by Kira Graham
It’s hard to keep up with her stance, and yet I wouldn’t change a thing about this situation because I like having her with me. Strange, yet true.
“Tell me about it. I heard from Tee that Cleo has some heavy issues when it comes to relationships. They’re betting on what she’ll resort to if this drags on for longer than a week,” he chuckles, and I feel my amusement dying at the thought of Cleo doing something to endanger herself.
I’ve held off for weeks now, telling myself that investigating Cleo is a bad idea, and that if she ever found out about my violation of her privacy, I’d be toast. At this point, though, I can’t ignore the fact that I don’t know as much about her as I need to. Not that I haven’t asked. I have. Repeatedly. I even opened up to her about Marta and how I had to talk to someone about it because I was conflicted. Cleo told me that she had tampons if I needed one, and then basically told me to grow a pair.
Women like men who are in touch with their emotions—my ass!
“She doesn’t have issues, man. She’s got phobias. Deep-seated phobias. She keeps changing which side of the bed she sleeps on because she thinks we’re settling into a rut, which suggests to her that we’re getting comfortable. It’s been three days!” I roar, throwing my hands in the air while Zeus laughs.
Bastard.
“Dude, you really like her,” he breathes, laughing harder when I curse.
“Of course I like her. What’s not to like? She’s gorgeous, and she likes to eat, which is a big change from the women I usually date. She snores and drools while she sleeps, so I don’t feel too bad if I let one off under the covers, and she likes me, not my money,” I mutter, my lips twitching. “She dyes her eyebrows orange, for God’s sake.”
I chuckle harder when Zeus gapes, and I laugh outright when I tell him that Cleo’s taken to not shaving her legs or under her arms because she thinks I’ll be put off. If only she knew that I once dated an environmental activist who spent three years protesting the production of disposable razors. What? Like I can’t have depth even if I am a little shallow?
“No way.”
“Way. Only she waxes, usually, so what little hair growth there is, is sparse and really soft. I kinda dig it,” I purr, thinking of the baby fine hair that’s grown out on her mound.
I really like that. I like running my cheeks over it and tugging on it when she comes because it makes her scream like a banshee. Sexy vixen.
“You’re a freak.”
“Me? What about you? I’ve seen you staring at Rosetta.” Shudder. “And I’ve seen the way you eye Achilles when he so much as breathes near her,” I taunt, wanting to laugh my ass off because it’s the first time in my life that I have ever seen Zeus look at a woman with real interest.
His lack of interest was so bad that in high school, Ma got a bug up her ass and told him that she’d be okay with it if he was gay. My brothers and I laughed our asses off when he grunted, assured her that he liked pussy, and then had to spend a week in church with Ma for his bad language.
Not that she was truly okay with him being gay, because while Ma supports the LGBT movement and regularly bakes for fundraisers for her friend Hetty’s son Belinda, she’s not okay with not having grandkids from Zeus.
I pointed out that he could use a surrogate, and the asshole keyed my brand new Maserati.
“Shut your mouth! If she so much as hears you say those words, she’ll cut my nuts off. Yesterday, she kicked Achilles in the crotch and said, ‘You Hart men are assholes.’ Then she cried for an hour straight, ate a pound of chocolate, and made me cut her toenails because she’s got a problem with strangers touching her feet.” He shudders.
“So, that means…?”
“That I dig her, but that she’s not ready to look at another Hart man yet,” he points out, smiling when I choke.
“Seriously? Rosetta?” I ask, my whole body going liquid.
That woman is off her rocker. And mean. Tee may be violent, but I’ve seen Rosetta’s purse, and for a woman as smart and put together as she is, she sure does have a thing for knives.
“What? She’s gorgeous. And smart. Did you know that she graduated from college a year early and made partner in a little over a year? She’s brilliant,” he says, as if that should be all it takes.
I’ve dated a lot of women. Some smart, some not, some beautiful, and some who were both. Beauty is great, and brains are a bonus, but what I’ve learned since meeting Cleo is that none of that matters unless there’s a spark. With Cleo, I felt that spark instantly, and it has only grown in the time that I’ve known her.
