Profit & Lace: A Dark MMF Romance

by Abby Angel

This is it.

  And whom am I kidding? This is harder than anything I've ever fucking done in my life.

  I look down at my feet, and shuffle them against the carpet. I raise my hand to the door, and then retract it for a moment.

  Just fucking knock, I tell myself, but my body is having a hard time believing what I'm saying.

  Then I take another deep breath, raise my fist, and rap my knuckles against her door. My heart starts to gallop, but I steady my breathing and convince myself to calm the fuck down. This is what I do for a living. I advise people all the time on financial decisions.

  I just need to view Eliza as another Stackford Capital client, not as someone from my past.

  At first I don't hear anything, and my mind begs me to leave. It puts up a good argument too. Just as I nearly convince myself to come back some other time, I hear the steady click of a woman's heels approach the door. Then, the lock clicks back, and the door swings open.

  There, standing in the doorway, is Eliza.

  She's grown up, and even more beautiful than I remember her. Time has favored her, that's for fucking sure. My heart kicks in my chest as the light bounces off of her long, blonde hair that cascades down her face like some untouchable, holy waterfall.

  Her face is delicate, but confident, and I watch as her eyes take me in.

  I'm immediately overcome by her scent—heavy with violets, and oak moss, and musk. It's like taking a seductive walk into unfamiliar woods.

  She looks me up and down, and for a moment, I wonder if she even remembers who I am.

  Then a smile slowly registers across her face. It's an undeniable moment of recognition.

  "Hello, Daddy."

  Chapter Six

  Eliza

  “Hello, Daddy,” I smile at him, stepping aside as I invite him in. He tries to hide his surprise at my words, but I can see it in his eyes. He wasn’t expecting me to call him daddy. But then again, who is? “Come in,” I continue, and he steps inside my apartment with a confident strut, almost as if he’s trying to hide the way I threw him off.

  I close the door behind us and steal a glance at his body as I do it. Old habits die hard, I guess. I remember him being quite handsome when I was younger and ... Jesus Christ, he was a piece of forbidden sin, but I guess back then I wasn’t mature enough to appreciate the kind of man Derek really is.

  With a face capable of making a woman’s heart stop beating for a few seconds, his body is exactly the kind of thing capable of turning up the heat in the blink of an eye. And when I say ‘turning up the heat’ what I really mean is ‘turning up the wetness’. Yeah, that might be a crass way of putting it, but sometimes being straightforward is the best policy.

  I mean, just look at him! His muscles fill up his tailored Tom Ford suit perfectly, and I can’t help but wonder how cut he is under all these clothes. He looks impressive in a suit, but I bet that’s nothing in comparison to how he must look wearing nothing but hardness between his legs. God, I can’t believe I’m thinking about my stepfather’s cock.

  As he turns up to meet my gaze, I snap my eyes back to his and, for a fraction of a second, a question dances in my mind: is he still fucking my stepmother? They got divorced a while back but, if I were Wanda, I don’t know if I’d be able to simply forego a man like Derek. But what the hell, that’s none of my business. I’ve tried to forget all about Wanda during my time in Europe, and it isn’t like me to be thinking of her right now.

  “So, how does it feel to be back? You’ve been gone for a long time,” Derek asks me, his deep rumbling voice like a spell.

  “Oui, c’est vrai,” I reply in French. Derek’s probably thinking that I’m still the same silly girl I was just when I left but, even though I partied hard these past few years, I’ve also matured and learned a few things along the way.

  “Oh? Très fancy,” he laughs, unbuttoning his jacket and then taking it off. He throws it on top of my couch, and my eyes dart back to his chest, taking in the way the fabric of the shirt hugs his firm pectorals. “I guess you did more than party while in Europe. Picked up some French?”

  “And Italian. And Spanish. Oh, I did much more than just party,” I reply with a chuckle, wetting my lips with the tip of my tongue. “A lot more,” I add with a heavy whisper, and the smile he offers me tells me right away that he knows exactly what else I'm referring to besides partying.

