"Most of the time. When I'm in the club or when I'm working a fix. Why? Do guns bother you?"
"I just don't think they're necessary for city living. Do you know about the incident that happened with my father in 1999?"
"Absolutely, it was in all the papers."
"Do you really think that three people would have lost their lives in that nightclub that night if my father's security didn't have those guns on them?"
"They're security. It was their job to protect your father. From what I heard, your dad didn't have much of a choice. They were basically robbing him that night."
"He has a lot of money, Cutter, and not all of it was in his wallet that night. He should have just given them the money and left the club. End of story. No one would have been hurt."
"And then what do you think would have happened the next time he went out? Celebrities like your father are marks. Thugs like the guys that tried to rob him that night would have robbed him again and again and again. It would have never stopped."
"That would have been better than people losing their lives."
"I can't disagree with you there, but neither one of us were there. We don't know exactly what happened. Maybe your dad's people didn't have a choice. Either way you can rest assured that I don't go around shooting people at clubs. Even criminals. I carry my weapon for protection, and I've rarely had to use it."
"But you have used it?"
"Rarely."
"Uh, huh."
"Juice?" he offers with a saccharin smile.
"No, I'm good. I'll just drink a little water." I watch as he awkwardly maneuvers his legs from underneath the table to stand. "You know this dinette set is way too small for you. You need something bigger."
"It came with the apartment."
"Oh, I never saw her much. I wonder what happened to her."
"Don't know. Didn't ask."
Cutter stands behind me and leans over my shoulder placing a bottle of water in front of me. He smells delicious. Like bacon and leather and soap.
"So, tell me," his voice rumbles deeply with the sound of morning, "how did your date end the other night with the suit?"
"Wonderfully."
Actually it ended without fanfare. Not even a kiss good night. Clark and I ended our date, like we end our sales calls, with a cordial goodbye.
"Did you end up having to fake it?"
He sits back down at the table and looks at me straight on.
"I don't put out on the first date," I say resolutely.
"Really?" He raises an eyebrow. "So it was the first date."
"Yes, if you must know, it was the first date. A very nice first date."
"But it was the last one, princess."
"What makes you so sure? I think my guy may have something to say about that."
"Your guy?" he asks incredulously and then one of his eyelids starts to jump. "Trust me when I say that after I get inside of you, that there'll be no second date. Now pass me an everything bagel, and when you're done eating, I'll drop you off at work."
Twenty-One
Cutter
I'm completely mind fucked.
The moment Sloan stepped out of my bathroom, fresh faced, no makeup, and with her hair pulled back from her face, I had a moment of recognition.
A realization.
A revelation.
It. Is. Her.
How could I have been so stupid not to have realized all these months that they were one in the same. The pretty girl who stopped me cold in my tracks when I was just a kid sneaking into the stadium is the same stunning woman who is stopping me dead in them today.
It explains so much.
It explains everything.
The attraction. The incredible pull I have to fix her every problem. The desire to be the source of all of her laughter. I don't need a psychology degree to understand that I've been unconsciously tapping into some childhood fantasy shit.
Me: You'll never believe this.
Camden: So you're speaking to me now?
Me: You're the only one who will understand. So for now, yes.
Camden: What is it?
Me: Sloan is the girl from the stadium.
Camden: The girl you trolled every high school in Philly to find?
Me: Yes.
Camden: The glamazon is THAT girl.
Me: YES!
Camden: Well fuck me.
Me: Exactly.
Camden: Is that why you bought her shitty ass building? I heard that's where you're living now.
Me: I didn't know it was her when I bought it.
Camden: Well God help her now that you've put these two puzzle pieces together. She's never going to get rid of you.
Me: It all makes sense now.
Camden: What does?
Me: My fixation with her. It's not me falling in love or anything as ridiculous as that.
Camden: Yeah, then what is it?
Me: An unfulfilled childhood crush. You know that's some powerful shit.
Camden: And now that you know this, Dr. Phil, are you over her?
Me: Once we sleep together, and it ruins the "fantasy" of the perfect fourteen-year-old her, it will be done. Then I can get back to life as usual.
Camden: The titty bar.
Me: Exactly.
Camden: Good luck with that rewarding relationship goal.
Me: Thanks, asshole.
There's a long pause while Camden continues to type. I can see the dots moving.
Camden: Roman and I decided not to take on any new clients until you come back.
Me: Your choice.
Camden: I'm focusing on the tapas lounge and he's handling the club. Jade is helping with both.
Me: I figured.
Most of our private clients cannot actually pay us to fix their problems using money from their corporate accounts. They'd have to cut us a check, and checks leave paper trails. Trails that have to be explained. Most of our clients decide to pay us privately. Off the books.
On the flip side, if we accepted payment strictly as consultants, it would raise red flags with the IRS. That's why we own the restaurant and the club. To wash the money. But they are still legit businesses that have to be run. Businesses that have to be successful in order to continue washing the money. It isn't as easy as Joseph used to make it look. That's what I'm hoping my brother and Roman are getting a glimpse of. Just how much work it takes to keep everything we're doing squeaky clean and functional.