“So she’ll know what to do when she murders you,” I point out, shaking my head when he scowls. “But do you want her?” I ask.
“If my dick gets any harder, I’ll start losing blood to the brain.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Oh? So I didn’t hear you groaning and talking to your own cock last night while Cleo hung out with Ma and refused to go play hanky-panky with you?” he snorts, rolling his eyes.
“I need this to be over. I can’t live in the same house with Ma and Cleo and survive it,” I grumble, pouting. “I want freedom to explore with her, not Ma bustling around outside the door, tempting her with food.”
It’s a sad reality, but, as much as Cleo likes my dick, she will jump out of bed to eat nine times out of ten. I won that battle once, and that’s only because I was eating her out while she was sucking me. The piercing crisis has been averted because the damn woman finally took out her plate, sheepishly admitting that she thought it was permanent.
Suffice it to say, I’ve had my fair share of blow jobs in the last two days, and that makes me happy. What doesn’t make me happy is having my woman suck me to the point of madness only to have Ma at the door offering midnight snacks. I still can’t get over the fact that Cleo left me to rub one out in the shower. Traitor!
“At least she has to be tempted. Rosetta just ignores me,” Zeus whines, his pout outdoing mine when I start laughing.
“Okay. So let’s make a deal. You help me figure this out, fast, and I’ll try to convince Cleo to put in a good word for you.”
“Oh, please. Convince? Cleo? This is the same woman who won’t go to Harvey’s because she read a newspaper article that says it’s haunted. Cleo. Who loves food. Refuses to go to a diner because she thinks that the specter of some dead Confederate soldier is hanging around the women’s bathroom, waiting to watch them pee,” he points out.
I grin at that because it’s true. I may not know a lot about Cleo, because she won’t tell me, but I do know these funny little stories, thanks to Jackson, Bill, and Harry, who have all assured me that there’s nothing too wrong with Cleo or the other girls. They’re just unique.
“Fine. Then I’ll arrange something later to give you time with her,” I bargain, hoping that an opportunity presents itself.
Zeus may not be that big of a talker, but when he does make deals, he expects payment. So pay I shall. Any way I can. With Zeus’s military connections, and his friends in all the right and wrong kinds of places, I need him on this.
“Deal. Now, getting back to our problem, I don’t have answers yet, but I will get them. In the meantime, keep Cleo corralled, would you? Paris is having a hell of a time holding on to all of his fingers around Tee, and Achilles isn’t faring much better with Alex. It seems like the only reasonable one of the lot is Sin. Ironically. Because she’s the one who owns all those guns.”
“Not to sound like an ass, but the others are not my problem. I’ve got my hands full with Cleo, and I don’t see that changing any time soon,” I sigh, scrubbing at my forehead just as the door bursts open and Achilles stumbles in, out of breath and so frazzled that Zeus and I jump to our feet, expecting trouble.
“Someone’s gotta switch with me. Please,” he pleads, doubling over and clutching at his belly with a groan.
“What the—”
“I don’t want that Sweet. There’s something wrong with her. She’s defective.
And crazy. I’ll take Rose back. Hell, I’ll even put a ring on it, if it means that I can get rid of Alex,” he whines, sweat streaming down his face when he doubles over again and pants.
Exchanging a glance with Zeus, my heart settling into less of a gallop, I find myself really looking at Achilles, and what I see makes my jaw drop. The man is ragged, and his hair is mussed up, wet with sweat, and sticking up every which way. His usually glowing skin is an off-gray color, and his mouth is pinched into a grimace that turns into an open-mouthed whine when he doubles over again, turns, and crouch-runs towards the staff bathrooms.
“What crawled up his ass?” I ask, peering around my door to see Alex Sweet flirting with my receptionist Nixon, a fifty-year-old divorcé who isn’t gay but seems to be preening.
She spots both Zeus and me staring, and gives us a smile so brilliant that I feel my breath stall. Until Achilles yells so loudly that the sound bellows out of the bathroom and has heads turning.
“Uh…Alex?”
“I told him not to flirt with my boss, man. I freaking warned him,” she says easily, shaking her head before resuming her flirtation.
