Mr. Blakely

by Webster, K

  The Dirty Bits from Carina Press give you what you want, when you want it. Designed to be read in an hour or two, these sex-filled micro-romances are guaranteed to pack a punch and deliver a happily-ever-after.

  It started as a job.

  It turned into so much more.

  Mr. Blakely is strict with his sons, but he’s soft and gentle with me.

  The powerful businessman is something else entirely when we’re together.

  Boss, teacher, lover...husband.

  My hopes and dreams for the future have changed. I want—no, I need—him by my side.

  This book is approximately 33,000 words

  Editor’s note: All characters in this story are over eighteen and all sexual interactions are fully consensual.

  One-click with confidence. This title is part of the Carina Press Romance Promise: all the romance you’re looking for with an HEA/HFN. It’s a promise!

  The Dirty Bits from Carina Press: what you want, when you want it. Over-the-top sexy micro-romances designed to be read in an hour or two.

  Dedication

  Mr. Webster...thank you for keeping me in line.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Madd Ink by Dani René

  Acknowledgments

  Also by K Webster

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Quinn

  Fifteen years of marriage down the drain.

  Six words was all it took to wash it all away.

  I’m going to be an actress.

  It took everything in me not to throttle Samantha when she told me. A forty-year-old woman had a torrid affair with her much younger personal-trainer-slash-wannabe-fucking-model and together they ran out west to pursue this stupid goddamned dream.

  That was three months ago and I’ve been drowning ever since.

  Thank fuck, though, she finally signed the divorce decree.

  “You’re a free man,” my buddy and divorce attorney, Dane Alexander, says with a wolfish grin. “We should celebrate tonight.”

  I scrub my palm down my face and shake my head. “I’d love to, trust me. But I don’t have anyone to watch the boys.”

  Samantha also left two children behind.

  Being a movie star was more important than her own fucking kids.

  She sent a postcard that told the boys she was pursuing her dream and when she made it big they could come live with her. She’d signed it with a red lipstick kiss mark. I’d been so pissed at her stupid attempt to reach out that I crumpled the card in my fist and threw it away. Neither Aiden nor Anthony ever saw it.

  I need help. And from someone who hates to ask for help, this is probably the most frustrating part of the entire divorce. Samantha may have been an idiot toward the end, but she ran the kids around and was there with them if I had to work late. The school stuff was on her too.

  And now?

  I’m definitely sinking.

  Making sure they stay out of trouble, bathe as they should, and stay on top of their homework is a full-time job. A job I’m not at all equipped to handle.

  “It’s Friday. Get a sitter for the night,” Dane says with a shrug as he collects the signed and finalized documents before sliding them into a manila folder. “You’ve been burning the candle at both ends, man. You need a break.”

  Hell yeah I need a break.

  I glance at my friend with a frown. “Sammie always handled that stuff. I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “Max’s girl Sophia babysits sometimes although I don’t know if she does it much after her softball injury. I could give him a call,” he offers.

  A night out is exactly what I need. Every day I bust my ass to keep Blakely Advertising busy and profitable. That means lots of client meetings that run well past the time the boys get out of school. For the past three months, I’ve had to rely on Sammie’s friends in the neighborhood to keep them for me. And while they feel sorry for me, their loyalty still lies with Samantha. I can see the questions dancing in their eyes. The way their collagen-filled lips purse together in disappointment. As if I ran her off rather than her running away.

  “Sure.” I need more than simply a babysitter for the night. So much more. But maybe this is a good start. “Ask if she does any tutoring.”

  While Dane calls Max, I busy myself checking emails. Blakely Advertising was a dream after college. I’d hustled for nearly a decade building my company when I’d bumped into Sammie at the gym. All legs. Blond hair and blue eyes. Tits for days. She was a goddamned wet dream. I fell hard for her. It wasn’t long before I knocked her up and gave her my last name. I thought we were happy.

  Boy, was I fucking wrong.

  “Thanks, buddy,” Dane says and hangs up his phone. He pushes a slip of paper across the table to me. “Ava Prince. She’s a friend of Olivia, Max’s oldest daughter. He said she’d been looking to make some extra cash for the summer and tutors some kids already. Olivia is going to let her know to expect your call and vouch that you’re not a creepy fuck.” He smirks at me. “Even though you are.”

  I shake my head at him as I take the slip of paper with her number scrawled on it and tuck it in my shirt pocket before standing.

  “Tonight,” he urges with a crooked grin. “Wings and drinks. Then maybe one of us will get laid.”

  I snort and shake my head. “Pussy is what got me into this mess. I would love to get shit-faced though.”

  “Hey, Quinn,” he calls out as I start for the door. I turn to see him watching me with furrowed brows. “You don’t have to be in control of everything always. It’s okay to not know what the fuck is going on or how to fix it.”

  My shoulders stiffen and I crack my neck. “Having complete control is the only thing that keeps me sane these days.” I need it. My life. My family. My job. Everything is planned, everything has rules and parameters, everything has consequences.

