Shacking Up

by Helena Hunting

  A week is not really enough time to make a highly informed decision regarding shacking up. But I’m really enjoying having Ruby in my bed every night. She gives incredible blow jobs. She has a naughty mouth. She likes it when I talk dirty to her. And that’s just the sexual compatibility, which has nothing on how compatible we are beyond the bedroom.

  It’s been two hours since I left Ruby sleeping in my bed. Four hours since I’ve been inside her. I already feel as if I’m going through withdrawal.

  Hours have never felt more like eternity than they do right now. The more we keep doing this, the more aware I become that we really need to stop dancing around conversations and figure out what this is. There’s no timeline on moving out, but I’m well aware that she’s been actively seeking a new agent and that she’s looking to audition for roles that will take her closer to Broadway.

  It’s a bit of a messy situation I’ve gotten myself into. If I’m completely honest, I’m still a little angry at her for lying about her job, although I can understand why she did. It took me a long while to come to terms with the fact that a lot of people in my family’s social sphere would never approve of my career in rugby, even though it was completely legitimate and I made an excellent salary. Her situation is admittedly different.

  The one thing I’m still having difficulty getting past with this entire situation, is that I assumed I’d earned enough of her trust that she’d be honest with me, and I worry that she’s still going to feel compelled to withhold things.

  Unfortunately, that conversation isn’t going to happen right now because I’m sitting in my office, waiting for my father to call me into a meeting. I received the call at eight this morning, which is a time I’m usually up, but Ruby and I were pretty busy last night, and it was late by the time I was done fucking all the orgasms out of her sweet, hot pussy. Also, it’s a Saturday. So being called into work is a bit of a piss off. Being made to wait is even more infuriating. The office phone rings, so I hit speaker, assuming it’s my father, finally calling me into the emergency meeting. It’s not. It’s my mother.

  “Hello, Bancroft, how are you this morning?” Phone conversations with my mother are fairly formal for whatever reason. She’s a good person, but sometimes she gets far too caught up in the gossip that circulates in her friend pool. Most discussions include the latest scandal.

  “I’m fine. Waiting for my father to call me into this emergency meeting.”

  “Ah. Yes. He shouldn’t be long now. He just left the house.”

  “He just left? He called me two hours ago telling me I needed to be at the office immediately.”

  “Yes. Well, he was . . . distracted. He’s on his way now.”

  I cringe. Distracted has meanings I don’t want to think too much about.

  “Is that why you called? To tell me he’s running late.”

  “Oh! No. I wanted to make sure you’re still able to come for dinner next weekend.”

  “Of course. It’s already marked on the calendar. Do you need me to bring anything?”

  “It’s being catered.”

  “Okay.” Of course it’s being catered. My mom doesn’t spend much time in the kitchen unless she’s pouring a glass of wine. We always had a chef growing up. And a nanny or two made it possible for her to go to her fundraising meetings while me and my brothers went to our various lessons. Mine were always of the sports variety.

  “We’re having a few friends join us, so it won’t just be family.”

  “Oh.” I tap on the desk with my pen. I wonder who my mother is inviting, and why. “Is it possible for me to bring a date, then?” It’s on a weekend, so it’s unlikely that Ruby will even be able to attend since she works, so I’m not sure why I’m asking.

  There’s silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds.

  “Mimi?” I didn’t grow up calling her mom, although that’s how I refer to her when I’m not in her presence.

  “It would be best if you didn’t.”

  “Won’t Griffin be bringing Imogen?”

  “Well, of course, she’s his girlfriend.”

  “So why can’t I bring a date?”

  “The Thorton’s are coming.”

  I thought I’d managed to evade Brittany and the second date. “Mom.”

  She makes a disapproving tsking sound.

  “I thought we already talked about this,” I remind her.

  “You were ill last time. Brittany is a lovely girl.”

  Brittany is pampered and a pain in the ass. I’ve been avoiding her calls since I went out with her all those weeks ago.

  “I’m seeing someone.” I might as well be upfront about it, maybe it will help allow me to evade more Brittany interactions.

  “Since when?”

  “It’s recent.”

  “So it’s not serious then? Bringing her to dinner would make it awkward for Brittany, and I arranged this before you were seeing someone. I can’t really change the plans now. And your father has business with her father,” she’s imploring now.

  Of course there’s business involved. My father can’t do it any other way. I wish I didn’t feel the need to cave for my mother, but it’s not as though Ruby will be able to join me anyway. “Fine. I’ll do this for you, but it’s the last time.”

  “That’s all I ask.”

  It’s a dinner, with family and a few friends, so it’s not even technically a date. It’s still frustrating.

  Another call interrupts the one with my mother. I’m hopeful it’s my father. I’d like to get this meeting over with so I can get home to Ruby before she has to work tonight.

  “I have to go, I have another call.”

  “Okay. Thank you for making this easy for me. Have a good day. We’ll chat soon, Banny.”

  “Bye, Mom.” I hang up before I can get angry with her. She knows how much I hate being called Banny.

