She framed his face with her hands and giggled. “Aw, sweetie! That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said.”
“Smart ass,” he playfully growled.
He kissed her nose and pushed away. Ever the concerned gentleman he hovered over her until both of them were sure they weren’t sending up smoke signals. Then they crept out of the bathroom like two teenagers returning from sneaking a cigarette.
“Have plans this evening?” she asked.
He walked over to the table, picked up the loupe and inspected the sheet of proofs. “Yeah, having nasty phone sex with you.”
Staying clear of him physically in case the urge to touch him wiped out common sense, she shuffled things around on her cluttered desk. “Sorry about that. My mom’s theater group is coming round for coffee and dessert after a show. Joanie and I will be playing the catering and serving parts.”
“Your sister is a piece of work.”
And then there was that. David did not care for her little sis. At nineteen, Joanie was still trying to find herself and was currently driving their conservative parents cuckoo with her socially conscious liberalism.
These days she was all about saving whales and rainforests. Her obnoxious vegan preaching made the family’s last Thanksgiving a nightmare. One day she had a girlfriend. A week later she was hanging out with a gay Asian anime artist and a week after that she was professing undying love for some muscle-bound Shemar Moore-type who puts on a show for the ladies at the gym.
Amy graded Joanie on a curve because next to their older brother, they were both kind of screwed. Doug was the perfect son. Good grades, high school sports, lots of promise. He was an unabashed God and Country sort who enlisted and chose the military as a career path.
Something about a brother-hero darting in and out of war zones and harm’s way has a way of deflating his sister’s everyday accomplishments.
She and Joanie loved Doug but he was like every other brother and was, simply put, a pain in the Mr. Know-it-All ass.
Amy had always let it slide off her like a duck. It was just her way. Was that because she was the middle kid? Maybe.
But when it came to Joanie, she struggled. And since she was still just a kid, well …
“As is yours,” she snickered. “Did you know she and Tom are talking about moving in together? Quinn will vapor lock.”
He sniggered but let it go. Missy, Tom, and Quinn had a way of sucking the air out of the room whether they were there or not.
“There’s a reporter coming tomorrow. Last minute thing. I’d like you to be there.”
Amy paused before slowly swiveling to look at him. They were carefully scrupulous never to be seen together at all—not even for work events—unless absolutely necessary. It was too easy to slip up or get caught out by curious eyes. Asking her to be part of an interview seemed curious.
She chewed her lip and fiddled with an earring. Supporting her man was second nature. She was proud of David and thought the AE project was nothing short of brilliant. If she could, Amy would happily run naked down Main Street with a banner taped to her boobs proclaiming him the king of everything.
But that wasn’t the hand they were dealt. This staying hidden thing sucked sometimes.
“Um, David. Is that a good idea? Me being there? Won’t it just lead to questions?”
He sat on her stool and crossed his arms. Still biting her lips, she met the pose with uncertainty.
“Fuck the questions, honey. This shit is getting old. I’m not sure dancing to my mother’s crazy off-key tune is the way to go anymore. You’re a big part of the AE project. People will expect you to be in the launch spotlight. And I want you by my side. Case closed.”
He’d covered so many bases with his little speech that she didn’t have any hope of a comeback.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
“David,” she murmured, “please.”
He answered with a warning growl. “Amy.”
She swung her eyes to his.
“When this whole project started, I was only thinking of a few connected communities. It was you who showed me the benefits of a state-by-state initiative. AE will be a success because you were brave enough to think big. I just rode your idea.”
She swallowed and nodded.
“And I’ll say it again. I want you at my side.”
There wasn’t any question that she’d do whatever he asked, but that didn’t stop her from taking some sweet ass time giving in.
When he thought to sweeten the deal with a filthy promise, she was instantly glad that dragging her feet came with a bonus.
“Tell you what. You come and make nice with the reporter, and I’ll return the favor by making you cum at a time, place and occasion of your choosing.” He stood up and bowed. “At your service, fair lady. Command me as your pussy wills.”
A delicious get-even scenario exploded in her mind. One she’d never act on but still. What woman hasn’t had a similar thought? She envisioned Violet walking in on David with his face buried between Amy’s thighs.
She shook off the randy image and replaced it with something a lot hotter and way more fun.
“Deal,” she purred. “But I have a few conditions of my own.”
He chuckled and winked. “I like it when you do hardass bad girl.”
Ignoring the taunt, she spelled it out for him. “I will rescue your sexy butt with the reporter and do my best to present your project in a meaningful way. For your part, in addition to the orgasm-on-demand promise, I expect you to break out some serious serious boyfriend groveling.”
He smiled and started stalking slowly toward her.
She kept spelling out her terms. “I want the deluxe package, Mr. Sanderson. Flowers. Take out from General Tso’s Buffet. Dessert too. Something with a million calories.”
“I can do that,” he said with a patented David Sanderson smirk.
“That’s nice, but I’m not finished.”
His mouth twitched with laughter when she gave him a bossy glare.
“A foot rub. I want a good foot rub too. Not one of those this little piggy went to market tugs.”
