Under Contract (The GEG Series)

by Jacquelyn Ayres

  “Charlotte.” He grabs my arm and spins me around in front of the door. “Don’t go. If you’ve made it possible to stay with me ... then stay, baby.” He brings his hand up and grazes my cheek with the back of it. I meet his eyes. “Stay ... tell me how I can ameliorate this situation.”

  I roll my eyes at Mr. Big Shot. “You can start by telling me what the hell ameliorate means, or at least spell it for me so I can look it up,” I say. Mitch laughs a little.

  “Sorry, I have a love of words that aren’t said often. It’s the nerd in me.” His smile reaches his eyes, again showing me Mitch as a little boy. “I have faith in you, though. You’re a smart woman. If I just reacted irrationally ... ”

  “Like a spoiled brat,” I interject.

  “Ooh ... ouch!” He winces. “Hold on while I pull your claws out of me.” I give him a smirk that says, your time is running out, buddy. “If I want to ameliorate my behavior ...” He waits for me to get it.

  “You want to correct it,” I say.

  “Yes!” He says with a little too much excitement. It makes me laugh.

  “Christ ... you are a nerd, aren’t you?”

  “Shh ... don’t let anyone know.” His lips linger over mine for a beat before he finally collects them. “Now, get in the shower. I’ll have your bag up here and our contract scotch-taped back together.”

  “Better make it duct tape in case your irrational impulsivity gets the best of you again!” I tap his cheek in a mock slap before heading to the bathroom.

  “I’m gonna get some duct tape for that mouth of yours!” he calls after me. I continue on toward the bathroom without looking back as I raise a defiant middle finger. “You’ve got a fucking pair on you, don’t you?!”

  “And a spare set for backup, just in case!” I yell back, shut the door, and make sure to hit the lock. Of course, the lock is a push button. If he wants to come in, I’m sure this won’t hold him back too long. Oh well ...

  I put my purse down and take my dress off once again, then climb into the shower. The pelting hot water is like a small slice of Heaven. As much as I want to analyze Mitch Colton, I can’t muster the energy to do so. I am bone-tired, muscle-tired, mind- and heart-tired. I resolve to just stand here mindlessly and turn into one big prune. After several minutes—I don’t know, three, possibly ten—I pull my face out of the stream of water and reach for the shampoo. I feel a cool breeze and hands slide onto my hips.

  Can someone die from having more sex than should be humanly possible? I may be the first case. I can see it now—my body displayed on a cold slab at a university somewhere, medical students probing me, trying to figure out the mystery of the woman who died from too much sex!

  I lean my head on Mitch’s shoulder and reach back with my arm, circling it around his neck. His lips find mine. The kiss is possessive, yet patient. Christ—I’m floored every time this man kisses me. Mitch turns my body toward him and slowly backs me up to the wall. His hands cup my face, his thumbs caress my cheeks, his eyes study me. He had me in some very precarious positions last night, yet nothing he did made me feel more exposed than this right now. Just when I feel I may cave from the pressure of his stare, Mitch dips down and claims my lips. His tongue encourages them to part so he can further the kiss. A cello plays in my head as his tongue meticulously caresses mine—powerful, yet soft. I’m butter. He’s got me melting at his touch again. He sucks at my lower lip, pulling away reluctantly.

  “Jesus, Charlotte, why can’t I get enough of you?” He leans his forehead against mine.

  “Mitch,” I say, breathing his name before attacking his lips. He brings his hands down to my bum and hoists me up. I wrap my legs around him. He wastes no time filling me to capacity.

  “Look at me,” he commands, his voice low and sexy. I open my eyes and stare into his. Mitch rolls his hips, smirks at the sound I make, then rolls them again. It becomes a slow pattern of rolling ... listening ... rolling, until finally, he picks up a pace that makes me want to cry. Within minutes, we come undone together.

  “You’re going to kill me,” I say after he lets me down. “Death by probing—it’ll be on the six o’clock news.”

  Mitch chuckles. “I told you I have a salacious appetite. You said you could keep up.” He chucks my chin.

  “Yes, I believe I can. I just don’t think my vagina agrees with me.”

