The Virgin and the Kingpin

by Allyson Lindt

  “Oh my heck, why would you tell me that?” There was no way she was dancing here now.

  He raised an eyebrow. “It made you hot and bothered, and I like the memory.”

  “I thought you were trying to convince me to do a command performance.”

  “I am.” He leaned his head in, and his hot breath sent tantalizing shivers down her spine. “What’s holding you back?”

  “What if it pisses someone off?”

  He looked her in the eye, but his nearness jumbled her thoughts. “That’s a worst-case scenario. The story is important because, aside from being sent to jail or getting beaten up for being queer—neither of which is an option here—there wasn’t a lot more that could happen. It didn’t kill us, and it left us both with a fantastic memory.”

  “But it’s so embarrassing.” The argument sounded weak, and she was the one saying it.

  He slid behind her and rested his hands on her hips. When he pressed against her back, his hard length told her she wasn’t the only one turned on. “You want to be a performer.” He dragged his nose along the back of her neck as he spoke. “Perform.”

  She swallowed a whimper. “There’s no music.” She hovered on the knife’s edge, between paralyzing fear and intense desire. If he teased his fingers under the waistband of her jeans, she’d have a difficult time saying no. But she couldn’t imagine dancing here, with so many people around.

  He removed one of his hands from its resting spot, and seconds later, a heavy dance beat spilled from behind her. She assumed it came from his phone. People turned to look, muttering to each other.

  Humiliation flooded her. “Please stop.”

  “I told you how this works.” His lips moved against her skin. “You do things by my rules, or we call it quits. If you stop now, we’re done. I’ll take you home, and we won’t speak of this again.” He swayed her hips to the beat, moving with her.

  It felt forced. She couldn’t bring herself to do anything more than respond mechanically. Too many thoughts pressed in on her at once, fuzzing the world around her, until all she saw were the stares and all she felt was him.

  “Stop caring what they think. What you want is all that matters.” His voice was low and hypnotic.

  “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “Focus on my voice and the music. Ignore the people. Block out the rest of the world.”

  Temptation mingled with desire and embarrassment, racing through her. Clouding her mind. Humming in her head and over her body.

  “I can’t.” She pulled out of his grasp but couldn’t turn to look at him.

  The music vanished. He didn’t respond. Her heart hammered in her ears, as seconds ticked away. Why wasn’t he saying anything? She whirled to see him walking toward the parking lot.

  She sprinted to catch up and tugged the sleeve of his jacket. “I’m sorry.”

  “If you’re not serious, you’re wasting your time and mine.”

  “I am serious. I told you I want this. I’ll do it. Stop, please.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Her throat was raw with frustration.

  He didn’t look at her. “I can prompt you. Coerce you. Encourage you and go so far as to seduce you. But at the end of the day, if you do this for anyone’s approval except your own, you’re doing it for the wrong reasons.”

  “I want to try. Please? I’m doing it for me. I promise.” She pulled him to a stop. “Damn it. Look at me.”

  He spun and grabbed her wrist, locking his gaze on hers. “If you lie about this, to me or yourself, it doesn’t work.” The smooth tone was gone from his voice.

  The power in his grip terrified and excited her. She refused to look away. “I’m not lying.” She was, though. The idea of doing this still terrified her. Did it show?

  Expression going flat, he let go and turned away. “I don’t know how many ways I can say this. You didn’t follow my rules. We’re done. We have to work in the morning, it’s more than a half-hour drive up the canyon, and you have to tell your B.F.F. nothing horrible happened to you. We should go.”

  Chapter Ten

  Andrew didn’t fall asleep until the early hours of Monday morning. Nothing, including beating off, appealed to him. The moment with Susan replayed in his head, until exhaustion relegated the thoughts to dream status.

  Now he sat in his temporary office at R&T, doing everything he could to think about work, and failing completely. He managed to avoid Susan this morning. It was a small thing, but one to be grateful for.