  It’s my father’s personal assistant, alerting me that the meeting will begin in five minutes in the conference room. Only two hours and twenty minutes later than I anticipated. I could’ve been in bed with Ruby this entire time.

  I gather my things and head down the hall. My father is already sitting at the head of the table. His assistant sets down a coffee and several folders.

  “So. What’s the emergency?” I ask as I slide into a chair beside Griffin.

  “One of the London properties has an issue.”

  I’m suddenly uneasy. “One of the ones I was working on?”

  He shakes his head and I breathe a sigh of relief. My father hates errors.

  “Lex was managing it.”

  That’s a surprise. I had no idea he was managing anything outside of the four hotels we’d been asked to oversee while we were there.

  “Which hotel?”

  “The Concord.”

  We’d stopped in there briefly, so I could get acquainted with the building and the managerial staff while we were in the area. It’s a well-established hotel, up to date, not in need of any real work as far as I knew. “What’s the problem? I didn’t think we were working on that hotel.”

  “We weren’t supposed to until next year. It looks like some corners were cut regarding permits.”

  That’s not good. I have to wonder if this was what he was taking care of when he went back to London ahead of me. Lex slips into the boardroom, looking rough.

  He drops into the chair beside our father. “Sorry I’m late. What’d I miss?”

  My father flips open the file folder and pushes it toward him. “Why don’t you have a look for yourself.”

  Lex’s smile drops and he blanches.

  Three hours later I’m still sitting in the meeting. The first hour was my dad chewing out Lex. There was nothing I could do to help him, since I didn’t know he was working on the project in the first place. The past two hours have been taken up with reviewing the original plans for the minor renovations to the ballroom and the indoor pool at The Concord, which weren’t scheduled for another full year. Secur
ing permits for this kind of upgrade shouldn’t have been difficult.

  The indoor pool is where the problem seems to be. I’m barely listening at this point. It’s already early afternoon. I don’t dare send any messages or my father will likely shit a brick. He’s in a foul mood. I’d really like some time to talk to Ruby. If I don’t get out of here before two, I’m not going to have enough time to get home before she leaves for work.

  “Isn’t that right, Bancroft?”

  I look up from the paper I’ve been scribbling on. I’ve managed to draw a circle. With another circle inside it. And another inside that one. It looks remarkably like a breast.

  “I’m sorry. Pardon?”

  My father looks annoyed. It’s not good. I don’t want to piss him off more than he already is.

  “You’ll oversee the acquisition of the new permits.”

  “I don’t have the background on this project.”

  He taps his pen on the desk three times in succession, then flips it into his palm. It’s one of his little quirks. When he’s angry or frustrated it comes out through small, controlled body movements. That was definitely the wrong thing to say. “You have the basics from this meeting. I’ll send Griffin along with you.”

  Griffin and I glance at each other. It seems to be as much of a surprise to him as it is to me.

  “I can fix this,” Lexington says. “I’ll go on my own.”

  Our father turns his angry gaze on Lex. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. You’ll be here, in the office, reviewing permit code for as long as it takes to get this sorted out.”

  Lex’s mouth flattens into a straight line, but he keeps his mouth shut. None of us dare say anything to contradict our father. At least not here, where there are so many people to witness it.

  “You’ll leave this evening.”

  “Today?” Griffin and I ask at the same time.

  My father gives us the same hard look we used to get as kids when we’d gotten caught doing something we shouldn’t. “This needs to be sorted out immediately and we can’t do it remotely. We need the investors to feel confident that we have the situation under control.”

  “How long are we going to be there?”

  “For as long as it takes to iron things out. If you’re quick, you could be back by the end of the week.”

  I grit my teeth. I don’t want to go away again. I want to be in my condo with my pets. And Ruby. We need to have a conversation. A real one. A serious one. Unfortunately, it looks like that’s still on hold.

  Chapter 19: I Hate Brittany

  RUBY

  I wake to an empty bed, which isn’t much of a surprise since morning has passed and afternoon approaches. My entire body is sore, thanks to the new addition to my workout routine in the form of Bancroft. That man can fuck like nobody’s business.

  I stretch out, smiling, and call Bancroft’s name. I’m greeted with silence. That’s odd. It’s Saturday, and he didn’t say anything about having to go to the office. Throwing off the covers I sit up, the muscle aches amplifying as I get out of bed and pad—naked—down the hall to the kitchen. The French press sits on the counter half-full. I touch the side. The coffee is cool, meaning it must’ve been made hours ago.

  “Bancroft?” I call again. I still get nothing.

  Maybe he’s in his office wearing headphones. He does that sometimes out of consideration, since my hours are so much later than his. I tiptoe over and peek around the corner. He’s not there either. What the heck?

  Heading back to the kitchen, I root around in my bag until I finally find my phone. Maybe he went out to pick us up something to eat. He’s considerate like that as well. The only messages I have are from Amie. She’s been out of town for the past week on a honeymoon test run. That’s right, she and Armstrong have gone away for a week to see if they like the location enough to return for their honeymoon. It’s a Mills hotel, so I can’t imagine they won’t love it. I check the counter, which is where I find one of Bancroft’s runelike scrawls.

