by Tabatha Kiss
We gasp. “Oh, my god!”
Melanie downs a gulp of her mimosa. “At that point, I realized injured at work was Robbie Code for got wasted and did something stupid so I just stood there while the nurse made flirty eyes at him until the doc patched him up and let him go.”
Trix raises a brow. “Why do you care if the nurse was making flirty eyes at him?”
“I don’t...” Melanie says, sitting up. “I just think it’s inappropriate in that setting for a medical professional to come on to her patients, especially in front of his ex-wife who wants to watch him suffer a life of pain and anguish and die alone. It’s a very complicated emotion. I don’t expect you to understand.”
Trix shrugs. “Good. Because I don’t.”
“And who works on a Sunday, anyway?” she asks. “His lie — much like his hand — was full of holes.”
“I do,” I say with a sigh. “Right after this, I have to go into the office. The new temp screwed up some paperwork again so I have to rush and fix it before tomorrow’s budget meeting.”
“Can’t you just get a new temp?” Trix asks.
“And be forced to re-train another idiot all over again? No, thanks.” I stretch my neck to the side, taking a deep, relaxing breath that doesn’t do its job. “Honestly, I’m blowing it out of proportion. It’s an easy fix. I just need to hold his hand for a little while longer until Ira gets back from paternity leave. He’ll get it eventually.”
Melanie flashes a knowing smile. “That sounds perfectly reasonable of you, Nora.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“Patient. Wise.”
I point my thumb at my face. “That’s me.”
She smirks. “He’s hot, isn’t he?”
“Fucking gorgeous.” I fall forward, feeling a wave of heat in my cheeks. “It’s like Gaston had a love child with Captain America. I can barely concentrate.”
Trix chuckles. “Well, in that case, maybe you screwed up the paperwork.”
“You bite your tongue. And...” I pause. “Yeah, maybe. Hot temp aside, I’ve been so damn stressed out lately. I don’t know what to do. Yoga doesn’t work anymore. My massage therapist fired me.”
Trix gasps. “Lenny fired you?!”
“Apparently, four AM house calls are outside of his job description,” I explain.
Melanie creases her cheek. “Have you looked into meditation?” she asks.
“Oh, you mean the sit quietly and reflect on everything I’ve ever done wrong happy hour?” I joke. “Nope.”
“You’re supposed to suppress those thoughts, Nora,” she says with a laugh.
“I don’t want to suppress. My natural state is the exact opposite. I need to project and act out and I can’t do that sitting behind a desk all damn day.”
Trix nods. “Didn’t you join a kick-boxing class?”
“Yeah, but they booted me out for being too scary.”
“Yikes.” She reaches for her glass. “Well, you’re on your own.”
“Not necessarily,” Melanie says. “There’s one very obvious omission from your list, Nor.”
“Yeah? What’s that?” I ask.
She clears her throat and nudges Trix’s arm. “Back me up, cheerleader. Give me a B!”
Trix grins. “B!”
“Give me a D!”
“D!”
“Give me an S! M!”
“BDSM!” they cry in unison.
I glance into the wide, staring eyes of silent patrons around us. “Please don’t ever do that again,” I say. “I really like this place.”
Melanie exhales. “I’m telling ya, girlfriend, it’ll change your life.”
“No,” I say, recoiling. “I don’t want to be that cliché boss who demands control or whatever. It’s so stupid.”
“That’s a myth!” she says. “Statistically, CEOs and other authoritative figures act as subs. Not Doms.”
I blink. “Really?”
“Yeah. They spend all day bossing other people around, barking orders, telling them what to do and where to go. That’s exhausting. They need a few hours a week to let go and submit to someone else’s demands. It’s cathartic as fuck and it’s exactly what you need.”
I pause to think. “That does make a strange bit of sense...”
Melanie nods. “What are you doing for lunch tomorrow?” she asks.
“Shoving a cold turkey sub down my throat at my desk, probably.”
“I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to Judy’s.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t think I can do that.”
“You’re the boss,” she says with confusion. “You can take an hour lunch.”
“No, I mean…” I lower my voice. “Judy’s.”
“Why not?” She turns up a hand. “You don’t have to pay a membership or commit to anything. Just go there with me, take a look around, dip your toes into the seas of sinful things, and you’ll go from there. They’re not even open until dusk, so you’ll get a chance to see the good stuff up close.”
I furrow my brow. “You can just walk into a sex club and look around while it’s closed?”
“It’s not a sex club. It’s a kink club,” she argues. “There’s a difference. And yes, you can, with me. Judy and I go way back. One call and we’ll have the whole place to ourselves.”
“What’s the difference between a sex club and a kink club?” I ask.
“Go with me and I’ll show you,” she says, teasing. “I go all the time — for research, of course.” She flashes a wink.
“And why are you divorced again?” I joke.
She sticks out her tongue.
“Beatrix Argento?”
We glance up at a suited man suddenly standing above our table.
“Yes, sir?” Trix answers with a smile and looks him up and down.
