Delivering the Virgin: A Romance Novella

by Cassandra Dee

  With my brows drawn, face set, I strode to the subway with purposeful strides. Because I was headed to the offices of NYC Concierge, goddamn if I waited until getting home to confront the big man. And if the blow-up was in front of his unsuspecting co-workers, then so be it, they’d be getting an eyeful and an earful up the wazoo because things were volcanic now, and I didn’t care who knew.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Tucker

  My feet up on my desk, I chewed on a pencil thoughtfully as I read through a four hundred page report. This white paper about the market for elite delivery services was so fucking off that it made my eyes bleed. The supposed “consultants” we’d hired for the study didn’t understand the sector at all and had put together a four hundred page pile of shit, a tome that I’d skimmed the first ten pages of and then put down, disgusted.

  I wiped a hand over my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. Fuck, I was so tired. I worked like a dog during the day and then beat feet to get home to see my best girl. But it wasn’t like I got a ton of rest and relaxation once the sun set. Fuck no, I was fucking Laurie all night, two, three times before dawn, sometimes even four.

  And it was good, real good. I couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t shoot enough sperm into that tiny pussy, couldn’t bobble those breasts enough times, lick her asshole and make her scream, it was that amazing. And fuck, but even the impossible had come to pass. Walking home one day, I’d passed by a fine jewelry store, its goods gleaming in glass cases and something made my feet turn as if magnetized, my hand opening the door and stepping in.

  I wasn’t sure what I was doing, a man in a trance. But when the saleslady came up, my mouth opened automatically and I said the words “engagement ring.” Can you believe it? Tucker McGrath, confirmed bachelor and complete asshole, was shopping to get married. And when the sales associate brought out a velvet tray with a couple different selections, there was a feeling of rightness in my gut. Because Laurie and I belonged together, she was the white to my black, the yin to my yang, the soft to my hard. And the best thing I could do, probably the smartest thing I’d ever do in my life was to put a ring on it, make her mine in every way possible, mark her before the world.

  So the ring sat in my desk drawer even now, locked up, buried among a ton of useless crap. It was a beauty, I’d spent seven figures on a seven carat heart-shaped diamond, it’d probably weigh her hand down, it was that big. But that’s how serious I was about making her mine. I wanted every fucking male in the City to see that diamond and know that Laurie belonged to me.

  Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t hear our receptionist Nora tiptoe over.

  “Mr. McGrath,” she said quietly, standing next to me. “There’s a young lady here to see you.”

  That was weird. Usually Nora emailed if we had a visitor, there was no need to make the announcement in person. And if you’re wondering about our office space, yes, it’s an open plan. We don’t have separate offices, just long rows of desks, the set-up modern, roomy, eco-friendly with both a foosball table and a ping-pong table. Yeah, we’re that start-up, the one with all the free food and games, impossibly hip, all our employees young and brainy.

  And even I, as CEO, worked out in the open, there was nothing to distinguish me from anyone else except the fact that I had two monitors, one right next to the other. But hey, even that wasn’t a dead giveaway. After all, this was a progressive workplace where people had standing desks or sat on yoga balls, so my double monitors didn’t stick out that much.

  But as I looked up, I saw why Nora had made the announcement in person, practically whispering next to me. Because Laurie was here, and she looked fine. My girl was like a dream materializing in our offices, curvy, jiggly, that curly brown hair tied behind her head, everything accentuated with a pencil skirt and turtleneck sweater. I’d begged Laurie to buy more form-fitting stuff, I loved seeing her breasts and ass outlined in tight clothes, couldn’t wait to rip them off when we were home.

  But the brunette had seen me now and was shooting daggers across the open work space, her brown eyes darkening to black, furious in their glare. Oh shit. What had happened? Had she gotten fired? Had that bitch Tanya at work been snooping in our business? I’d heard enough about this person Tanya to hate her, I bet she’d been spreading some poison somehow or other.