  He pushed too hard last night. Prodded more than was reasonable, given her insecurities. He didn’t know why. Regardless of his reasons, the arrangement was over now. Odds were she wouldn’t make good on her bluff to find other help. She would have already done that if it were an option—and why was he dwelling on this?

  He shoved the thoughts aside and turned back to the hardware contracts his IT team wanted him to review. He wouldn’t meet with Mercy’s people until this afternoon, so he had time to find his creative center.

  Forty-five minutes later, when his phone rang, he’d read the same paragraph about warranty and repair scheduling five times, and he still had no idea what it said. “Yeah?” He answered, attention focused on the contract.

  “Happy Monday.” Kandace sounded far too chipper for his liking.

  “I’ve had better. I’ve had worse. Calling me three times in a week? This is a record for you. You miss me that much?”

  Her chuckle sounded as forced as his attempt at levity. “Trust me. I wish I wasn’t calling,” she said.

  “Is Lucas all right?” His mind was completely—mostly—off Susan.

  “For now. I’m fine too, thanks for asking.”

  “What does for now mean?”

  She sighed. “On his way out the door this morning, he announced he’s doing the therapy. I pointed out all the things I discussed with him—the reasons it was harmful. He told me that wouldn’t be a problem for him, because he’s broken and this will fix him.”

  “Jesus.” Andrew didn’t know what else to say. He’d seen the after effects of the therapy in actors. In friends. The process started with stripping away a patient’s sense of self. The side-effect was intense self-loathing. From there, the therapist rebuilt the patient into someone who wasn’t attracted to the same sex. Or really, anything at all.

  Andrew lost an actress to suicide because of the resulting self-hatred, several years back. “We can’t let him.”

  “I hate to phrase it this way, but it’s his choice.”

  “So you agree with him?” Andrew swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

  “No. But forbidding him from going isn’t going to make the situation better. I figured he’d attend a session or two, and the urge to rebel—or whatever this is—would pass.”

  Shittiest plan ever. “He won’t go to any sessions at all.”

  “You don’t get to backseat parent.”

  “Great. That solves two issues. I’m stepping in, we’re putting a stop to this, and the conversation is over.”

  “All right.” She sounded tired.

  Andrew pulled the phone from his ear and stared at it in disbelief for a second, before holding it back to his head. “Say that again. I think we’ve got a bad connection.”

  “You can tell him you’re his father. I won’t fight you on it. But I’m not agreeing to anything else until we know how that goes.”

  “What are you up to?” It wasn’t that his sister was manipulative, but in ten years, she’d never budged on the issue. This was too easy.

  “I’m serious when I say I don’t want Lucas doing this.” Frustration joined her exhaustion. “I don’t know what else to try, so if this makes a difference, it’s worth it. Besides, he needs to know sooner rather than later. You’re right about that.”

  “Say that again.”

  “Knock it off.” She gave a tiny laugh. “Can you come down Saturday morning?”

  “I’ll be there.” As he hung up, his mind wh
irred at the development. Sure, this was one of his goals, but he never expected her to up and say all right. He was prepared to fight and argue and run into a brick wall regardless.

  Now he had no idea what he was supposed to say to Lucas. Hi, kid. I’m not actually your uncle; I’m your biological father. Surprise. Let’s go get ice cream. Strip club will wait until you’re legal. Yeah, he was going to need to work on that. At least he had a few days to get it right. Please let me get it right.

  SUSAN COULDN’T HOLD back the yawn that threatened to split her jaw. Her eyes watered, and she did her best to wipe them dry without smearing her eyeliner. She’d had to get up an hour earlier than normal, to drive into the valley, so she could practice before work. In a few days, she might summon the courage to risk running into Andrew. Or she’d steer clear of R&T until he was gone.

  She yawned again. It sucked she couldn’t drink coffee on the clock without drawing a glare and disapproving sniff from Dad. Fortunately, it was lunchtime, she was meeting Olivia, and she was getting all the espresso and all the sweet to mask the bitter.

