by Sonia Hartl
I flung myself off the still-bucking bull and narrowly avoided getting sideswiped in the head. The mat around the bull was squishy, which made for a painless fall, but a difficult time standing up.
Help me, I mouthed to Mark as I held my chest, where my actual boob was too small to accommodate the cup size.
He tried to push through the crowd, but a panic had broken out. Men screamed and pointed at my errant falsie. Someone called for an ambulance for Jesse. Another yelled that the woman whose boob had been cut off needed a doctor.
It was a complete disaster.
Mark finally made it to me and gripped my waist to lift me over the bullpen railing. I elbowed my way over to Jesse, who sat up, dazed. He glanced at my falsie lying there and scrambled back. As I picked it up and stuffed it back in my bra, his eyes widened with horror.
“Technical difficulty.” I tried to give him a rueful grin, but he was having none of it. The damage had been done.
“Get out.” His face scrunched with rage. Small men with big egos rarely knew how to take a joke. “I don’t know who you really are, but I want you out of my bar now.”
“Time to go.” Mark took my arm, pulling me away from the crowd who were now pointing at me and laughing. “The jig is up.”
“Not so fast.” I yanked out of his grip. The waitresses here had paid good money to see Jesse’s ego broken, and I intended to deliver the goods. Just not the way we’d originally planned. I ran up onstage, shoving the stunned singer out of the way midsong. I grabbed the microphone, sending out a loud screech of feedback. “Attention, everyone.”
Security guards tried to get through the throng of people, but the dance floor had been packed and no one wanted to miss the show.
“The guy who owns this bar calls himself Jesse James,” I said. “He’s never been to Hollywood, he’s never ridden a horse, and he has a really small penis.”
One of the band members played the sad trombone, and the entire bar erupted in laughter. One of the security guards finally made it to the front of the dance floor. He grabbed me around the waist and hauled me off the stage, but not before I caught sight of the waitresses grinning and nudging each other near the bar.
“Throw her out on her ass!” Jesse yelled from the outskirts of the bull ring.
“Calm down, Little Dick,” someone called, and the crowd broke out in more laughter.
I had one last glimpse of his red face and thin lips peeled back, before the security guard pushed me out onto the sidewalk. The night hadn’t gone exactly according to plan, but I had a feeling I’d have satisfied customers. I tried to call Mark, but he didn’t answer his phone. He must’ve gotten caught in the chaos. My legs hurt, and my boobs were annoying me, so rather than wait for him to make his way outside, I grabbed a taxi and headed home.
CHAPTER 19
When my phone alarm went off on Monday morning letting me know I needed to put on some pants and head to the office, I groaned. The insides of my thighs burned. I’d woken up on Sunday to find them covered in angry purple bruises. This was all Mark’s fault. “Ride the bull,” he’d said. “It’ll be just like riding a horse,” he’d said. My legs still throbbed so bad, I strapped a couple of ice packs to my legs before I threw on a dress, shuffled out of my apartment, and took an Uber to work.
Mark chuckled as I waddled into our glass cage. “Rough weekend?”
I reached up the skirt of my dress. He raised his eyebrows and then barked out a laugh as I pulled out the ice packs and slapped them down on his desk. “You’re an asshole.”
“Hey, now.” He bumped his knee against mine. “Did you forget about the dog fighting? Be happy the worst I did was suggest you ride the bull.”
“Don’t think for a second we’re even.” I sat at my desk and powered up my computer. “Our truce is over.”
“No, it’s not.” He rolled his chair over to my desk. “You won’t be able to stay mad at me. You like me too much.”
I lifted my chin, refusing to look at him. “In your dreams.”
“Speaking of, I had an interesting one last night. Do you want to hear about it?”
I typed, not really paying attention to the words I filled into my e-mail to Margo. I’d have to delete the whole thing and start over as soon as Mark went back to his side of the office. “Let me guess, you were the bull and I rode you oh so good?”
