The Misters: Books 1-5 Box Set

by JA Huss

  “So tonight?” Mac asks, tossing the towel through the open connecting door into his office.

  “Tonight?” I repeat back as he helps me up. I look at the heap of clothing on the floor and realize I have to wear that to work today. “I’m going to need to go home and change.”

  “No, Ellie, you won’t.” Mac picks up the garment bag and gives it a shake. “I bought you something. It doesn’t exactly say casual Friday, but I liked it.” He shrugs like he’s apologizing.

  I take the bag he’s offering, drape it over the chair again, then pull the zipper down to reveal a blush-pink dress. It isn’t until I take it out that I realize what I’m holding. “Is this… Yes. Oh, my God. How much did you pay for this?”

  “Eloise,” Mac says, tucking his shirt back into his pants and running his fingertips through his hair. “It’s not polite to ask.” He leans down and kisses me on the cheek. “Does Saturday have an outfit?”

  Holy shit. “Um, no. I stay home on Saturdays.”

  “Not this weekend you won’t,” Mac says. “I’ve got plans and they start tonight.”

  Wait. Eerrrrrrrrrt.

  That’s me stomping on the brakes. A weekend with him? Three days ago I didn’t even know he existed. I realize I’ve had sex with him twice and had some almost-sex two other times, so I do, in fact, appear to be a slutty whore. But I’m not a slutty whore. And while all this has been fun, I’m leaving this job in twelve days and all these office shenanigans will stop.

  He’s probably going to give this office to someone else. And then that girl will have all the perks I am currently beginning to enjoy.

  “Um, Mac,” I say, blinking up at him with a smile. “Normally I do stay home on Saturday and just hang out in shorts and stuff. But this weekend I’m going away. I’m sorry.”

  His brows furrow so deep, they might actually meet at the bridge of his nose. “With who?”

  “Well, not that it’s really your business, and I do realize that we’ve had some fun, so an explanation is necessary, but it’s confidential. You understand, right?”

  “It’s Andrew Manco, isn’t it? I could tell he liked you when he called me the other day.”

  Andrew? That’s actually a pretty good idea. “I can’t say one way or another. I’m sorry. I signed agreements, you know? Confidentiality things.”

  “He’s so young, Ellie,” Mac says. “How old is he? Nineteen?”

  I laugh. “He’s not nineteen. He’s like, twenty-two.”

  Mac’s deep brow furrows are back. “You’re going out with him this weekend?”

  “I can’t say, Mac. Really, I’m sorry.”

  “You’re going to his home? You’ll be gone all weekend?”

  “Mac,” I say, taking the absolutely gorgeous dress out of the garment bag. I know how much this dress costs. Thousands of dollars. And he just purchased it for me so he could get his way this morning and not come out of it looking like a pig. “I’m just not comfortable discussing Andrew with you, OK? I know we’ve had had this whirlwind thing going this week, but three days, OK? Three days is not a relationship. And I’m quitting—”

  Mac hold up a hand to stop me. “I understand all that, and you’re right, you’re definitely a… a whirlwind.” He straightens his jacket and then nods. “So I’ll leave you to it. Have a nice weekend, Eloise. I hope you have a good time.”

  He forces a weak smile as he walks back into his office and closes our connecting door.

  I don’t know what to think about any of that. Or this dress. It’s such a pretty shade of blush pink. And it’s got tags on it. I don’t mind spending a hundred dollars on a dress, but two thousand? Nope. Never happening. I bet even if I found this dress in a thrift store five years from now it would still be marked out of my budget.

  One problem. I don’t have a bra. I was wearing a cami today. Fridays are casual, which means no poky wire under my tits for one whole workday.

  I slip the dress on anyway—what choice do I have—and realize I have another problem as well. It’s got a back zip.

  Fuck.

  The connecting door opens again and Mac is there mouth open like he’s going to ask me something. But instead all he says is, “Oh, hell.” He closes the door and disappears.

  I smile. Because that was definitely a good, Oh, hell.

  I walk over trying to stop grinning like an idiot and open the door back up. “It’s got a zip, Mac. Can you help me?”