  Susan parked in the lot one street over from Main Street, and made her way to the café where her lunch plans waited. Olivia was outside. They hugged, exchanged basic hello, and were seated. Susan ordered the biggest, strongest iced coffee on the menu, despite the temperature outside.

  “Long night?” Olivia asked, a teasing glint in her eye.

  “Not the way you’re thinking. How was Phoenix?”

  “Hot. Dry. But promising. I should know in a couple of days if I got the job or not.”

  “That’s awesome.” Susan hated to see another friend leave for distant places, but this was an amazing opportunity, and she hoped it panned out for Olivia.

  Olivia poked an ice cube with her straw, and bubbles from her Coke fizzed around it. “What about you? How was the wedding? Fill me in on everything. Give me substance to block out a week straight of job interviews and schmoozing.”

  So many responses ran through Susan’s head. The last week held more than she cared to think about. Mercy’s wedding, of course. The near-assault at the steakhouse. The failed audition with Ballet West. Instead of any of that, what came out was, “I met a guy.”

  “But last night wasn’t that kind of night? He’s a guy guy, then? Not a fuck-toy guy?”

  “Neither.” Now that Susan had a few extra seconds to assemble her thoughts, she could talk intelligently. One of the reasons she loved Olivia was there was no judgement about Susan’s sex life or lack thereof. Olivia understood the desire to find someone but not rush into getting laid. “A little bit the latter. But really, neither. He’s a friend of Mercy’s.”

  “In town for the wedding? Sounds a lot like the second.”

  “He’s a business partner. Her friend from when she traveled.”

  Olivia’s eyes grew wide. “Porn guy?”

  “One and the same.” She considered asking Olivia not to call him that to his face, but Andrew would probably be amused by it.

  “So serious fuck-toy-ability.”

  Susan nearly said I wish, and the sentiment caught her off-guard. Did she? It might be nice, learning from someone with that kind of experience. Who was she kidding? It would probably be amazing, but that didn’t make it a good idea. “Except that I’m his best friend and business partner’s little sister. But I mean it—not like that.” She related the past week of awkward run-ins but left out his stories that kept her company at night. She wasn’t sure why. Probably because she didn’t want to paint the situation as anything other than what it was, but definitely not because she liked the idea of keeping the tales for herself.

  “So, basically, I found this one person who says he knows how to help me get past the mental block keeping me from getting a dancing job, and what did I do? Chickened out like a Class-A coward.” Susan hated admitting it.

  Olivia raised her brows. “It sounds like he was a first-class ass.”

  “He was. He is. I think he prefers it that way. But I know what he was going for, and when I think about it, it wouldn’t have killed me to do what he said. Not that there’s a chance of it ever coming up again. He and I are done.” He made that vividly clear.

  “If he said yes once, he’ll do it again. You simply need a buffer.”

  Susan stared at her, trying to make sense of the suggestion. “A what, now?”

  “Someone else there to keep him from pushing your buttons.” Olivia made it sound like the answer was obvious.

  That was such a bad idea, it wasn’t on the scale of worth considering. “I’m pretty sure the bigger his audience, the better. A buffer means he’ll seek out more embarrassing buttons.”

  “Not for him. For you. People who have your back, so you don’t feel isolated.”

  If Susan had friends around, she wouldn’t feel so out of sorts. Not that she thought he’d agree to the suggestion. Andrew seemed pretty set on the concept of his rules—his way. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Jodie’s party, tomorrow night.”

  “I don’t know...”

  “Up to you.” Olivia shrugged. “If you think he has the solution to you landing a gig, beg him for another chance. Personally, I think he sounds like a pushy asshole, in that really sexy, dominant kind of way. If you’re not interested in him, you can introduce me.”

  Susan swallowed the surge of jealousy that rose in her throat. “He’s all yours, as long as it doesn’t hurt what I’m trying to accomplish.”

