King of Wall Street: a sexy, standalone, contemporary romance

by Louise Bay

  “She’s produced some of the best work I’ve ever seen from a junior researcher,” Max said, leaning back. It was clearly an exaggeration, given all the red pen he’d splashed across my Bangladesh report, but I suppose he thought it would soften up my father.

  My father didn’t respond. I tried not to turn my head because I didn’t want it to be obvious I was looking at Max but wanted to see the expression on his face. Was he as awkward as I was?

  “You’ve been after my work for years, Mr. King,” my father said, straightening his tie. “Is that why you hired my daughter?”

  Max paused before he answered. “I was lucky to recruit someone so talented. She’s smart and works hard.” Max grinned. “I’m just grateful you weren’t successful in convincing her to work for JD Stanley,” he said as if he hadn’t just given him the biggest backhanded compliment in the history of backhanded compliments, and I wanted to smile at him, touch him, give him some indication I appreciated his support. “But to answer your question, I had no idea she was your daughter until after our telephone conversation. It’s not something she’s ever mentioned.”

  “Really?” he asked.

  “One thing you should know about me up front,” Max said as he leaned forward. “I don’t lie.”

  “But you’ve wanted to work for JD Stanley for a long time,” my father said.

  “You’re right. I have. As have the rest of my competitors.”

  The waiter filled our water glasses and I pulled mine toward me, fiddling with the stem.

  “You seem a little more tenacious than most. A little more willing to do whatever it takes,” my father commented.

  “I’m glad you’ve noticed my tenacity,” Max replied. “It’s what’s helped make King & Associates the most successful geopolitical research firm in America.” My father looked at me and I stared into my lap. “That and the quality of work we do.”

  Max clearly didn’t lack confidence and rightly so. He should be proud and in that moment I was proud to know him.

  “Did you know Harper was working with us when you called me?” Max asked, turning the tables on my father. It was a question I was desperate for the answer to. In my experience, my father’s actions were almost always selfish, and if he called Max because he knew I was working at King & Associates, I didn’t know why.

  “Will my answer change anything?” my father asked.

  “Absolutely not. I know that when you see our work, understand what we can do for you, then the reason you called won’t matter anymore.”

  My father put a fist to his mouth and coughed. “People do say you’re the best at what you do.” He paused. “Which was the reason I called. I didn’t know Harper worked for you until you called Margaret.”

  I took a swig of my water. I was pretty sure my father was telling the truth. Why would he have known? He’d taken little to no interest in my life up until this point; why would that change now?

  “Are you enjoying your work, Harper?” he asked.

  I nodded. “I am. I chose to work at King & Associates because they’re the best. I didn’t apply anywhere else.” I felt Max’s gaze on me. I’d bordered on obsessed and had been completely single-minded in getting a job working with Max. I’d tailored my projects at business school to things I thought would catch King & Associates’ attention on my resume, and even visited the lobby of our building when I’d flown to New York to see Grace over the Fourth of July weekend last year. I’d always known King & Associates was where I was meant to be.

  “You know that you can do anything you like with your trust fund now you’re twenty-five. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” my father said, stroking down the front of his tie.

  Was he really talking about my trust fund in front of my boss? The trust fund I didn’t want anything to do with? Was he deliberately trying to embarrass me? Make Max feel awkward? I’d thought we’d come here to talk about business.

  “I want to work at King & Associates. I worked hard for my opportunity. And I don’t need your money.” Was it so difficult for him to believe I was good enough, that I would want this? This lunch should be about business and beginning to prove to my father I didn’t need a trust fund. “May I ask why you’re thinking about outsourcing some of your research at this point? Has something changed at your end?” I asked.

  My eyes flickered to Max, who was nodding, encouraging my question and I allowed myself to relax a little bit.

  My father sighed. “Well, I think it’s good to keep the people who work for you on their toes, and I’ve been following what you do and I thought I’d like to hear a little more about it.”

