Stumbled into Love

by L. P. Maxa

  I’d talked to my father last night. I’d mentioned I thought today was the day. And no part of me wanted to tell him why I had not, in fact, gotten my promotion. Yet. “Not today, but I’m sure it’ll happen soon.”

  I wasn’t about to sit in my childhood home and tell my parents that my new position had been postponed because I’d folded my boss’s secretary into a pretzel and fucked her senseless.

  “Brice, you’re planning on coming to the Kids for Kids charity ball next month, correct?” My mother pulled a foil pan out of the oven, setting it on top of the stove. She didn’t really cook, but she always had the best food catered to the house when I came for dinner. Yeah. I was spoiled as shit.

  I took a sip of my wine, stalling and wracking my brain on whether I’d purchased a ticket to the ball as she’d asked me to three months ago. “Um, well, I uh, I think so.”

  “Stop floundering.” She slid a long white envelope out of one of her fancy designer bags and slapped it on the counter in front of me.

  “I’m not floundering.” I took the envelope, tucking it into my jacket pocket. “When is it again?”

  “Friday night, two weeks from now.”

  “Oh, I can’t make it.” I pointed to my phone. “I have dinner with the big bosses that night, the invite came through right before I got here.”

  I wasn’t lying about that part.

  “Did I say Friday? I meant Saturday.” She raised an eyebrow, letting me know she’d played me like a damn fiddle. “I purchased your tickets and you owe me eight hundred dollars.”

  “Did you say tickets? As in two?” I never brought a date to any event, let alone one where rich lonely women were going to be all dolled up and drinking expensive champagne. That would be plain stupid. “I don’t need two.”

  “Oh yes you do.” My mother pointed a finger at me. “You are bringing a date, and a respectable one at that.”

  I scrunched up my face. “No way. That’s like bringing milk to a cow.” I winked at my dad and he gave me a slight shake of his head, his eyes darting to my mother. Oh. This was one of those instances where he was slightly afraid of her. Good to know.

  “Brice, I am telling you to bring a nice girl to this event, not asking.” My mother put her hands on her trim hips. “You have slept with all my friends’ daughters, and it’s getting downright embarrassing.”

  Geez, what was with everyone? Did the world wake up and suddenly decide that it was National Cock Block Brice Day? First my boss, and now my mother. Fantastic. Well, I already needed to find someone to take to that dinner with the partners, so I’d use the same girl for both. Maybe I could hire an actress? Or even a high-price call girl. The amount of money it would cost me would be worth it if it made my mother happy and got me my promotion.

  “I’ll bring a date.” I rolled my eyes and took another sip of my wine.

  “A nice girl.” My mom wagged her finger at me again.

  I nodded. “A nice girl.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “A nice girl who’s wearing a dress that covers her behind and her breasts.”

  I bit my lips together to keep from laughing. My mom was referencing a girl I’d brought to a garden party she’d hosted a few years back. The chick’s dress was the size of the linen napkins at the table. “She’ll be covered.”

  “With clothes.”

  “Mom.” I scrubbed my hands down my face, suddenly wishing I was drinking something a lot stronger than wine. “I will bring a nice girl, and she will be dressed appropriately. I am more than capable of attracting quality women.”

  I didn’t tell her that I preferred not to because they tended to get their egos bruised too easily.

  Case in point, the dozen or so women I’d slept with from my office.

  Chapter Four

  Holland

  There was no love lost between Brice Huntington and me.

  None. At. All.

  For so many reasons, I didn’t like the arrogant asshole. He wasn’t only entitled, he was full-on vain. And he was too rich for his own good. Women fell at his feet, literally, and it made me want to vomit.

  I’d met Brice on my first day as a waitress at Cueva. I was working my way through college. I didn’t have rich parents. And Cueva was good money. As good as money could get without taking off your clothes and developing a coke habit. Cueva was an upscale men’s club, and that wasn’t a fancy term for strip club either.

