“We still haven’t gone up to the Bronx to check out our signs,” she reminded me, fixing me with a look. “We’re flaking on our jobs. Maybe Saunders will fire me then,” she rubbed her hands gleefully.
And I laughed.
“Tan, I know, I know,” I said ruefully. “I keep meaning to but things keep coming up.”
“But what?” asked my co-worker, rolling her eyes. “Come on, you can come to my place afterwards for some wine and dinner. What could be better than red, red wine?”
I just laughed because how to explain? I had different priorities now and that included getting home and eating dinner with my man. Tucker and I usually ordered delicious take-out before retiring upstairs with a bottle of wine, lounging in the big bed. And of course, if Tucker and I are around each other for even an hour, it means there’s gonna be sexy times, some dick in cunt or dick in ass, or both.
But I could hardly scandalize my co-worker, so I just hedged.
“It’s my divorce,” I lied, biting my lip before looking straight her in the eye. I hated lying and was bad at it, but it was just easier this way. “You know, papers and stuff.”
Tanya exhaled loudly, blowing her frizzy bangs off her forehead, her hair like a poodle’s crown.
“Paperwork, schmakerwork,” she said with a wry smile. “Seriously girl, I’ve been divorced twice and yours is taking longer than both of mine put together.”
I colored then.
“Um, I dunno,” I said lamely. “I’ll have to ask my lawyer what’s going on. Besides, shouldn’t we get back?” I asked, glancing at my watch quickly, trying to change the subject. “Oh shit, it’s almost one thirty, we better jet.”
And with that, we reached for our credit cards to split the bill. Without thinking my fingers slipped to my wallet where all my cards were, my driver’s license, health insurance, gym membership jumbled together and unthinkingly I pulled out Tucker’s card and dropped it on the table.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, the metal caught the afternoon light, glinting in our eyes, and immediately Tanya was on it, snatching the rectangle and looking at it closely.
“What is this?” she asked curiously, “this isn’t yours, is it? I see it belongs to a ‘Tucker McGrath.’”
“Oh yeah,” I stammered. “Oh sorry, wrong card, here, here’s mine,” I said, burrowing in my purse and coming up with my humble AmEx. “Here, take this,” I said, offering it, waving it under her nose.
But my co-worker couldn’t be deterred. She peered at Tucker’s name even more closely, squinting her eyes over her reading glasses.
“Laurie, why do you have this?” she asked. “You know, merchants are supposed to confiscate stolen credit cards,” she said slowly.
“It’s not stolen!” I gasped, color rising to my cheeks. “I have that legitimately.”
“Oh yeah?” asked Tanya skeptically, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest, the card still firmly in her grasp. “Honey, they don’t pay us much at HRA but there’s no need to steal,” she said seriously. “I know this divorce has wiped you out but if you need money, I can make you a personal loan.”
I gasped again. How could my friend think I was so down and out, so poor that I’d taken to swiping other people’s stuff? But Tanya just shook her head.
“Honey, like I said, I’ve been divorced twice, been through the wringer twice and it wiped me out both times,” she said with wryly. “Why do you think I was biking to work for a while? Because my last ex took my car and I had no money for a subway ticket. That’s right, not even five dollars a day for transportation, I had to fucking bike to work last winter, through snow and sleet, I practically got pneumonia.”
Holy cow, I sat back at the table, astounded. Tanya had been so down and out? I hadn’t realized, she’d said she wanted to get in shape and was biking to improve her fitness, I’d never suspected.
“Fuck that,” the blonde said bitterly. “WTF, who wants to bike through snow? I had no money, that was the real reason, ‘my health’ be damned. So tell me why you have this,” she said sternly, shaking the card again. “Seriously girl, if you’re hard-up, I can help, I’ve been saving like mad the last two years.”
I sighed.
“Tan, I would never do that to you, neither of us make much working for the city,” I said wryly. “You need every cent you earn. We both do,” I said. “But seriously, the card is legit. It’s owner … is letting me borrow it,” I stumbled, a blush rising to my cheeks.
