“You could say that,” he answered, his eyes flickering with passion. “I’m actually somewhat of an artist. I’ve been studying art since I was your son’s age, and I’ve gotten to do a fair amount of traveling to check out ancient and Renaissance pieces. I’m really into both time periods. That’s why I’m going to Greece here soon—to study sculpture with Kristoph Kostopoulos, the famous art historian and archaeologist.”
“And Sweetopia is going to let you leave during the middle of the busy season like that?” It did seem strange that I could barely get a weekend off, but the Sweets would let some summer temp come and go as he pleased.
“Oh, well, yeah, it was arranged way in advance,” he explained. “Like I said, the accent helps a lot.” He winked again, probably his third wink of the evening. Was that like a British thing? I wondered.
“What do you plan to do with all your art knowledge?” I pressed a little harder. “Like for a job?”
“Good question.” The server arrived right then with our drinks, which were a pretty coral color. He took a sip of his and swirled the liquid and ice around in its glass for a moment. “I honestly don’t know yet. I guess I will have to go back to school at some point. MFA maybe? Maybe teaching? Or work at a museum?”
It seemed a little strange to me that he hadn’t figured that part out, but who was I to talk? I had dropped out of college and had been wanting to pursue an acting career for what seemed like forever, and what had I achieved? I was a costumed character at a children’s theme park and a dominatrix. And I was six years older than Marcus. I was not one to judge when it came to setting and achieving goals.
“What about you?” His eyes lifted from the drink to meet mine. And there was that smoldering look again, the one that said he wanted to rip my clothes off and have his way with me. I really liked that look.
“Oh, right now I just want to make it through the week,” I said with a sardonic laugh. It wasn’t untrue, even if it did sound pathetic. “Eventually I want to be an actress. I was hoping that this Red Velvet Queen gig would lead to something with Sweet Enterprises, but I don’t think they like me much.”
“No?” He raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”
I shrugged then followed it up with an eye roll, because of course I knew the reason. “They wanted to hire a robot. They got a real person instead. You know, one with a need for breaks and days off and fair compensation. That sort of thing.”
He continued to stare into my eyes, but his expression didn’t waver. I wasn’t sure what that meant. That he was on the Sweets’ side? How could anyone be on their side?
Cy
Maybe she was more involved in this employee uprising than I previously believed. But she’s so busy with her kids—and she’s relatively new at the park—she can’t be the one organizing it. It was probably Colleen. Colleen was the name I should give up to my parents. She and Buster were probably behind it. I didn’t want to say anything that might get Jolie in trouble. I knew she needed this job. Maybe I could put in a good word so she could get the Red Velvet Queen role on the silver screen—if there is a movie…
“Marcus?” came her soft voice floating across the table.
I didn’t know where my mind had wandered off to, but she had already finished half her cocktail. “Sorry, I spaced out there for a moment. Do you want another? Something to eat?”
She giggled. Maybe the alcohol was affecting her already. “No, nothing to eat. Another one of these might be nice. So fruity!”
“Yep, my man Carlos behind the bar just added this to their summer menu. Fresh mango. Can’t go wrong with fresh mango.”
She just stared at me like how the hell are you on a first-name basis with Carlos?
“I used to work here,” I lied. Duh, that was stupid. Especially after I said I got a table because of my accent. The truth was that I came there a lot with Clem, and with Carson too, if he could ditch the ball-and-chain for the evening. Going out drinking with my bros was one of the only things the three of us did together.
Confusion flickered across her features, but she took a long sip of the cocktail. Good. Maybe she won’t realize what I said. God, I feel like such a tool.
“So how much time do you have tonight?” I asked, eager to change the subject.
She glanced down at her phone, which she had placed on the table next to her pocketbook. “Maybe an hour? Sorry I can’t stay longer.”
I wondered how many times I would get to see her before I left for Greece next week. I needed to make the most of every moment. I hated to say this, but I was going to miss her when I was gone. I wished I could ask her to come with me.
“Maybe we can walk along the canal for a bit after our second round?” I suggested, searching her face for clues she was beginning to have feelings for me as well.
Feelings. I didn’t do feelings. At least I had never done them before. I couldn’t even sleep last night, I was so high on the endorphins that had flooded my body when I fucked her senseless. Only that second round, it didn’t feel like fucking. It felt like something different…something more intense, more meaningful.
Maybe that was what lovemaking was? What we had done last night?
She laid her hand on top of mine and locked her amethyst eyes with my deep dark browns. “I really like you, Marcus.”
“Good, I really like you too,” I fired back more confidently than I was feeling.
“You’re just so real. So down to earth. I really appreciate that. I can’t handle fake people. Ain’t nobody got time for that, right?” She smiled, then the server stopped by, interrupting the moment.
I ordered two more drinks as her words sank in. She thinks I’m real. Down to earth.
Fuck.
Marcus is real. Down to earth. Cy is a real spoiled brat.
Maybe I wasn’t really Cy anymore? I would come clean to her before I left for Greece. If she could forgive me, maybe we could pursue something…more serious…when I returned?
There had to be a way to give my parents what they wanted, keep my inheritance, and get the girl too. I was smart. I could figure this out.