  And I wasn’t wrong. Laurie came marching over, not caring that my employees were staring from the corners of their eyes and came to stand by my desk, hands on her hips.

  “Tucker,” she said. “What is this?” she demanded, holding out the Palladium card.

  I grabbed her hand.

  “Honey, let’s go to a conference room, we can have some privacy,” I rumbled, exerting some pressure. “Come on.”

  But she resisted, shaking her head furiously, those brown curls bouncing.

  “No,” she said flatly. “I want some answers. What the fuck is this?”

  I took a long look at her, then another long look at the card.

  “It’s my credit card,” I said slowly. “Remember, I gave it to you? To buy yourself some clothes.”

  “I know that,” she spat. “But why, on Wiki, does it say that only millionaires can get this card? That it’s for ultra high net-worth clients of the bank, who on average are worth one hundred million dollars?” she demanded, hands on hips, chin jutting out. “Are you even Tucker McGrath?” she demanded again hotly, shooting sparks. “Who the fuck are you?”

  Now I knew I had to get her into a conference room, my employees were openly staring now, not even bothering to pretend to work. So instead of trying to persuade her nicely, I took things into my own hands. With one fell swoop, I picked her up in my arms and strode over the conference room, kicking the door shut behind us and pulling down all the shades.

  “What the fuck?” the brunette sputtered, struggling to get down. “Let go of me, fucker!”

  I growled then.

  “That’s right, I’m a fucker because I’m the man who fucks you,” I said threateningly. “Every day, every night, I fuck that pussy so go ahead and call me fucker,” I rasped.

  That made Laurie pull back a bit, still hissing. I’d put her down and she was a glorious sight to see. Her hair had fallen down and curls trailed around her face, framing it, highlighting the flush, her lips rosy and parted, breathing hard.

  Plus her breasts were magnificent. In the tight sweater they were like a ship’s prow, jutting out, bold, beautiful, heaving as she stared at me with accusatory eyes. Plus, that ass. Fuck, she’d taken my advice, wearing tight clothes and the effect it had on me was electric, my cock jutting like a hammer ready to slam.

  Except there was the problem of my identity.

  “Laurie, I can explain,” I began, hands up, a conciliatory look on my face.

  “You better!” she shrieked, this time hurling the Visa at me. I ducked in time, the rectangle bouncing off the wall with a chink, falling to the floor. But I didn’t care, the Palladium Visa meant nothing to me, was nothing but an accoutrement to my massive wealth.

  “Are you even the delivery man?” the brunette shrieked again, staring at me with accusing eyes. “Or is this, is all this, a lie?” she said, gesturing to the conference room, the office beyond.

  “It’s not a lie,” I said slowly, “and yes, I am the delivery man. It’s just that I wear a lot of hats. I’m not just the delivery man, I’m the CEO, the boss, the task master, the guy who runs this place,” I said, staring into her eyes. “I play a lot of roles and delivery man happens to be one of them.”

  Laurie just shook her head.

  “But I don’t get it,” she said, lips pursed. “I mean, why were you making deliveries that first night to my apartment? And if you are the CEO, why didn’t you tell me?”

  I began slowly.

  “Honey, part of my job is to understand the concierge business through and through. There isn’t any way to make informed decisions unless I get my hands dirty, get into the nitty-gritty of things. So yeah, I make deliveries on
occasion, putting on the jacket and hat, going up and down stairs, getting a feel for the job itself. Because how can I understand the job unless I actually do it myself?”

  And that seemed to penetrate the fog of rage surrounding her.

  “Okay, I get it,” the brunette panted softly, still angry. “But why didn’t you tell me? What was the point of this charade? Did you not trust me or something?”

  And this was gonna be the hard part.

  “Of course I trust you,” I said, warmth in my eyes. “But honey, when women get a whiff of how much I’m worth everything changes. It’s hard to describe but there’s a breed of women in Manhattan who are all about the money. I could be a complete fuck, treat them like shit, and they wouldn’t care so long as I gave them an allowance, bought them clothes and jewelry, set them up in an apartment. They’re after one thing only, and it’s called cold, hard cash.”