  “Vagina?” He bites back a smile.

  “Yes, well, that’s what they’ll call it.”

  “They? They who?” He moves a strand of wet hair off my face.

  “The medical students who’ll be examining me, trying to figure out how I died from sex!” Mitch throws his head back and laughs before he pulls me into a fierce hug. “Will you come to my funeral ... say a few words?” I carry on.

  “Probably not, since I’ll be in custody for murdering you with my dick. Same medical students will be testing it for superpowers.”

  “Oh, it definitely has superpowers.” I smile and wrap my arms around his neck.

  “You think so?” He kisses me.

  “I know so.” I widen my eyes.

  “Yeah? Like what?”

  I smile thoughtfully at him, then lean up to his ear. “It has the power to make me come at the speed of light.”

  “You’re right, Charlotte. You are definitely going to die from too much sex today,” he states before grabbing a handful of my hair and bringing my mouth to his.

  “Mitch ... Mitch, you have a meeting at two.” I try to push him off.

  “Ugh!” he groans. “We have to get to the bank, too.”

  “C’mon, let’s wash up, Superman.” I smile and slap his butt. Mitch gives me a full-wattage smile that takes my breath away.

  “Baby, c’mon!” Mitch pounds on the door of the bathroom.

  “Coming ... geez.” I open the door before throwing my damp hair up in a tie. “I still have to put makeup on.”

  “You don’t need makeup, baby, you’re gorgeous.” He kisses my cheek. “Cheese Danish okay?” He hands it to me on a napkin. “We have to go.”

  “Yeah. Coffee?” I look to the table.

  “Right here. Just cream?”

  “Yes, thanks.” I take a sip and slide into my flip-flops.

  “Ready?”

  “Yup. Why are we going to the bank?” I take a bite of the Danish, following him to the door.

  “I decided not to put you on the books at work. We’re going to do this a little differently.” He opens the door.

  “No 401(k) plan then?” I smirk.

  “No ... smartass.” He taps my butt and closes the door behind us. “Do you have something in your purse or car that shows your proof of residency?”

  “Yes?” I say, feeling unsure. What’s he up to?

  “Good.” He hits the button for the elevator.

  “I wonder how Frank made out last night.” I laugh a little, shaking my head. Poor bastard!

  “Not as well as me, I’m sure.”

  When the door opens, he waves me forward.

  “How long do you think your meeting will be?” I swig my coffee.

  “Hopefully, no longer than an hour,” he says, glancing at his watch.

  “Oh, okay. So we can grab a late lunch and then I’ll head out at four ...”

  “Wait! What?!” His voice rises.

  “I have to head home for a couple of hours, but I will come back.” I try to remain calm—a hard feat when Mitch is pacing and cursing under his breath.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “When, Mitch?”

  “I don’t know!” He throws his hand in the air. “In the shower!”

  “Before or after you used your superpowers on me?” I smile. Mitch starts to smile in spite of himself, but quickly pushes it away.

  “You lied to me!” He points at me, regaining his pissed-off attitude.

  “I did not lie to you, Mitch!”

  “You said you could stay.”

  “The night!” I emphasize. “Chris
t, how long is this elevator going to take?” I yell, looking at the numbers. “It’s only a couple of hours.” I lean up against the wall trying to compose myself.

  “I want those hours with you, Charlotte.” His voice is softer now. “I’m not going to see you for three months,” he adds. Oh.

  “Three months?”

  Mitch clears his throat. “Yeah.”

  “Well, let me know which weekend and I’ll fly to you,” I offer.

  “You can’t fly to me for a weekend.” He shakes his head.

  “Why?” I touch his face.

  “I’m going overseas. One weekend will give you enough time to fly there and back; that’s all.” He takes my hand and kisses my palm.

  “Oh ...”

  “Yeah ... oh. You can barely finagle two nights down in Boston.”

  “That’s not fair, Mitch,” I say as the elevator finally stops.

  “C’mon.” He nods to the lobby and grabs my hand.

  I slip my shades on as we walk outside on this sunny May fifteenth. I tilt my head back to take in the warmth of the sun.