  Cueva catered to a wealthy clientele, giving them a nice setting to make business deals over thousand-dollar bottles of bourbon. The owner, Declan Preston, was best friends with Brice Huntington. They’d grown up together. Which meant Brice treated Cueva like his own personal whorehouse. He flirted, he touched, and he teased.

  Everyone but me, that was.

  The first time he’d laid a hand on my ass I’d punched him right in the nuts. Declan hadn’t fired me. Instead he’d given me a raise. At Cueva, sleeping with our members was forbidden, but that never stopped Brice from having his pick of staff to choose from. He had a golden tongue, and a smirk that made sane women act crazy.

  A year or so ago, Brice’s sister married Declan. I’d always liked Cassie and I’d like to think we’d grown closer since she and Declan had decided to split more of their time between here in Dallas and their other home in Florida. Cassie was down to earth and funny, kind and compassionate. Brice? Was none of those things.

  Although it was hard to hate the man too much since his wandering penis was the reason I got my promotion last year. Declan found out that Brice slept with basically the whole female Cueva staff while Declan had been busy in London opening up the newest Cueva location. After that, he’d constructed a whole new position for me within the company. I was in charge of all the waitresses and hostesses. And the best part of my job was that I got to make sure that no one hooked up with Brice.

  Telling Brice about my promotion had been one of the happiest moments of my life. Second only to the time I’d punched him in the nuts.

  I didn’t like men like Brice Huntington. I didn’t like players who played simply because they could. Brice was successful and handsome, and he was charming and well read. But he knew it, and he made sure everyone else did as well.

  It was off-putting. And annoying.

  “Well speak of the devil and he shall appear.” I crossed my arms over my chest when the doors to Cueva opened and Brice Huntington strode in, adjusting his cufflinks with eye-roll-inducing swagger.

  “Were you talking about me, Hollie baby?”

  I huffed. “I was simply remembering how good it felt to tell you that your gravy train had been derailed.”

  “I can get ass anywhere I want.” He looked around at the arched doorways and heavy steel light fixtures. “This place was simply the most convenient.”

  “Charming.” I picked up a rich leather-bound menu and then headed off down the hallway, knowing that he would follow me. “We close in an hour, so down something expensive and then find somewhere else to drink.”

  I opened the glass doors to the bar area, placing the book for bottle service down on a white linen covered table by the big bay window. The room overlooked the hustle and bustle of McKinney Avenue.

  “Here you go, Mr. Huntington.” I pulled his chair out for him, a smirk on my face. He hated formalities, which only made me use them any chance I could get. “Staci will be by to take your drink order.” I leaned down and whispered next to his ear while ignoring how good the jerk always smelled. “And not your cock down her throat.”

  He snorted out a laugh, pulling back to look me in the eye while he rubbed his jaw. “Say cock again, but this time let me watch those pouty lips of yours form the word.”

  I shook my head as I turned and walked away. I always did my best to leave Brice in the lurch. It gave me a sick pleasure, letting him know that he didn’t affect me in the slightest.

  Although, as much as I loathed the guy, I had to admit, my life would be a bit boring without him in it.

  Chapter Five />
  Holland

  I was exhausted. I swear I’d been on my feet for at least ten hours today. I pulled my sensible Camry into the designated parking space of my apartment complex. I lived in a small place off Lemon Avenue with my boyfriend Trevor. We’d been together about eight months, and I’d moved into his place a couple weeks ago.

  I’d never lived with a boyfriend before, and it had taken some adjusting. But I loved coming home to him at the end of the day. Trevor was an artist, a sculptor. His work was in galleries from here to Austin and he was one of the most talented people I’d ever met. He was kind and compassionate. He wore t-shirts and scuffed-up boots, which was a nice change from the three-piece suits I was surrounded by on a daily basis.

  In short, Trevor was everything I wanted.

  I made my way up the flight of stairs to the second floor, pausing to take off my heels before I reached our apartment door. It was unlocked, like always, and I stepped in with a smile on my face. “Babe, I need a glass of wine like you—”

  “Fuck.” Trevor stopped mid thrust, his jaw dropping to the floor where his pants were located. “You’re home early.”