“Borrow it?” asked Tanya, again staring at me over her glasses. They were funky green today, studded with rhinestones on the sides. “What does ‘borrow’ mean?”
“Well, he, I mean Tucker, is letting me access his credit for the time being,” I said lamely. “You know, I’ll pay him back and stuff.”
But Tanya just shook her head, not believing my lame explanation for an instant.
“Out with it,” she said, her bony fingers clutched around the card. “I’m looking for an excuse not to go back to work and this is it. So out with it, the whole story,” she commanded.
And I shook my head, helpless. I knew my friend. She has a good heart but was like a bloodhound sometimes. Once she had her nose to a scent, she didn’t let go, following a trail relentlessly. So I gave in and told Tanya everything, of how Tucker was my delivery man, how I’d ordered shampoo my first night and slept with him that same night.
“Holy shit,” said Tanya, wrinkling her brow. “You fucked your delivery man without knowing his name?” she said in a semi-loud voice.
“Shh!” I hushed her, looking around, embarrassed. Fortunately, NYC is a loud place and no one could hear over the cars rushing past, the din of other diners’ conversation. “Sort of, well yes, I did,” I admitted.
There was silence for a moment before Tanya whooped.
“You go girl!” she shrieked, reaching out for a high five. I clapped her palm, unsure exactly what she was referring to. But my coworker was only too happy to elucidate.
“Honey, you’re young, you’re pretty, you should have as much hot sex as you can,” she advised, nodding her head approvingly. “Take it from me, I’m fifty-five now and no guy wants me,” she said. “I’m all skin and bones, dry and aged, only a blind guy would be interested.”
I protested, still looking around, hoping no one could hear us. Fortunately, everyone else seemed too into their own conversations to care.
“Tanya, of course men are still interested in you, you’re an attractive woman,” I protested. “But seriously, can we talk about this later? Not now,” I said in a hushed voice, still looking around furtively.
But unfortunately, my co-worker has never been known for her discretion. Instead, she carried on in a loud voice.
“And rich too, this ‘Tucker McGrath’ is a rich man,” she said out loud, looking at the Visa admiringly again, watching as the sunlight glinted off the metal surface. “Man, you got yourself a good one, only millionaires carry this baby.”
I sat stock still for a moment, unsure of what I’d heard.
“Excuse me?” I asked slowly. “What do you mean, ‘millionaires’?”
And Tanya looked up at me.
“Oh Laurie, you’re so naïve,” she cackled. “Seriously, you’ve never seen this card before? Well, I guess not, there aren’t too many people in city government who’d qualify for this gem. This is a J.P. Morgan Palladium card, honey, the real deal. You can only get this if you have ten million under management with the bank.”
I was completely still, completely silent, my heart beating hard.
“Ten million?” I repeated, my mouth dry.
“Ten million,” confirmed Tanya. “And the average cardholder has a net worth of something like a hundred million. Trust me, I’d know,” she said ruefully. “My first ex had one, and I used to get to use it.”
My mouth dropped open now, looking like a dead fish, lips blubbery and wide. Slowly, I took the card from Tanya’s hands, my fingers sliding over the cool metal, the de
ep grey burnished with a rose hue.
“It must be called the Palladium because it’s plated with palladium metal, isn’t it?” I asked, more to myself than anyone else. “That’s what gives it this pink color.”
And Tanya nodded sagely.
“Yep, you don’t know much about money but at least you know your periodic table,” she smirked. “Look it up on Wiki, you’ll see. But honey, I thought you said you were dating your delivery man. How in the world did a delivery guy get a card like this? It’s his name on it, right?”
And I shook my head, my brain going at a hundred miles an hour, the world dropping out from under my feet. Because how did Tucker have this card? How in the world could a humble delivery man be a millionaire, if not a billionaire?
“Let’s go,” I said tightly, getting up from the table, not answering her question.
And we walked back to work, my head down, striding as fast as I could with Tanya trailing me, peppering me with questions that I couldn’t answer, didn’t want to hear.