  He’s got his hand in his hair like he was just running his fingers through it. “Uh, sure.”

  I bite my lip as I turn and pull my hair away from my back. The zip is resting on the small of my back, and as soon as his fingers touch my skin, I get a prickle of excitement. He pulls the zipper closed slowly and then stops right as it reaches the widest part of my back. I have a moment of panic that the dress won’t fit, but he adjusts the fabric and finishes.

  I look over my shoulder and smile. “It’s a double zip. So the bottom part unzips upward.” Right between my thighs, I don’t add. “Can you do that part too?”

  He squints his blue eyes at me, then his gaze falls down the length of my backside. It’s a pencil dress, I realize. And it’s hugging my shape like a glove. “No,” Mac says.

  “Excuse me?” I laugh.

  He’s shaking his head. “No. This is the wrong dress for work. Is Andrew picking you up from work?”

  “I told you I can’t talk about it.”

  “Well, that zipper was not meant to be revealing, Eloise. It’s a decoration only.”

  “I don’t think so, Mac. I think it’s so I can move my legs.” I shimmy forward and the dress does its best to keep my knees tightly together. “If this was a night out I could see it. It’s sexy, right? The way I have to take these small steps. But at work, Mac? Do you really want me to be squirming around the office today wiggling my hips with every step?”

  He looks conflicted as he scratches his chin and studies the dilemma.

  “It’s either unzip me a little or have me wiggle all day. Your choice.”

  He unzips just enough to release the tight fabric from my knees. “Thank you,” I say. “And this was fun. So thanks for that too.” I walk back into my office and he follows, leaning against the doorjamb.

  He frowns at me. “What time will you be home Sunday?” I pause for a moment, wondering how far I should let this ruse go, but before I can answer, he says, “You are coming home Sunday? You’ll be here for pencil skirt and button-down shirt Monday?”

  “Are you planning on ripping my clothes off me again on Monday?”

  “I’m not sure, Ellie. Is this thing with Andrew serious?”

  Wow. I think he might be jealous. Of a kid! Whom I would never, ever date. I think of Andrew as a little brother. “We’re friends,” I say. “And I care about him a lot.” Which is true. He’s one of my case studies in the book, so I’m invested in his success.

  “OK.” Mac sighs. “Well, I’ll call the caterers and have them come take the breakfast cart away.”

  “Caterers? I thought this stuff came from the cafeteria?”

  “No,” Mac says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. I think he’s disappointed that I ruined his weekend plans. “What kind of guy would I be if I didn’t go all out for you?”

  “Well,” I say. “I don’t know what to think about all this, Mac. I’m going to be honest. So it’s a good thing we’re not going out this weekend. It’s too much, too fast.”

  “Got it,” Mac says. “If you don’t want to be here when they come clean up, you can go and come back later. Have a great weekend, Ellie. I’ll talk to you next week.”

  This time when he closes the door I know he’s not coming back. My heart has a little ache in it. Like I should call after him. Fess up and just be honest.

  But I don’t. Because I need to think about all this before things get too far and I can’t turn back.

  Chapter Nineteen - Mac

  This is the longest weekend of my life. First of all, Friday suc
ked. Sucked with a capital S. The dress I gave Ellie looked like it was painted on.

  Note to self. Next time I buy her a replacement outfit for work, make it the shapeless trousers she came in wearing.

  Oh, that dress was a fabulous idea if she decided to spend the weekend with me. I was going to fake our way through a few more hours at work and then whisk her off to dinner, a show downtown, and then back to my place for a weekend of dirty sex, room-service breakfasts, and elegant restaurants at night.

  Clearly, I am as delusional as she is.

  Which brings me back to Heath’s phone.

  I cannot stop reading her messages.

  Look at this nursery. If we have a boy his room will be pale blue like this.

  It came with seven attached pictures of a nursery filled with everything a baby might want, complete with Baby Boy Ellie and Heath combination Photoshopped in.

  The girl’s nursery was light pink and yellow, and yes, she had a stand-in Heath-and-Ellie baby for those pictures too.

