Betting On It

by Violet Blake

  He laughed. “I’m exhausted, and if I’m going to get through tomorrow I need my beauty sleep.”

  “May you have all sorts of smexy dreams,” I said.

  “All the time.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The next day was rough. I hadn’t slept much at all, despite the multiple orgasms. Yeah, I had more. How could I not after a conversation like that? And I had all the new vibrators to break in. Every time I thought I could just drift off to sleep my stupid ovaries kicked into gear and demanded another orgasm. What was I to do? They were insistent little bitches.

  My sexual haze was blanketed by exhaustion, though. On top of that I’d had to leave for work forty-five minutes early because I had to walk. Chugging mug after mug of tea the next day put me into a state of jittery absentmindedness. It got to the point that I thought Victoria would just let me go on the spot. Thankfully, I got through the day without messing up anything too important, and got home without incident.

  Things really took a bad turn when I got home. I checked my personal email and found a message from my cell phone company that my payment had been declined. Crap. They’d give me thirty days to pay, then my line would be shut off.

  It was only the first in a series of financial disasters.

  My landlord, Colleen, called that night. She didn’t mince words. “You haven’t paid your rent.”

  I closed my eyes and winced. I’d meant to call her Monday to let her know why I was late. “I’m so sorry, Colleen. I was mugged last weekend when I was depositing my check and am all out of money. I should be getting paid Friday, though.”

  With any luck I’d be able to get it deposited and applied to my account before business closed for the day. The temp agency hadn’t been terribly helpful. They said they’d stop the check, but it wouldn’t get to me until Friday.

  She let out a long sigh. “Your rental agreement states you have two weeks to pay rent after the due date. For every day past due you incur a $10 charge.”

  Robbery. That’s what that was. Being somebody who never paid late, or had any inkling at the time I’d have to pay late, I hadn’t thought twice when I’d signed the six-month lease. Now I wanted to bang my head against the fridge until it turned to pudding. “I know. And I’m sorry. Thank you for being in touch. Can you please give me until Friday?”

  My check would barely cover rent and the late fee. Not to mention my cell phone bill and food. This whole grown-up thing really sucked sometimes.

  “If you miss rent ever again, I’m going to have to use your deposit and consider it your last month’s rent.”

  I would not cry. I wouldn’t. I would get this figured out, and everything would be okay again. “Sounds good. Thank you.”

  In the meantime, I’d live off hot dogs and water.

  Fine.

  I opened my fridge and decided I wouldn’t have to live off hot dogs. I didn’t have any, for one. I’d have to make the rest of the week stretch, but I had just enough lettuce and lunchmeat to get me through until I got paid.

  Speaking of getting paid, I had some work to do.

  For the rest of the night I sat at my table with my laptop and notebook, working on the proposal for the campaign Victoria gave me. She’d go over everything I did and make revisions. Still, I was nervous as hell. These had to be perfect.

  When my phone rang I was in the middle of sketching a design, and without checking the ID I answered.

  “What are you up to?” Sawyer’s voice poured into my senses, bringing me back to reality.

  “Drawing storyboards. Mind if I put you on speaker?”

  “Not at all.”

  I set the phone on my table and hit the button to switch it to speaker. Now I could draw and talk. Multi-tasking at its finest. With any luck I wouldn’t add sexy bits to the sketches, if this call went anything like last night’s call. Which begged the question…

  “Why are you calling me? Isn’t that a boyfriend thing to do?” My voice was teasing, but I had to give him a hard time.

  “I guess it is. But you’re my fake girlfriend, so…”

  “Aw, aren’t you sweet.” He was a keeper. Okay. Not really. I had to return him in thirty days. We’d shaken on it and everything.

  I shook off the quick flash of sadness at that thought.

  “What are you working on?” he asked.

  “Some sketches for a campaign we’re trying to get.”

  “Can I see?” he asked.

  “Really? I mean it’s kind of boring. There aren’t any pink parts in it, for one.”

