4: Jack - In The Pack

by Weldon, Carys

  “That’s why travel is recommended these days.” I quipped it with a grin.

  “It’s a good thing you like to travel. We have a great promotional tour lined up, if you sign. All expenses paid, of course.”

  I leaned forward, too. “What are we talking here?”

  “We have a few plans available. I’m sure one will suit your preference.”

  “Lay ‘em on me.”

  “Well, we have the full-scale world tour where you do the commercial spots.”

  I narrowed my gaze on him. That would be endorsing the product to kids, doing television, print ads. I chewed on the inside of my cheeks. I could feel a slight problem with that coming on. And visions of kids, barely over puberty, fucking their brains out. I didn’t like that. My head started to shake before I’d really worked through why.

  I believe sex is for grown-ups, plain and simple. If you’re not old enough to handle the consequences, be responsible, pay the price of error, then practice abstention. Funny, how you don’t work through morals until confronted with something that rubs you. No pun intended.

  Already, I was thinking that I couldn’t endorse the product like that.

  Hood skipped right to the next option. “We could really use you on our sales team--”

  “I’m not really a salesman.”

  “Come on, you have charisma. The public loves you. It would flatter our clients to no end if you showed up and set the folder introducing our product on their counter. I don’t think you’d have to say much. We can send others with you, so you can work as a team.”

  Before I could protest, he held out a hand. “Giselle loves sales. She’s already agreed to travel with you, introduce you to our client list.”

  That had me grinning. Talk about your hard-hitting sales pitches. How could I turn that down?

  I leaned back. I had to give it some thought.

  He rattled off some figures, other fringe benefits to the job.

  By then, my brain had cleared. I assumed the effects of the Lobos shake were short-lived. I could see that the offer was too good to refuse. Basically, he told me that they could suit the final package to my preferences, what I was willing to do.

  I asked, “Why me? I mean, there are other athletes vying for products.”

  Hood half-laughed, leaning back, too. “Come on. There’s no other tri-athlete out there that has the image you do.”

  “But you’re saying you’d take me behind the scenes. What good would that do?”

  “You underestimate the underlying tapestry of business. Word of mouth is a powerful thing.”

  “So you would put out a press release that I’m selling the product.”

  He shrugged. “Wouldn’t have to say anything officially.”

  “But it would probably come out.”

  “Oh, I’m sure. But, Jack, this product is gonna sell. Like hotdogs. Or peanuts at the circus. You can be on the top of the world, wallowing in the glories of free enterprise, or sitting on a tattered sofa somewhere, wondering why you didn’t lead the bandwagon. We’re asking you to be grand marshal in our parade.”

  I’d been in too many parades, didn’t particularly like that analogy. And when push comes to shove, I’m my own man. You don’t get to the pinnacle of your sport if you aren’t. It’s what makes champions.

  Unease crept into my psyche. The sales pitch was a little too straightforward, a little too intense. I felt like he didn’t plan on taking no for an answer. And I didn’t like that.

  “I’ll tell you what. Let me mull it over.” I stood up.

  “What is there to think about?”

  I reached around my back, tucked my shirt in. He was doing the same thing. In some way, it sparked my funny bone. Two men, on opposite sides of the bargaining table, both posturing, both knowing that time was running out. I said, “I’m going to look through your client list, see who I’d be dealing with.”

  He nodded, appeared to be thinking that over, didn’t seem to think that was a problem. We turned toward the door in unison. I felt like we’d come to a silent agreement, that I was likely not interested, that something wasn’t quite sitting right with me. What? I couldn’t put a finger on.

  “You could do that.” He clapped me on the back. We headed toward the door. “Jack, I’d like to be friends with you. Lobos has some far-reaching plans and I really think you’re perfect for us. You just don’t know it yet.”

  Our exit was interrupted by an intercom request for Hood to take a call. He asked me to wait for him. He picked up the extension in the room, said a few words, mostly, “That’s good. Uh-huh. Positive. Great. Thanks.” Click.

  “Sounds like good news.” Making small talk, I waited for him to come with me to the door.

  “Oh. Better than you can guess.” He moved toward me. “Do you know much about our business here?”