After we finished our second round of drinks, I paid the tab, and we left, hand in hand, to stroll along the moonlit canal. The silver moonbeams dappled on the water, streaked with the reflection of all the golden lamps dotting the sidewalks on each side. Jolie’s hand felt so small and soft in mine. I knew she was six years older than me, but something about her was so delicate, vulnerable. I wanted to take care of her. Wanted to protect her.
I couldn’t remember ever feeling that way before about anyone.
The canal crossed over the street and curved its way toward the beach. I loved all the water in my hometown. Getting to walk on the beach with this beautiful creature would be the highlight of my night. Amidst the croaking frogs and crickets’ serenade, we stepped off the sidewalk onto the cool silver sand. Twenty yards ahead the gulf gently lapped at the shore.
“Want to walk along the water?” I asked, squeezing her hand in mind.
“Yes, but I need to leave pretty soon…” She sighed then reached down to take off her sandals so her bare feet could sink into the sand. I followed suit, and then we made our way across the beach toward the water.
“Oh, it’s so warm,” she giggled as the waves rushed over her feet.
I couldn’t bear to go another moment with my lips not on hers, so I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her toward me until our chests met, followed soon after by our lips. I would stand here with the waves rolling over our feet devouring her for as long as she would let me.
11
Cy
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit there was a little extra spring in my step as I bounced into the castle that Monday morning in my pink Sweetopia polo shirt. Though I would have loved for Jolie to spend the night after our epic romp on Friday night or our moonlit stroll on the beach on Saturday, I did understand she had to take care of her sons. I left her to that all of yesterday, but I couldn’t get her off my
mind. I still couldn’t believe I was dating a MILF.
Me, dating? I didn’t know if that was really what to call it, but we had definitely progressed past hooking up in her dressing room. That wasn’t going to stop me from hunting her down in her dressing room before work, though. I just couldn’t seem to get enough of her.
I took a right, then a left to head toward the bakery when I was suddenly tackled from behind. “What the fuck?!” I glanced behind me to find my older brother Clem hanging on my back. “Get the fuck off me, dude!”
“Hey, were you whistling?” he asked as he jumped off me. I noticed his company polo shirt was a light gray in color. That seemed patently unfair.
“Whistling? Do I look like the type of guy who whistles?” I was so used to having my accent in this building that it came out automatically.
“What, are you pretending to be British now?” He pursed his lips as he looked me up and down. “And since when do you wear glasses?”
“It’s part of the disguise, dumbass. Remember? Undercover boss?” I whispered the last part. Still kept the accent up, though.
“Knock off the accent, for fuck’s sake. You sound ridiculous,” he chided me.
“Too late now. Everyone here knows I have it!” I beamed at him.
“Including The Red Velvet Queen, right? I know you’re banging her.” He shoved me at the shoulder, knocking me back against the concrete wall of the tunnel.
“What the hell was that for? And how is it any of your business who I bang?” I seethed. Then I thought of Jolie, and my features softened. “By the way, I prefer the term ‘make sweet love to.’ Get it?”
“As long as you’re pumping her for information, it’s my business. You know, some people think she’s the mastermind behind all the negative press we’re getting.” Clem folded his arms across his chest. “I can’t say I blame you, though. She is the perfect target. Hot as hell too.”
I glared at him. Even though I’d heard him and Carson talking about her before, now that I’d gotten to know her—especially intimately—I found their comments completely obnoxious and unwarranted. She was mine now, and I wouldn’t stand for them ogling her like a prime piece of meat.
“So, the queen does put out, then? Is she any good?” Clem continued, and I had to fight off the urge to pop him in the mouth. “Even more importantly, have you gotten her to call off the strike? Or the press conference tomorrow night?”
“Marcus?” came a familiar voice behind me.
Fuck. It was Colleen.
I shot my brother a glare but didn’t say a word. He waved to Colleen and then disappeared in the direction she had come from.
“You know Clem Sweet?” she asked, cocking her head to stare at me.
“A little,” I answered. “He hired me…and my sister used to date him.”
Where were these lies coming from? They were flying off my tongue like arrows shot from a bow. Arrows I had absolutely no control over.
“I see.” Her eyes never left mine as she crossed her arms in front of her. I could tell from those two little words that her suspicions had not been quelled.
“So, the location for the meeting tonight?” I reminded her.
Her brows furrowed for a second, and then a small smile curled her lips. “It’s been rescheduled.”
“Really?” I wanted to mention that I knew the media thing was happening tomorrow, like Clem just told me, but then I’d have to explain how I knew that.
She shrugged. “It’s not up to me.”
“So do I get an invite?” I pressed.
She shrugged again. “Also not up to me. We’ll see.” She brushed past me and headed toward the bakery. “Why are you late, anyway?”
She was clearly as late as I was.
Just then I heard footsteps pounding down the cement hallway, bouncing off the concrete block walls. Jolie appeared, chest heaving as she gasped for air.
“Guess we’re all running late this morning!” Colleen observed and rolled her eyes. She glanced over her shoulder at Jolie and looked for a moment like she was about to say something, but then thought better of it.