  “Let me see,” he cajoled.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I’d figured out how to talk and take pictures today, so I pressed a few buttons, pulled up the camera, and took a picture of my sketchpad.

  I heard the email ping on his end, followed by a click. He let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

  “Thanks,” I said, glad he couldn’t see me doing a little happy dance. “I don’t know if any of this will make it into the final campaign, but it’s nice to actually get to do some art.”

  “Don’t you get to do art anymore?”

  “Not really. When my parents packed my things, they left all of my supplies out of the shipment.” I didn’t want to tell him I could barely afford a sketchbook.

  “You know I can help—”

  “I know you’re trying to be helpful, but the whole reason I moved here in the first place was because I had to make it work on my own. I walked away from a crazy trust fund, a billionaire fiancé, and a life of things most people dream about because I wasn’t willing to compromise.”

  “You really did that?” His voice was full of wonder—you’d think I’d told him I’d just returned from a vacation to Narnia.

  “Uh, yeah. It might seem stupid, but no way was I going to live a life I hated so I could live comfortably.” There was so much more to it. More than I wanted to talk about now.

  “It’s not stupid. It’s nuts, but I mean that in all the right ways.”

  “Thank you.” At least he wasn’t going to push it more. I was feeling too beaten to talk about my family situation anyway.

  “And I will keep my riches to myself,” he said.

  “Yeah. You and your riches can stay the hell away from me.”

  He laughed, but the sound came out forced, clueing me into his worry. We talked about his business in Summit, but when he started to yawn I let him go. I worked on the artwork until after 1 a.m., until my own yawning made me realize it was time to close up shop. At this rate I could be done early and hopefully grab that next advance check sooner.

  ...

  Friday morning, when I got to work, I found my paycheck on my desk. Thank fuck. On my new phone I’d installed an app for the bank, so at least this time I could take a picture of it and deposit it, with no worries of being mugged.

  After I made my deposit I grabbed a cup of coffee. I wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but tea just wasn’t cutting it these days. Five hours of sleep a night for almost a week straight had caught up with me, and aside from the puffy eyes and overall grogginess, I was pretty happy with how things had started to shape up for the proposal.

  Victoria had made more than one reference this week to me being her lifeline. She’d sent me a few more things to do at home, but I was hungry—literally—and couldn’t turn her down. Besides, I couldn’t have asked for a better boss, and she’d eaten up my rough draft like it was ambrosia.

  The promotion was so close I could almost smell it.

  Or was that my coffee? I sniffed it, trying not to gag at the powdered creamer floating in clumps on the top. Those skinny little stirring straws didn’t do much more than move it around, and usually by the time I’d downed the cup I was left with a few of them stuck to the bottom. But coffee had become liquid survival. Concessions were necessary.

  I checked my bank balance on the computer and found that my check had already been deposited. Colleen would be ecstatic.

  After work I walked to the
grocery store and stocked up for the next week, and when I trudged up to my building I noticed a gray Range Rover parked out front.

  It might be a little embarrassing to admit I grinned like a dork and clapped my hands. Because who wouldn’t be excited for a weekend sexfest?

  I found him waiting in the hallway next to my door, wearing a slightly rumpled navy three-piece suit, an Oxford with tiny pink stripes, and a claret-colored tie. Mmm. Suit porn. My mouth watered at the sight.

  He straightened when he saw me, and walked up to me, holding out his hands for my grocery bags. “Here.”

  I gratefully handed them over, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Your rewards for your help will be plentiful, sweet man.”

  “Better be. What’s in here? A bowling ball?”

  I shuffled past him and stuck my key in the lock. “Says the guy who’s twice my size and bench presses picnic tables.”

  I moved out of the way to let him in.

  He lifted his arm a little to admire his own biceps. “You really think so?”

  I whacked him on the butt when he walked past me. “Well, it’s been a few days since I last got my hands on them. You might’ve gone soft since then.”

  “Nothing soft about this package.” He set the bags on my counter, and I walked over to put things away.