What the hell?
Cleo
“It’s not her fault. She warned him,” I mutter into the phone, stifling a giggle when Rose rolls her eyes and keeps crab-walking towards her office, her hand shooting out to pull me down beside her when we see Ares looking around before settling back onto the couch in the reception area.
“She spiked his coffee with enough laxative to kill an elephant, Cleo!” Hart roars, sounding so horrified that I almost feel sorry for giving Alex the idea.
Almost.
The problem is, I don’t feel guilty. I’m annoyed and frustrated and so antsy that I feel like I’ll crawl out of my skin at any minute. The only time I’m not overthinking things and overanalyzing my situation is when I’m having sex with my…Hart. Just Hart. He is not my boyfriend, and we are not “together.” We’re just having fun.
I have the right to just have fun and enjoy a no-strings relationship. I have the right! I shouldn’t be sleeping next to him every night, staring at his face like some sort of creeper. Doing things like licking his toothbrush and smelling his underwear that’s in the hamper. There is something wrong with me, I swear to God!
“So? Look, she told him that he could hang with her if he stopped flirting with her boss. He didn’t stop. In fact, he made a date with her for tonight,” I say accusingly, giggling when Rose performs a rolling sprint and motions for me to follow.
We’re sneaking out of her office, where I’ve been for two hours, ever since Pop and Ma dropped me off here because I was bored at their house and driving them insane. What can I say? I just have that effect on people.
“That’s what Achilles does.”
“Because all you Hart men are man-pigs. We’ve been over this already. Now, stop whining and get some work done. Didn’t you complain just this morning that people are screwing things up because you’re not there to supervise? So, supervise,” I tell him, holding in a gasp when I try to roll and end up slamming headfirst into the filing cabinet. “Ouch!”
“Cleo-mine? What’s happening? Are you okay? Do you need me?” he yells, sounding so panicked that it’s almost adorable.
Almost.
For a girl like me, who is used to doing whatever she wants, whenever she wants, this whole Hart business is wearing thin. I can’t stub my freaking toe without the man wanting to take me to the emergency room. It’d be sweet if not for the fact that I’m starting to feel trapped. Which, technically, I am. I spend my days with Ma, who is great, but who is driving me slightly crazy with the wedding planning.
I’ve told her maybe three dozen times that I’m not walking down no stinking aisle with her perfect stinking son. So far, however, my color scheme is red and silver, the guest list is three hundred strong, and if I weren’t such a putz, I wouldn’t already have the perfect dress on pre-order. Goddammit!
“No. What I need is for you to chill out. You’re killing me here, Hart. I need some freaking space already,” I mutter, rubbing at my head after Rose helps me up from my sprawl, her eyes silently hissing at me to hang up.
I would, but I don’t want Hart getting suspicious. Plus I love hearing about Chilli Hart and how he was shitting so loudly, and so much, that they had to call the EMTs to come and take a look at him. Right now, he’s on a drip getting rehydrated, because when I say one spoon of Laxo, Alex interprets it as six. And almost kills the man.
Serves him right, though.
“You can have space after I kill the bastard who tried to hurt you.”
“Or you!” I hiss-yell, rolling my eyes dramatically and sneaking behind a desk when Ares glances towards Rose’s office.
I get a eyeful of Glennie Apple’s crotch in the process, but I kinda like it because she always smells like apples. Everywhere. I wonder what kind of soap she uses—
“Not me, Cleo-mine. You. I told you—”
“Yeah, yeah. I heard it already. Some psycho is coming after me because I’m so damned perfect and pretty and smart and blah, blah, blah. I told you. You’re prettier. Someone probably wanted to kidnap you and keep you in the basement as a sex toy.”
Rose snickers at this, as does Glennie, her face turning a deep red when she notices where my face is.
“Dammit. When are you going to start taking this seriously?” he yells, the anger in his tone giving me pause for all of about two seconds.
“When I believe it. I’m just not stalking material, Hart. I already explained that.”
“You are. If you think that no one can see past your dyed eyebrows, your ugly, old-lady clothes, and your orthopedic shoes, then you’re an idiot! You’re fucking gorgeous, and anyone with eyes can see that.”