“Are you okay?” I whispered to Jolie, and she nodded, not saying a word but throwing her gaze toward Colleen as if to tell me she didn’t want my boss to overhear our conversation.
“I’ll come visit at lunch,” I whispered back, and she nodded before darting down the hallway opposite the bakery.
Jolie
I’ve never been so eager for lunch as I was today. I almost drop-kicked the last kid in line over to her parents and yelled, “See ya, wouldn’t want to be ya!” at the top of my lungs right before the ropes fell, announcing my break. Not exactly queen-like, huh?
This weekend with Marcus—though we only had about four hours together total—was undoubtedly the most amazing weekend I’d ever had with a man. Friday’s date was the best sexual experience I have ever had in my life hands down. I a) couldn’t believe he was so young and b) couldn’t believe how many orgasms he gave me. Furthermore, I was astounded by how much I enjoyed him taking control.
When I got back to my dressing room at 12:05, he was waiting for me right outside the door with the most adorable little knowing smile on his face. He waited for me to get the door shut behind him before he pressed a kiss against my lips. He then went for my neck, but I had to cut him off there.
“You can’t be starting that,” I warned him, “or neither of us will ever get back to work. And now that I’ve had the full monty, so to speak, I don’t think I’ll ever be satisfied with dressing room quickies again.”
His lips spread into a devious grin. “Is that so? Well, I was going to say I didn’t think you could stroke my ego any more after the other night, but I was clearly mistaken.”
He’s so fuckin’ cute! I just wanted to kiss that salacious smile right off his face, strip that pink polo over his head, and sink my teeth into him. One of the things that kept going through my mind about last weekend was how dominating he was. Not in a cruel way, not like I could be with my clients. But in a demanding, greedy way. Like he just couldn’t get enough of me. I never thought I would enjoy that so much, but fuck. It was hot as hell.
“Are you going to eat your lunch?” he asked as he made himself comfortable in the wingback chair in the corner. I sank onto my stool, my skirts gathering around me as I reached down into my mini fridge to pull out my lunch bag.
“I made one for you too,” I said, tossing him a chicken salad sandwich on a croissant.
“Wow, fancy!” He laughed as he caught the plastic bag in one hand.
I’d picked the sandwiches up in the hospital cafeteria this morning on my way out after stopping to relieve my mom and see River, but I couldn’t tell Marcus that. There was a lot he didn’t know about me yet, but I wanted to come clean.
After Saturday night, I realized that someone as open and honest and transparent as he was about his situation deserved the same from me. In some ways, it seemed like we were both struggling. He was trying to make it abroad, make a life for himself here and avoid having to go back to England. He was torn between his passion for art and his need to support himself. I knew exactly how that felt. We were cut from the same cloth.
“Is the chicken salad that good or do I have it all over my face?” he asked, drawing me out of my thoughts.
“It’s pretty good. Why?”
“You just have such a beautiful smile on your face,” he observed. “It’s contagious, I think.”
His accent colored all of his words with so much spark and sunlight that I couldn’t help but beam. “Sorry, you just have that effect on me. It had been forever since I’d gone on a…date…if that’s what we’re calling what happened this weekend?”
“We can call it that.” He took another bite and chewed as if he’d just bitten off a piece of victory.
“I feel like I got to know you more in those four hours than in the, what has it been, three weeks now that we’ve known each other?”
“Ah, pillo
w talk with actual pillows will do that,” he agreed. “I only wish we’d ended our date Saturday night the same way. I feel like I’ve known you much longer.”
I nodded. It did feel that way. We had such a strong connection. He told me Saturday how he had grown up the son of a single mom, how he and his siblings never really knew their dad. He was the youngest in his family and the first to go to university and to America. It made me think that maybe River had a shot at a normal life, of achieving more than I could have ever dreamed of.
His smile faded a bit as his eyes trailed across my face. “You didn’t share as much about you, though. You let me do most of the talking during our Saturday session.”
I wasn’t accustomed to hearing the word “session” used like that. I used it to describe my appointments with my clients. “Sessions” and “appointments.” Those were the terms I felt most comfortable with—business transaction terms. It seemed appropriate for that line of work. It didn’t seem right for what Marcus and I shared this weekend. How could I tell him?
I sighed. It wasn’t going to be easy, but he’d made me feel so accepted, so desired, a small part of me believed that laying all my cards on the table could only strengthen our connection.
Listen to me. A week ago I wouldn’t have even considered letting him into my inner circle or letting him be privy to the crazy life I was dealt. Him and that magic cock, that magic smile, magic accent…it was just too much for me to fight any longer. The more I learned about Marcus Young, the more unbelievably right he became. He was like a one in a million shot. So much so that I was considering telling him about my plans to hold Sweetopia accountable for the way they’d hurt me, hurt my children. The more I spoke with Marcus, the more I saw him as an asset. An ally.
“I’m glad you asked, to be honest. There’s a lot I want to share with you. I don’t know if we have enough time right now, though.” I glanced up at the clock. It was already 12:30. How did twenty-five minutes fly by with us just sitting here nibbling on these sandwiches? It seemed to defy the space/time continuum.
Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology Page 54