  “I sure hope not.” I bumped his thigh with my hip. “Weren’t you supposed to be back home tomorrow?”

  “Insulting my manhood and trying to get rid of me, huh?”

  “Well, yeah. I didn’t have a chance to hide my other sex buddy. He’s been tied up in my closet all day and I bought all this food for him to—”

  I couldn’t finish because Sawyer’s lips were all over mine.

  He put his hand on my cheek. “Let’s get rid of the dude in the closet.”

  I put my hand over the one he’d put on my cheek, lacing my fingers with his. “So does this mean we can’t have a threesome later?”

  He stopped. His eyes widened. And for a moment I was sure I’d gone too far. “If you have enough energy later…”

  “Show me what you’ve got, Sally. What’s next on the list?”

  He narrowed his eyes when I used Ben’s nickname for him, but the corner of his mouth kicked up most devilishly. “Pack for the weekend. We’ll go to my place.”

  While he scavenged for a snack in the fridge, I changed into a pair of black leggings and a dark teal T-shirt that was slinky in all the right places.

  Standing in front of the mirror, I pulled my hair up and twisted it on top of my head into a messy bun. My face was inflamed from Sawyer’s stubble, my eyes bright, and my lips swollen.

  Barefoot, I walked back into the kitchen. “What’s the plan tonight?”

  He was tired from traveling, so I didn’t think we’d be going out or anything.

  Sawyer downed a glass of water. “I need to get Baxter from the neighbor’s.”

  I nodded. “Then what?”

  “I don’t want to disrupt anything you’ve had planned. I know you weren’t expecting me tonight.”

  “Pffft. What, and ruin my plans of watching TV while working all night? Seriously. Save me from myself.” I went to the bedroom and packed a bag for the weekend. In addition to the haul of sex toys, I packed something to sleep in, and a few outfits. Not that I planned on wearing much in the way of clothing when we were together.

  I returned to the kitchen. Sawyer had relieved himself of the suit jacket, and his tie was crooked. I couldn’t resist—I took the tie in hand and straightened it for him, then tucked it into his vest.

  He stiffened, and I realized how intimate that action was. Not the action of a friend with benefits. More like a long-term girlfriend or wife. I needed to back off.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  He relaxed a little and motioned to my laptop. “Aren’t you going to pack that?”

  I shrugged, but the urgency of the revisions Victoria had given me weighed on me. She’d wanted them by Sunday night so we could go over them first thing Monday. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  “I’ve got some things to catch up on at home this weekend, too. If you need to get stuff done, we can have some shared office time.”

  I packed my laptop, grateful he got it. I could really use time to get things done, and I knew Victoria would be emailing me more ideas.

  We hopped into his SUV and drove to his place.

  When we reached his condo, two kids—likely twins—played in his condo’s playground area with Baxter. Next to the playground was a huge swimming pool with a slide. The yard was fenced, and the gate was locked, and a tired-looking pregnant woman reclined in a lounger in the shade.

  The children couldn’t have been more than four or five years old, and both had the same platinum gold locks as the woman, who had to be their mother. The little girl wore an Iron Man costume, and the boy was dressed like a cowboy. Cute.

  “Sawyer!” the little girl cried, and threw her arms in the air.

  We reached the sidewalk and he took off his suit jacket, draping it over the fence. He picked her up so she could sit in the crook of his arm. “How’s my favorite superheroine?”

  “Supervillainness,” she corrected.

  I liked this kid.

  “My mistake,” he said.

  The cowboy pretended to shoot her with his fingers. “You’re going down.”

  Baxter stood patiently between them, shaking his tail and waiting for Sawyer to get inside the gate. Meanwhile, their mother hefted herself out of the lounger and waddled to us. Poor thing looked ready to burst, but her hair was blown out and perfect, as were her makeup and clothes.

  She held out her hand. “You must be Blair. I’m Vanessa.”

  He’d told his neighbor about me? I cast a curious glance at Sawyer and shook her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Vanessa.”

