by M. S. Parker
It took me twice as long as usual to get through everything, but since there was less of it, I finished in about the same time. With less to clean up, I was able to take my time and still get done with minutes to spare. Not that I had anyone rushing to get inside. This wasn’t the sort of place where people lined up, eager to be first in line. Yesterday’s knock at the door had been a fluke.
Except there was someone knocking at my door again.
I grabbed my broom as I crossed the room. Mr. Jones was going to get something a hell of a lot less polite than a no to take back to his employer. One time, I wouldn’t shoot the messenger, but guys who didn’t take no for an answer were destined to get a broomstick up their–
Everything I was going to say fell right out of my head as soon as I yanked the door open and saw who was standing there.
Sandy brown hair that’d probably never seen anything less than a two-hundred-dollar haircut. Intelligent pale blue eyes. Long legs, a trim waist with a muscled enough torso to make him lean rather than skinny. A strong jaw and features rugged enough to completely eliminate any possibility of him being called a pretty boy.
Well, damn.
“Hello.” He gave me a charming smile that showed off teeth so straight and white that they must’ve paid for a dentist’s new car. “My name is Jax Hunter.”
I knew that name but couldn’t figure out why. My brain didn’t seem to be working at the moment. Shaking his hand just made it worse. I could feel the strength in his grip, but he didn’t try to crush my hand like he had a point to prove, and I suddenly wondered what it would be like to have those hands touching other parts of me.
It was that thought that finally got my brain working again. I had a boyfriend. I couldn’t think like that. Not even if I had Gilly’s voice in the back of my head telling me that Billy checked out other women all the time.
I couldn’t even argue with that point because I’d seen it myself.
Rather than trying to confront my wayward thoughts, I turned all my attention to getting Jax Hunter out of my bar as quickly as possible.
“Why are you here, Mr. Hunter?” While probably better than a what do you want question, that wasn’t exactly the politest way to start a conversation. Still, it was the best he was going to get at this moment.
“I’m interested in buying this bar.”
My grip tightened on my broom.
Was he fucking kidding me?
Seven
Jax
I liked to think that not much could catch me off guard, but that’s where I was now.
Yesterday, after Grandfather had gone home with his maps and plans, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that prime piece of real estate that would be perfect for a club. Grandfather wanted the company to buy up as many quality businesses in this area as possible, which meant it wasn’t outside of his vision for me to investigate the bar. The fact that I was thinking about buying it myself for my own venture…well, I kept that detail to myself. Usually, Grandfather and I were in sync about these things, but this time, my gut told me to go for it.
Which was why I’d had my assistant, Blossom, get me as much information as possible on the bar. I liked going into things well-informed.
She’d given me lists of the property’s owners as far back as she could go in a single day, as well as any articles that mentioned it. She had a bit more on the man who’d converted the former diner into the bar that stood there now. Inspection papers stated that Gareth Reeve, a Boston native, had converted the back half of the building into an apartment of sorts.
A police report from about ten years ago had been filed by Gareth for some minor vandalism on Halloween. The kids who’d done it had been caught, but Reeve had struck a deal where they worked off the cost of what they’d destroyed rather than sending them into the system. The next article mentioning him had been an obituary, listing a daughter – Syll Reeve – as his only living relative. A few legal papers followed, the gist of them being that Syll had inherited the bar from her father. Everything indicated that she still lived on the property, but business didn’t seem to be going as well now as it had been.
A daughter who’d been passed down her father’s dream meant that she’d view the bar in one of two ways. First, as a burden she’d been forced into taking and couldn’t ever get rid of without major guilt. Or she’d think of it as honoring her father’s memory and not even think twice about what she wanted for her life.
Either way, she wasn’t going to be an easy sell.
All of that I’d known going in. What I hadn’t been prepared for was the short, curvy brunette who was currently glaring up at me like I’d said something majorly offensive rather than just having introduced myself and stated my honest intentions.
She barely looked old enough to drink, but I felt confident in my guess that she was Syll Reeve. The place was still closed, and she looked far too annoyed to merely be an employee.
“Miss Reeve?” I gave her my most charming smile as I tried again. “Would it be possible for me to come inside so we can discuss a few things?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.” She gave me a once-over, but instead of the attraction I usually saw in women, her expression remained irritated.
I wasn’t going to be as easily put off as that. “I don’t think you understand, Miss Reeve. I’ve come prepared to negotiate. You haven’t even heard my first offer.”
She crossed her arms, pushing up a set of amazing breasts. If this hadn’t been a business transaction, I would’ve prepared a whole other sort of offer for her.
“It doesn’t matter, Mr. Hunter. My bar’s not for sale.”
I’d heard that before, and I was certain that Syll was just as firm in her resolve as the other men who’d thought they wanted to keep their property, but in the end, they sold. She would too. Everyone had a price. People who said otherwise just hadn’t been offered the right incentives.