  I kept quiet for most of the rest of lunch, concentrating on the answers my father gave to Max’s questions, committing them to memory. I tried to forget the man sitting kitty-corner to me was genetically linked to me and focused on him as a client.

  It was the first time I’d seen Max with a client. And it was easy to understand why he was so successful. He had an easy charm that had my father revealing things I wasn’t sure he’d planned to. And Max did it all without giving anything of himself. He let my father dominate the conversation in terms of number of words spoken, but the way Max nudged him toward certain topics meant Max was the one pulling the strings.

  He was as brilliant as they said he was.

  I’d known he was smart, but I hadn’t expected the rest of it—the charisma, the control. It was like watching a wizard at work, casting spells over people so they’d tell him their secrets.

  “And of course Harper will work on the presentation,” Max said, catching my eye as I stared at him. I glanced back at my father, giving him a tight smile.

  “She will?” he asked, sounding surprised. “With so little experience?”

  Great. Another put-down in front of my boss. I wondered if he knew he didn’t have to verbalize every thought he had.

  The worst part of it all was I was pretty sure he hadn’t said it to try to put me down. I think he just had so little regard for my feelings it didn’t occur to him he was being hurtful.

  “Yes sir. I want to put my best people on it,” Max said.

  “Well, if you’re as good as you say you are, I should just trust your judgment,” my father replied and smiled tightly.

  Memories of waiting for his car to pull up on my birthday or that call at Christmas kept interrupting my concentration. The expensive gift that would sometimes follow to apologize for not making it would trick me into liking him again until the next time he disappointed me. The tight knot that sat inside my stomach when my mother apologized for his absence at dance class or school plays nudged at my belly. The humiliation I’d felt when I realized my youngest half brother had been offered a job at JD Stanley straight after graduation heated my skin.

  I thought I’d feel nothing if we came to lunch after all the time that had passed, that we could be all business.

  But his abandonment was too painful to forget.

  I shouldn’t have come today. It was like slicing open an old scar. He didn’t deserve my time or attention. He didn’t deserve me to bleed for him. Not anymore.

  *

  Standing in my kitchen, I poured Patron into the Golden Gate Bridge shot glass I’d placed on the counter and set the bottle beside it. Tequila would make today ebb away and help me sleep.

  Max had gone on to another Midtown meeting after lunch, leaving me to go back to Wall Street on my own. I’d been grateful for the space, the time to compose myself before getting back to the office. I’d been unproductive for the rest of the afternoon, going through the motions, watching the clock, willing it to speed up. I left as soon as I could so I could come home and drink.

  And so tequila. Booze would lift me out of my sense of loss, of abandonment, of shame at him still having the power to wound me.

  As I reached for the glass, there was a knock at my door. It could be Grace, but it was unlikely because she would have called to make sure I was in. No, it would be Max.


  The thought of Max’s hard body over mine, pushing into me, filling me with nothing but him, sounded better than tequila.

  I opened the door wide, inviting him in. He stepped over the threshold and I let the door slam shut.

  “Hi. I just wanted to check—”

  “Do you want a shot?” I asked.

  He squinted at me and shook his head and I turned and headed back into the kitchen.

  I picked up the full glass and before I could lift it to my lips, Max grabbed it out of my hand.

  I expected him to throw back the shot, but instead he slung the glass and its contents into the sink. The sound of splintering glass hitting metal echoed into the silence between us.

  Pretending he hadn’t just done that, I reached into the cabinet and pulled out a shot glass featuring the space needle. I filled it with tequila, then gripped the glass so Max couldn’t take it from me. He plucked it from my hand as though it was nothing. As he went to throw it into the sink, I said, “Don’t break that one. I like it.”

  “Liquor won’t help,” he said, pouring it into the sink and setting the glass down. He grabbed the bottle and screwed on the cap.

  I folded my arms. “You’re so boring.” I sounded like a teenager, but he was used to that.