  “You done good, Sawyer. I guess we can take you off that most eligible list now.”

  His arm held me close. “The sooner the better. Where’s Mark?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Vegas. Can you believe it? I’m eight months pregnant and he decides it’s time for a guys’ weekend.”

  Ah. Mark had to be the husband. Correction: the dipshit husband.

  Sawyer’s features sharpened. “Let me know if I can help with anything while he’s away. Thanks for watching Bax for me.”

  “Please. I should pay him for all the babysitting he’s done. The kids love him.”

  “We should let you get some rest,” Sawyer said. “Just call me if you need anything, all right?”

  “Thanks,” she said. “Cody, will you grab Baxter’s things and give them to Sawyer, please?”

  The cowboy ran into the building, the door slamming behind him.

  His sister just stared at Sawyer from her perch on his arm. “You told me girls are gross.”

  Sawyer chuckled. “All of them but Blair. And you and your mom.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I saw you on a magazine for girls,” she said. “My mom said one of them would take you off the market and then you could be as miserable as Mark.”

  “Caty!” her mom hissed.

  I choked on a laugh, and swiftly screwed my expression into something more serious. Sawyer’s arm squeezed around me, and I could feel him fighting the urge to laugh, too.

  “That so?” he asked Caty.

  She only smiled, admiration clear on her face.

  Cody flew out of the house and gave Sawyer dog dishes, a leash, and a bag of food. “Here.”

  “Thanks,” Sawyer said, and put Caty down. “Looks like Baxter had a lot of fun.”

  “He did,” Caty yelled.

  “Nice to meet you, Blair,” Vanessa said. “I hope we get to see you around more.”

  “You, too,” I said, and followed Sawyer into the building. We entered his gloriously air-conditioned space, and while he greeted Baxter—who had the biggest spaz attack known to canine-kind—I put my things in Sawyer’s room. When I came back downstairs to the first floor, he
was playing tug of war with an old sock, on his knees, still in his suit, and covered in dog hair.

  I couldn’t help but smile.

  Baxter growled and his lips curled back viciously. If I didn’t know he was a total fluff ball I would’ve been pretty freaked. His tail wagged violently behind him, though, and every time his teeth got close to Sawyer’s hand he backed up on the sock.

  I sat on the couch and watched, enjoying the show.

  Finally, they both got too tired, and collapsed on the ground. Sawyer lay on his back and Baxter curled into his side, his chin on Sawyer’s chest. If he could’ve crawled inside Sawyer he wouldn’t have been close enough.

  “Let’s get up, buddy.” Sawyer pushed his big galoot dog off of him and rose. Tons of dog hair covered his suit.

  “Your dry cleaner is going to die when he sees this.”

  “All of my suits come like this. It’s how he knows they’re mine. Hungry?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  We walked upstairs and he ordered Thai. While we waited, I showed him my latest drawings. I’d worked my ass off all week on them, which seemed to be the way I worked best. Immersion in a project made me feel more in touch with it.

  “When do you sleep?” he asked.

  “It’s for sissies, I hear.”

  The doorbell rang, and a few minutes later we ate at the kitchen island. Pad Thai with shrimp was my favorite, and he’d ordered tom yam goong. He told me a few things about the distribution deal and investment for the brewery, and it sounded pretty amazing.

  “We’ve been shipping kegs to the bars and restaurants to keep on tap, but now we’re going to bottle so we can ship those farther. It’s a huge risk, and it’s worse now that we have this embezzling nightmare, but if it works it’s going to push us from family-owned craft brewery to nationally recognized brewery.”

  “That’s what you want, right?” I took a bite of noodles.

  He shrugged. “Yes and no. We loved being one of the oldest breweries in the state, and had the family craft thing going for us. In the past ten years or so the craft beer industry has boomed, and Colorado is at the center of it. We have more competition, and if we don’t go big we’re in danger of being wiped out.”

  “Haven’t you been offered deals by the big brands? I think I remember Jessica saying something about that.”