by R.S. Grey
And so began our tour of really crappy New York real estate. Julian and I quickly learned the lay of the land. Any spot worth renting cost enough to purchase a small island in the Mediterranean, and if the property was priced reasonably, well, there was a reason. Rats, poor plumbing, no windows—the list went on and on. By the time we were walking through the sixth listing, we’d both all but given up hope of finding something quickly.
We were touring the final property of the day, an apartment that was listed on the market as a commercial office space, but it didn’t look any better than the previous listings. The entire apartment couldn’t have been more than 400 square feet total, and the floor plan was incredibly odd. Right when we walked in, we were led into a small room with three chairs lining the walls. An ornate black chandelier hung from the ceiling, but there was no artwork on the wall. It looked like a stark waiting room of sorts.
“Is the space vacant?” I asked the realtor.
“No. Their lease is up in two weeks and the landlord wants to get a new tenant in right away.”
I nodded and continued into the space, skeptical of what we’d find. There was a once-functioning kitchen to the left, and off to the side there were two small doors that branched off the main hallway.
“How could someone classify this as a commercial space?” Julian asked, following after me. He seemed just as disappointed as I was.
I stepped toward the first door and turned the knob so I could peer inside. The room was small and dark, no larger than a walk-in closet. Yikes.
“We could each take a closet and pretend they’re actual offices,” I joked.
Julian came to stand behind me so that he could see into the space. I stepped forward to turn on the light, but it was out of my reach. Even still, I could tell that the walls were covered in a dark crimson wallpaper with a damask print. First the black chandelier, now red wallpaper? Had I just stepped into Dracula’s lair?
“No, clearly this will be the employee break room,” he added dryly. “I think the lack of windows is a real plus.”
I smiled and took another step inside the closet, curious about what the tenant used the space for. Surely it wasn’t someone’s office, right? As my eyes adjusted to the lack of light, I saw that directly across from me there were built in bars running horizontally across the walls. They looked like they’d be used as clothing racks, but they were at odd heights, a foot too tall for most people to reach. Then I saw that in the center of the space, near the back wall, there was a pole that ran from the ceiling to floor. It almost looked like a fireman’s pole, but that didn’t make sense…
And then it hit me.
Holy shit.
I scanned the space and realized all my fears had come true. Sitting on the floor near the base of the stripper pole were a couple of unused condoms and a stray pair of handcuffs, leather and all.
“Julian.”
“Is that a stripper pole?” he asked, taking a step closer. Poor, naive man.
“I think we’re standing inside a sex dungeon,” I said.
He barked out a laugh and took another step inside.
“How would you know what that looks like?” he asked as he stepped up behind me and pressed his hand to my lower back, trying to get a better look at the space.
I blushed, though he couldn’t see it. “I’ve read about these things.”
I turned to see his brow quirked with interest as his hazel eyes met mine in the darkness.
“For purely scientific reasons, of course,” I said, holding up my hands.
“Oh, I’m sure,” he nodded with sarcastic reassurance. “Why do you think we’re in a sex dungeon? Because of that pole?”
I pointed toward the pile of forgotten items on the ground. He stepped closer in the darkness to get a better look and then I heard an audible squelch, followed by Julian momentarily losing his footing. I squeezed my eyes closed to keep my composure though I knew I was seconds away from full-on hysterics.
“What the?” he asked.
He lifted his foot and glanced down.
“Julian, I’m pretty sure you just stepped on anal beads.”
Chapter Nine
Julian
“Wait. Wait. Wait. You’re telling me that you spent the day touring sex dungeons while the rest of us punched the clock?”
Dean groaned as he waved the cocktail waitress back over toward us.
“Can I help you?” she crooned, eyeing Dean with blatant interest.
“Yeah.” Dean pointed toward me and I watched the waitress stare back and forth between us, unsure of where she wanted to focus. “This bastard here would like to buy me another beer,” he said, throwing his hand onto my shoulder and squeezing hard.
I rolled my eyes but nodded for her to go ahead with the order.
After a few days of playing phone tag, Dean and I had finally managed to meet up for drinks at the lounge on the first floor of my hotel. I hadn’t seen him in years, not since an old college friend’s wedding, so the least I could do was buy him another beer.
“So any girl in your life? Anyone you can take to the sex dungeon you discovered?” Dean asked with a cheeky smile.
I thought of how much work had dominated my time lately—and then out of nowhere, Josephine popped into my thoughts. I shook my head clear of the memory of her standing in the dark closet, of her laughter as we fled from the apartment as quickly as we could.
I realized Dean was still waiting for an answer.
“Nah, I left them behind in Boston,” I said with a shrug.
A basketball game was playing behind Dean’s head and I snuck a quick glance at the score before meeting his eyes. His skeptical glance told me he didn’t believe my answer.
“Julian fucking Lefray doesn’t have a girl following him around like a horny puppy?” Dean asked, clutching his hand to his chest like he was having a heart attack. “What has the world come to?”