  “Can’t say I’m surprised,” he whispers, his eyes shamelessly running down my body, taking in the round swell of my breasts and the way my hips curve. His eyes are undressing me as we speak, and my heart starts kicking against my chest as a response, warm blood rushing to my cheeks. Pursing my lips, I take a deep breath and try to focus on the situation at hand.

  “Oh, I’m full of surprises. Might be you’ll end up surprised,” I grin, walking past him and making a straight line toward the cabinet at the end of the living room. “Macallan, right?” I ask him as I reach for one of the bottles of whisky, grabbing two low glasses with my free hand.

  “That’s right, how did you know?”

  “Surprised already?” I laugh, pouring some of the aged malt into the two glasses. “I have a good memory. For instance,” I push one of the glasses into his hands, “I still remember that you like your whisky neat. Just like I do.” With that, I raise my glass and push it softly against his in a make-do toast.

  “You’re really full of surprises,” he says, swirling the whisky around and taking in its scent. He then closes his eyes and takes a gulp. “Perfect.”

  “So, Daddy,” I whisper teasingly, once again that wicked word finding its way to my mouth. I guess it’s part of my DNA to be a bad girl. “To what do I owe the visit?” I look into his eyes and see something there, something I can’t quite put my finger on.

  “Well,” he clears his throat, and then drinks some more Macallan before continuing, “you’ve just inherited a fortune. You’re still young and inexperienced, and so I thought I could offer you my help and --”

  “Yeah, yeah. Sure,” I tell him, downing my whisky all at once and setting my glass down on the coffee table at the center of the living room. “You came here to offer me your help,” I say, turning to him, “just like half the people in this city. Everyone wants to offer a helping hand once they find out you’ve just inherited $250 billion dollars.”

  It’s true, since I landed in New York City my personal assistants have been swamped with phone calls coming from everywhere in the States. Even the President has called to let me know how he appreciates if I keep that money in the states and invest it in our country. Everyone wants a piece of the Seymour fortune. And shame on me for thinking that Derek Stackford could be any different. Sure, he might be my stepfather, but I doubt that would be enough to make him come here and knock at my door. But $250 billion, well, that’s an incentive to connect with his long lost stepdaughter, isn’t it?

  A word of warning—if you think money is the key to a happy life, snap out of it. More often that not, having money (well, at least more money than God) just makes you lonely and estranged from the world around you.

  “It’s not like that,” he starts, but I just look at him with a calculating expression, ice now in my veins.

  “No? Tell me what it’s like then,” I shoot back, pouring myself one more glass of whisky. Then, before I even notice it, he’s by my side. He takes the glass out of my hands and sets it down on the table; grabbing me by the wrist, he makes me turn to him.

  “You’re my daughter, Eliza,” he says, seriousness deepening the gentle lines on his face.

  “Stepdaughter,” I correct him, but he doesn’t even seem to be hearing me right now.

  “You’re my daughter,” he repeats, “and I came here to offer you my support.” His eyes are focused on mine and, for an instant I can almost feel the world around me fading away. My eyes slowly fall down to his lips and the sound of my heartbeat drowns out everything else. “I know we aren’t exactly close … but maybe it’s time we fix that,” he continues,
and my insides clench as I watch his lips move. God, I could lose myself in these lips. I could succumb to his embrace and to his body, and I could do it right now… “I can help, Eliza.”

  With that, I close my eyes and I’m almost ready to surrender when a voice cuts through the moment like a knife.

  “And what exactly are you going to help her with, Derek? A wet t-shirt contest company?”

  Opening my eyes fast, I take one step back from Derek and look toward Carter, coming from the kitchen with two glasses of red wine in his hands.

  “What the fuck?” Derek says, looking from Carter to me with a confused look on his face. But, more than confusion, there’s also anger there. “What the fuck is he doing here?” he snaps at me, his words coming out like a growl.

  Smiling, I just shrug.

