by Sloan Storm
I exhaled. “Well, I just… I don’t know, Katy. I don’t know what I’ll do when he tries to make a move. I don’t want it to affect the job, that’s all.”
“Why worry about it?” she replied.
“What do you mean?”
Wordless, she reached down towards my waist and spun me around to face a full length mirror, which leaned against one of the closet’s interior walls.
Gesturing at my body she began, “What I mean is business is tough and Grey Sinclair is the toughest customer you’ll ever have. You need to use all the assets you have to get this started out right.”
I bit my lower lip between my teeth as she spoke. A few last hints of my berry lip gloss rippled across my tongue as I listened.
Katy continued, “Maddie, you can trust Grey to give you a shot to earn his business. And, who knows, if you’re lucky, that could lead to something much more.”
“I don’t want to sleep with him, Katy.”
“Uh huh,” she snorted. “I’m sure you don’t. If that were true, then why are you wearing the slinkiest dress you own? There’s more conservative looks you could have opted for, right?”
Breaking my eye contact with her in our mutual reflection, I shook my head. “Yeah, I mean, I know what you’re saying. Uh, I just don’t want to screw this up.”
Katy reached towards me and stroked my forearm with her hand.
“You won’t, Maddie. I know you can do this. Okay?”
After a brief pause, I nodded.
She smiled, winked and said, “Come on then, let’s get you ready. You don’t want to keep Greyson Sinclair waiting. If there’s one thing I know for certain about him, it’s that.”
6
Ready To Pounce (Grey)
I made my way to the hotel bar about fifteen minutes ‘til eight. This was Friday, and it was already getting busy, so I grabbed a seat at the end where I could get a clear view of the hotel’s lobby. One seat remained open next to me. I pulled my phone from the inner pocket of my suitcoat then tossed it over the free chair.
A few seconds later, the bartender approached. “What’ll you have, sir?”
“Vodka, rocks,” I replied.
“Twist?”
“No, no thanks.”
“Right away, sir.”
Angling my head around the room, I took in my surroundings a bit. I’d never stayed in this hotel before. The suite Maddie booked for me was acceptable enough. As good as any, I suppose. The staff was pleasant, accommodating. She’d done well so far, I’d have to give her that much at least.
The bartender returned, “Vodka, rocks… no twist, sir.”
Wrapping my hand around the thick, cold glass, I swirled the clear liquid and ice mix. I nodded in appreciation.
“Should I start a tab for you?”
“Um, yeah. Go ahead.”
He nodded. “Right away, sir. Are you staying with us in the hotel?”
After taking a sip, I placed the glass back down on the bar’s surface. The heat from the liquor slid down my throat, singeing me and soothing me at the same time.
“I am,” I replied with a rasp in my voice. “Presidential suite.”
The man’s eyebrows arched a bit. “Yes sir. I’ll take care of that right away. Let me know if there’s anything else I can get for you.”
I leaned back a bit and reached in my pants pocket. Producing a half-inch-thick folded stack of one hundred dollar bills, I peeled one off and tossed it on the bar.
“Appreciate that,” I said. “For you.”
With a quick nod, the man reached for the money, thanked me profusely and headed down to the other end of the bar. After he walked away, I took another sip or three from my glass over the next several minutes. At last, I flicked my left wrist, pulling the cuff of my shirt up far enough so my watch appeared.
Three minutes past eight. She’s late. This will be fun…
Just then, I glanced towards the entrance of the hotel and fixed my gaze on the large brass revolving doors. I took one last swig of my drink and prepared to unleash a well-earned tongue wagging on her when after a final spin, Maddie emerged from the huge glass carousel and into the lobby. She stopped for an instant to get her bearings and I noticed she wore the exact same dress she had when she picked me up at the airport earlier that evening.
Good. She just keeps making this easier on me.
My tongue slipped out from between my lips as I watched her move across the marble floor. A small group of half-soused businessmen huddled midway between the entrance and the concierge desk stopped talking and stared slackjawed as she passed by them. She paid them no mind, of course. Women who looked like her had no need to. I’m quite certain she was all too aware of the effect she had on the opposite sex.