  “No I’m not.” I checked my watch, and then frowned. Why had I checked my watch? Why had I bothered correcting him? My boyfriend had another woman bent over the back of our couch. The couch we’d shopped for together. It was navy velvet, and tufted. And now it would need to be burned.

  Trevor reached down and pulled up his well-worn jeans while the woman I’d never seen before scrambled for her clothes. She was moving around pretty fast, and I was standing stock-still. Was I in shock? Why wasn’t I freaking out?

  “Love, I am so sorry, this isn’t what it looks like.” Trevor buttoned his pants, coming toward me with his hands out, like he was trying to placate me.

  How could it be anything other than what it looked like? “How long has this been going on? How could you?” I dropped my heels and my purse, and my whole body had started to shake.

  “Well, love, I’m an artist and I need to be able to express—”

  “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” The girl hurried past me and muttered a quick apology on her way out the door. I didn’t care about her. I didn’t care where she came from or what her story was. My boyfriend was cheating on me in the home that we now shared. “How long? How many times, Trevor?”

  “I’m um, I’ve really never been…all that, well, into monogamy.”

  I took a deep breath, trying hard to gather some self-control. But then I thought, fuck it.

  “You’ve never been all that into monogamy? Are you out of your mind? We’ve been together for eight months, you asked me to move in with you.” I was screaming pretty loudly at this point. The walls of the apartment were thin and I knew the neighbors could most likely hear me. And I didn’t give that first fuck. “Don’t you think that’s something you should have mentioned after our first freaking date?”

  I picked up a framed picture of us at the lake where we’d spent the weekend at one of his friend’s houses and we’d gone skinny-dipping. I’d swum naked in a public place with a man who cheated on me. For some reason, that really pissed me off and I threw the framed photo at his head.

  He ducked and the glass shattered on the wall behind him.

  “Now, Holland, please calm down, love.” He had his hands clasped in front of him, like he was begging me to not break anything else.

  “Calm down?” I picked up his French press, throwing it into the sink so hard it cracked down the middle. I made him coffee every morning in that thing before I left for work. Why had I wasted so much of my time making him coffee? “You’ve been cheating on me for eight months.” I was screaming again, but I couldn’t find it in me to care.

  “No, not eight months.” He shook his head adamantly. “Maybe like six.” He stepped to the side when I lobbed the cookbook I’d used to make dinner last night in his direction. “But, love, it’s not cheating, not really. You see, I’m an artist and—”

  I threw another book and this one hit its intended mark. When it connected with his head, he stopped talking. “Get out.”

  He looked around the small space. “This is my apartment.”

  “Unless you want to spend the next hour dodging and ducking from random flying objects, I suggest you get the fuck out.” I pointed at the still slightly ajar door. “I need to pack my things.”

  “You’re leaving me?”

  Was this guy for real? He genuinely looked like he was surprised that I was pissed enough to leave. “Yes, Trevor, love. Cheating is a deal breaker for me.” I spoke slowly like he was a child. “We are breaking up and I am moving out.”

  “Well, that’s sad to hear, love.” He stuck out his bottom lip in a pout. “I was hoping we could move past this and—”

  The discarded tennis shoe hit him square in the face.

  Chapter Six

  Brice

  Today hadn’t really turned out as well as I’d hoped. When I woke up this morning, I thought I’d be ending the day with a promotion at work and a pleasant dinner at my parents’ house where they did nothing but sing my praises.

  Neither of those things had happened.

  Instead, I’d been labeled a whore, twice. First by Douglas Klein, who really laid into me, and then my mother. My own mother.

  What was so wrong with a man having a healthy sexual appetite? What was so wrong with having multiple partners? I wasn’t ready for a wife and kids, so why should I be on the hunt for the perfect girl? And why in the flying fuck should I pretend to care when I really didn’t?

