter swept up with our food.
The next hour or so passed enjoyably. We punctuated our conversation with delicious bites of food and sips of wine.
That wine combined with the knowledge of what Kathryn had on under that foxy little outfit of hers did not make for a good combination. Every time I looked at her, I couldn’t help but imagine myself recreating the dream I’d had. More than recreating—topping it. It seemed all the time I spent with Kathryn, sexual and otherwise, completely blitzed my greatest expectations.
“Tell me more about your friend Sadie,” I told her, latching onto the first subject I came up with to distract myself.
“You probably saw that I live with her,” Kathryn said, smiling, “Truthfully, there’s way too much to tell than what we have time for. We became friends when we were ten and have been inseparable since.”
“I bet you were wild girl back then,” I asserted with a knowing smile.
Under the table, I gave her foot a little tap with my own. A smile flickered over her face.
“I’m sure you weren’t a good boy yourself,” she shot back, although she continued. “The first week of college, I walked into our room to see Sadie was giving a bunch of people these crazy henna tattoos anywhere they asked, on their chests, their arms”—she paused—“their ass.”
“Let me guess,” I cut in, “you got one on your ass.”
Kathryn smirked.
“Guilty as charged.”
“What was it?” I asked, intrigued now.
“A penguin,” Kathryn admitted with a little laugh, “holding a semiautomatic rifle.”
We held each other’s gaze for a minute as I waited for her to break out giggling, to admit she was screwing with me.
Seeing that she was telling the truth, I was the one who finally busted out laughing.
“You and your penguins,” I said, screwing up my eyes and trying to imagine her ass with a glorious depiction of a gun-wielding penguin on it.
Kathryn shrugged.
“Sadie thought it was pretty hilarious too.”
“Sounds like quite the girl,” I said. Suddenly, it was obvious. “She knows about us, doesn’t she?”
Kathryn drummed her fingers on the table guiltily.
“Yes.”
“It’s okay,” I said, “just as long as you haven’t been posting pictures of us together on your Instagram account.”
“Dammit!” Kathryn said, slapping the table with the flat of her palm. “I was wondering when you were gonna find out about that.”
We both laughed at that one just as the waiter returned with our bill.
It seemed as though the almost two-hour long trip from New Jersey to my place passed as only a few easily chatted-away minutes.
As she was in my bathroom tidying up, I knocked on the door. As soon as she opened it, I pounced on her.
“Eric,” she said breathlessly as my hungry lips peppered her skin. I drew one shirt sleeve down to see that I had been right. She was wearing the fishnet bodysuit.
“God, you are perfect,” I declared hoarsely.
Kathryn’s hand shot to my dick just as my phone rang. Even as it zigzagged echoes through the small box of my bathroom, Kathryn and I smeared ourselves over each other. I couldn’t stop now, not when I was lifting up her top and seeing the beautiful mesh separating her skin into little black-bordered diamonds.
But then my phone rang again, signaling trouble. It was Tom, one of my technical engineers.
“Boss, we have a big, big problem.”
“What is it?” I snapped.
Tom knew better than to call me at home. Maybe this really was a big emergency.
“We had a security breach. Some Russian hackers got into our system and stole a couple of our customers’ names. They’re downloading more information as we speak.”
“Shit,” I said. “I’ll be right there. Try to hold them off until I get there.”
I hung up, turning to Kathryn with a sinking feeling in my gut.
“I hate to do this, but there’s an actual crisis at work. Hackers. Russian hackers.”
Disappointment flashed over Kathryn’s face. Then she nodded hurriedly.
“I understand, Eric. Of course.”
I tore my gaze off her appealing fishnet bodysuit.
“But you will wear that again, right?”
“Oh gosh, I don’t know about that,” she said tauntingly.
“Kathryn,” I moaned in a low voice.
“Oh, all right,” she conceded, kissing me on the cheek.
“I can still drive you home now,” I told her.
She shook her head.
“You need to get to work fast. Remember, my place is just a ten-minute walk from here.”
I shook my head even more firmly.
“I’m driving you home myself, and you’re coming now. No arguments.”
Kathryn let out an exasperated sigh, but I could see on her face how much the gesture had touched her, although I hadn’t been doing it for her. As I drove Kathryn down the three or four blocks to her house, I couldn’t help glancing out of the corner my eye at her.
Truth be told, I’d just wanted a bit more time with her for myself.
Once I pulled up to her place, she opened the car door with a shy smile.
“Thanks for a wonderful time, and that wonderful restaurant. I can say that now that I actually tasted the delicious spaghetti and wine,” she reminded me.