  “Carter came in for a visit. Just like you. He got here fifteen minutes before you,” I tell Derek, and I gotta say… I’m enjoying this. He came in here thinking that, perhaps, he could play the charming experienced man to a naive girl. But I’m far ahead of him. If he thinks I’m a dumb girl with too much money on her hands, he’s in for a rude awakening.

  “Fuck,” Derek hisses, and I notice his hands balling into fists.

  No love lost between the two of them, it seems.

  “He even called me three days ago when I landed. Wanted to know what I was up to,” I say.

  “You know he’s trying to get your money, don’t you, Eliza?” Derek sneers. “He’s broke. Everyone on the Street knows he made some bad bets.”

  “Of course I know,” I snap. But in truth it’s news to me.

  I need to regain the momentum.

  “The bigger question, boys,” I say as Carter takes a step closer. “Is which one of you is going to get me?”

  Chapter Seven

  Carter

  I was getting a bottle of wine from the kitchen as I heard someone knocking at the door. And believe me when I say it: I couldn’t be happier that I waited in the kitchen as Derek stepped inside Eliza’s apartment. Without knowing that I could hear him, he revealed his hand right from the start. Despite his charming words and confident posture, he started to circle Eliza like a shark because of her fortune.

  Not that Eliza spared me any. But I don’t mind. I know what I need to do. I know what steps to take and I’ll see them through. All I need is an investor. And I’m confident that I can show my track record to get that from this tiny slip of a girl.

  But Derek. I need to put a stop to that asshole. He thinks he can just waltz in here and get cash?

  Hell, I had to call Eliza. Talk to her. Give her some time. Make an appointment to come see her after a sufficient waiting period so I don’t seem desperate. Can’t seem desperate for money. Ever.

  But I gotta admit. I’ve been prospecting for clients and for money before, but this has been the most enjoyable. Talking to her on the phone - she’s got a voice like honey. Talking to her in person - she’s got a body makes my cock salute. I knew she’s grown up. I’m going to say it over and over but I can’t get enough of her. She’s perfect.

  But she’s not for me. I have one mission with her. Cash.

  And she’s not for Derek either.

  Now, looking straight at him, I can’t help but enjoy the confusion taking over his face. He definitely wasn’t expecting to see me here. Well, tough luck, Derek; unfortunately for you, there’s more than one man whom Eliza may call her father.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, Carter?” Derek asks once more, taking one step toward me. “Came to see if Eliza would throw a few million your way? When you having the bankruptcy fire sale? I need some new chairs.”

  “You’re the one offering your … how did you put it? Help, right? You were offering Eliza your expertise. Which is quite a surprising way to convince her to invest in whatever company you have set your eyes on this time.”

  I look him straight in the eyes, and I can feel the air around us warming up. It’s as if the gates of hell have opened, and its devilish warmth has crawled outside. Derek is clenching his jaw and gritting his teeth so hard that his face looks like it was carved in marble. He hates my guts, there’s no doubt about it. Fair enough, after seeing him that close to Eliza, his hungry eyes focused on her lips, I gotta say that the feeling is mutual.

  “You think you’re quite the smartass, don’t you, Carter?” he whispers, and I notice that he has turned his hands into fists. “You’re just a fucking asshole hiding behind nice words and a smile.”

  Yeah, I knew that was coming. You see, there’s something of a thorn in our past. Wanda—Eliza’s mother—left Derek because of me, and he never forgave me for that. I don’t want to shrug off whatever responsibility I had in that affair, but it’s not like I’m the one he should be blaming.

  I met Wanda at one of those glamour parties and she was the one approaching me at the time. And, whatever you might say about her, she’s one fine looking woman. In fact, I can only think of one woman capable of shining brighter than Wanda, and that’s her own daughter.

  So, back then, one drink led to another, and next thing I know Wanda's holding my hand and guiding me toward one of the bedrooms of the house we were in. She seduced me much in the same way I imagine Cleopatra seduced all these roman emperors. Before I knew it, I had her pinned against the wall and was lifting her dress up, my mind commanding my body to do all the things my vivid imagination was producing.

