by Tabatha Kiss
Pretty Little Thing
A Rich Bitches Novel
Tabatha Kiss
Copyright © 2017 by Tabatha Kiss
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences only. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This novel contains explicit descriptions of erotic and sexual acts that some may find offensive, including perverse adult language.
All characters are 18+ years of age and all sexual acts are consensual.
Reader discretion advised.
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Contents
Also by Tabatha Kiss
Pretty Little Thing
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
The Bitches Will Return In…
Also by Tabatha Kiss
About the Author
Also by Tabatha Kiss
RICH BITCHES SERIES
Pretty Little Thing
SWEET CRAVINGS SERIES
Sugary Sweet. Sinfully Dangerous.
Stand-alone Romances.
Muffin Top
Hot Sauce
THE SNAKE EYES SERIES
Stand-alone romances. Interconnecting stories.
One unforgettable adventure!
Bodyguard
The Hitman’s Dancer
Love and Wargames
Bloodlines
Hard Bounty
No Fury
THE BAD BALLER BOOKS
Irresistible Stand-alone Sports Romances!
Whiplash
Johnny Deeper
Home Run Baby
THE MIDWEST ALPHAS TRILOGY
Romance, Suspense, and MMA!
Untouched
Unbroken
Undying
STAND-ALONE ROMANCES
Bad boys, billionaires, and so much more!
Blind Girl
Ruin Me
Lumberjack BOSS
Old Habits
2 in the PINK
For more, go to tabathakiss.com
Pretty Little Thing
By Tabatha Kiss
From 9-to-5, I’m his boss.
After that… he’s my Dom.
CEO Nora Payne is stressed out.
She works 24/7. She spends her days telling others what to do and where to go. Nothing she’s tried has helped her relieve the stress of her busy work life, until…
Her friend tells her about The Red Brick Road, a kink club nestled in the heart of Chicago.
Nora needs a Dom.
Someone she doesn’t have to micro-manage all day long.
Someone she can let go and submit to… if only for a few minutes.
She steps out of her comfort zone to explore the sinful delights to be found on the Red Brick Road and runs into the last person she ever expected to find…
Her new office temp. The handsome, soft-spoken Clive Snow…
mistaken for love
it wasn’t love
it was a perfect illusion
-Lady Gaga
One
Nora
“Watch where you’re going, asshole!”
The truck zooms by, swerving around my sedan to make it through the intersection before the light changes. It doesn’t, obviously, and he nearly slams into another car as he flies through the very red light. No cops to catch it. Typical.
I grit my teeth, still fuming long after it nearly crushed my damn bumper.
Sunday morning Chicago traffic is the fucking worst. I’d rather walk but it’s starting to get cold. If there’s anything I hate more than asshole drivers, it’s being cold. I’m five-foot-nothing in heels. I get cold fast.
Then again, maybe a little more physical activity will help with my stress.
Screw that.
I hit the gas, rushing toward the one thing in my life I know won’t stress me out.
I reach the cafe shortly after noon, technically late, but my friends don’t give a shit about that. We don’t get together for brunch once a week to nag at each other. We do it to forget our problems and support one another. No matter what.
I ride into the parking lot and slam the brakes in front of the valet booth. A man rushes out the open my door and I pass my keys off to him with a quick nod.
“Good morning, Ms. Payne,” he says.
“Good morning,” I say, trying to be polite as I shuffle my shivering ass toward the entrance.
As soon as I step into the cafe, the hostess greets me with a smile. She doesn’t say a word to me but she doesn’t have to. She gestures behind her at the table in the back. Our table.
I slide my jacket off, shaking the stress from my shoulders along with it. I make it halfway across the restaurant before I hear Trix’s voice. She’s not speaking English, meaning she’s talking to her grandmother. I can only make out a few of the Italian words falling from her lips — mainly just the slurs or dirty words.
I arrive at our table-for-three and Trix looks up at me. Her big, painted eyes roll back and she raises an apologetic, red-tinted fingernail as I settle into the chair to her right.
As soon as I sit down, a server lays a menu down in front of me, along with a nice, tall mimosa. I offer him a wink. He winks back and quickly cowers away from the table as Trix’s Italian tirade ups the volume a little.
“Ma. Ma. Ma!” Trix exhales. “I gotta go. Nora’s here.”
Oh, thank god. Trix always whips out English when she wants to signal to her grandmother to wrap it up.
“Yes, she still has that blonde hair you like,” she says into the phone, looking at me. “No, she’s not married. No, I won’t tell her—” She heaves and lowers the phone an inch. “She wants you to get married.”
