Bad Love (Modern Romance Book 2)

by Piper Lawson

  “It sounds simple when he says it. It’s not,” Wes weighs in dryly.

  “Simple’s overrated.” Ben looks between me and Daisy, who’s obviously amused by the idea or Ben’s easy rambling or both. "I could take a look."

  I’m like a kid on Christmas until my boss’s voice slices through my excitement. “Kendall, we have a lot of budget on this, but we don’t have ‘Ben’ kind of money, especially given the short timeline.”

  My heart sinks as I realize I have no idea what Ben’s time costs.

  But the man in question chuckles. “I’m not taking your money, Dee. Or Hunter’s.” His gaze comes back to me. “This I’ll do for fun.”

  A grin splits my face. I feel like a badass even before Rena mouths “Who are you?” and raises her glass at me in a toast to a woman I wouldn’t have recognized two weeks ago.

  13

  "What's got your panties in a knot?" I ask Monty when I go to his office Tuesday morning after my workout.

  "Deacon walked out this morning."

  Surprise jolts me. I set the basketball I instinctively went for back in its spot and sink into the chair opposite the desk. "But he had another three weeks’ notice."

  “Tell me you didn’t say something to him.”

  I scratch my neck, my dress shirt pulling across my shoulders. “I left him a voicemail asking to meet so I can post a position description.”

  Monty shuts the door before returning to his seat. “And in that voicemail, did you call him an insecure pussy for quitting?”

  I cock my head. “I can’t remember every word I say, Monty.”

  His eyes shut, and he fists a hand on the desk. "Dammit, Hunter.” His jaw tics, and I see a vein pulsing in his throat.

  Guilt works through me, and I grimace. Monty’s always worried about something, but now he looks legit strung-out. And even though I stand by my assessment of Deacon, I don’t like putting my best friend in a tough spot. "Tell me what needs to get done before the board meeting. We’ll figure it out."

  "Deacon had a list. But off the top of my head…" He rattles off a few things.

  "Can his staff do it?"

  "Not without someone to supervise."

  Supervising sounds like getting my eyes stabbed out.

  But Monty's looking at me balefully, and my chest tightens.

  When my phone buzzes with a text, I’m granted a brief reprieve.

  Mom: Hi, honey. Is Monty coming to the holiday party?

  I hold out my phone, and Monty looks at it.

  "Got my invite," he says.

  It’s impossible to stay upset in the face of my mom’s start-of-summer bonanza. It’s a mass of people and flowers and food and booze and good weather. Because even the weather would feel like a dick denying my mom her moment of glory.

  It’s one of my favorite weekends of the year. When I traveled for modeling, I’d always come home for it.

  "You driving up for the night?" he asks.

  "I'm gonna stay for the weekend. We can drive together if you can score your own ride back. I'll let my mom know you’ll be there."

  "Fine. Now we need to finish this Deacon conversation."

  But his phone rings.

  "You wanna get that?” I ask.

  “No, we need to—” He looks at the phone and curses. “Yeah, I do. Don’t go anywhere.”

  Still, as soon as he answers the phone, I leave his office, catching the eye of a few of the production staff.

  Deacon’s never been my biggest fan. Possibly because most of the times I emailed him were when I had gone over his head and decided something with Monty. And sure, the majority of our meetings were when he briefed me before quarterly meetings so I could make the presentation on the state of marketing.

  But he was never constructive either. He’d glare at me when we saw each other, make digs at me in meetings with Monty. He’d shoot down ideas because they were mine, which basically forced me to go over his head.

  I’d figured leveling with him man-to-man was the decent thing to do.

  Apparently not.

  Because he’s an insecure pussy.

  It's been a week of mindfucks.

  And it's only Tuesday.

  Yesterday, Kendall blew my mind at her office. I'm not ashamed to admit it. Especially because I swear it affected her as much as it did me. That was why I texted her after dinner last night.

  A simple "You rubbed one out in front of me in your office bathroom—you good?" courtesy.

  Logan: I trust the rest of your day was enjoyable.

  The reply came back an hour later.

  Kendall: Delightful. Ben says hi. He was telling stories about you in school.

  I grinned, satisfied she’d asked about me.

  Logan: They’re all true.

  Kendall: I’m sure. Ben’s agreed to try something that might take the vibe to the next level.

  Logan: Tell me.

  Kendall: I’ll tell you if it works. I'm off to help with math homework. Talk later.

  She didn't sound shaken. She sounded the same as before our flirtation transformed into… whatever it became the second she took that vibe and pressed it between the pale thighs I can’t get out of my head.

  But lying in bed last night, I realized something.

  I know she had a good time—she shook under my hands and whispered my name while she did.

  My first name no less.

  No one but family calls me Logan, but I want to make a new rule that Kendall Sullivan’s not allowed to call me anything else.

  (Excluding “daddy”, “papi”, or any version of “Rock my world, big boy,” which makes a chuckle rise up in my chest because I can’t see her saying any of those things.)

  Point is, if Kendall needs a walk on the wild side, I’ll give it to her. No others need apply. This vacancy is filled.