  We say our goodbyes and I promise to meet him later, once I’ve secured the sitter. On the way to the car, I dial the number. Max is a judge and his girls have always been well-behaved, so hopefully this Ava girl is too. The last thing I need is some bad teenager watching my boys. They get into enough trouble as it is without help.

  She doesn’t answer and a huff of annoyance escapes me as I climb into my silver Lexus. I’m just about to drive back to the office when someone texts me from an unknown number.

  Hi there. Did you just try to call? I’m in class so I can’t answer.

  Max’s oldest girl is still in high school. Of course she’s in class.

  Quinn Blakely. Max Rowe’s daughter Olivia passed on your info. You’re looking for a job?

  I quickly add her to my contacts.

  I am! Olivia said her dad gave you my number so I was expecting your call. I’m proficient with Microsoft Office. Spreadsheets are my favorite. ;) One of my school hours, I’m a TA for my French teacher. I’m also in the running for valedictorian of my class. Olivia just mentioned you needed help but not much else. What can I do for you?

  She’s an eager little thing. Any doubts of her being a bad influence on my children just flew out the window. They n
eed a good influence. Someone like Ava Prince.

  Do you tutor any?

  Her response is immediate.

  I do! I tutor several of the guys from the track team. Coach Long won’t let them run if they don’t keep As and Bs in their classes.

  She sounds too good to be true. Enthusiastic. Studious. Willing to work.

  Me: Great. I want to hire you. Is $20 an hour a fair amount?

  Ava: Yes, sir. That’s extremely generous. Whom will I be tutoring?

  Me: It’s a little more involved than that, actually. More duties than just tutoring but nothing you can’t handle. Can you meet me at my house promptly after school? I’ll explain in detail and then you can start.

  Ava: Thank you for the opportunity. I’ll see you then.

  I send her the address and she thanks me again. A gigantic weight lifts from my chest. For the first time in months, I feel as though I can breathe. Samantha left me with little warning but I’m finally finding some footing again. This time next year, my ex-wife will be a distant memory.

  I may be forty-three but I have my entire life in front of me.

  Tonight starts day one in finding myself.

  Maybe I can finally be happy.

  Chapter Two

  Ava

  I’m buzzing with excitement but my nerves are jittery. Mr. Blakely was being mildly vague. I am probably reading too much into it as I do everything else. Mom says I’m anal. A shudder ripples through me. I am not anal.

  “I organized the graded tests by alphabet and hour, Madame Clare. Is there anything else you need before I go?” I chirp as I place the neatly arranged stack on her desk.

  Okay, so maybe I am anal.

  She slides her glasses up her nose and pushes some flyaway gray hairs from her face. “Oh, thank you, ma choupette.”

  After being her TA for a third year in a row, I don’t even wince anymore when she calls me ma choupette. At first, I’d been appalled to discover it literally translated to “my cabbage.” But after learning more French, I chilled once I realized it was a term of endearment.

  “Oh, Ava,” she says in her sweet accented voice. “Your pretty brown eyes are shimmering with tears, love. What is the matter?”

  I quickly blink them away and smile at her. “Nothing. I just hope this new job works out. I really want to go to Paris this summer.”

  Madame Clare reaches forward and pats my hand. “If it doesn’t happen, it wasn’t meant to be. You’re brilliant and tenacious and only eighteen. You’ll find your way there and when you do, even if it is ten years from now, I want you to enjoy it. If I had the money to sponsor you, I would. You know I would.”

  “Thank you,” is all I can choke out before giving her a small wave and running out the door.

  My backpack is heavy and full of books which is going to make the walk to Mr. Blakely’s house a difficult one. I sweep my light brown hair into a messy bun and secure it with a pencil as I speed walk out of the building.

  “Hey, nerd,” Chad Acres, my nemesis, taunts from where he’s leaned up against his loud Mustang.

  I stick my tongue out at him and keep walking. Chad has picked on me since the first grade. I’ve tried my best to avoid him but he always shows up wherever I am. And just like every day, he follows me.

  “Don’t be a bitch, Aves,” he grumbles as he falls into step beside me.

  I stop and glare at him. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  He has the sense to look ashamed. In the tenth grade, I let my guard down and believed him when he asked me out. Showed up to the movie theater to meet him as he requested. Chad never arrived but someone had taken photos of me in the theater looking sad and lonely. It wasn’t horrible but it was embarrassing. Everyone laughed about it for a good week after, especially Chad.

  I hate him.

  “Where are you running off to in such a hurry?” he demands, gripping my elbow.

  “I have a job interview,” I say and jerk my arm free. “Now leave me alone.”

  His smirk falls away and his features soften. “Do you need a ride?”

  I shiver because it’s cool out. “I can walk.”

  “Let me take you,” he says, his tone gentler. “No bullshit.” His fingers run through his blond hair. “I was just being a stupid kid back then. Let me make it up to you.”

  Everything in me screams to ignore him and keep on walking but I need this job. If I show up late, that will look bad.

  “Fine,” I huff.

  He goes to take my backpack off my shoulders and I hiss at him. With a wide grin that gets him plenty of girlfriends, he holds his hands up in defense. “I was just trying to be a gentleman but you can keep the bag as long as I keep my fingers.”