I smiled. “Times have changed.”
He smiled smugly but didn’t challenge my declaration.
“What about you? How’s business?” I asked, hoping to steer the conversation as far away from me as possible.
At thirty-two, Dean Harper was a well-known restaurateur in New York City. He’d already opened five successful restaurants, one of which—a burger joint—had turned into a franchise that spanned from Brooklyn to the Upper West Side. He had a gift when it came to creating unique dining experiences. Food was his forte and I knew he was probably hard at work on his next project.
“Business is good,” he nodded. “I have a soft opening for Provisions this weekend.”
“Already? I swear I remember you talking about the idea for that place just last week,” I said.
He smirked—a classic Dean move—and then reclined back in his seat. “Yeah well, the restaurant world moves fast. Seems like as soon as I start working on a project another idea pops up in its place.”
Our waitress returned with our drinks and she bent to hand us each a cold brew. “Can I get you boys anything else?” she asked with a little wink at Dean.
I laughed.
“We’re all set,” I said, saving myself from having to watch Dean flirt with her for the next half hour. He threw her a smile as she walked off and I took the chance to watch another few seconds of the basketball game.
“Anyway,” Dean said, ruffling his blond hair. “This new place is awesome. We tried to make it a little oasis in the heart of the city. There’s a courtyard in the center with a grove of trees. It’ll be where most of the action takes place.”
“Let me guess what the waitstaff will wear,” I chimed in.
He smiled. “We’re in New York, my friend. Skin sells.”
“You know what else sells?” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Good food.”
Dean laughed. “Why not both?”
I laughed and took another swig of my drink. We watched the last few minutes of the basketball game as we finished our beers. Dean talked my ear off about his new restaurant an
d I did my best not to think of Josephine.
“I hate to cut the night short but I’ve got to get up for work in the morning,” I said, finishing off my beer with a long drag.
“Are you serious?” Dean protested. “You work for yourself dude, c’mon. Have one more drink. No one will notice if you’re late in the morning.”
I smiled. “Actually they will.”
“What? You already hired an employee?”
I shrugged, trying to downplay the situation. “Two days ago.”
“Where’d you find him?”
I decided not to correct his pronoun choice.
“On the web.”
“He wasn’t a friend of Lorena’s or something?” he asked.
Why the hell did he care about my employee? I kept my focus on the TV and gave him the shortest possible answer.
“No. She doesn’t know Lorena.”
“She?”
I held my hands up in defense. “It’s the fashion industry, what do you expect? Most of the applicants were women.”
Dean sank back in his chair with a shit-eating grin. “I guess I know the real answer to that question from earlier.”
“What?” I stared at him. “What question?”
“Who the almighty Lefray is le-fucking.”
“She’s my employee!” I argued. “I hardly know her.”
“What’d she wear to work today? What color eyes does she have? How many times have you stared at her ass?”
I ignored his questions, threw some cash down on the table to cover our tab, and walked toward the entrance.
“See you at my opening this weekend,” Dean yelled. “Oh and be sure to invite the girl you aren’t sleeping with! I still need a date!”
I flipped him the bird as I walked out of the bar.
Chapter Ten
Josephine
After our day of looking at lackluster properties, Julian and I decided that we should take a day to reconvene and get some work done from his hotel room. Working with him in his private space was a strange setup to say the least, and when I knocked on his door on Wednesday morning, I tried to quiet the swell of butterflies in my stomach.
He’s not inviting you up for an early morning romp in his bed.
This is work.
I shifted on my heels, waiting for the inevitable turn of the door handle, but my knock went unanswered. I leaned forward and pressed my ear to the door¸ listening for any sounds of life. Nothing.
I hummed and turned in a circle, trying to figure out if maybe I’d knocked on the wrong door. A quick glance at my phone confirmed that I was at the right room number, so I knocked again and waited.
Still, no one answered.
I was debating whether or not to head back down to the lobby when a cleaning woman turned the corner, pushing her cart of supplies in front of her. She was humming along to the music playing from her headphones and nodding her head back and forth. Her dark brown hair had touches of gray springing up around her temple and her uniform stretched across her hips as she walked.
When she looked up and saw me standing there, she paused and narrowed her eyes. Her gaze slid from my head to my feet and then she shook her head and kept on pushing her cart toward me.
“Mhhmm.” She tsked as she approached me. “These hoochies think they’re gonna catch them a rich man by fishin’ in hotel rooms. Shoot, this one’s early, not even close to noon yet.”
“Uhh, ma’am?” I said timidly, trying to make her aware that I could hear every single word she was saying.
When our eyes met, she pursed her lips and propped her hand on her hip.
“You’re better than this, honey. Go on down to the lobby and get some coffee. Go find you some Jesus.”
My eyes widened. What did she think was going on?
Oh.
Oh.
She definitely thought I was a prostitute.
I glanced down at my fitted wrap dress and kitten heels. Sure, the neckline of my dress wasn’t exactly a turtleneck, but I’m not a freaking nun. I’m allowed to show my clavicles for Christ’s sake.