  “What are you doing?” he asks me impatiently.

  “Taking in the sunshine, sunshine,” I say, smiling over to him. “Oh, Mitch, please don’t behave so petulantly.” I pull back on his hand.

  “I’m not.”

  “You are.” I squeeze.

  “Maybe a little.” He half smiles as he leads us to Congress Street. He opens the door for me at Charles Schwab. “You have your info?” he asks, placing a hand on my back to guide me.

  “Yeah. You want me to open an account here with the check you gave me?” Lightbulb flickers on at half wattage.

  “Yes and no. Rip that check up when we leave,” he says quietly, before the bank manager almost trips over himself to get to Mitch.

  “Mr. Colton!” His tone is a little too enthusiastic as he extends a hand.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Wilson,” Mitch says. They shake.

  “What can we do for you today, sir?” Wilson asks ... again, too eagerly. How about not climbing so far up his ass there, Wilson, aye?

  “It’s simple today, Wilson. My girlfriend and I want to open a joint account.”

  Girlfriend? Oh yeah ...

  “Of course. Follow me, sir.”

  Of course? Has he done this before?

  “Charlotte ... baby, c’mon.” Mitch nudges me along and then bends down to my ear. “What’s that look about, baby?”

  “Have you done this before?” I whisper.

  “No ... why?” He shoots me a quizzical look.

  “Why did he say ‘of course’?”

  “I don’t know. Why does he shove his nose so far up my ass every time I come in here that I end up walking out like John Wayne?”

  I cover my mouth quickly before a burst of laughter erupts. “Sorry.” I smile.

  “It’s okay ... I like making you laugh.” He gives me a sheepish smile. I nudge his shoulder playfully with mine as we walk into Wilson’s office. We each take a seat and I notice several awards lining the wall. Glad to see his overzealous brownnosing has paid off for him.

  Wilson pulls up Mitch’s account like he’s on his favorites list. I’m briefly inspired to concoct a plan to see if he indeed keeps such a list, but nah ... I know it’s there. A shortcut app on his desktop. Mitch shoots me a curious look. I shake my head at him and mouth “later.”

  Wilson asks only for my ID. I’m relieved. The only thing I had crammed in my wallet was a notice of disconnect from the electric company. That, I fear, may have embarrassed us both.

  “Checking only?”

  “Savings too, please. I see you guys offer a 401(k) plan as well?” I ask.

  “Yes we do, Ms. McKendrick.”

  “Good. That opportunity was recently taken away from me.” I look over at Mitch, who smiles and shakes his head.

  “Do you have a check to deposit or will you be transferring from your other account, sir?” Wilson looks at Mitch.

  “Transferring.” Mitch nods. Wilson gives him a slip to fill out while having me sign my portion of the paperwork. Wilson’s eyes bulge—painfully, I believe—when he looks at the slip. What’s that about? Surely he’s made deposits for twenty-five thousand dollars before. Wilson asks me to pick out my checks.

  We’re done in ten minutes, new debit card and starter checks in hand. Wilson walks us back to the door and opens it for us. I hold my hand above my eyes, searching down both sides of the street.

  “Now what are you doing?”

  “Looking for your horse, Mr. Wayne.” I continue my search.

  “Knock it off.” He chuckles and yanks my hand to bring me along with him.

  “So, did it hurt?” I ask.

  “Did what hurt, Charlotte?”

  I can tell he’s trying to humor me.

  “When you walked out the door and Wilson’s head finally dislodged from your ass.”

  “Christ, it’s awful, isn’t it?” He shakes his head.

  “Yeah ... a little bit,” I agree, swinging his hand after a beat. “Now what, sir?”

  “Stop.” He gives me “The Look.” “My meeting is in twenty minutes. We’ll just head back and relax, sound good?”

  “Sure. Do you have a laptop I can borrow?” I could set up my bill pay and get rid of some of those pesky creditors that call. Mitch is busy texting. When he finishes, he pockets his phone.

  “You’ll have a laptop in thirty minutes.” He brings my hand to his lips before we reenter the hotel lobby.