“Let me at least give you my contact information and what I’m prepared to pay.” I reached into my jacket and pulled out a business card.
She didn’t take it. “Let me make this perfectly clear, Mr. Hunter. This is my home and my business. I’m not interested in selling, especially to someone who spends more on a suit than my bar makes in a month.”
And then she closed the door.
She actually shut the door on me. I couldn’t believe it. No woman had ever done that to me. I’d had some people who were tough bargainers, ones who thought their properties were worth more than I was offering, but no one had been that downright rude.
Then again, it wasn’t like I’d mentioned where I was from. Hunter was a common enough surname that she probably hadn’t thought I’d come from Hunter Enterprises. Other people I spoke with knew the company I ran, understood that any offer I made was genuine, and most likely also knew that I had a reputation for being fair. Syll didn’t know any of this.
I left, grateful I’d asked my town car to wait. Mid-January wasn’t the time of year I wanted to be left standing on the sidewalk, waiting to find a cab. As I climbed into the backseat, I began to make plans for my next move. This was far from over. I needed to regroup and give her time to check me out. Once she knew who I was, things would go a lot more smoothly.
Except as my driver pulled into traffic, I realized that, from the moment Syll opened the door, my attention hadn’t been on the bar. Sure, I’d said the words, and I did want the bar, but if I was being honest, I cared more about seeing what was under her clothes than finding out what the inside of the bar looked like.
I needed to get laid.
Between what happened at Club Privé, thinking about starting a BDSM club, and meeting Syll, my dick was furious at me. It’d been too long since I fucked someone, even just good, old-fashioned vanilla sex, let alone Dominating someone. Hell, I hadn’t even jacked off in weeks. I’d been too tired, too focused on work.
I thanked the driver as he pulled up in front of my house, and then got back out into the Boston
cold. For once, I was grateful for it. It was a hell of a lot easier than a cold shower. It wasn’t as effective though. Or maybe it was just because the walk to the door was so short. Whatever the reason, I was still half-hard when I got inside.
I was partway up the stairs when I realized that I hadn’t even intended to come home. I’d planned on going back to the office once I’d gotten a verbal agreement; so, I could make a pitch to Grandfather. With that specific property, I was confident he’d come around to my way of thinking. Instead, my head had been so full of Syll that I’d given my home address.
“Dammit,” I muttered. It wasn’t that I couldn’t work from home, I just didn’t do it often. I had to have a good reason, and those didn’t crop up much.
I stepped into my bedroom and took off my tie and suit jacket. A glass of Highland Park would hit the spot even though I usually didn’t drink this early. I untucked my shirt and undid a couple buttons as I poured myself a drink. There wasn’t a point in driving all the way back to the office with only an hour or so left in the regular business day. I might as well enjoy my time at home.
I sat down in the overstuffed recliner opposite the bed. As I sipped my drink, I realized that I’d never considered all the possibilities this chair held. I didn’t bring women to my house much, but when I did, we always stayed in the playroom. Which meant I’d never thought about the perfect view this chair had of my bed.
I wasn’t a voyeur in the sense that I didn’t want to watch my woman with someone else, but I did occasionally like to see a woman touching herself.
The woman who’d been haunting my thoughts appeared in my mind’s eye. I could almost see her on the bed, naked save for a pair of red lace panties, her hands still as she waited for my command.
I shifted in the chair, unsnapping my pants as I let my imagination run. Syll’s hands cupping her breasts, unable to completely hold them. Her fingers touching nipples the color of ripe peaches. Then one hand sliding down her stomach and beneath the waistband of her panties. Those full lips would part with a gasp as she stroked herself, the movement of her hand under the lace teasing me.
I freed my cock as I wondered what her pussy looked like. Did she shave? Go completely natural? Trimmed? A Brazilian? How soft would her skin be? I could almost taste her on my tongue.
My thoughts shifted to her mouth and the things she could do to me with it. Taste me. Lick me. Suck me.
“Fuck,” I groaned as I fisted my cock. I could feel the pressure building quickly and knew I wouldn’t last.
I was okay with that. I didn’t usually fantasize about real women, and certainly not one I was trying to do business with, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her. About what it would be like to feel those lips wrapped around me. Her hair brushing my thighs. Her hand cupping my balls, playing with them…
I came so suddenly that it caught me off-guard, and all I could think about was what it would be like to have her swallow me down, lick me clean, and…fuck. I was hard again.
Eight
Syll
If I kept losing sleep like this, I was going to fall over at the bar. I was used to getting by with four to five hours of sleep and functioning without a problem. I’d done it through school, and I’d graduated in the top five of my class. If I’d wanted to go to college, I would’ve had scholarships, but money hadn’t been the only reason I didn’t go. Dad had needed me.
I’d worked my ass off right next to him, hadn’t left a minute before he did, had woken up when he did. We’d worked seven days a week, as well as most holidays.