  He put the bottle on top of my refrigerator and stepped toward me. “I know.” He lifted my chin and looked at me. “How much have you had to drink?”

  I shrugged, unwilling to tell him he’d put a stop to my fun before it started.

  “Tell me, Harper.” He dragged his thumb along my jaw, rough and intimate. My body relaxed as if he were tequila, and I closed my eyes in a long blink.

  I uncrossed my arms. “Nothing,”

  He nodded and pulled me into a hug, wrapping his long arms around me, enveloping me in the scent I now associated with sex and comfort and peace. I let him hold me, pressing my face against his chest and tightening my arms around his waist.

  “I’m not psychic, but I think that maybe today brought some issues to the surface for you.” He squeezed me a little bit tighter when I didn’t answer. “You want to talk about it rather than drink them away?”

  “Definitely not,” I replied. Him just being here, holding me, made everything feel so much better. “And I’m sorry about the shoes. They’re beautiful and I love them. Sometimes I don’t accept gifts well.”

  He chuckled. “Can I ask why?”

  I shrugged and he didn’t ask me anything else.

  We stood in my kitchen for what seemed like hours, just holding each other until I managed to say, “I’m okay.” His chest muffled my words.

  He sighed, his ribcage rising and lowering against my breasts. “I should go,” he said, but didn’t release me.

  “Don’t,” I whispered.

  “I don’t want to.” He sounded tired. As if by hugging him, I’d sapped him of his energy. “And that’s why I should. We said no more trips to Vegas.”

  We had, and it had been the right thing to do. The problem was the more time I spent with him, the more I wanted.

  “Then let’s go somewhere else,” I said, smoothing my hands up his back, shifting my hips just a fraction.

  “Harper,” he whispered.

  “Aruba,” I suggested. “Or Paris.”

  He dipped his head and kissed my neck. My knees weakened in relief. It was what I’d been waiting for since he arrived, since lunch, since the last time he’d touched me.

  “Or just here,” I said, trailing my fingers up his sides and around his neck. “Kiss me,” I whispered. “Just be here with me.”

  He grabbed my ass and brushed my lips with his, first left then right. I wanted more. I wanted him. I didn’t know if he was trying to torment me or still weighing the advantages and disadvantages of being with me again.

  I slid my hands down his chest and he caught my wrists before I could convince him to stay.

  “You want me, huh?” he asked, placing my hands on the counter behind me.

  I wanted to drown out the day. “Kiss me.”

  “You think this is about making you feel better about today. But it’s not,” he said, his eyes not leaving my face. “It’s about this.” His hands swept up my arms and cupped my face. “About the way you feel when I touch you.” He bent and placed a kiss on the corner of my lips, teasing me, making me wait. “About how you need me to fuck you more than you need your next breath.” He knocked my legs apart with his knee.

  I couldn’t argue with him. Nothing he was saying was untrue.

  I wanted him. Every second. Since before I’d met him.

  Even when I thought he was an asshole, I wanted him.

  But I wasn’t about to admit it.

  I squirmed when he reached into the waistband of my leggings, his insistent hand pushing into my panties. “You see?” he asked. “You’re wet for me.”

  He ran two fingers up and down from my clit to my entrance, giving neither relief. I twisted my hips in an effort to feel him deeper, harder.

  “Admit it,” he said. “Admit how much you want me.”

  I shifted my hands from the counter where he’d placed them and grabbed his shirt, fumbling with the buttons.

  “No,” he said, removing his hands from my underwear and batting my hands away.

  I groaned in frustration.

  “Admit it,” he said.

  “I want to get fucked.” It was true.

  “You are the most infuriating woman I know. And that’s a mighty high bar given the women in my life.” He pulled up my T-shirt, making me shiver as he grazed my skin with his palms. “Fuck,” he said when he realized I wasn’t wearing a bra. “Tell me. Tell me now.”