He was almost on top of her. She took in a sharp breath. His eyes glittered with familiar lust and his voice sounded hungry. “Anything else need a rub or tug?”
Amy giggled and played with a lock of hair. “Isn’t that my line?”
The temperature in her office went up by a gazillion degrees when he leaned way too close and murmured, “Since this is about you, we’ll leave the rub and tug for another time. So tell me, honey. After this foot rub, then what?”
She wanted to mess with him for messing with her during a work day so she gave a breathy laugh and said something she knew would ensure he was hard, horny and distracted as fuck for the rest of the day.
“I think it’s a toy chest occasion, don’t you?”
Like most men, David was a connoisseur of adult toys. They used them rarely though because he preferred mind fucking to dial-an-orgasm. Just the thought of cracking open the sexy fuckery vault made her panties wet. She could only imagine the effect it had on him.
Her words and each of them fantasizing about a toy session filled the air with sex. She was on the verge of panting, and he looked like a marble sculpture.
“I better leave before you end up bare ass naked getting your pussy pounded.”
He was right. They were playing with matches and in danger of serious burns.
“We’ll continue this tonight. On the phone. You can threaten me with a butt plug and then explain why you put a lock on my vibrating wand.”
“Oh my God,” he laughed. “I forgot about that. You and Pinterest are to blame. That damn Hitachi meme is posted everywhere. I have to admit though that the thought of locking it up so you couldn’t get off without permission was funny.”
“Asshole. I can refuse to swallow, ya’ know.”
As he swaggered away from her she admired the cut of his suit and how sexy he was without any ef
fort.
With a soft bark of laughter, his eyes lit up when he turned back and said, “Mean girls suck. Bad girls swallow.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she answered with a wave and a flipped bird. “I’ve got the t-shirt.”
He left on a wave of laughter, and she decided that tonight when they played phone games, she’d wear the bad girls suck t-shirt and nothing else when she sent him a picture of what she wasn’t wearing.
Chapter Four
The reporter paged through her notes, while behind her, seated in a chair by the door, a bored looking photographer picked at a leather strap and occasionally shook his leg. Nervous energy? A muscle spasm?
David didn’t know, but he shared some of the guy’s restlessness even if the trampoline inside his stomach wasn’t visible.
He reached for the coffee cup on his right, dipped it for a quick look, gave a little swirl and then shot the end of the brew, now cold and especially nasty, into his mouth.
Amy caught his eye as the cup met the saucer. She was half-laughing at him and half beaming with pride. Knowing she was there, seeing her face and listening to her talk was better than…well, he didn’t know what.
His Amy was everything.
“So let me reverse a smidge and go back to a point Ms. Peters made. Correct my take on this if I’m wrong but did you say there will be an AE Project office in every state?”
“Exactly right, Paula. The Project will have a presence in every state capital and Ms. Peters has taken the lead on bringing in some territories as well.”
“Puerto Rico, Samoa, the Virgin Islands,” Amy interjected.
He couldn’t help his broad smile of approval. They were a great team. She pushed him further, to think outside the norm and to have a little faith.
Paula Bern was a well-known local journalist. She covered everything—business, society, politics and pop culture. And she was smart. He liked her instantly and silently patted himself on the back for letting Amy do most of the talking. He had a tendency to sermonize when he felt passionate about something. If he’d gone off on a rant, the photographer would be snoring and Paula typing her grocery list into her phone from boredom. Mostly he took shit for being a nerdy babble mouth. Only Amy ever joined in when one of his flights of fancy kicked off.
‘I’m going to marry her.’
David froze. Did he say that out loud? He must have because Amy and Paula were looking at him strangely.
He chuckled. “Busted?”
The two women snickered and nodded in unison.
“How bad?” he asked. “Was there mumbling or just a slow fade?”
“Actually,” Paula hooted with a loud, brash cackle, “I thought you were having a stroke.”
Amy didn’t suppress her husky giggle. She wasn’t glaring at him or flushed beet red, so maybe it wasn’t that bad.
“Did you need a Visa for wherever you drifted off to?”
Oh, thank God! No babble mouth.
“Sorry. Was making a fantasy football roster in my head.”
Paula almost toppled out of her chair laughing. “Do you know my husband?”
The photographer chuckled.
“He uses that same tired line!” she added.
“It’s a good one, though, right?” He gave both women a cheeky grin.
Paula dropped her notepad on the desk between them and stretched. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I know these interviews are dry as toast. I don’t suppose you two would like to drop something scandalous into the back story? Great way to guarantee readers.”
He wasn’t sure if he was breathing, so he thought about it in the silence that greeted her offhand remark. Yep. Air in and air out. Good. At least he wasn’t going to drop face first onto his desk from lack of oxygen.
Amy was in the middle of putting some presentation folders in a pile on the edge of the desk but missed the surface when Paula’s comment ruffled her usual calm. The folders emptied as they fell.
Words, clumsy, stammered words filled the air. Not sentences. Just words and sounds. Some of the highlights included:
Huh
Uh
No
Well
And, Um
Smooth? Not in the least.