  “Enough, I guess. I did a little homework.”

  Again, he clapped me on the back and we headed out. Remember, I said the room was big. Lots of footage between the furniture and the door. Thick carpeting. We weren’t in any hurry. He was still working on the sell, and I was letting him give his final pitch.

  He kind’ve held me up, the way his arm put pressure on, and he stopped walking. He asked, “What did you learn?”

  I shrugged. “Oh, I dunno.” I wasn’t sure what he was getting at. Did he want me to mention the stats on his company? Or what I’d learned about the way they do business once I’d arrived? Now, there was some homework.

  Hood dropped his arm. I watched his jaw tighten and he asked, “We’d like you to join our team because you want to do business with us.”

  Honestly, I said, “I know that you pride yourselves in good public policy, that you’re environmentally friendly--” That was important to me. I climb mountains. I run outdoors. I swim straits. I need the world to be a cleaner, safer place.

  “We want our children’s children to have a good world.”

  He was dead serious about that. I nodded. “That’s good. I think we all want that.”

  I noticed, then, that Hood’s eyes were black, like the pupil had taken over the whole iris--which I could have sworn from commercials were gold. Maybe contact lenses? Not that it mattered. I thought, he’s too handsome to be a doctor of research. Visions of nerd scientists and all that. He looked like he had a fitness routine, too, and he was tall, like I was. Lean, as well.

  He hit the button by the door. Giselle was there, smiling. “Ah. Good timing, eh?”

  “Mr. Barton was just leaving.” Hood and Giselle exchanged a look. His gravity must’ve transferred itself directly to her.

  Her smile faltered. She looked worried, bit her bottom lip, and asked, “Mind if I walk you out?”

  “That would be nice,” Hood said.

  And I wondered, what was the rest of his name? But I didn’t ask, because Giselle said, “I could show you what’s behind door number three, if you like.”

  I turned to shake Hood’s hand. “You don’t mind if I take a look around, do you, before I head out?”

  “By all means, let Giselle give you the full tour.” His teeth flashed. “Have another shake.”

  That made me chuckle. “Thanks, but one is plenty.”

  “Ah,” Giselle said, “I thought you might like to try the other flavors.”

  “Right,” I said. Not on your life. My brain was working with all its oars again, and I knew I had to get out of that place.

  She led me from Suite One, and the doors behind us closed swiftly.

  I told her, “I thought you’d abandoned me.”

  Giggling, she shook her head, “Not on your life.” She pressed the button for door number three.

  “Now I’m curious to what’s in two.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You are hard to please.”

  “Not really. Just curious.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat.”

  “I’ve heard that.”

  Number three was nothing like the first suite. No greens. No ju
ngles, trees, or half-naked women on the walls. No wolves, either. There was an alcove with several pieces of gym equipment, the higher end body-building machines, and a mini-bar.

  Giselle pointed to that first. “I can mix you another shake there, if you’d like. Or something else. Juice smoothie, snack bar. We have a whole line of health and fitness products.”

  “I know.” I had tried a few before I came, just to test the quality. None of the things on the market already had the punch of the new shake.

  She walked me through a small foyer, pointed down a hall, and said, there’s an office, of sorts, behind that door. A bathroom in there.

  I pointed to another door. “And that?”

  Ms. Racini fluttered her lashes at me. “Oh, that’s a bedroom. Want to see?”

  I laughed. “Are we still on for dinner?”

  “If you like. Your call.”

  The living room of three was sunken, had leather furniture, and impressionist art on the walls.

  “Who decorated this room?”

  Giselle laughed. “It’s not really decorated. Just made livable as a guest suite until we take on a new team member. It could be done to your tastes.”

  “That’s nice.”

  She ran her hands along the back of a chair, watching me as I looked around. “What did you think of Hood?”

  “Not what I expected in a scientist.”

  “He’s very good at what he does.”

  “So you tell me.” I glanced around. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “The shake he made speaks for itself.”

  “What’s a bio-geneticist doing dabbling in protein shake formulas?”

  Giselle turned her back, went to the window, pulled the blinds and looked down on the city. “He’s an amazing creature.”