Camden: How much more time are you going to need before the three of us sit down and figure this out like rational human beings.
Me: Since when are you rational?
Camden: When, Cut.
Me: Don't know.
Camden: Fine.
The majority of my day has been spent getting to know Pete the superintendent. The first thing on my to-do list was for me to call him and introduce myself as the new owner of the building. I had a feeling that he was used to the previous owner's lack of attention, so I had to explain that it was a new day and things were going to be a lot different.
His first assignment was to see what was going on in Sloan's apartment. I told him I wanted the hot water running and the thermostat replaced by lunchtime. Unfortunately it wasn't as easy of a fix as I'd hoped. Thanks to the neglect of the previous owner, there's a bigger overall pipe problem in the building, so my little glamazon is going to have to go without hot water and dependable heat for a few more days. She's going to just love that shit.
Now I'm meeting with Johnson for a burger and an update. When Sloan was showering at my house, her phone rang and another blocked caller popped up on her caller ID. There's no way that she should be getting that many blocked calls. Something in my gut tells me that it's the kid.
"Thanks for buying me dinner, boss. I've been strapped for cash lately."
"What are you doing with all the money I pay you?"
"I have a sick grandmom at home."
"Really, Johnson?"
"I'm serio
us. She raised me since I was six years old. I take care of her now. Medicine is expensive. I was thinking about moving the two of us to Canada, so we could get some of their free healthcare and maybe some cheaper drugs."
"Why don't I find you a permanent position with benefits once you're done with this assignment."
"Really? That would be great, boss. What would I do?"
"Let's talk about why you're here first. The kid. Was he the one hired for the mailroom position?"
"Yes, it has been confirmed. One Damien Hardwick was definitely hired for your girl's building. My connection was able to pull his HR file. How do you want to handle it?"
As I consider what I'm going to do about the little woman beater, I'm distracted by the lilt of a familiar voice. A voice that belongs to a pair of beautiful almond eyes, long muscular legs, an apple shaped ass, and tits that sit round and high. A voice that immediately makes blood rush to my dick. And when I see where it's coming from, every muscle in my body tenses.
Sloan is sitting at the hotel bar having a glass of red wine and chatting it up with a suit. And not just any suit, but the same doctor from The Academy of Music.
A second date.
Damn her.
Even with a purple fucking eye and scars on the side of her face, she's drop dead fucking gorgeous. What isn't so attractive is that she's smiling and flirting with the square as if he's the most interesting man in the room. In a second, I think she's actually going to bat her eyelashes at him. What the fuck?
I laugh a little at myself. Just a minute ago I thought I had her figured out. I was so confident that my interest in Sloan was just a momentary diversion. Nothing serious. Just a passing fancy. Like watching high quality porn. Intoxicating, addictive, but at some point, you've got to let it go for real life and real sex with real women. The kind of women that don't have a pretentious bone in their bodies. The kind who don't hold degrees from fancy schools and would suffocate in a corporate environment. The kind of women who aren't the subjects of my deluded childhood fantasies of the perfect girl. The kind of women who are nothing like Sloan.
But as I watch her sitting here. Laughing. Sparkling.
All of that shit goes right out the window.
Sloan is this wild intriguing mixture of things. As soon as she enters a room she commands everyone's attention, although I don't think she's the attention seeking type. She was raised in a high rent downtown district, attended prestigious private schools including an Ivy League college, and holds down a demanding sales job. Even though she's the daughter of one of the NBA's legendary bad boys, which means she's basically Philadelphia royalty, I rarely see her use her daddy's legacy as currency. I respect that.
She's strong willed, silver tongued, and fiercely independent yet the flip side of all of her great traits is that she repeatedly picks the wrong men. None of them can handle her, but I think that's the point. She doesn't really want a man to handle her. A man like me.
"Princess," I greet her crossly. Still pissed about her black eye and especially pissed that she's out on a second date with said black eye.
"Cutter." She almost smirks. No doubt happy with herself that she's proven me wrong.
"We keep popping up at the same places I see."
"I've been going to this pub for years."
"That's interesting, so have I."
"Funny how our lives keep revolving and intertwining with each other."
More than she realizes.
"Is this a friend of yours?" The suit asks while assessing me in the way that men do when they're sizing up another man. Chest out. Voice dropping one octave lower. Looks like he's on date number two, and he already thinks she's his property. Asshole.
"Cat got your tongue, princess? Answer the man."
Sloan shifts in her seat. I take pleasure in the fact that on occasion I can make her feel quite uncomfortable. I'm not sure if it's what I say, how I say it, or the fact that I'm saying anything to her at all, but I definitely take a sick pleasure in making her squirm. It's just a prelude to all the many other ways I'd like to see her squirm.
Under me.
On top of me.
"He's a friend of a friend." She refers to me dismissively. Then she takes a long, drawn out sip of her wine and gives me a hard glare from head to toe behind the glass. "And my landlord."