  She paused for a moment.

  “And you thought I might be one of them?” she asked tightly.

  I shrugged.

  “Honestly, yeah. I’ve gotten burned from experience, I’m thirty-five now, it’s not like I’m an untrained newbie going out on a couple dates, getting my dick wet for the first time. These women are all over Manhattan, and the minute they get a whiff of a dude like me, the claws come out, they’re in it to win it.”

  Laurie paused, thinking.

  “But what does that have to do with me?” she asked again, tilting her head to the side, eyeing me speculatively. “Why did you have to ‘test’ me?” she said neutrally. “I live in a tiny walk-up on the Lower East Side, I’m poor, it’s obvious.”

  And that was it exactly.

  “Honey, you’re assuming that the only women with their claws out are rich bitches, women with designer clothes and shoes, skinny and mean. But the fact is that women of all stripes, of all economic means are after me. Trust me, I’ve had poor women come after me too, girls who worked as nannies, who were struggling students. Just because you’re poor doesn’t make you a saint.”

  And something changed in the brunette then.

  “So you thought I could be one of them, that maybe I just wanted you for your bank account, huh?” she said softly. “Maybe I was just another girl out on the hunt.”

  And I had to be honest.

  “Well, yeah,” I admitted. “I mean, I’m thirty-five, I’ve been dating in NYC for decades now. Trust me, I know women.”

  And that final statement broke the camel’s back. Because all the light went out of my best girl’s eyes, her shoulders slumped, her vivacious energy shut off like a light socket gone dark. Instead, Laurie was subdued now, not meeting my eyes. She fingered the cuff of her blouse, biting her lip.

  “Thanks Tucker, I get it,” she said softly, still not meeting my gaze. “I’ll let you get back to work now.”

  I strode over to the brunette and grabbed her chin in my hand, forcing her to look at me. But the brown eyes were shuttered, shielded, and gave nothing away, merely reflecting my own.

  “Listen,” I growled. “This isn’t over, we’ll talk more when I get back tonight, alright? I promise.”

  And she nodded slightly before breaking free, smoothing her skirt and taking a deep breath.

  “Sure, no problem,” she said with a slight smile. “I’ll see you at home okay?” And was it my imagination, or had Laurie’s lip trembled on the word “home”? But I couldn’t focus on that now, there were a million things to be done at work, investors were coming later today and we still had a shit-ton of prep to do. So I watched silently as the curvy girl left the conference room, slipping out and shutting the door quietly behind her. This wasn’t how I wanted to end the conversation but at the moment I didn’t have a choice. Come eight p.m., we were going to have a real conversation to set things straight, get everything in order … because Laurie was mine and that was that.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Laurie

  I sat in the library, my laptop open on a huge, wooden desk, far from any other users. I typed in “Tucker McGrath” and held my breath as the machine hummed. And sure enough, a dozen results popped up.

  “Internet billionaire bad boy does it again!” screamed one headline.

  “Will McGrath break the new economy?” blared another.

  And the worst: “Tucky Tuck gets his duck on with Laurel Hardy,” read the caption with a picture of Tucker, handsome and arresting, blue eyes piercing, in a tux with a beautiful woman on his arm. The skinny blonde was the opposite of me, ten miles tall, thin as a whip, with perfect make-up, perfect hair, her lips painted in a wide crimson smile.

  And I died inside, absolutely shriveled up and withered to nothing. It was like Tucker had had been playing with me, stepping out of his “real” life to have some fun. Because the real Tucker seemed to be someone else completely. The “real” Tucker was a self-made entrepreneur with more money than God and a taste for fancy things, be it the latest sports car, luxurious yachts, or expensive vacations. And there were pictures of all this on the web, all of them with a different woman, a different perfectly made-up, camera-ready model with a set of manicured fingernails and a smiling, lipsticked mouth.