  “Do you want to order in or go out for lunch?” I ask as we enter the elevator. Mitch just stares at me. He pulls me close and pecks at my lips lightly. “Any food allergies or dislikes?” I ask between kisses.

  “No.” He kisses me again.

  The elevator opens. “It’s our floor, Mitch.” He smiles slightly and leads me out. “Hey ... what’s going on with you?” I ask as we head down the hall.

  “I don’t know. Sorry.” He opens the door. I kick off my flip-flops and lead him over to the couch.

  I sit on the end and slap my thigh. “Lie down and rest your head.”

  “Uh ...” He looks at his watch.

  “Your meeting is in the conference room here, I presume?” I arch a brow.

  “Yeah.”

  “You have ten minutes. Head here—now!” I point to my lap and order him sternly.

  “All right.” He smiles before lying on his back and placing his head in my lap.

  “Close your eyes, baby.” I say softly and run my fingers over his lids. He closes them and I, using the lightest touch possible, trace over every little line and curve of his face. My right hand gently combs through his hair over and over again.

  “Mitch,” I say, my voice just above a whisper. “Mitch, baby, wake up.”

  “Hmm? Huh?” He opens his eyes. “Shit!” He jumps up to a sitting position.

  “Shh ... you’re okay. You’re not late.” I rub his back.

  “I fell asleep?” he asks, turning forward.

  “Yes. I wish you didn’t have that meeting. I hated to wake you.” I kiss his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything. After a moment, he rubs his face.

  “I’ll see you in an hour,” he finally says as he gets up. He leans down and plants a kiss on my forehead.

  I look up at him. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be back soon.” He gives me a quick peck on the lips, then leaves me alone to twiddle my thumbs.

  What to do, what to do? Just as I turn on the TV, there’s a knock at the door. I open it to find a man with a box.

  “I was told to set this up for you, ma’am.” He nods.

  “Um ... okay.” I let him in, but leave the door open for safety reasons. Of course.

  After fifteen minutes or so, the tech leaves me to stare at the screen of a brand-new Mac laptop. Yeah, I said “borrow,” dude! I hit the icon for the Internet and sign in to my new bank account. My balance pops up and I have to do a double take. What?! No, no ... Wilson put too
many zeros! Shit! Well, Mitch can just transfer the money back. Yes ... stop flipping out, Charley.

  “Hey.” Mitch kisses my head.

  “Hi.” I smile up at him, covering the receiver of my phone. “I’ll be done in a minute.” I point over to the table where the lunch I ordered awaits. “Yes ... the balance,” I say to the guy on the phone, confirming that I want to pay off my entire Discover card bill. I give him the number to my debit, get the confirmation after a series of yeses and noes, and hang up the phone. It always amazes me how helpful people are when you have money to pay your bill. “How’d your meeting go?” I walk up to Mitch and wrap my arms around his shoulders from behind, planting a kiss on his cheek before pulling up my chair.

  “Very well, thank you.” He passes me a salad. “How’s your new laptop?”

  “Mitch, I asked to borrow one, not for you to buy me one,” I complain. He just winks at me with the makings of a smile at his lips.

  “So what were you doing when I got in—shopping?”

  “No.” I open my salad. “I was paying bills.”

  “You have all of this money at your fingertips and the first thing you do is pay bills?” He looks at me strangely.

  “Well ... yeah,” I say with some discomfort. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to pay bills.

  “Buy yourself something, baby.” He taps my knee.

  “I did.”

  “What?”

  “A roof over my head.” As soon as I say it, I wish I could hit rewind and delete. Why did I say that? I can’t even muster the courage to look at Mitch.

  “Who’s your mortgage carried by, baby?” he asks after a few minutes of awkward silence.

  “Speaking of banks.” I look up, firmly enacting my amazing ability to change the subject. “Wilson had his head so far up your ass, I think he cut off some oxygen to his brain.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He put one too many zeros in for the transfer. You should go into our account and transfer the money back,” I say, before forking a bite of salad too big for my mouth.

  “You say he put too much in and you want me to take it out?” He looks at me like ... hmm. I don’t know. This is a new look.