Sure, I’d tipped my hand a bit in the back of the limo, but I didn’t see how that would matter much, if at all. If anything it would mean a little delay getting her in the sack, a few hours at most. Plenty of time, especially with the night only just beginning. Right about then, I noticed the hotel concierge point in the direction of the bar and seconds later, she headed my way.
As she approached, I stood and hitched up my pants a bit.
“Mr. Sinclair,” Maddie said as she drew near. “I’m sorry for being late.”
“Yet another disappointment,” I deadpanned.
To my amusement, she cocked her head at me and if I wasn’t mistaken, the hint of a smile came to her lips.
“I can see that I’m never going to win with you, am I?”
“No, you won’t,” I said. I stepped aside and removed my coat from the top of the barstool. “But I’m enjoying watching you try.”
With a subtle motion, she pulled her hair behind her ear as she moved towards the seat. As she passed me, her scent captured my attention. Her torso brushed against me and as it did, her eyes darted to meet mine. They were the color of steel blue, like a late winter sky, made all the more intense by the rose-tinted hue of her supple, full lips.
I felt my jaw flex.
The animal inside was eager to pounce. I fought the urge to clear the whole goddamn bar with a single swipe and take her right then and there. The moment felt frozen, as if the universe slowed time, daring me to reach out, touch her, taste her.
Fuck her.
“What can I get you ma’am?” I heard the bartender say to Maddie, breaking my trance.
She looked in my direction. “Mr. Sinclair, our table is ready in the restaurant. That is, if you are ready to eat.”
I turned my attention to the bartender. “I’d like to eat my meal here. Is that a problem?”
My question caught him off guard. “Um, to be perfectly honest, sir, I have no idea. I know Chef Claude is pretty particular about how his restaurant operates.”
“Well,” I began as I took my seat at the bar once again. “Tell you what… You can go over there and bring us back a couple of menus or by this time next week, there won’t be a hotel for any of you to work in. Feel free to tell Claude to come and discuss it with me if feels the need. How’s that?”
After a quick, hard swallow, he nodded.
“Sir… yes, sir. I’ll be right back. I’m sorry, Mr. Sinclair.”
As he walked away, I slipped my hand around my drink glass, now wet with condensation. I raised it to my mouth and sucked down the last of the liquor that remained. Placing it back down on the bar, I glanced in Maddie’s direction to see her eyes locked on mine in an icy stare of disbelief.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said breaking my gaze. She lowered her hands into her lap and continued, “It’s not my place to say.”
I smirked. Raising my elbows to the edge of the bar, I tented my hands and tapped my index fingers together.
“Please,” I began. “If you’ve got something to say, by all means feel free.”
Straightening her posture, she cleared her throat a bit and smoothed the lines of her dress at the same time.
“Well, I suppose I don’t
see why you felt it necessary to be rude to that man when all he was trying to do was answer your question about how Chef Claude likes to serve his meals.”
I nodded. “And so you think that’s what I was. Rude?”
“Basically, yes,” she replied, still confident but not quite as much as she was a few moments earlier.
“Hmm, well, what you think of as rude, I think of as direct.” I paused for a moment and then leaned in towards her before I continued. “You see, Maddie, I’m a man who knows exactly what he wants. Plain and simple. Do you know what I want, right now, Maddie? Do you?”
Doubt and uncertainty etched into her features as I spoke. She remained silent for a few seconds before lifting her hands from her lap and folding them on the bar in front of her. At last she looked back at me and shook her head back and forth in silence.
“I want to eat dinner with you.”
Her eyes remained locked on me as I spoke, when just then the bartender appeared in my peripheral vision.
In his hand, he carried two menus.
“Mr. Sinclair,” he began, as he leaned across the bar and extended them to Maddie and me. “Here are your menus, sir. Compliments of Chef Claude.”