  I closed the gap between us, touched her elbow so she’d turn and look me in the eye. I hadn’t noticed it before, but she didn’t do that much. Tended to pin her gaze on my lips. “That doesn’t actually answer my question, does it?”

  “He’s brilliant, gets bored, dabbles in other fingers of research.”

  Slipping my hands to her hips, I tugged her close. After all, she’d been pretty friendly with me.

  “He’s got full rein in Lobos.”

  “What can you tell me about him?”

  That made her a little uncomfortable. Her gaze dropped to my chest. She sucked in her lower lip and bit down.

  And I wanted to kiss her.

  I bent down to do it. Fuck Hood.

  Maybe that shake hadn’t fully worn off.

  Her arms slipped around my neck the moment my lips touched hers. A second later, what seemed a little desperate, she pressed herself against me and slid her tongue into my mouth. I could taste myself. Not that I’d ever tried my semen before, but I knew that the flavor, it had the scent of me. It reminded me of what she’d done for me earlier.

  Not all that long before. But eons, it seemed like, at that moment. Too long.

  I let one hand wander to her ass, squeeze, draw her on top of my leg, which I’d insinuated between hers. And my other hand slid up under her jacket, to cup her breast. It, too, applied a little pressure.

  She gasped and groaned a little behind the kiss and the possessive grips, and that encouraged me to be a little bolder. Before long, she was grinding against my leg, and my cock had swollen again.

  Her skirt rode up. I realized then that she had no panties on.

  My arm is long enough to reach around her ass and finger her clit--to feel how wet she was for me.

  The hand on her breast slid down between us, undid my pants, and I turned her toward the glass, lifted her. Giselle wrapped her legs around my waist, cupped my jaw with both her hands and looked down at me. Her thumbs brushed my lower lip. I watched her swallow hard before she said, “You have bedroom eyes, Jack.”

  “You think so?”

  My hips thrust upward. I entered her with a deft move that had her wincing, closing her eyes and pressing her lips to mine. I held myself rigid inside of her, letting her come to terms with it.

  When she opened her eyes again, I asked, “Okay?”

  She nodded, licked her lips, and gave me a little smile, whispering wispily, “I wish you’d join the team.”

  Okay, call me an egotist, but that spelled it all out for me. The chick wasn’t hot for my bod. She was doing her job. It pissed me off. I fucked her hard.

  Anyone with binoculars aimed at that window could have watched.

  Fucking Hood, with his video cameras everywhere--surely did.

  When I got real close to coming, I asked Giselle, “Is this what’s required of a team player?”

  She looked a little confused, and told me, “Stop.”

  Ah, I was close. Fucking way too close.

  But I did. Call me master of all men. Master of myself. I was used to driving myself to the edge.

  I let her go, watched her take a few steps while my cock hung out, dripping. I had to squeeze it, placate it for what it had lost. Lost because of my mouth.

  Giselle ran her hands through her hair. Smoothed her skirt. Tried to think, I think.

  And I wondered what was going on in her pretty little head. I know now...one thing...how to get me to come around.

  She slipped off her jacket, folded it and laid it atop the closest flat surface, a glass-topped table on a cast iron frame. Very mod piece of furniture, went well with the rest.

  “You know,” she said, “my job here is hanging by a thread.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. She was phenomenal in her prostitution skills.

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  Giselle rewarded me with a sweet half-smile, but then she turned her back, wandered the room. Funny, but I was too keyed in on her to remember to tuck my dick back in my pants. I was still hot and ready to fuck, despite the bad taste that was now in my mouth. I needed to finish what I’d started.

  “Why? You’re good at--”

  “Persuasion?” She tipped her head my way, watched me out of the corner of her eye.

  I held my breath as she rubbed her nipples through her shirt. It looked like she did it without thought. I’m guessing now that it was a conscious maneuver.

  My cock throbbed in response. My balls ached. I realized that I still had a hand on my shaft. A firm grip that kept the blood in the head and the other juice blocked from release. It wouldn’t have taken much, though, to let it go.

  She scrunched up her nose and reached for her crotch, as if she itched. Propping a foot on the table, she hiked her skirt up and rubbed. I could just see the curls between her legs, and the way her fingers actually slid in a few times.