  “Is that a yes, then?”

  “I’ll see what he says.” It was a generic brush-off. As she said it, Susan knew she wouldn’t ask Andrew for another chance. Regardless of how many friends would be there, to watch her back.

  She and Olivia chatted through lunch and dessert about everything under the sun—Olivia’s job prospects, Susan’s goals for applying for a master’s program, and whatever else came up.

  Susan put the conversation with Olivia out of her head the moment she got back to work. Or tried to. The idea taunted her at the most inconvenient times. When someone was asking her a question. As she was in the middle of answering phones. She forced herself to drive straight home after work, refusing to take a detour to R&T or Andrew’s hotel.

  She poured her attention into homework and studying that night, and by the time she climbed into bed, the hectic day plus the lack of sleep the night before tugged her eyelids shut.

  That didn’t mean sleep came. Every time she opened her eyes, it was only minutes since she last checked the clock. She finally drifted off around two, and when her alarm woke her at four, so she could get to the dance studio before work, she was ready to say screw it.

  She hit Snooze, and dragged herself out of bed closer to seven. That meant no time to practice, but perhaps she could catch Andrew. Exhaustion had removed her I-care filter, so it seemed like the perfect time to approach him.

  He wasn’t there when she arrived at eight. She didn’t have to be to work until nine but had no idea what kind of hours he kept or if he was coming in at all. It wouldn’t hurt to wait around for five or ten minutes. She let herself into his office and settled into the chair on the other side of the desk. The room looked sparse. Bare walls. Empty folder bins. A laptop and mousepad decorated the desk. He probably intended to be back at some point.

  She folded her arms, settled them on the polished wood surface, and rested her cheek on them, gaze attached to the wall.

  “Hey, sleepy head.” A gentle voice drilled into her thoughts and dragged her from a dream. A warm hand on her shoulder shook her until her head rattled, and she jerked up with a start.

  Andrew stepped back, hands in the air, amusement on his face. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Is there a reason you’re sleeping in my office?”

  “I’m not sleeping.” She struggled to grasp her language skills, and forced her brain to feed her words that made sense.

  He took his seat across from her. “Resting your eyes. I get it. I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t think
you were speaking to me.”

  “You’re the one who said we were through.”

  “Heat of the moment. It’s passed.” He looked as calm as he sounded. He also wore that darned impassive mask that meant he’d put up an invisible wall between them. “Things will be awkward if we do the not-talking thing. Mercy will ask why. Someone might tell her the truth...”

  This wasn’t going the way she needed it to. Not that she had the brain power to know how that was. “Give me another chance, please?”

  “Nope. Thanks for stopping by. I have work to do. You know your way out, I assume.” He flipped up the lid of his laptop.

  “Please?”

  “It’s a worse idea than the first time you asked me.”

  “I’m begging.” Why? Because she wanted this—the help he could provide. It had nothing to do with wanting him in her life a little longer in general. “No emotional blackmail or manipulation. I’ll get down on my knees if that’ll help.” She stood.

  “No.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “That will most certainly not help. Sit down.” He’d stopped shooing her out. This was a good sign.

  “I know the perfect place. It’ll be crowded. Lots of people. Plenty of chance for public”—she stopped herself from saying humiliation; that approach wouldn’t help her cause—“displays.”

  “You think you get to pick? Is this some sort of gathering of your friends?”

  “I know the girl celebrating. I won’t know most of the people there.”

  “From church?”

  She hadn’t been to church since she was sixteen. “From school. She got accepted into a master’s program at Stanford.”

  He drummed his fingers on the desk, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from tossing in another round of pleading. When he said, “All right,” she let out a breath she didn’t realize was holding.

  “Thank you. Thank you.” She wanted to leap across the desk and hug him but restrained herself.

  “Save the gratitude until you know if this actually works. Tell me where to meet you and when to be there.”