  I crack a smile at him.

  Soon, we’re blasting along the streets. Chad drives like a bat out of hell and his old Mustang doesn’t have seatbelts. He drones on about how he and his dad rebuilt the car but they haven’t gotten to adding some things. Important things like seatbelts. I clutch the sides of my seat until my knuckles turn white. When he pulls up in front of an expensive home with a perfectly manicured lawn, he lets out a low whistle.

  “These people have some serious cash.”

  I cringe and grab my bag from the floorboard. “Uh, thanks for the ride.”

  His palm rests on my jean clad thigh and he gives me a shy smile I haven’t seen on him before. “It was my pleasure, Aves.”

  I’m not sure why he’s being so weird but I don’t trust him. He blew that trust away when he led me to believe he liked me. I’ll be damned if I fall for that trick again. Once I’m out of the car and trotting up to the front of the massive home, he peels out. A couple of knocks on the door with no response tells me Mr. Blakely hasn’t made it in yet.

  I sit on the front stoop and pull out my AP Pre-Calculus book. Coach Long’s class is tough and I struggle with it the most. I’m still making a high A but it takes a lot of effort to keep that grade.

  A sleek silver Lexus pulls into the driveway and then parks inside one of the three garage bays attached to the house. I stuff the book into my bag before slinging it over my shoulder. This house is too fancy. I feel out of place here. It’s nothing like the mobile home we live in across town. But the money he’s offering is good. I can suck it up and be uncomfortable for twenty dollars an hour.

  The front door creaks open and a deep voice booms behind me. “You must be Ava Prince. I’m Quinn Blakely.”

  When I turn to greet him, I’m stunned right out of words.

  Tall, dark, and handsome always seemed like a cliché way to describe a good-looking man. But now I get it. Mr. Blakely is tall, well over six foot and certainly towers over my five-foot-six frame. His stylish jet-black hair with some gray peppered in at his temples is long on top and cropped short on the side. It’s been gelled into a style you’d see the models on those fancy GQ magazines wear. The kind of hair that’s been made to look as though it’s just had a woman running her fingers through it. My own fingers twitch with the need to touch it but I fist them instead. And finally, he’s handsome. Scratch that, he’s hot. Like super hot.

  His intense steely gray eyes bore into me as he quickly sizes me up. I feel childish and boring in comparison to such a man. I’m wearing a thin flannel shirt over a white Radiohead T-shirt coupled with a terribly worn pair of jeans and my knock-off red Chucks. I hardly even resemble a girl, much less a woman. I swallow down my unease and offer my hand.

  He steps down the stairs to accept it. As soon as his warm hand envelops my chilled one, I shiver. Not because of the cool spring air but because I’m touching him. Because I can smell him—a sinful mix of cologne I don’t recognize and spice. His wife is a lucky woman.

  “Let’s get you inside, Miss Prince. You’re practically freezing,” he complains. His hand squeezes mine but he releases it before stalking back
in the house.

  Once I collect myself, I hurry in after him. I close the door behind me and admire the fancy house. The foyer is all marbled floors and high ceilings. It’s decorated well but there aren’t any personal touches. In our trailer, the front door opens up into our living room. Mom may be cold at times but our house is warm with memories. Photos of our family litter the space.

  “This way,” Mr. Blakely calls out.

  I follow the sound of his voice into a masculine office. The walls are dark paneled wood and I smell a hint of lingering cigar. He motions to a leather sofa on the wall opposite his desk. Once I sit and abandon my heavy backpack at my feet, he sits beside me. His gray eyes are narrowed and severe. I feel as though he has the capability to cut his way right into my brain with his sharp gaze. I’m momentarily panic-stricken wondering if he knows I find him attractive.

  “You’re eighteen, correct?”

  I nod, my nerves getting the best of me. “Yes, sir.”

  My words seem to relax him slightly. “What I need from you,” he rumbles, his voice low and throaty, “is your time. Lots of it.”

  “It sounds like I already have the job. You don’t want to see my résumé or anything?” I ask in confusion as I start to unzip my bag to retrieve it.

  He waves me off. “That won’t be necessary. If my friends vouch for you, then you’re more than qualified. The job is yours if you want it.” His eyes narrow. “But I need your time. This is important.”

  When Mom used the money for my trip to pay for the repairs on her car, I’d resigned myself to the fact that I’d have to get a full-time job. That instead of spending hours after school studying, I would work.

  “Of course,” I breathe. My fingers knot together as I nervously twist at them. “What other duties besides tutoring? You mentioned there was more.”

  His control slips for a moment and he seems overwhelmed. I can tell a man like Mr. Blakely doesn’t let much get to him. “I need you to be my babysitter. More of a nanny, if you will.”

  My blood runs cold and I scrunch my nose at him. “W-What? I thought you said you needed me to tutor one of your kids?” I pull my résumé from my bag. “If you’ll notice, my work experience is with clerical type jobs with my French teacher and tutoring kids at my school. I’m not sure I’ll make a good babysitter.” I knew this job was too good to be true. He’ll surely send me packing now.