  I’d never felt more dumb. Why hadn’t I googled Tucker earlier? Why hadn’t I done like normal people do and get on the internet immediately, searching for anything and everything about my new guy? I guess it was because I didn’t want to jinx myself, I was so traumatized from my marriage and divorce that I didn’t want to open up any closets and face the skeletons, I wasn’t ready for that. So instead I’d gone the opposite route, sticking my head in the sand, seeing only what I wanted to see, willing myself to believe in the fairy tale.

  But I cursed myself because there’d been so many signs, the luxury apartment, the friends who didn’t exist, the way Tucker never batted an eye about money. I shook my head, defeated. Even the wine we drank each night was expensive, there was no way a delivery man could afford even that. Shit. It was my own fault, and I only had myself to blame.

  So I sat back, my shoulders trembling, the air heaving in my chest. I’d packed a suitcase and had it with me now, the little travel-sized case humble and tiny. And the thought of my drab, bare apartment on the Lower East Side was depressing, but at least it was still mine. I dreaded going over there, dreaded letting myself into that lonely, cold room, but the library was closing soon and I’d have no choice. Suddenly, a ring jolted me from my stupor. Picking up my cell, I saw that it was my mom.

  “Hi Linda,” I said, speaking quietly into the receiver. “Let me go outside.” Slowly, I tiptoed out of the reading room and into a common area filled with light and the buzzing sound of conversations.

  “Hi Ma,” I said a little louder, standing in a corner, plugging up one ear with a finger. “I’m at the library so I can’t talk long, but how are you? How’s your vacation going?”

  “Hi honey,” squealed my mom. I held the receiver away from my head, wincing. So much for my warning, Linda never took instruction well. “How are you baby?” she trilled. “I haven’t talked to you in so long!”

  My mom had been sailing the world with her new beau, a silver fox who wined and dined her like no tomorrow. But Charles was genuinely nice, and I was glad my mom had someone to spend time with.

  “How are you hon?” repeated my mom. “I’ve missed you! Tell me everything,” she gushed.

  “Well, you know I’m divorced now,” I started slowly.

  But my mom just pooh-poohed.

  “Oh honey, Gary was never right for you. I know you dated two years and all but some people are able to keep things hidden for years, for years baby. Remember that douche Michael that I dated back in ’05? He was in the mafia and I didn’t even know until after we broke up.”

  I winced at that one. Linda was still beautiful at forty and had dated non-stop since I was two, my dad leaving when I was just a baby. And I agreed, the whole mafia situation had been unbelievable. We’d thought Michael was an insurance salesman, a totally blah white-bread d
ude, but instead he turned out to be not Michael, but Massimo of the Valetti Crime Family, a hired assassin who’d committed countless atrocities. And as the kicker, it was only when the FBI came knocking that my mom and I found out.

  But the situation with Tucker was different. I mean, Michael being a hitman was so far-fetched to be almost ludicrous, straight out of a movie. But my life was no movie, and the current situation didn’t have a happy ending.

  So I began explaining to my mom, slowly at first, then picking up steam. Linda and I don’t talk that often, she’s always traveling on some jaunt or another, so this was as good a time as any, and once I got into the groove, it all tumbled out, the deliveries that went awry, moving in together, my lover’s horrific betrayal.

  “So let me get this straight,” said Linda slowly. The satellite phone was so good, so sensitive, that I could almost feel the sway of the boat she was on, hear the lap of waves against the hull. “The man you’re dating is incredibly successful, and not a delivery man at all,” she said slowly.

  “Sort of, yes,” I acknowledged. “But there’s a bigger point. Tucker lied to me, he could have told me the truth at any point but he never said anything.”

  I could almost hear my mom shaking her head.

  “But what did you expect?” she asked. “That your man was going to be upfront and open with you from the very beginning, especially given his past experiences with women?”

  I paused for a moment.

  “Well yes,” I said righteously. “I mean, you should always give your lover the benefit of the doubt. If you start off on a suspicious note it just gets you off on a bad foot, poisons the well.”