Paula eyed them with interest. “Oh, wait a minute,” she said. The ‘ah ha’ tone in her voice skittered across his nerves.
Oops.
“You two are a couple! Aren’t you? Oh my god. This is awesome,” the reporter remarked. Her glee was evident. “I want both of you.”
“Pardon?” Amy’s look and sound telegraphed what was happening inside him.
Paula whipped around and gestured to the photographer. “Bud, come here. Get a shot of these two at work. Nothing posed.”
“Wait, what’s happening?” David asked.
“Relax,” Paula drawled. “I get it. Office politics and a romance with the boss are career killers.”
She was studying Amy like a bug under the microscope in high school science class.
“No, no,” Amy hastily exclaimed. “It’s not…um, no.”
The reporter stood up, so he did too. Amy came to his side. The photographer was watching them like this was a reality TV show.
“Look,” Paula told them. “I'll consider this privileged information, okay? I’m not in the business of outing people for any reason. I like you two and to be perfectly blunt, I’m fascinated by the personal dynamic behind what looks like a game-changing move for Beck Industries. But this isn’t my first behind-the-scenes peek. This project you’ve developed together grew into something enormous because it came from a secret place.”
“I like the way you think,” Amy muttered.
“I want you for an article about the twenty most influential power teams changing the way we do business in the 21st century. Please note,” she said with a pithy drawl, “that I said teams. Not couples.” She shuddered and made an exaggerated face. “Ew, ya’ know?”
She and Amy did an exploding fist bump that struck him as enormously funny. My god. Women were so much cooler than men. They saw things, felt stuff and noticed shit that never failed to shut him up with wonder, shock, and sometimes annoyance.
Right then and there, David made some decisions on the fly. He wanted the article. Not for him. He certainly didn’t need any more publicity than he already got as head of Beck. But Amy? Shit. Being featured in a write-up about influential people? Her family would go ape shit.
She worked harder than three people smashed into one. Her grasp of current trends and ability to plan strategically helped make her a masterful player. She didn’t need to sleep with the boss to get ahead. Shit. The truth was she would eclipse him someday.
Were they a fearsome team? A power team, as Paula put it? Fuck, yeah.
He was fairly sure everyone was shocked when he extended his hand and told Paula, “Come back to me after the launch. Let’s see how that goes.”
They shook hands as he laid it out for all to hear. “My relationship with Ms. Peters is…classified. For the moment. You help us keep it private, and we’ll talk about your article.”
Paula lit up like a Christmas tree. “Can I get an exclusive? Maybe break the story that the head of Beck Industries is involved with a brilliant associate who shows far-reaching potential?”
He snickered and made a face. “Oh, balls. I see how this is going to go.”
Bud, the photographer, was snapping pictures as he circled them.
“Damn straight you see it,” Paula chortled. “The rich kid who inherits a business is the oldest, most yawn-inducing trope out there. Blah, blah, blah. Yadda-yadda, ugh. But rising female stars? Move aside boys, there’s a new alpha in town, and she sells a shit-ton more copy than an expensive three-piece suit.”
“Truth,” Bud murmured.
Amy swung from seeming dumbfounded to looking at him like a five-pound box of gourmet chocolates.
It took him a while to get here, but that’s how shit sometimes happens. He was tired of keeping their rel
ationship hidden away. Amy Peters was a fucking goddess. A more perfect partner he couldn’t imagine. His mother could pound sand or take a tranquilizer. Whatever. Time to move on because he and Amy had shit to do, places to go, a world to change and a family to make.
He pushed the meeting to an end, made a bunch of promises, shared contact information and locked down details as Amy stayed close by and the photographer kept shooting. Almost as an afterthought he harshly blurted, “I want final approval of the images you publish.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Bud scoffed.
Paula’s hand shot out and stopped her photographer with a wave. “No, it’s fine.” She pinned him to the spot with a heavy look. “Agreed. Full approval.”
He nodded.
“In exchange for an exclusive.”
Well, well, well. It turned out to be quite a morning. Unless he was misreading the signs, he’d taken a giant leap out of his comfort zone and publically allowed what was essentially relationship scrutiny. He was either insane or the luckiest son of a bitch who ever lived.
“You’ll be at the launch?” he asked.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Paula answered. “Can I get five minutes with your mom or is that pushing my luck?”
He scoffed, snickered, and rolled his eyes all at the same time. Amy cleared her throat.
“Only if you wear flame retardant underclothes,” he drawled with a mocking bite.
Paula Bern laughed and hoisted a clunky designer bag onto her shoulder. “Getting Quinn Sanderson to speak on the record is like chasing elves through the woods. Just when you think she’s cornered, another escape route appears.”
“I’ll make the introduction,” he told her, “but my mother does as she pleases. Whether she talks to you or not is entirely up to…chance.”
Paula snickered. “All mothers are alike. She’s no different than mine. Or yours,” she said to Amy.
He hoped her observation was true. It would be nice if, in the end, his mom was a mom and not a ball-busting CEO. He wanted her support, and he wanted his mom to be happy for him. Women like Amy didn’t come along every day.
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