  She can’t really have been serious about Heath. He’s such a fuckup. And even when she was messaging him normal stuff, before he got sent to China two months ago and she went off the delusional Mr. Perfect deep end, he did not show even the slightest interest in Ellie. Not like that, anyway. His messages were all business.

  Can you get so-and-so on such-and-such show? Can they fly in Wednesday instead of Thursday? Can you be in the meeting I have with my father to explain what we’re doing with the airport budget?

  Not even once did he thank her. And sure, it’s possible he could’ve thanked her in person, but knowing Heath the way I do, he didn’t.

  And the goddamned puppies. Old English Sheepdogs. It’s like every kid’s dream dog. No one gets a sheepdog. They have all that hair, they’re big, they need… sheep. Or something. Farms. Lots of care requirements for sheepdogs.

  But Ellie has her heart set on one.

  I check the clock on my phone again. Eight. Sunday night. Is she home yet? I don’t want to call. I really don’t want to call her. It’s so fucking pathetic.

  I tab my contacts and slide down to Nolan’s face, then press it.

  It rings twice and goes to voicemail.

  Figures. I end the call, but just as quick as I do that, it rings back.

  “Hey,” I say to Nol.

  “What’s up, Perfect?” He sounds beat. No doubt trying to recover from some crazy weekend.

  “Um,” I say. Why did I call? Advice? From Nolan Delaney? Please. He might have had more girls in one week than I’ve had the whole last year, but Mr. Romantic he is not. He got that nickname back in college when the press had to call us something and the gag order prevented anyone from using our real names.

  “Girl problems?”

  “No. Asshole. Why do you ask that?”

  “Dude, you always call when you’ve got girl problems. And I always tell you the same thing. Just ignore them, man. That’s the ticket to catching that elusive fish. You gotta ignore them and they come running.”

  “That never works, Nol.”

  “Works for me every time, Mac. You’re doing it wrong. You gotta be firm. Be pissed off.”

  “Pissed off over what?”

  “Whatever it is she’s doing that’s got you calling me, dumbass. What did she do?”

  “I didn’t call for a girl, Nol. I just wanted to see what you were up to.”

  “Right,” he mumbles, then sounds like he’s taking a long drink of something. Probably whiskey. “Well, I’m in Vegas.”

  “Figures. You get lucky?”

  He laughs. “With girls or with gambling?”

  “Whichever.”

  “Well, I didn’t get lucky with either because I’m here on business. You ever hear of Andrew Manco?”

  “Why?” I growl, instantly pissed off at the mention of that jerk’s name.

  “Oh, he’s got this fucking fabulous piece of tech, right? He was on one of your shows last week—”

  Yeah. That’s why he was here. Asshole.

  “—and he was demonstrating this virtual reality vacation thing. Amazing, dude. Just amazing. So I got the new club slash resort going up out near Borrego Springs and I was thinking of putting in one of his systems.”

  “Like virtual sex?” I can’t even imagine what he is talking about.

  “No, but that’s a great fucking idea. I’m gonna ask him about it the next time I see him.”

  “You know him?”

  “Oh, I guess. I saw him Friday night. Here in Vegas.”

  “Vegas. That fucker took her to Vegas?”

  “Took who?”

  “Ellie. The girl I’m calling about.”

  “I knew you were calling about a girl. Dumbass. She’s dating Andrew Manco? How old is she? He’s kinda young, right? Got that whole college start-up thing going these days.”

  “Right? And she’s twenty-seven.”

  “Cougar action. Huh.”

  “Did you see her? She’s medium height, cute as fuck, shoulder-length blonde hair, and she might’ve been wearing a very tight pink pencil dress that I bought her.”

  “Nah, he was alone on Friday. I didn’t talk to him Saturday or Sunday, too many people around his booth—”

  “What booth?”