  In a roundabout way, my shitty day could easily be traced back to my best friend turned brother-in-law Declan. That asshole had forbidden me from sleeping with his staff, so I’d had to turn to mine. These days I was either at work, or hanging after hours at Cueva. Those were the two places I spent most of my time, so obviously those were the two easiest locations to pick up a little late-night snack.

  I leaned on the polished, shiny bar and took another sip of my whiskey, then pulled out my cell and started to scroll. There had to be someone in here that would make a good fake girlfriend for a couple functions. One work dinner, and the next day one mom-run charity function.

  Easy fucking peasy.

  Don’t tell anyone I said easy peasy.

  The contacts on my phone were super cliché and chicks were labeled things like the hot aspiring nurse, the blonde with the big rack, and the blonde with the smaller rack. I wasn’t proud, but I wasn’t really ashamed of myself either. I was who I was, and I’d never felt the need to change or apologize for it.

  I set my cell face down on the bar. Cueva had closed after I’d had my first drink and Hollie, the sexy little brat, had all but shoved me out the door. So then I’d had to resort to the bar at Hotel Zaza, Dragonfly, my second go-to watering hole. It was close to my house, and I knew the bartender. My younger sister had spent a summer naked with him when they were younger. And he’d helped me make Declan jealous when I was trying to prove a point before their fake/real wedding.

  I polished off my second drink and then let my gaze scan the room. I’d had a hard day and I needed a pick-me-up.

  There was a gorgeous redhead in the corner, but she was with about ten friends. I wasn’t in the mood to charm that many women into letting me take their friend home. I glanced to my left as the doors opened and a crying mess of girl came storming in.

  Holland?

  Now why in the world would a girl so beautiful ever need to be that sad? I kept my eyes on her as she walked to the bar, smiling through the waterworks as she ordered a drink. Evan, the bartender, winked at her and told her it was on the house, and then she took a seat three down from where I was stationed.

  Hollie loathed me. I knew this because she made a point of telling me. Often. But I couldn’t very well sit here and let her sob all by herself. One, I was raised a Southern gentleman. And two, Declan would fucking kill me if he ever found out.

  I ordered another round
, for both of us, and waited patiently. I wanted to give her a few minutes to compose herself. Crying women made me twitchy. I grabbed both drinks, rising to my feet, and then made my way down the bar.

  “Of all the gin joints…” I sat her vodka tonic in front of her, and then slid into the empty seat.

  “Brice?” She blinked up at me, her mascara like black paint dripping from her long lashes. “What are you doing here? Isn’t it free steak night over at Baby Dolls?”

  “Insults? Through tears? Really?” I rolled my eyes as I took a sip of my whiskey. “You’re better than that.”

  “Sorry. I’ve had a shit day.” She hiccupped, then gulped down her first free vodka like a champ. She lifted the one I brought her, tapping it lightly against my rocks glass. “Thanks.”

  “If you stop crying, I’ll buy you another one.” I sent her a small smile. “I’ve had a shit day as well.”

  “Oh yeah? What happened? You didn’t have time for your mid-morning quickie?”

  I ignored her second insult in the last two minutes, choosing instead to be honest with her. She already hated me, what was the point of lying? And for some inexplicable reason, I felt the need to get the ass-chewing I’d been handed off my chest.

  “I was in line for a big promotion, but it got postponed because I’ve slept with all the women in my office. They’re pissed, my boss knows, and he gave me the sexual harassment lecture.”

  Hollie threw her head back, laughing loudly. She laughed so long and so freely that people were starting to stare. I waited quietly for her to get it out of her system. Hey, at least she wasn’t crying anymore.

  “You through?”

  She was still giggling when she rested her chin in her hand, turning her attention on me. “Karma is a bitch.”

  “Yeah well, so are the chicks I work with apparently.” They’d all agreed readily to a one-night stand. It wasn’t my fault they thought I’d suddenly wake up and be in love with them. “Enough about me. Tell me why you walked in here crying like you got stood up on prom night.”