“I’m here to meet Mr. Lefray for business,” I explained, offering her a smile to let her know I didn’t take offense to her judgment.
“Oh, I’m sure it’s business all right. Oldest business there is.” She tsked again, moving on along the hallway past me.
I opened my mouth to set her straight just as I heard Julian yelling in his hotel room.
“I’m coming! I’m coming! Sorry!” he called.
His hotel room swung open, and a second later I was greeted with the most beautiful view of my entire life: Julian Lefray naked. Well, naked except for an itty bitty hotel towel wrapped around his waist. He could have been the Eighth Wonder of the World. Every single inch of his defined arms, chest, and abs were right there for me to see. Tan, toned, and still dripping wet from his shower.
My mouth fell open.
“You’re early,” he said, his hazel eyes widening.
“You’re naked,” I replied.
I blushed the moment the words left my mouth. A quick glance to my left confirmed that the cleaning lady had stopped pushing her cart and was standing there gawking at the two of us.
“Ah, sorry,” Julian said with a bemused smile aimed at the maid. He didn’t even know the effect those dimples had on my girly parts. One word: Ijustgotpregnant. Yeah, that’s one word.
“Well it’s clear you two have business to attend to,” she said, wagging her finger at him and stepping closer.
“Oh jeez.”
I huffed out a breath and pushed past Julian into his hotel room before the woman could start giving me pamphlets from her church.
Our shoulders brushed as I stepped past Julian and I inhaled the scent of his body wash: clean, masculine, fresh. It was just what I’d expected and the last thing I needed as I tried to piece together my resolve.
“I swear this isn’t how it will be,” he said, closing the door behind him and holding his hands up in an innocent gesture.
I dropped my laptop bag on a lounge chair in the suite’s living room and then spun around to face him.
Abort! Abort! Staring at him when he was only wearing a towel was not good for my sensibilities. Before I could help myself, my gaze followed the contours of his chiseled torso, down over his abs, until I found myself staring at his hand gripping the towel right in front of his crotch.
Welp, I just stared at my boss’ crotch for like a solid ten seconds. That’ll help the situation. I gulped and looked away.
“I really thought we would have an office space by now,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it, I understand,” I said, admiring the fine art on the hotel room walls. Yes, oh how very nice. I love sailboats. They’re much better to look at than Julian’s naked torso.
I saw him run his hand through his damp hair out of the corner of my eye and then he took a step forward.
“I worked out a little longer than usual so I’m running a bit late.”
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Okay, well…” I waved my hand to silence him. I was two seconds away from embarrassing myself, and I really needed to prevent that from happening. “It wasn’t that awkward before, but now we’re just standing here talking and you’re wearing nothing but a towel, so maybe you should go get dressed already.”
“Right.” He laughed, then spun to head into his room.
“Make yourself at home!” he called as he shut himself in his room.
Only after his door was closed did I let my eyes wander around his space. It was remarkably tidy for a single guy’s hotel room. No pizza boxes or beer cans littered the floor. A half-read New York Times sat beside an empty coffee cup on the living room table. He’d even taken the time to refold his newspaper as neatly as possible.
“Did that woman outside think that you were a prostitute?” Julian yelled through his door.
I smiled. “Yeah, is she used to a parade of them lined up for room 3002?”
I smiled as I stepped toward the window to admire his view.
“Okay, so I suppose I just look the part,” I joked as the door to his room swung open.
He stepped out wearing gray slacks and a crisp white button-down. He was still finishing buttoning his shirt, so I was momentarily graced with one last glimpse of his chest. Buff—check. Tan—check. Just a sprinkling of chest hair that made my mouth water—check.
I glanced up to see him eyeing me with curiosity. He’d shaved away the stubble I’d grown familiar with the day before and had taken the time to style his hair after he’d gotten dressed. He looked like a consummate business man. Too bad the rest of him didn’t fit the bill. He’d developed a tan from our time spent outdoors while looking at properties, which only made his features more appealing. He had a devious glint in his eye as he inspected me from across the room, but I captured my thoughts and pushed them away before my silence became too noticeable.
Julian laughed. “Between you and my sister, I don’t think I can handle any more women in my life at the moment.”
I sat down on the couch and pulled out my laptop.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should,” he said, meeting my eye for a moment before picking up the hotel phone. “Have you eaten already?”
“Some toast before I left the house.”
“What an inspired meal,” he said sarcastically, just as a voice on the other end of the line picked up.
“Hey!” I argued, trying to defend my love of toast, but he held up his hand to silence me with a smile.
“This is Julian Lefray in suite 3002. I’d like to place an order for French toast with a side of sausage.”
“Oh gross. Everyone knows bacon is better than sausage,” I whispered over the back of the couch.
“And a side of bacon,” he said with a touch of amusement in his voice. He held his hand over the receiver and turned to me. “How do you prefer your coffee?”