He reaches into his jacket and withdraws an envelope. “You’ve been served,” he says, holding it out.
Trix snatches the papers from him. “And a fuck you to you, too, asshole,” she spits as he turns around and takes wide strides back to the exit.
I rub Trix’s shoulder. “Well, that sucks.”
She shoves the envelope into her purse without opening it. “It’s all right. It was expected for my dad’s trial. Ma told me earlier.”
Melanie frowns. “Want to come to Judy’s with us tomorrow?” she asks. “Perk you right up.”
“Nah, I need to meet with our lawyers to walk me through my deposition,” she says. “Rain-check me, please.”
“How’s Papa ‘Gento doing?”
“An aging, old mobster in the slammer?” she quips. “He practically owns the place. Doesn’t mean he’s eager to hang up curtains or anything, though. Of course, all of this is secondhand knowledge since they won’t let me see him myself.”
“That’s for the best, Trix,” I say.
“I know, I know. The more distance I keep, the less they’ll shine lights on me. But... still. I miss my dad, you know?”
“But hey…” I tap her inked shoulder. “By the time he gets out, this should be done, right?”
She glances at her arm and nods. “Yep. Just a few more trips to the tat shop and my marque is complete. Then, I can secure my rightful place in Papa’s inner circle.”
“Look at you.” Melanie sighs, smiling. “All growed up and joining the mob.”
“Daddy’s little goombah,” Trix says, fluttering her lashes. “Of course, none of that will happen until I get him out of jail because the old fogies currently squatting in charge don’t like the females making decisions, but fuck ‘em. I’m Trix Argento. That’s my family’s crest up there.”
“Rawr.” Melanie hisses and claws the air. “I love feisty Trix.”
“Me, too,” I say, raising my glass. “To Trix.”
Trix grins. “And to Nora and Mel. May we always give ‘em hell.”
We all clink our glasses.
“So, Nor…” Melanie says, tapping the table between us. “You? Me? Judy’s, tomorrow?
Yes? Yes? Harder, baby? Harder?”
I let out a groan, though I am oddly curious. “Okay, fine. Meet me in my office at noon sharp. We’ll go then.”
She claps twice. “Yes! Trust me. You will find what you need to cure what ails you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say dismissively, hiding behind my glass.
“Okay...” Trix says, grabbing a menu. “I should probably eat something to soak up all this champagne.”
I nod, feeling light-headed. “That’s a smart idea.”
The three of us go silent as we scan the menus.
I glance at Melanie and my lips twitch. “Are you really ovulating?” I ask.
She slams her fist on the table, shaking the glasses. “How does he do that?!”
Two
Nora
The lobby is dead quiet as I walk inside. It is Sunday, after all, and most of the companies who work here are nine-to-five Monday through Friday jobs. Mine included but I’m a confessed workaholic, so it’s not unusual for me to sneak in and do a little extra during the weekends.
The security officer up front doesn’t even ask questions as I pass by the front desk on my way to the elevator. He glances up and nods, gently twitching his silver mustache into a kind, familiar smile.
You’d think the founder of a major dating website would have more going on in her personal life than this.
But you’d be wrong.
It all started when I was a teenager.
Hey, you two should go out.
You know who you should meet? My pal, Johnny.
You’d get along great.
My talents for tagging compatible partners grew more and more until friends of friends of friends all over Chicago were practically paying me to start setting them up on dates from my famous black book.
Yes, the Little Black Book. The number one dating app in the entire world.
That was all me and my picture-perfect love-matching algorithms.
Add in a little luck with early investments in cryptocurrency and I made my first million before the age of twenty-five. Five years later and I’m one of the Top 3 Wealthiest Women Under 30 in Chicago. The other two?
Beatrix Argento and Melanie Rose.
That was last year’s list, of course. We all turned thirty this year but we’ll still be just as influential without the benefit of our 20s. The fire beneath Little Black Book is far from burning out.
Unfortunately, my talents for love-matching don’t work so well on yours truly, but you know what they say.
Those who can’t do; teach.
I ride the elevator to the fifteenth floor. The lights are down as I step off but I could navigate this sea of desks with my eyes closed. My office is on the far side — in the corner, naturally — and I walk toward it on autopilot. The paperwork I need to fix is on my computer so it shouldn’t take too long to take care of. Then, maybe I’ll head home and actually take the rest of Sunday off.
Or not. We’ll see.
I twist the knob and push open my office door. I instantly grind to a halt as I see someone sitting in my desk chair in the dark, the sharp features of their face illuminated by nothing more than the bright blue of my computer monitor.
My new temp. My hot, new temp.
“Excuse me.” I flick on the lights. “What are you doing in here?”
“Whoa—” He jumps out of the chair and throws up his hand. “Hi, there. I was not expecting you to be here today.”
I step up to the desk. “Why are you on my computer?” I ask him.
He lowers his hands. “Okay, I’m sorry. I was in bed last night and I suddenly realized that I made a really big mistake on the budget report—”
“Yes, you did.” I cross my arms.