“Yes and no. I was definitely the bull, but everything was made of papier-mâché. And I do mean everything. It was horrifying, actually. I woke up in a cold sweat, clutching my junk, thinking my balls had been turned into plaster.”
I cracked a smile. Damn it.
“Told you that you couldn’t stay mad at me.” He wheeled his chair back to his desk.
I deleted my e-mail and started over. Margo wouldn’t be pleased with how things had gone down at the Stir-Up. She’d wanted me to use Mark, make it seem like I left the bar with him instead, but I had a feeling the waitresses liked my methods better than hers. I typed up a report on last night’s events and hit send.
Margo fired back a reply almost immediately. She wanted to see both of us in her office, ASAP. “Shit,” I breathed.
“What?” Mark swiveled his chair to face me. “What’s wrong?”
I turned the screen toward him. He pressed his lips together, his frown deepening as he read. “Are we in trouble?”
“I don’t know.” With Margo, it really could go either way.
“I hope not. You were a star last night.”
I snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“No, really. I loved the way you handled things at the end. I stayed for another half hour to assess the damage, and Jesse’s staff revolted. The girls refused to ride the bull, and everyone is calling him Little Dick now.”
“That’s something, I guess,” I said, feeling lighter than I had all morning. Maybe people looked down their noses at me and what I did for a living, and I didn’t always feel good about it myself, but I was proud of those waitresses for standing up to their tyrant of a boss. Proud of every woman who didn’t simply plaster on a smile and take the shit handed to her.
Mark stood and offered me his hand. “Ready to face the music?”
I’d never admit this out loud, but I was beginning to like this bizarre dance between us. It wasn’t his fault he’d been a target, or that Margo had offered him a position, or that I had strong feelings about men working at H4H. He had plenty of reasons to hate me, yet he didn’t. I annoyed and frustrated him, but he never crossed the line or treated me like shit.
Maybe it was time to give Mark a break.
He nudged me with his elbow. “I will never forget the sight of your boob flying through the air and landing at Jesse’s feet. This job doesn’t have many dull moments, does it?”
Then again, maybe not.
I knocked on Margo’s door, and when she told us to come in, I entered her office with Mark behind me. Steaming gold-filigree cups awaited us. The tea was a good sign, but we still took our seats with our heads bowed and hands in our laps.
“Your commission for Saturday night.” Margo pushed a check toward me.
I opened it, and blinked at the amount. Eight hundred fifty dollars. A hundred more than I was supposed to be paid after Margo’s cut. “Is this a mistake?”
“No mistake.” Margo sat back with her fingers laced on her desk. “The bartender and dishwashers all pitched in to give you a tip. Seems you went above and beyond what they’d been expecting, and they want you to know how appreciative they are.”
“That was really nice. Am I going to be able to thank them?”
“I’m afraid not.” Margo reached into her desk and rifled through some papers. “They need to stay anonymous and didn’t even want to risk the trip for the debriefing. But that’s only part of why I called you both down here.”
Mark and I glanced at each other.
“I want to commend the two of you for working so well together.” Margo looked up from her desk drawer and smiled. “You both went w
ay off the rails, but this job sometimes calls for quick thinking. As long as you make the client happy, that’s all that matters.”
Mark tapped the side of my foot with his.
“You have a new assignment, Brinkley, not due to launch until the Saturday after next at an accounting convention. That will be Markus’s last night of training. Afterward, he’ll be taking on his own assignments.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. I’d known it would come to this eventually, but that looming deadline threw a dark cloud over the room. In just two short weeks Mark would be out there, breaking the heart of an unsuspecting woman who’d never see him coming. Maybe she’d be the type of person who stepped on cats’ tails on purpose and stole Halloween candy from little kids. Or maybe she’d be someone who was misunderstood because she had to exert dominance in a male-heavy field in order to be taken seriously. We’d never know, because it wasn’t going to be Mark’s job to ask anyone, not even himself, if she deserved it.