“Tell her I’ll try,” I say with a laugh.
“She says she’ll try, Ma.” Trix pauses to listen. “I’m not telling her that. ... Because it’d set feminism back fifty years.”
I chuckle and reach for my glass. The fresh orange juice tickles my nose as I take a long sip and the champagne bubbles twitch all the way down. I wait all week for this. Judging by the two empty glasses sitting in front of Trix already, she needed it, too.
“Okay, Ma, bye. Bye. I said bye. Addio. Ti amo.”
She ends the call and drops her phone onto the tablecloth wit
h a dull clink. “Aughhh,” she groans, letting all her breath out.
“So, how’s Ma?” I ask her.
“Charming, as usual. Is it warm in here?”
“Not really.”
She flares her jacket to brush air into her face. “Feels like Satan himself just gave me a facial.”
I laugh. “Everything okay?”
“It will be. Ma’s just freaking out about my dad’s trial. This prosecutor is out for blood and has refused every plea our lawyers have thrown at him. Fuckin’ shark.”
I pout. “Poor Papa ‘Gento.”
Trix tosses her jacket over the back of her chair and continues fanning herself with a cloth napkin. “Like I said, it’ll work out. It just might get worse before it gets better, that’s all.”
“Such is life.”
We raise our flutes and clink them together before downing the rest of our drinks. As soon as I look up, the server is back again with a tray of fresh mimosas. Keep ‘em coming, buddy. As always.
He gathers our empties, his eyes sneaking a peek at the sleeve tattoo up and down Trix’s right arm. Not the usual sight you’d find in an upscale place like Moira’s Cafe but we’ve been regulars here for years.
Also, no one on staff would dare kick out Angelo Argento’s only daughter.
She’s heiress to the fucking mob.
“Oh, my god, I hope you bleed to death.”
“Ain’t gonna happen, honey.”
“Don’t call me that. Never call me that.”
“Yes, honey.”
I look at Trix and we both grin at the voices carrying through the restaurant toward our table.
“Well, this should be good,” Trix says.
We both sit back and watch for Melanie to come into sight around the corner. She beelines for the table and throws her purse over the back of the third chair before plopping down on it.
“Hey, guys,” she says, slightly out of breath.
I open my mouth to ask what’s wrong but I stop when I see Robbie following her path back here.
“Oh, hey, Robbie!” I greet him.
Trix beams at him. “Robbie! Hi!”
Melanie flexes her jaw. “Don’t hey, Robbie him.”
Robbie strolls up to the table in his usual leather jacket and jeans. He jerks his head to flop his hair to one side. It’s getting a little long but Robbie’s one of the only guys I’ve ever met that who can really pull off that look.
“Hey, ladies,” he says at me and Trix, smiling back at us.
“And don’t hey, ladies them either,” Melanie spits.
I look down and gasp at the thick, white bandage wrapped around his right hand. “Robbie, what happened to you? Are you okay?”
He opens his mouth to answer but Melanie talks over him.
“Don’t answer that,” she says at him. “They don’t actually care.”
He reaches out and nudges her chin. “Aw, you seem tense, honey. Did you fall off your broomstick this morning?”
She recoils. “Why did you even follow me in here?”
“It’s Sunday morning so I figured you’d be running over here to compare notes with the other Powerpuff Shrews. Thought I’d stop in and say hi.”
“Hi,” she says. “Bye, now.”
“Actually, wait,” Trix says. “Robbie, I could use your opinion on something.”
Melanie glares at her. “Seriously?”
Robbie throws on a wide grin and steals a chair from the nearest empty table. He sets it down backward and lowers himself onto the seat with wide-open legs. “How can I be of service, milady?” he asks her.
Trix gestures at him. “Well, you’re a guy.”
Melanie scoffs. “Debatable.”
“Yes,” Robbie says, ignoring her. “Last I checked. Wait...” He reaches below and cups himself. “Okay, go ahead.”
I bite my cheek to keep from laughing as Melanie’s eyes roll.
Trix leans forward. “What would be the nicest way a woman can deny sex to you?”
I twitch. “The hell?”
She shrugs. “Marcus.”
“Your dad’s bodyguard?” Melanie asks. “You’re still fucking him?”
“Since I was fourteen,” Trix muses.
“Uh.” Robbie laughs. “Wow.”
“He was fifteen,” she says, waving a hand. “It’s not as squicky as it sounds. Long story short: We grew up together, he joined the Army, came back ripped, my dad hired him as a bodyguard, and we kept fucking on the side. Totally casual.”