  And that’s exactly what I did.

  I never even noticed if she was wearing a wedding ring. As far as I knew back then, she was just a beautiful woman who had awakened that primal side of me. She only broke it to me after sex, when we were both lying together in silence, drenched in sweat. “I’m married,” she said out of the blue, looking up at the ceiling. I said nothing, and decided, right then and there, to let the chips fall where they may. Wanda left Derek a few weeks later and, just a few months after that, I was proposing to her. Yeah, can’t say that I was thinking that clearly at the time.

  That was a bitter pill for Derek to swallow. He’s competitive as hell and, if there’s one thing I know about him, it's that he hates to lose more than anything in life. And to lose his wife to another man … I guess that was a blow too strong for him to take. I don’t even think he got heartbroken about Wanda leaving; he just hated the fact that he lost to another man.

  But Wanda left me soon afterwards as well. So, yeah, karma worked out the whole situation and balanced things out. Of course, after all this, Derek and I never saw eye-to-eye. The whole thing left a bad taste in both of our mouths.

  Now, I know I deserve some of his hate, sure. But Derek has always been an asshole, and I sure as hell won’t give him a free pass just because we both have the same ex-wife. As tough as it is to say it, I won’t let a sob story make me forget about the kind of man he is.

  “Derek, why don’t you do yourself a favor and leave before you embarrass yourself any further?” I tell him, trying to keep myself calm. “You probably mean well by offering Eliza your help, but you’re way in over your head in this one.”

  “Is that so, uh? And I bet you’re the one who's going to help her invest all that money, right?” he shoots right back, his smart eyes trying to pierce my very soul. I grit my teeth, looking at him in silence, electricity crackling between the two of us.

  It’s true what he said, there’s no denying it. I came to visit Eliza because my company is in dire need of money but, unlike whatever proposal Derek has on his mind, I know that Eliza will make money with me. If that weren’t the case, I would've never have come looking for her and try to convince her to invest with me. After all, she’s my stepdaughter, even if we aren’t close, I would never screw with her.

  “She’ll make money with me,” I simply tell Derek, peeling my eyes off from his and focusing on Eliza. She’s looking at us both with an amused look on her face, her hands on her hips. “Like I told you, Eliza, I --”

  Without caring for my words, she steps between Derek and I and pla
ces her hands on both of our chests. More than amused now, she looks bored and slightly pissed, as if the show we've been putting on has dragged on for too long.

  “Enough,” she simply sighs, looking from me to him. “I’ve heard you talk for too long and, to be honest, you’re boring the hell out of me.” Opening up into a smile, she then continues. “It’s clear that you’re both interested in … helping me out, right? Well, why don’t you give me some time to think it over? Let’s meet, the three of us, three days from now.”

  I’m about to reply when I realize that she isn’t asking a question. She’s making a statement.

  “Fair enough,” Derek grunts, once again looking at me with that pissed off expression of his.

  “Now, get out,” Eliza says, turning her back to us and taking a glass of wine from my hands. She takes her lips to the glass and then continues in a casual tone. “I gotta masturbate, I need to clear my head.”

  My jaw almost drops to the floor as I hear her say it.

  Eliza is one of a kind—that much is for sure.

  Chapter Eight

  Good Day, USA

  Margie:

  Welcome to Good Day USA. I’m your host, Margie Preston.

  Juliette:

  And I’m Juliette Bar.

  Margie:

  Well, Operation Eliza Watch is in full swing. It’s been one week, and Eliza Seymour is already creating quite the stir in New York City.

  Margie:

  That’s right Juliette. The young heiress has been out and about in the glittering world of New York's glamorous elite. But something seems different this time according to those who know her.

  Juliette:

  That’s right Margie. If anyone watches this program, or keeps up with the New York City social scene, they’ll know that Eliza Seymour has always been rather … what’s the word? Unconventional? Unorthodox? Uninhibited?