“Aww, are you flirting with me?” I croon, peeking up over the desk before Rose grabs me and helps me roll-run toward the elevator.
Just as planned, Elsie Hanes struts over, blocking Ares’ view with boobs so big that I wonder how they fit in the crane that lifted those things into her plastic surgeon’s operating room. I like big boobs, but those are just…obscene. I wonder if her nipples are still alive.
“I flirt with you every goddamn day, Cleo,” he mutters, the sound of shuffling paper drowning out the whoosh of the elevator doors.
“Oh, thank God!” Rose mumbles, falling against the wall with a sigh.
In her navy blue power suit and sky-high heels, she looks great, which I do not because I’ve taken this “dressing down” thing a little too far. Today’s dress code includes a flowery sundress, brown socks, and those Birkenstock sandals that Mom wore after she had a bunion removed. I look like someone a serial killer wouldn’t ever look twice at. Hence the reason that I don’t believe this whole stalking nonsense.
Not that I’m not taking it seriously. I am. I’m horrified that Hart doesn’t seem to think that he’s stalking material, and so Rose and I are doing something that no one else seems inclined to do. We’re going to investigate Hart and find out who’s after him. Simple.
“I gotta go. Rose wants me to listen to another one of her awful closing arguments, and you know how mean she gets when no one pays attention to her,” I sigh, lying through my teeth.
“Fine, leave me hanging, like always. It’s not like I have feelings.”
Sheesh.
“You have to work, and besides, I don’t want to argue with you anymore. If you stop pouting and sulking, I’ll do that thing you like with the…” I trail off when Rose gags and falls against the wall, pretending to choke.
Hart just sighs, and I can practically hear him getting hard.
“You’re a damn tease, Sweet. But okay, you’ve got a deal. Now, be good for Ares, and I’ll pick you up tonight.”
I’m not lying when I say goodbye, and I don’t feel all that bad when Rose and I make it out of her building, into her car, and onto the road, our destination the Hart Inc. building, where I plan to use all of Rose’s know-how to stalk my own�
��Hart.
“This’d better work. He gets pouty when I lie to him,” I warn Rose, ignoring her scowl and the fact that this was all my idea.
“It’ll work. Trust me. I know what I’m doing here.”
Chapter Thirteen
Cleo
We make it back to Rose’s office in the nick of time, somehow managing to sneak by Ares undetected. I’m still panting and trying to get my breathing under control when Hart walks in, his tie hanging loose and his top button undone, looking so sexy that I give up trying to breathe properly and just drool.
That’s the thing about Hart. He’s undeniably attractive, and no matter what I tell myself, when I see him, I want him. It’s like my brain stops working when he’s near, and this is proven to be true when he grins and struts in, leaning down to kiss me before I can even blink.
“Hello, Cleo-mine. You’re looking a little breathless there, babe,” he purrs, the damn man mistaking my wheezing for out-and-out awe.
Not that I’m complaining, mind you. It gives me a minute to collect myself, and it gives Rose time to stash our contraband in her desk drawer. As timing goes, we cut it so close that I was screaming uncontrollably all the way back here. Rose was no better, sideswiping someone’s car and yelling at me to shut up when I told her to pull over.
It sucked running up a billion flights of stairs, though thank God I’m still wearing the Birks, or I wouldn’t have made it. How Rose sprinted up in those skyscrapers is beyond me. She obviously has superpowers—and if she doesn’t, then she’s just plain talented.
“Hey, Hart. Whatcha doing here?” I ask, flushing guiltily because the whole reason we fled his office—and almost killed four people getting here—is that we were staking it out for most of the day, and we saw him leave.
Alex herself texted us just moments before he came out, and thank God she did, because we peeled out of there in the nick of time. Rose is really smart, and she proved that she knows how to super-stalk someone with every methodical step we took this morning—like getting Alex in place in the Hart Inc. offices. The laxative was my idea, though. Then calling in Elsie and making sure that Donald, Rose’s boss, would maintain the “no friends in the office rule,” though how he explained why I could be there is a mystery.