  “You want to feel special?” I asked, taunting him. “You need to know that women desire you over anyone else?”

  He shook his head slowly. “Just you. I need to hear it from you.”

  “Why?” I asked as he bent and took a nipple in his mouth, his tongue circling and sucking, his fingers tugging at the other.

  “Because it’s the truth,” he said and he kissed me again on the lips. “Because it’s what I feel whenever I think of you, whenever you’re near.”

  Heat ran into my limbs and I put my arms around his neck, gazing into his eyes. He stared back and lifted me onto the kitchen counter.

  I nodded. “It’s true. I want you.” The words sounded soft as they came out. Did he notice?

  “I know,” he said, his gaze flickering to my mouth just before he pressed his lips to mine. I sighed with relief. A layer of calm engulfed us as if our mutual admissions bound us together. My tongue found his and instead of being urgent and possessive, I allowed myself to go at his pace. I encouraged his seduction of me.

  He leaned back and placed a kiss on my nose. “If you’re still wearing clothes, I’m not doing something correctly,” he said as he pulled at my waistband.

  What had I just admitted to him? Had I said I wanted more? I wasn’t sure, but all I could focus on were his fingers pulling down my leggings, the glazed look in his eyes as he examined every inch of my skin as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Nothing else seemed to matter.

  As my clothes hit the floor, he scooped me off the counter and walked me out of the kitchen and over to my bed. When we’d been together before, we’d both acted as if we were against the clock. Tugging at each other, desperate to make each other feel good as soon as possible in case someone rang the bell and told us our time was up. This was different. Our kisses were lazy, our movements languid. He ran his palms down my body and brought his hand to my inner thigh as he lay next to me.

  “You’re wearing a tie,” I whispered.

  “Like I said, one of the brightest junior researchers I’ve ever worked with.”

  I smiled and reached out, pulled the silk material clear of his neck, opened the top couple of buttons of his shirt, and slipped my hand against the skin just below his neck. I sighed. He would make today go away.

  Quickly, he stood, stripping completely nak
ed in seconds, throwing his three-thousand-dollar suit on the back of my couch. Then without asking, he opened the drawer to my nightstand and took out a condom.

  “Are you dating?” he asked as he joined me on the bed. “No. Don’t answer that.”

  I stroked his cheek and he looked up at me. “Are you dating?” I asked.

  “No,” he responded. “I’m—”

  I stroked my thumb over his lips. He didn’t need to explain himself. I didn’t really care, because whatever else was going on in his world, or my world, I wanted this to happen. I didn’t want to think about tomorrow, to consider consequences. I wanted to drink in the way his eyes, tongue, and hands all seemed to worship me.

  He leaned forward and kissed me, taking my bottom lip between his teeth before biting down until it stung, then pushed his tongue against mine. I could kiss him forever. If his penis fell off, I could be happy for the rest of my life with just his tongue. Without stopping kissing me, he put on a condom.

  “I love your kisses,” I said before I had time to think maybe that wasn’t something I should say.

  He groaned against my mouth. “And what else?” he asked, his fingers skimming the juncture of my inner thigh.

  “Your fingers, your face, your cock.” The words tripped out of my mouth, and before I had time to take any of them back, he was over me, pushing into me, slowly but so deep. I brought my knees up as far as they would go, opening myself as wide as I could for him.

  “Like that?” he asked as he paused deep inside me.

  I nodded, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

  “Relax,” he said. “It’s just you and me.”

  I exhaled. It was just him and me. Nothing else mattered.

  His eyes opened wider, as if he were asking me if I was ready, and I slid my hands over his ass in response. He pulled out almost as slowly as he’d filled me up and I whimpered, overcome with sensation.

  “Harper,” he whispered. “Look at me.”

  I watched as his erection entered me. I glanced up and he slammed in while I clung to him. “You love my cock. You said it, baby, and now you’re going to get it. I’m going to give you everything you need.”