“Right. So, I rushed out here as soon as I could today to try and fix it before you came in tomorrow but then I remember that it gets locked at five on Fridays and the only way to access it was…” He waves at my computer. “So, I jimmied the lock and—”
“You jimmied my lock?” I repeat, my voice pitching as I inspect the door.
“It’s not broken or anything, I swear. But I fixed the thing! And the numbers add up now and… I’m really sorry, Mrs. Payne.”
I squint, letting my eyes hop from him to the computer and back again. “You fixed it?” I ask.
“I did.” He gestures to the monitor. “See for yourself.”
I set my purse down on the edge of the desk and walk around to take a look. He stays on the opposite side of me the entire time, rounding to stand in front looking nervous as all hell. I might as well have caught him with his pants down based on that white-faced reaction.
Still, he’s no less stunningly gorgeous with broad, muscular shoulders and a thin layer of sweat on his brow and those cheekbones—
Focus, Nora.
I sit down in my chair and look at the monitor. My budget software is indeed open right to the mistake he made. Perfectly corrected.
“Again, I’m really sorry,” he says above me.
“It’s...” I scan the lines again, double-checking for accuracy. “It’s okay. You did the right thing — though I am a little protective of my stuff, so next time, maybe just leave a note?”
“I did leave a note,” he says, pointing down.
My eyes catch the bright pink post-it note stuck to the edge of the monitor. I peel it off to read it.
“Sorry for the fuck up, Mrs. Payne. Clive.” I chuckle at the casual tone. “That about covers it, then.”
“And there won’t be a next time,” he says. “I promise. I know how much of an opportunity it is working here for you and I’ll do better, starting right now.”
I smile, trying hard not to fawn over him. I don’t know what it is I find so attractive about a younger guy who just wants to please me, but...
Clive clears his throat and walks backward a few paces. “Well, anyway, I should get out of here. Last time: I’m sorry, Mrs. Payne. It won’t happen again.”
“Clive,” I say.
He stops in the doorway. “Yes, Mrs. Payne?”
“It’s Ms.”
He smiles, revealing a gorgeous set of bright, white teeth. “I apologize, Ms. Payne,” he says slowly. “Won’t happen again.”
“Enjoy the rest of your weekend,” I add.
“I will,” he says. “You, too. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you tomorrow.”
My eyes wander downward as he exits my office, instantly clinging to the tight rear just begging to rip free of those pants. I sign hard once he’s out of earshot.
Goddamn, that’s a good tushy.
I kick my ankle off the floor and spin my chair around to look out the windows at the Chicago sky.
Maybe I should go over my notes again for the meeting tomorrow.
Or, I could go home and take Sunday off.
Notes, it is.
Three
Clive
That was close. Too close.
The elevator begins its descent downward and I release the breath I’ve been holding since the second I left her office.
Now, what?
I hang my head, counting the floor indicator dings all the way down to the ground floor.
As the doors open, the old security guard looks up from his phone. I fake a smile and wave at him as I pass, trying very hard not to make it so obvious how much my heart is struggling to remain in my chest.
I step outside and zip up my jacket to block the windchill as I bolt down the street.
Alex isn’t going to like this but how the hell was I supposed to know she’d show up today? It’s fucking Sunday.
We made plans to meet at the coffee shop down the street after I got it. I’m not looking forward to that excited look he’ll have as soon as I walk in, like a kid on Christmas morning.
Sorry, kiddo. Rough year. Enjoy the socks.
I linger outside with my fingers on the door handle, dreading the next few minutes of my life, but I’ve been through worse. We both have and we’re still here. That counts for some
thing, right?
I pull open the door, knocking the entry bell, and exactly one head in the whole place turns to look.
Alex’s face instantly lights up from the corner table. I don’t smile back. There’s no reason to get his hopes up over nothing.
He studies the look on my face as I move closer to his table. By the time I sit down across from him, I’ve officially kicked his Christmas puppy in the face.
“Did you get it?” he asks, grasping at the last bit of hope he has.
I shake my head. “No, I did not.”
His shoulders fall. “Why the hell not?”
“She walked in before I could get it,” I answer, glancing around at the occupied tables on either side.
“She walked in?” he repeats, his voice growing.
“Yeah.”
“But it’s Sunday.”
“Well, she came into the office today.”
“Who the hell works on a Sunday?”
A few heads turn in our direction.
“Ms. Nora Payne, apparently,” I say, giving him a sour look.
Alex takes the signal and reels his shit back in. “Well… fuck,” he says under his breath. “Now, what? We were supposed to deliver the list today.”
“Call and tell them we hit a snag,” I say. “No big deal. I’ll just have to figure out a more creative way of getting alone with her computer. One that doesn’t risk me getting fired. Still kind of need this job…”
His face turns white. “Whatever you think of, think it fast, Clive.”
I furrow my brow. “What’s the hurry? The thing will be worth just as much in a few days. Hell, it might actually be worth more—”
“I don’t have a few days—” He stops, snapping his lips shut as he realizes he’s raising his voice again.