“Where does Tucker live? Oooh, is his apartment fancy?”
“Does Tucker have any rich male friends? Do you think he could set me up with someone? I’d really appreciate it.”
And the questions just made me angry. Because the fact is, I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Was the apartment in Tribeca some fake, just a prop he used to seduce women? And who were Tucker’s friends? The people in the Mediterranean had never shown up, never called as far as I knew, maybe they didn’t even exist.
Fuck, I felt so stupid, so dumb. I’d been so trusting, just a naïve girl who’d been taken by a handsome man again, a master who fed me whatever I wanted to hear. Most likely Tucker had been spinning a web of lies and I’d believed it all, eating it up, no questions asked, living in my own personal La-La Land.
Why hadn’t I learned? The terrible experience with Gary had been so recent, burned me so deep, and yet here I was, making all the same mistakes just months later. Suddenly, I hated myself, loathing everything that made me me, filled with disgust for my body, my mind, my behavior.
Sitting at my desk seething, I trembled, shuddered and jerked, trying to keep my emotions subdued. But there was a tidal wave welling up inside, the bile rising bitter and venomous in my throat, my stomach churning and heaving uncontrollably. I couldn’t take it anymore and jumped up, shaking, almost coming apart with rage. I was going to confront Tucker right now, this was a fucking emergency, and there was nothing more important. So grabbing my purse, I rushed out of the building without a second glance, if I got fired, then so be it, there were other jobs out there.
With my brows drawn, face set, I strode to the subway with purposeful strides. Because I was headed to the offices of NYC Concierge, goddamn if I waited until getting home to confront the big man. And if the blow-up was in front of his unsuspecting co-workers, then so be it, they’d be getting an eyeful and an earful up the wazoo because things were volcanic now, and I didn’t care who knew.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tucker
My feet up on my desk, I chewed on a pencil thoughtfully as I read through a four hundred page report. This white paper about the market for elite delivery services was so fucking off that it made my eyes bleed. The supposed “consultants” we’d hired for the study didn’t understand the sector at all and had put together a four hundred page pile of shit, a tome that I’d skimmed the first ten pages of and then put down, disgusted.
I wiped a hand over my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. Fuck, I was so tired. I worked like a dog during the day and then beat feet to get home to see my best girl. But it wasn’t like I got a ton of rest and relaxation once the sun set. Fuck no, I was fucking Laurie all night, two, three times before dawn, sometimes even four.
And it was good, real good. I couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t shoot enough sperm into that tiny pussy, couldn’t bobble those breasts enough times, lick her asshole and make her scream, it was that amazing. And fuck, but even the impossible had come to pass. Walking home one day, I’d passed by a fine jewelry store, its goods gleaming in glass cases and something made my feet turn as if magnetized, my hand opening the door and stepping in.
I wasn’t sure what I was doing, a man in a trance. But when the saleslady came up, my mouth opened automatically and I said the words “engagement ring.” Can you believe it? Tucker McGrath, confirmed bachelor and complete asshole, was shopping to get married. And when the sales associate brought out a velvet tray with a couple different selections, there was a feeling of rightness in my gut. Because Laurie and I belonged together, she was the white to my black, the yin to my yang, the soft to my hard. And the best thing I could do, probably the smartest thing I’d ever do in my life was to put a ring on it, make her mine in every way possible, mark her before the world.
So the ring sat in my desk drawer even now, locked up, buried among a ton of useless crap. It was a beauty, I’d spent seven figures on a seven carat heart-shaped diamond, it’d probably weigh her hand down, it was that big. But that’s how serious I was about making her mine. I wanted every fucking male in the City to see that diamond and know that Laurie belonged to me.
Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t hear our receptionist Nora tiptoe over.
“Mr. McGrath,” she said quietly, standing next to me. “There’s a young lady here to see you.”