"I'm Doctor Aiden Clark. Sloan's . . . date."
He makes sure to exaggerate the doctor part of his name as he offers his hand for a handshake. I paste on a fake smile and accept it reluctantly.
"Cutter King."
"Is my hot water back on, Mr. King?" Sloan asks. Eyes sparkling like she's winning some sort of battle of wills between us.
But I make sure to look both at her and the doctor when I say, "The problem is bigger than Pete or I had anticipated. Your water will be off for another day or so, but no worries, you can take your showers at my place again."
I move closer to her stool.
Almost touching her knees.
Staring directly at her bruised eye, then her lips, then her breasts. Sensing how her breathing is becoming more erratic, my dick inadvertently responds.
Hardening.
Extending.
Straining against the zipper of my jeans. Completely ignoring everyone around us especially the suited stranger with his chest poked out.
"Your washcloth is right where you left it. Next to mine."
I'm loving how she's looking at me right now. Angry. Passionate. Those eyes. Even with one bruised, Sloan's eyes are sexy as fuck. They're almond shaped with irises the color of topaz, framed by long black lashes that flutter when she's frazzled or angry or both.
She turns quickly to the doctor to talk her way out of this.
"He lives on my floor. We have mutual friends. He offered me the use of his shower, so I could go to work."
"Don't forget breakfast," I add. "You like a good piece of bacon."
"I didn't ask you to make that!"
"Yet you ate every morsel."
The doctor quietly nods at her explanation, but he doesn't look like he understands. In fact the poor sap looks like he's going to be sick.
"I get it. He's your neighbor and you needed to shower. No explanation necessary, Sloan."
She looks back at me with a venomous glare.
"Don't let us keep you from your evening, Mr. King. I'm sure you don't want to keep your dinner companion waiting."
I don't miss how Sloan attempts to inconspicuously look behind and around me, as if she's looking for someone I may be here with. It's cute. Jealousy suits her.
"Clark and I would like to finish our meal–"
"Actually, Sloan–" He throws a few bills on the bar top. "I have to head out. Sorry about this, but I need to check on one of my patients. He's having some trouble adjusting to a dosage increase."
Sloan motions to stand, but I quickly grab onto her wrist to stop her from going after him, because for a minute it looked like she was about to. I know she's probably angry with my behavior tonight, but Doctor Clark would just be another mistake like all the other mistakes she's made with men in the past. Once again, I'm actually doing her a big favor.
I'll just put it on her tab.
"Of course, Clark. Your patients come first. I'll call you later," she says way too cheerily. My guess is that it's totally for my benefit. She doesn't give two shits about this guy or she would have left with him. Plain and simple.
"Nice guy you were about to spread your legs for."
"So what if I was? Are you my daddy now?"
"I'll spank you like your daddy if that's what you're into," I tease, but the sexy visual of my hand across Sloan's perfect ass is only teasing one person right now and that's me.
Sloan pivots slightly on her stool, so that she's directly face-to-face with me, leans casually back on the bar top, and spreads her amazingly long, jean clad legs far apart. Even with clothes covering that piece of the promised land between her legs, my mouth still begins to water.
/> "I'm into all of that shit, Cutter King, but you'll never get to know. And that's what the real problem is isn't it? You've never met a woman who didn't think you were adorable, or hysterical, or who didn't want to immediately drop to her knees and suck you off, have you? Someone who's absolutely, unequivocally, not interested in you."
That mouth.
The fire in her eyes.
This woman's going to be the death of me.
If this is what not interested looks like, I can only imagine what interested does. "You think you that you don't like someone like me, but all this fire you're spitting at me, is nothing but pent up need."
"Puh-lease."
"You're absolutely right about one thing, princess, I've never met a woman who didn't want to perform that very specific act you just described on me. An act that you've clearly been thinking about doing to me for a very long time. I bet you're good at that shit too."
The lines around her mouth contort into the cutest little puke face.
"Don't flatter yourself. You haven't even been a fleeting thought."
She's saying one thing, but her body language is saying another. And now she's just given me the worst thing you can offer a King. Possibility. When there's even the slightest chance for me to get what I want, I'm like a dog with a bone. I won't fucking let go.
And I want her.
I bend over and position my mouth closely to her ear. Her first instinct is to pull away, but there's nowhere for her to go. I can see the goose bumps rise on the back of her neck and forearms. I'm not sure if they're there due to fear or desire, but either way I'm good with it.
"Not even one fleeting thought?" I taunt.
She's silent but smiling as she nods her head to dramatically to make her point.
"Nope."
"Did you take an Uber here?" I ask.
"Why? Are you offering me a ride home since you scared my date away?"
One corner of Sloan's pretty mouth turns up when she asks her question. If I didn't know better, I'd almost think she was flirting with me.
"Let's not pretend that was some sort of date. At best you were just trying to prove some point to me, and at worst he was just another suit you were going to use as a bed warmer to give the old vibrator a break. You don't go on dates. You don't believe in love. Remember?"
Indebted To A King Page 16