  Emergency meeting. Not sure when I’ll be back.

  Bane

  I frown, disappointed that my nakedness will go to waste and that the start to my day isn’t going nearly as well as the end of my night. Scrolling through my phone, I check my messages from Amie.

  She returned from her pre-honeymoon test run and we have a lunch date. I check the time. Crapdoodles. I have less than an hour to get ready and meet her in Midtown. A shower is a must, I smell like Bancroft and sex.

  Firing a message off to let Amie know I’m on my way, I rush to my room to shower. Twenty minutes later I’m fresh and dressed. My hair is still damp, but it’ll dry on the way. I slap on some makeup, grab my purse, and run out the door.

  Amie’s already at the restaurant when I get there. She’s never late for anything. She puts down her phone when I slide into the seat across from her.

  “I was just about to text you. How are you? How are things since Bancroft’s been back? I feel like we haven’t talked in forever.” She looks around then leans closer and drops her voice. “Has he walked around the condo shirtless?”

  I feel badly that I’ve been riding Bancroft’s disco stick for a week and my best friend doesn’t even know. Although that’s not really my fault since she hasn’t been around to tell. And I also feel bad that I haven’t been honest with her about other things. So I tell her everything. Well, almost everything. We’re in a public place so there are things I’m not willing to say aloud for fear of someone overhearing. But I tell her about the job, and Bancroft coming to the club last week and getting angry about my lie.

  The waiter brings us our lunches just before I get to the best part. I take a pause while he sets our plates in front of us. I’ve ordered steak frites, which are just French fries with a fancy name and Amie has ordered a salad.

  “They forgot your dressing.” I point out.

  “I don’t need it.”

  “Without dressing it’s just a plate of leaves.”

  “I like the natural flavors.” She waves her fork around. “So Bancroft drove you home, then what happened?”

  I drop the salad dressing issue and continue with my story. I censor out all the best parts, like the curling for orgasms and the dirty talk and the awesome blow job I gave and finish with, “And then we had sex.” I pop a fry into my mouth and wait.

  Amie stares at me for a few long seconds, unmoving. She glances around the restaurant and brings her hand up so no one can see what she says, even though she practically mouths the words, “You slept with him?”

  I nod.

  “Oh my God.” She exhales a breath, eyes wide, and blinking and sets down her fork. “You slept with him a week ago and didn’t tell me until now?” She looks hurt, which is not what I want.

  I lean in closer and drop my voice, imploring her to understand. “I haven’t had a chance. You were away. This is the first time I’ve seen you since it happened and I didn’t want to tell you over the phone, because, well, it’s not over-the-phone kind of news.”

  She sits back in her chair. “Was it just the once?”

  I shake my head.

  “How many times?”

  I shrug. “I’ve lost count. A lot.”

  “It sounds like your week was more exciting than mine,” she mutters. “So this is a relationship now?”

  I stab a fry with my fork. “I don’t know. We haven’t talked about that yet.”

  “You’ve been getting naked with each other for the past week and you haven’t had a relationship conversation, yet?” Amie smooths her napkin out. “You’re not really a fling kind of girl. Does he know that? Do you know if he wants a relationship?”

  I shrug again. I don’t actually have an answer to that. The only conversations we’ve had about relationships were before he left, and maybe once over the phone when we discussed how difficult it would be to have a relationship when he was traveling all the time. But he’s home now, and he hasn’t mentioned traveling—although we haven’t been doin
g much in the way of talking this past week outside of moans and orgasms.

  I consider how much time I’ve spent “with” him over the last several weeks. If I’m honest with myself it’s felt like a relationship since before he came back from the UK.

  “I guess you need to talk to him and figure out if you’re both on the same page,” Amie says, pulling me out of my head.

  I nod.

  “Do you think you are?”

  “I think so? Maybe? God, I hope casual hookups aren’t his thing.”

  “I’m sure he wants the same thing you want. I guess now you’ll really need to find your own apartment. Can you afford that yet?” Amie pats my hand in a consoling gesture. I think I might be starting to panic a little.

  “I can’t live there anymore.” It’s not a question. It’s just that reality is hitting me, and it’s a lot like being smacked in the face with a giant penis. Bancroft’s giant penis.

  “It might be easier if you have your own place now that you’re sleeping together.”

  I nod dumbly. She’s 100 percent accurate on this. I can’t live with Bancroft if we’re in the beginning stages of dating. If that’s even what’s going to happen. Beyond that, my relying on him financially creates a power imbalance I’m not too keen on. I don’t want to feel like my services are being bought, even if they’re as incredible as he tells me they are.

  “So?”

  “Huh?” I’ve gapped out again.

  She mouths the sex and then says, “Is it good?”

  I think about last night. About coming in from work at three in the morning and waking him up with a blow job and the two-hour fuck marathon that then took place. Bancroft thoroughly enjoys testing out my flexibility. We’ve had sex in places and positions I’d never thought possible. And that mouth—sweet lord. “The best.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up. “Really? What’s he like?”

  “Intense.” I lean in to whisper, “He has a very dirty mouth and excellent stamina. He can go for hours.”