  We’re both mature adults. I won’t fall for her, and I won’t let her fall for me.

  But we're past walking away, and next time, I'm not playing a supporting role.

  I start to text her again.

  I bet you're still wet for me.

  You taste like peaches when you come.

  I delete both because let's get real—this is Kendall. What works with other women won't work for her. I tap my forehead lightly against the wall a couple times.

  Finally, I have it.

  Logan: How'd math go?

  A response comes moments later.

  Kendall: We survived.

  Logan: Tell him math’s overrated.

  There's a delay of a few minutes, and I think she's gotten pulled away. I check some analytics on Hunter’s Cross’s social until a new message notification appears.

  Kendall: I'd prefer not to have you and Rory interacting.

  Kendall: It's nothing personal.

  I lower the phone and stare down the hall into the open door of my friend's office.

  Bull.

  Shit.

  I bet if it was Monty, she'd introduce him to her kid.

  But she goes digital quiet again, and my body tenses more than it did at the news of Deacon’s departure.

  Yesterday was hot, but maybe she's decided she's better off without it. Without me.

  Impossible. Sure, I wasn’t my smoothest self. Forgive me if I lost control when the sweetest, most serious woman I’ve ever met started getting herself off in front of me. If it took everything in me to resist dragging her hips to the edge of that counter and making her come a second time, harder than the first.

  It's one thing if she doesn't want me interacting with her kid, but I'm not letting her off the hook for the rest.

  I hit the contact on my phone.

  "Hello?" Kendall answers, cautious.

  "I need to see you.”

  "Hunter, we discussed the importance of making the vibe as strong as it can be. I told you Ben’s working on an enhancement. In the meantime, I’ll build a campaign and let you know once there’s news."

  The professional voice has me leanin
g my head against the wall and grinding my teeth. “Oh, we discussed it. Is that what we did?”

  Silence comes down the line. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to acknowledge that you fucked yourself while I watched. And that the world didn’t end when you did.”

  She needs someone to push her buttons. Not in the way that stresses her out or has her running. In the way that has her realizing she doesn’t have to live to some ideal. That she can let her hair down without betraying who she is.

  “Fine. I had an orgasm in a bathroom. You were there.” It’s the edge in her voice, not just the words, that has my dick twitching. “Is that what you want to hear?”

  I want to hear I rocked your world. That you can’t stop thinking about me. That you want to do it again.

  My hand tightens on the phone. “We could have more fun without the vibe. I’d feel fucking fantastic inside you.”

  I wonder if she’s even still on the phone when her voice, with a little less conviction than before, says, "Even if that’s true, I have responsibilities. I won’t drop everything for a repeat with you. There’s no point."

  Lust drags through my body as I let out a half laugh. "That's what you think it would be? A repeat?"

  "What else?"

  Her shallow breath over the line has my abs clenching. I want to reach through the phone and learn exactly how wet my words are making her.

  "Everything you and I do from here on in, naked or clothed… it’s foreplay. For a very long, very sweaty night. And you, Peach, are going to beg for it."

  I click off without waiting for her to respond and stalk into Monty's office without knocking. "I'll do it."

  He looks up, frowning. "Do what?"

  "I'll do the fucking job Deacon was doing. Can't be that hard if douchewad could manage it."

  He's stunned silent. "All right. I'll send an email and let the team know."

  I start down the hall, but a loud throat-clearing has me looking back.

  "They're the other way," he says.

  "Who?"

  "Marketing."

  I narrow my gaze at him. "Were you born that smug, Montgomery?"

  14

  Life has been kicking my ass for the last week. I’ve been fighting back the only way I know how: multitasking like a mother.

  My kid had the flu, which meant rebooking meetings I'd scheduled weeks ago while I stayed home with him until he stopped generating a new load of dirty laundry every hour.

  One of my clients decided they want to do a rebrand of their entire business. By Labor Day.

  In the moments I could sneak away, I emailed parents about buying tickets for the talent show.

  I eventually replied to Blake’s texts, telling him Rory and I would be visiting my parents in a few weeks, and if Rory was up to it—which I hadn’t asked him yet—we could arrange time for them together.

  He followed up by saying that wasn’t soon enough, at which point I said he was welcome to come to the city.

  He’s as welcome as chickenpox.

  But I haven’t heard from him since.

  The other person I didn’t hear from all week was Hunter.

  I’ve practically forgotten his parting words. Blah, blah blah, foreplay. For a long and sweaty night. And you’re going to beg for it.

  Yeah, I don’t remember the confidence in his voice. The way my knees gave out.

  Because I’m focused on lining up advertisers while Ben works on taking the product from “good” to “next level.”

  I’m finally starting to dig myself out of the giant hole over the weekend when Hunter surprises me by sending a calendar invitation for a noon meeting.

  Maybe it’s a peace offering. To be honest, the idea of a working lunch—instead of working at my desk with no actual food to speak of—has me crying in gratitude.

  I show up at the café I normally get my coffee from, and Hunter’s already at a table, on his phone, giving me a second to catch my breath.

  He’s dressed in slacks and a dress shirt.