Interestingly enough, Mark didn’t look thrilled by this news either. I would’ve thought he’d want to start earning his own money.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say.” Did she expect me to buy him a cake? Emma had refused to betray her principles and was in a better place now than when she’d worked here—so why couldn’t I make the same leap? Why was I so afraid of leaving this life behind?
“Trust me, it’s for the best.” Margo put her hand over mine, and the chill in her grip sank into my bones. This wasn’t right. This hadn’t ever been right. “Remember that I’m always looking out for you. Once Markus gets his first assignment, you’ll be able to have a look at it. You’ll see he’s doing important work as well. Not all women are good women.”
Margo was proof enough of that. It wasn’t even about the men becoming Heartbreakers anymore; it was about all of us. What we’d all been willing to do for money.
“I was hoping to pop down to Starbucks for some coffee before I have to get back to UoC and prep for my next class,” Mark said. “If we’re all set here, would you join me, Brinkley?”
“Sure.” I was surprisingly steady as I rose to my feet, but I had some serious thinking to do about my role in this company and how much further I wanted to go.
“I’m probably going to be hearing from Northwestern soon,” Mark said as soon as we left Margo’s office. “So I’m not sure if I’ll even make it to the point of taking on my own assignments, in case you’re still mad about that.”
“It’s just a job, right?” I kept my voice light, but there was an edge to it.
He rubbed the back of his neck while we waited for the elevator to crawl up to the twenty-fourth floor. “It’s just that we’ve come a long way these last few weeks. I like you. I like spending time with you, and I don’t want anything to mess that up.”
I gave him a considering look. “I guess you’re okay too.”
The elevator stopped on our floor, and we stepped inside. As soon as the door shut, he turned to me. “Is there a camera in here?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Good. There’s something I’ve been dying to do all week.” He backed me against the rail and took my mouth with his.
Holy hell. My lips parted on a breathy sigh. His tongue stroked mine like a familiar lover. No one kissed like this man. I combed my fingers through his thick hair, then gripped the back of his head to drag him closer. A deep moan rumbled in his chest. He lifted me clean off the ground and settled between my legs. Heat gathered around me as I rubbed my hips against his hard length. I could come right here, just like this.
He broke our kiss to run his tongue down the column of my neck. “I want you so fucking bad. We’ve got twenty more floors to go. Let me make you feel good before we hit the bottom.”
“Yes.” I wanted to feel good. “Touch me. Please. God. Do it now.”
He grinned against my neck and pushed my dress up to my waist. Nudging my legs open wider, he thumbed my thong aside and rubbed me straight up my center. My hips moved by instinct, desperate for that friction that would bring the release I needed. “I want to taste you again. I want to feel your entire body shake while you come on my tongue.”
“N-not here.” I could barely think around his fingers working me, but the elevator would be stopping soon. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
His fingers stilled. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No.” I didn’t care if the elevator doors opened and every barista in Starbucks got a free show. “Keep going. Please.”
“Twelve floors.” He pumped two fingers inside me while he rolled circles over my clit with his thumb. “I’ve been dreaming of the noises you make every night, and I need to know what you sound like when I’m making you lose your mind.”
I bit my lip, but a strangled cry came out of me as I worked my hips against his fingers.
“Eight more floors. Stop fighting it.” Mark nipped the soft skin between my neck and shoulder. “Come for me, Brinkley.”
The sound of my name on his lips was my undoing. I cried out as the orgasm barreled through me, lighting the tips of my nerve endings. My toes tingled as heat turned to a warm glow that spread through me, relaxing all my muscles until I wasn’t sure if I could stand anymore. My breath came out in short gasps.
“I love the feel of you pulsing around me.” He eased his fingers out of me, and I shuddered with the aftershocks.
My first non-self-induced orgasm in two years, and I had to have it in a time crunch.