That was weird. Usually Nora emailed if we had a visitor, there was no need to make the announcement in person. And if you’re wondering about our office space, yes, it’s an open plan. We don’t have separate offices, just long rows of desks, the set-up modern, roomy, eco-friendly with both a foosball table and a ping-pong table. Yeah, we’re that start-up, the one with all the free food and games, impossibly hip, all our employees young and brainy.
And even I, as CEO, worked out in the open, there was nothing to distinguish me from anyone else except the fact that I had two monitors, one right next to the other. But hey, even that wasn’t a dead giveaway. After all, this was a progressive workplace where people had standing desks or sat on yoga balls, so my double monitors didn’t stick out that much.
But as I looked up, I saw why Nora had made the announcement in person, practically whispering next to me. Because Laurie was here, and she looked fine. My girl was like a dream materializing in our offices, curvy, jiggly, that curly brown hair tied behind her head, everything accentuated with a pencil skirt and turtleneck sweater. I’d begged Laurie to buy more form-fitting stuff, I loved seeing her breasts and ass outlined in tight clothes, couldn’t wait to rip them off when we were home.
But the brunette had seen me now and was shooting daggers across the open work space, her brown eyes darkening to black, furious in their glare. Oh shit. What had happened? Had she gotten fired? Had that bitch Tanya at work been snooping in our business? I’d heard enough about this person Tanya to hate her, I bet she’d been spreading some poison somehow or other.
And I wasn’t wrong. Laurie came marching over, not caring that my employees were staring from the corners of their eyes and came to stand by my desk, hands on her hips.
“Tucker,” she said. “What is this?” she demanded, holding out the Palladium card.
I grabbed her hand.
“Honey, let’s go to a conference room, we can have some privacy,” I rumbled, exerting some pressure. “Come on.”
But she resisted, shaking her head furiously, those brown curls bouncing.
“No,” she said flatly. “I want some answers. What the fuck is this?”
I took a long look at her, then another long look at the card.
“It’s my credit card,” I said slowly. “Remember, I gave it to you? To buy yourself some clothes.”
“I know that,” she spat. “But why, on Wiki, does it say that only millionaires can get this card? That it’s for ultra high net-worth clients of the bank, who on average are worth one hundred million dollars?” she demanded, hands on hips, chin jutting out. “Are you even Tucker McGrath?” she demanded again ho
tly, shooting sparks. “Who the fuck are you?”
Now I knew I had to get her into a conference room, my employees were openly staring now, not even bothering to pretend to work. So instead of trying to persuade her nicely, I took things into my own hands. With one fell swoop, I picked her up in my arms and strode over the conference room, kicking the door shut behind us and pulling down all the shades.
“What the fuck?” the brunette sputtered, struggling to get down. “Let go of me, fucker!”
I growled then.
“That’s right, I’m a fucker because I’m the man who fucks you,” I said threateningly. “Every day, every night, I fuck that pussy so go ahead and call me fucker,” I rasped.
That made Laurie pull back a bit, still hissing. I’d put her down and she was a glorious sight to see. Her hair had fallen down and curls trailed around her face, framing it, highlighting the flush, her lips rosy and parted, breathing hard.
Plus her breasts were magnificent. In the tight sweater they were like a ship’s prow, jutting out, bold, beautiful, heaving as she stared at me with accusatory eyes. Plus, that ass. Fuck, she’d taken my advice, wearing tight clothes and the effect it had on me was electric, my cock jutting like a hammer ready to slam.
Except there was the problem of my identity.
“Laurie, I can explain,” I began, hands up, a conciliatory look on my face.
“You better!” she shrieked, this time hurling the Visa at me. I ducked in time, the rectangle bouncing off the wall with a chink, falling to the floor. But I didn’t care, the Palladium Visa meant nothing to me, was nothing but an accoutrement to my massive wealth.
“Are you even the delivery man?” the brunette shrieked again, staring at me with accusing eyes. “Or is this, is all this, a lie?” she said, gesturing to the conference room, the office beyond.
The Billionaire's Kitten: A Fake Marriage Romance Page 50