He nods. “Ah, I see. Continue.”
“Anyway,” she continues, “before my dad went to jail, it was all taboo and fun but now that it’s so easy to get away with... kinda lost the shine.”
“Makes sense.”
“He’s not a bad guy or anything, but lately, he’s just kind of gotten a little clingy like he actually wants to start a relationship and that’s just not my thing.”
“So, you want to stop sleeping with him but you don’t want to disturb the peace in the process?”
“Exactly!”
Robbie shrugs. “You could tell him you met another guy,” he suggests.
“See, if I did that, then I’d have to provide info so he can be properly vetted because—”
“Bodyguard,” he finishes with a nod.
“Right.”
“That’s quite the pickle, Trix.” He scratches his nose. “Have you tried saying no?” Melanie slaps his shoulder. “What? It’s a serious question.”
“You had a tone,” she says.
He smirks in her direction. “Don’t you have a litter of newborns to feast on?”
Melanie frowns at him.
Trix tilts her head. “Won’t that piss him off?”
“Oh, it might,” Robbie says, “but any man who gets pissy over a simple no, thank you isn’t worth your time, Trix.”
She smiles. “You’re right. It was so simple. Thank you, Robbie.”
“Hey. I believe in you,” he adds, pointing his non-bandaged finger. “You got this.”
Melanie stares at him. “Hmm,” she hums.
Robbie’s eyes flick in her direction. “What?”
“Nothing,” she says. “I mean, I’ve heard of men speaking out of their asses before, but I’d never seen it so up close before.”
“Well, you always were a little prude when it came to butt stuff, Mel.”
I share a glance with Trix, both of us holding back our chuckles.
“That certainly was some top-tier counseling, Rob, but it’s time for you to go,” Melanie says, her teeth clenched together.
“Aw, honey,” he says, making her nostrils flare out. “Don’t you want me to stick around for a drink or two?”
“No, thank you,” she says, stabbing every word.
He grins. “That’s my cue, then.”
“Yes, dear god, please piss off.”
Robbie shakes his head, amused. “You sure are testy when you’re ovulating.”
Her jaw drops. “I am not ovulating!”
“What’s the date today?” he asks the table.
“The fourteenth,” I say.
“Ah, yep.” He nods. “She is.”
She scoffs. “How could you possibly know that? I don’t even know that.”
“I just know.”
“Well, you can just know somewhere else. Go away, Robbie.”
He stands up from his chair and slides it back under the next table with his good hand. “Ladies, it was a pleasure, as always,” he says to us.
“And update your forms, please,” Melanie adds.
“Oh, calm down, Mel,” he says. “You were barely inconvenienced.”
“No, you’re totally right. You only wasted five hours of my life. I suppose my consolation prize is the fact that you’re not going to be able to jerk off properly for weeks.”
“You’re more than welcome to come over and help me out,” he quips. “As long as you wear a mask to conceal those bags under your eyes, of course. You’re looking
a little worn out, Mel. Books not selling?”
“Eat me, you limp-dick loser.”
“Blow me, you frigid hag.” He looks away from her and smiles at us instead. “See you around, ladies. Nora, Trix...” he glares at Melanie, “Maleficent.”
I give a wave. “Bye, Robbie!”
“Good to see you,” Trix says.
“We should do this again soon.”
Trix blows a kiss. “We love you.”
“Bye,” he says, tossing another wink in our direction.
He wanders through the restaurant toward the exit, leaving Melanie fuming in her chair.
“Would you guys please stop being so nice to him?” she asks. “You’re gonna give him self-esteem.”
Trix cackles. “What the hell was that about? Did you two wake up together again?”
The server slides in, sets down another round of mimosas, and takes off just as quickly. He’s working for that tip today. Good boy.
“Four months,” Melanie says, yanking her jacket off. “It’s been four months since our divorce was finalized and that bastard still lists me as his emergency contact.”
I take a fresh drink. “What’s up with his hand?”
“Well, I was up all night writing, as usual,” she begins. “Got to a really great stopping point and passed out around five to get a good bit of sleep before brunch. Two hours later, I get a call from some nurse telling me that my husband was injured at work. Right away, there are red flags. One, husband. And two, work. Robbie’s never held down a job before in his life. I never even heard him say the word unless it immediately followed blow. Obviously, there was some kind of mistake but she insisted on me coming in anyway. So, I dragged my ass down to the hospital and there’s Robbie with a nail sticking through his hand.”