  “At the tech convention. He was keynote and they had this great demo afterward. Don’t you watch your own shows? That’s why he was on last week. Big tech convo in Vegas. All the latest shit. And I swear, I’m putting in an order for that VR setup on Monday. I got big plans, Mac. Big, big plans. Hey, you know anyone who might be a good candidate to manage a new place in the desert? My main chick just quit. Says I’m, quote, ‘Incorrigible, have ineradicably deviant sexual tendencies, and a personality akin to American Psycho.’ Unquote. Bitch. She should meet Mr. Mysterious. Then she’d really know what all those fancy words mean. Don’t ever have an office fling, Mac. They always fuck you over in the end.”

  Jesus. Why did I call him? Who the hell would take girl advice from Nolan Delaney? “Who would I know?” I say, ignoring his weird outburst about sexual tendencies as well as his ‘advice’. “I’ve been out of the loop for ten years. Call Mr. Corporate.”

  “Yeah, I’m gonna have to, I think. I haven’t talked to him in over a year, but he’s got all the connections I need right now. Mr. Fucking Corporate.”

  “So no Ellie, huh? Not even hanging around the periphery?”

  “Nah, no girls in his booth. Just nerdy tech guys. And definitely no hot little blondes hanging near the virtual reality shit.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Was she supposed to be there?”

  “Yeah.” I sigh. “OK, well, it was great catching up. I’ll talk to you soon. And good luck with the… whatever it is.”

  “Sure. And remember, ignore the fuck out of her. It gets them every time.”

  “Right.”

  “Later, man.”

  I tab end and then look down at the phone. Should I call and ask her what the hell? Clearly she was not with Andrew this weekend. On the other hand, she never actually said she was going with him. She evaded the questions like a pro.

  No. I’m not calling her. She blew me off. One hundred percent blew me off.

  Was I a dick? Did I insult her with the sex? It was fun, right?

  Maybe that’s all it was. Just a quickie before she quits. Just something safe. Something she can walk away from in a week and never look back.

  Maybe Nol is right. Maybe she’s not interested. Maybe I need to ignore her. Maybe I need to cut her loose before she cuts me.

  Maybe I need to cut this whole goddamned company loose before I get lost in some life-sucking corporate existence like the rest of my friends.

  I open the message stream she’s been sending to Heath and shake my head. She seemed so nice. So damn cute. A perfect change from the women I occasionally date.

  But I guess it’s fake. I guess she’s nothing but a fake.

  Chapter Twenty - Ellie

  I have neve
r so looked forward to a Monday morning like I did this one. All weekend I thought about Mac. What’s he doing? Did he take someone else out after I said no? Take them to dinner? Fuck them afterward?

  Probably. And why not? He offered the good times to me and I said no. I have no excuse to be mad if he did.

  I won’t be mad. I won’t.

  I look at myself in the rear-view mirror as I check my lipstick and make a face.

  I will be mad. There’s no way I won’t be mad. I don’t care how stupid it is, he’s gotten under my skin. I literally know nothing about this guy except he sure can fuck—and his dick feels nice. Hell, his tongue feels nice too. And his touch.

  Focus, Ellie.

  I know nothing about him but that. And I’ve worked here for seven years and he never once came to the company. Why?

  It’s not like I just missed him or he came in secretly. Not like he’s some kind of hands-off, behind-the-scenes kind of executive.

  No. I’ve been out on that tarmac every day of those seven years and he’s never gotten off a jet. I’ve never even seen that jet. What kind of money do the Stonewalls really have? Scary amounts, that much is sure.

  I guess he could’ve driven. But Mr. Stonewall Senior never drives. It’s nothing but jets for that family. Heath lived locally, so he only took the jet when he had to do business out of town.

  And why isn’t Mac on the internet when I search? Stonewall Senior is famous. Hell, there’s a ton of stuff about Heath online as well. They have a sister, Camille, and she’s not as visible as Heath, but there’s lots of society photos of her in ball gowns hanging on the arms of various bachelors at charity events.

  There’s just something off about a man from a famous family not having an online presence. Something strange. Like he’s hiding.

  What is he hiding from?

  That’s my mission this week, I decide as I grab my purse, get out of the car, and close the door. I’m going to figure out what’s up with his past.

  It feels weird to walk into the Atrium this morning. Last week I parked out by the airport and went into my old office to see Ming in the mornings. But today I parked in the main parking lot.