7
Whatever He Requires (Maddie)
After we’d finished dinner, Mr. Sinclair excused himself and went to his room for a few minutes. Before he did, he left me with instructions that he wanted to hit one of the hottest clubs in town. I explained that I needed some time to make a few calls and arrange a table for us. To be honest, I was lucky Mr. Sinclair’s bank account had nine zeroes in it, because unless you were a serious Alister, that’s what it would take to get in.
After a short limo ride across town, we pulled up in front of the club. Exiting the vehicle, I gestured for him to follow me around to a side door entrance, past the long lines and ropes outside the front of the establishment. While we walked, he closed the space between us and put his hand in the small of my back, sending a tingle up my spine in the process.
As we walked by the line, a guy about my age yelled out, “Hey what the fuck? You guys let hookers in and we’ve been out here for two goddamn hours? This is some bullshit, man! Come on!”
My eyes widened and I stopped right away. Who the hell did that sonofabitch think he was talking about?
Me?
I turned to say something but before I could do a thing, I felt Mr. Sinclair’s hand grip my waist with a firm squeeze.
“Wait right here,” he said. “Don’t move.”
Turning, I watched as Mr. Sinclair walked away from me back in the direction of the man who’d hurled the insult. The warm night air licked at my skin while the hairs on the back of my neck stood at rapt attention. A few seconds later, Mr. Sinclair reached the roped area where the man stood surrounded by what I assumed were his friends.
“What the fuck do you want, pretty boy?” the man said. Puffing out his chest, he moved towards the edge of the rope.
Unflinching, Mr. Sinclair leaned in towards the man, inches from his face, and gestured in my direction.
“Apologize to the lady, shithead.”
The man leaned away, roaring in laughter as he did. He clapped his hands together in front of his body at chest level and rubbed them together with a vigorous motion. Then, quite suddenly, his demeanor changed. His glare grew dark and dangerous. Others in line, sensing the change, began to back away, giving the men their space.
The man flicked his tongue like a serpent and after making a quick gesture with his chin he glared at Mr. Sinclair and said, “Or what, yo? What the fuck you gonna do about it?”
Throughout the entire display, Mr. Sinclair remained silent, still. As the man threatened him, he simply moved his head from side-to-side as if he were studying him, sizing him up. At last the man seemed to have had enough.
“Yo, mother fucker, what the fuck you gonna do!”
Mr. Sinclair smirked. “Last chance dirtball. You apologize or I make you do it myself.”
No sooner had he finished speaking than the man bumped him with his chest making his intentions clear. Then, almost before I realized it, he turned his back towards me and took a swing at Mr. Sinclair. Covering my mouth with both hands, I almost fell back off the curb as I watched what unfolded in the next few seconds.
Like a skilled combatant, Mr. Sinclair sideswiped the man’s lunge and before I took another breath, leg-swept him to the ground. As he did, he grabbed the man’s arms, pulled them behind his back and with his knee firmly in the man’s back, Mr. Sinclair gestured for me with an almost casual nod.
Mr. Sinclair’s sinewy musculature rippled beneath the expensive fabric of his jacket as he looked at me. A loose strand of hair fell across his forehead, casting an ominous shadow over the dark brown pools of his eyes. The man lay fully prone and motionless beneath him, yelping in pain.
“Maddie, come here. This man has something to say to you.”
I hesitated. I felt every single pair of eyes on me as I looked in their direction. Mr. Sinclair’s voice cut through the haze of the chaos.
“Maddie,” he said. “It’s okay. Come on over.”
I staggered with the first few steps I took—my feet seemed as if they moved through quick drying cement. With my mouth devoid of all moisture, I struggled to choke down my disbelief at what I was watching. Yet, I did as he said and a moment later I stood next to him.
Mr. Sinclair lowered his head to the man’s ear. “If you want to use your arms for anything other than stuffing for your shirt sleeves the rest of your life, I suggest you do as you’re told and apologize…”
As he paused, he tugged at the man’s arms, bringing them close together in the middle of his back to emphasize his point.