“That was… um… nice?” How did one go about thanking her coworker for elevator finger-banging? Did Hallmark make cards for such occasions?
He chuckled as he set me down. I yanked my dress back down and tried to pull myself together. The elevator dinged on the ground floor, and I wobbled on my feet.
As I exited the elevator, he grabbed my hand, pulling me back against his chest. “This isn’t over between us.”
“It is for this morning,” I said.
I hadn’t decided how to compartmentalize this new development yet. I pushed out of his embrace, flipped my hair over my shoulder, and walked ahead of him into Starbucks.
CHAPTER 20
Mark and I worked three more jobs together, where I trained and he took notes. Only one more week to go before the accounting convention—his last night of tagging along with me. After that, he’d be on his own. Breaking hearts. The thought nauseated me.
Nothing else had happened between us since the elevator. At the end of each night, I made excuses about needing to paint or go home to take care of Winnie. I didn’t know why I was hesitating. I found him interesting and attractive, and I hadn’t had sex in years. But the same fear that kept me from taking the leap on my gallery kept me from trying with Mark.
Saturday rolled around, which meant I had an obligation to meet with my mom. Eventually I’d learn to start bringing a flask to these lunch dates. Or earplugs. I wasn’t in the mood to hear about how I’d never be satisfied unless I had a career in academia, I’d never find a man if I kept slouching, I’d never live to see retirement if I kept eating junk. But I’d promised myself I’d make an effort to avoid a fight, so I entered the psychology hall of Northwestern with my back straight and carrying an apple. If I could keep at least two of my mom’s three favorite lectures at bay, I might stand a chance.
She sat in her office with Dr. Faber, and the two of them looked up as I entered.
“Mom.” I set the apple on her desk. “Dr. Faber. Nice to see you.”
He shook my hand with both of his. “Your mother has been telling me you might be going back to school to finish your master’s.”
So much for getting through the day without a fight. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe it was my growing frustration with Margo and H4H, but either way I’d had enough of being pushed into something I’d stated—over and over—I didn’t want to do. “Mom has been sniffing glue in her office between classes.”
“Brinkley!” My mother gave Dr. Faber an apologetic smil
e. “Forgive my darling daughter. She’s been under a lot of stress since her boyfriend left her for another woman and her dream of being an artist hasn’t taken off.”
Vicious. But she hadn’t clawed her way to the top of a male-dominated profession by being sweet. A year ago, a comment like that would’ve destroyed me. A month ago, it still would’ve stung. Now, I considered it an invitation for open warfare.
I picked up the apple I’d brought and took a bite, letting the sugar soothe the poison coating my tongue. “And Mom’s been under a lot of stress since the last good lay she got was from the turkey baster that injected half my DNA into her fallopian tubes.”
“I… ah.” Dr. Faber pulled at the collar of his shirt. “I’ve clearly come at a bad time. It looks like you two have some things to sort out. It was good seeing you, Brinkley.”
As soon as he left, my mom whirled on me. “Good going. Now we’ll be the topic of gossip at his retirement party.”
“Who cares?” I turned on my heel as we did our usual pre-lunch ritual of fighting, me walking away and her hurling the last word at my back.
“Maybe you don’t care because you seem determined to throw away your entire future to be an administrative assistant at an insurance agency, of all things, but I’m trying to help you. Especially since you told me Eve took your thesis idea. If you’d let me, I could find another way for you to get back into school and pick up where you left off.”
“I don’t want your help.” I shoved open the doors and stepped into the courtyard. Fall had come to the Northwestern campus, painting the trees and bushes in vibrant reds, oranges, and golds. “I’m doing just fine on my own.”
“If you were really doing fine on your own, you’d have a career, not a job. You’d be spending your evenings with someone other than that horrid beast you dress like a—” She stopped mid-rant and put on a polite mask for a man walking through the courtyard. “Dr. Park.”
“Dr. Saunders.” He nodded, and continued on his way.