  And my lumberjack looks good.

  I should’ve prepared more for this meeting. Not in terms of getting updates from Ben or on advertisers, but maybe taking some time to meditate.

  Since last week in the bathroom at work, I’ve been trying not to think about him. It worked for the first couple of days.

  I mean, not when I was actually in the bathroom. At which point I’d lock the door and lean over the vanity, staring in the mirror as if I could recreate what had happened.

  But the rest of the day, I walked and talked and parented and behaved like a reasonably adjusted person instead of the lust-fuelled monster I might be becoming.

  Friday night, I caved to the influence of Bad Kendall.

  After Rory went to bed, I got myself off to Logan Hunter.

  Without the vibe.

  At least, the first time was. Last night, I used it, letting the sound of the shower drown out the low vibration. As much as I hate to admit it? It got me there, but it wasn’t the same as having him near.

  Nowhere close.

  I shiver despite the warmth and smooth down my skirt as I approach his table.

  He looks up with an easy grin that melts the tension in my back like the hands of a great masseuse. “Hi.”

  “Hi. You look comfortable.”

  “You look beautiful.”

  My heart skips.

  Okay. Recalculating.

  We’ve done “This product is unacceptable,” as well as “I’d feel fucking fantastic inside you.” I have no idea what to do with “beautiful.”

  Now, his raised brow reminds me I’m staring dumbly at him

  I glance at the files in front of him, realizing they have nothing to do with our project.

  I’ve never seen him with paperwork. Especially not what looks like financials.

  “Hunter’s Cross?” I can’t resist asking.

  “Yeah. I’m filling in the marketing director role until the board meeting. I’ve been spending every damned hour on it.”

  Which explains why he’s been quiet.

  But it doesn’t explain why he’s doing the one job he seemed hell-bent on avoiding.

  I ask the question.

  He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, which drags my attention to both parts of his body in an unhealthy way. “The guy we had in the job decided to leave last week. Now I’m picking up the pieces.”

  “Must be a steep learning curve.” Empathy works through me. “You said you hate that kind of work.”

  “I hate it because it’s not my strength,” he admits, his mouth twisting at the corner. “But otherwise it all falls to my best friend, and I won’t watch him suffer for my mistakes.” The sheer decency of that affects me, and my chest tingles. "Monty’s saved my ass more times than I can count, starting in high school.”

  “You went to college together too?” I’m curious about the guy Hunter would put himself on the line for.

  “Yeah. Then I took off a couple years for modeling.”

  “That must’ve been amazing. How’d you start in that? I’m guessing you don’t just show up somewhere and say, ‘Please give me money and photograph me.’”

  Hunter cracks a grin. “Yeah. Not so much. I did some campaigns as a kid for my mom’s charity work. Wound up with an agent who was dogged enough to keep calling when I was studying for exams. I’m glad she did.” Hunter’s shoulder lifts easily. “I got to travel the world on someone else’s dime. It’s long days though, and physical. Not the working out part either. I mean working on set. Living out of hotels.”

  “It sounds lonely.”

  A light breeze plays with his hair, and his gaze is chocolate in the bright outside light. “Sometimes. The secret is you can’t take it too seriously. You gotta let rejection roll off you because people tell you no more often than they tell you yes. It’s not as glamorous as it looks.”

  “Most things aren’t.” I nod at the financials.

  He barks out
a rueful laugh that has me smiling with him. “True. Anyway, Monty and I both took business in school. He did a double major with engineering. He's the smartest asshole I know. He has integrity for days."

  "He has a good friend in you too."

  Hunter's gaze softens. "Thanks, Peach.”

  We share a look that has my stomach flopping.

  “How’s your week going?” he asks at last.

  “About the same as yours. I’m on the committee for this talent show at Rory’s school. One of the other moms is ridiculous, and…” I shake my head, realizing I’m talking all about personal stuff and this is supposed to be a business meeting.

  But I like talking personal with him. He’s a good listener.

  It’s cleaner if we focus on business. Less distracting.

  The guy who draws hearts on my cups comes to take our order. “Hey, Kendall.”

  “Hey.” I honestly forget his name, and from this angle, I can’t see his nametag. So, I flash him the biggest smile I can.

  He takes our order, looking between Hunter and me more than necessary before disappearing. I can’t help wondering what the guy thinks.

  Really? There are worse things than being on Logan Hunter’s arm.

  The problem is you wouldn’t be there for long.

  I shake it off and pull out my notebook with “RAINBOWS ARE NATURE’S GOLD” on it.

  Hunter’s gaze rests on it for a moment. “You lived all your dreams already?”

  It takes me a second to realize he’s referring to my former notebook. “Obviously. My dream was selling sex toys with you.”

  He chuckles. “I’m glad I could fulfill your wish. How’s the ‘Do Me’ list?”

  Of course he’d call my adventures list that. I shake my head. “It’s been a busy couple weeks.”

  He reaches for the sheet of paper stuck between the pages, and, surprisingly, I let him.

  “No karate?” I shake my head. “Self-waxing?” He winces, and I laugh. “Good. Leave that to the pros. How about origami?”