“Ahhhh!” the man screamed. “Okay, okay! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
Mr. Sinclair chuckled and then looked up towards me. I felt my breath fall away as he looked up at me. No one had ever done anything like this for me and as much as I hated to watch it, I’d be lying if I said part of it didn’t excite me.
“Well, Maddie…” he began. “Is that good enough for you? Let me know if it isn’t because there’s nothing I’d enjoy more than teaching this piss-ant a lesson about manners.”
I happened to glance up from the scene at my feet to see everyone in line circled around, waiting for me to say something. Aside from the thump of a heavy bass coming from inside the club, the entire block fell silent. I blinked myself back into awareness and returned my attention back to the men.
“Yes, yes…” I began, with a sense of urgency in my tone. “I accept his apology.”
Mr. Sinclair nodded and a wry smile came to his face. Before he got off the man he shoved him in the back one last time. As the hapless assailant lay on the ground rolling and groaning in pain, Mr. Sinclair brushed his shirt at the elbows and walked back towards me.
“I think I’ve seen enough of Los Angeles for one night.” Extending his arm, he continued, “How about coming back to the hotel with me for a nightcap?”
Dumbfounded, I walked arm in arm with him back to the end of the block where the limo waited for us. As we approached, Armando scrambled around the front of the vehicle to open the door for us.
“Mr. Sinclair, sir,” he began. “Are you okay? I saw what happened. Do you, um, should I call the police?”
He waved Armando off with a casual gesture.
“What do you think? Does it look like I need help?”
“No,” Armando replied with a quick reassurance to his tone as he opened the door. “Not at all sir, no.”
After getting in the limo, we rode in silence for about a minute or so. At last, Mr. Sinclair broke the tension.
“Maddie, you okay?” he asked.
A sudden chill laid into me. I started to rub my upper arms in an attempt to warm myself. Noticing this, he reached across the seat and offered me his jacket.
Without thinking, I shook my head. “I’m fine Mr. Sinclair. It’s just a little chill.”
H
e extended the coat in my direction. “Maddie, I insist.”
I smiled and took it from him. Grabbing it by the lapels, I spun it around and draped it across my shoulders.
“Better?” he asked.
“Much, thank you.”
“Good,” he said, as he leaned back in the seat. “Oh and Maddie?”
“Yes?”
“Call me Greyson…”
“I’m fine,” he said.
Deftly, he undid his cufflinks with a few twists of his wrists and exposed the deep musculature of his forearms. Though lean, it was plain they possessed immense strength judging by the way he tossed a man nearly twice his size on the ground with them not ten minutes earlier. Once he’d finished, Greyson turned his head to one side and with an easy tug, undid his Windsor knot and the first two buttons of his dress shirt at once.
“Aaandd… what about you, Maddie? Are you warming up?”
As he finished speaking, Greyson leaned back and spread his arms so they spanned the entire width of the back seat of the car. In spite of what happened, he appeared none the worse for wear.
A gentle smile crept to my lips. “Yes, thank you, I am.”
Greyson kept his eyes focused on me as I spoke. Hardly a hair seemed out of place on his head as I reached down and tugged at the corners of the expensive fabric of his suit jacket. The silk lining inside felt smooth and a bit cool against my skin. As I looked at him, it was hard not to notice, well, his hard body. The crisp white of his shirt hugged against the perfect V-taper of his torso. At that instant I felt a deep sense of gratitude towards his jacket as it concealed the beginnings of my body’s war with my mind. Hard as crystals, my nipples pressed the sheer fabric of my dress, sending a streak of heat down the midline of my torso straight to my…
Okay Maddie. That’s enough. Jesus.
I blinked myself back to some state of rational behavior. If Greyson noticed my suffering, he seemed content for now not to make mention of it or acknowledge it in any way. Instead, he cast a casual glance out the window. Just beyond it, soft orange streaks from streetlights passed by us like curious, urban ghosts.