I knew how to function on very little sleep, but this was getting ridiculous.
We’d been a little fuller than normal last night, so even though Ariene had come in on her shift, I’d been kept busy. Too busy to think, but not too busy to miss Gilly’s not-so-subtle comments about how much better Ariene must’ve been feeling. At least Ariene had stuck with flipping Gilly off instead of making a big deal about it.
Except a part of me found that more suspicious rather than less. Why hadn’t Ariene asked Gilly what she was talking about? If it’d been me, I would’ve wanted to know what I was being accused of. And maybe it had been Gilly’s constant nattering about the subject, but I could’ve sworn I’d seen guilt of some kind on Ariene’s face. I supposed it could have been something as simple as the fact that she hadn’t actually been sick, but Gilly had gotten into my head.
But none of that was what had kept me up last night.
No, all of that had been courtesy of Jax fucking Hunter.
Before the bar had started filling up, I’d done a quick internet search on Mr. Hunter since I’d recognized his name from somewhere. Of course, searching for a Hunter in Boston immediately brought up Hunter Enterprises, and then I remembered why I knew who he was. Jax was the grandson of Manfred Hunter, founder of Hunter Enterprises. They were among the richest families in the city.
No wonder he thought he could buy my bar.
Except it wasn’t anger that had kept me awake either.
It’d been those pale blue eyes. That strong jaw. It’d been wondering if his mouth would be soft against mine, or hard and demanding.
I thought it’d be the second. Something about him had seemed…rough despite his polished appearance. Not the sort of rough that scared me, though maybe it should have. No, this was the kind of rough that made my stomach clench and my body tingle.
Billy was the only man I’d ever had sex with, and I’d never had such a visceral response to him.
But it hadn’t been guilt keeping me up either.
It’d just been Jax. Thinking about his body, his hands…
I’d been so hot and bothered that I’d gotten up after a couple hours to take a cold shower, but it hadn’t helped. Even when I’d finally fallen asleep, I’d dreamed about him, then woke up with the space between my legs throbbing.
I’d ended up taking a couple of those cold tablets that had some extra sleep aids in them, which was why I was now waking up at quarter past noon. Even after I saw the time, I couldn’t muster up enough energy to get out of bed. My head was foggy enough that it took me nearly a full minute to remember why I should get up. And then it took me another minute to decide that I needed to do it.
By the time I managed to make it to my office, I knew that I wasn’t going to be doing the books today. I’d be lucky if I could run the cash register. Hopefully, cleaning things up would give my head a chance to clear.
When I stepped through the door to the bar, for a moment, I thought I hadn’t woken up yet after all. Because this had to be a nightmare. Or maybe one of those weird Through the Looking Glass kind of dreams. That would make sense out of what I was seeing.
The door was wide open, the glass window broken, shards on the floor. Tables were upside down or on their sides. Chairs too. A couple had chunks gouged out of them, but it didn’t look like anything was broken. Well, not any of the tables and chairs anyway. I saw pieces of at least a dozen glasses, on both the ground and the bar.
Someone had trashed my bar.
I blinked and waited for it to disappear, but it didn’t. Someone really had trashed my bar.
What the hell?
I took a few steps inside, glass crushing beneath my shoes. That’s when I saw what else my vandals had left behind. A piece of paper, attached to my bar with a butcher knife.
I reached for it, then stopped. I wasn’t sure if this was as sinister as it looked, or just a bunch of kids doing shit on a dare or for the hell of it, but until I’d decided whether I was going to call the cops, it’d be better if I didn’t touch anything.
I leaned over so I could read what was written in big, blocky letters.
Get out. Or else.
Not the most original or subtle of messages, but it definitely got the point across.
I sighed and reached into my pocket for my cell phone. First, I called the police department, and then I took pictures of everything. No matter how tight money had been, I’d paid my insurance. The
y’d want pictures and documentation of everything.
Then I called Billy. I could feel the adrenaline rushing through my veins, and I knew once the cops were gone, everything would sink in, and I wouldn’t want to be alone when that happened.
After the third ring, Billy’s voicemail picked up. “Hey, someone trashed the bar. I know you’re working right now, but I could really use you here.” I paused, then ended the call when I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
I supposed it was a good thing that he hadn’t answered. It meant his job was going well. He’d only gotten the job at the deli yesterday, but I was hoping this one would work out, at least for a while. He hadn’t been thrilled about it, but at least it paid a little over minimum wage, and it was only a few blocks away. It also looked like it was doing really well, which meant he wouldn’t get laid off or let go to cut expenses again.
Shit. I hadn’t thought about what it could do to his job if he took off to come be with me. I sent off a quick text and hoped he’d take the time to read it before calling.
Please just come by when you get off work. I could really use you here.
Then again, as the police pulled up in front of the bar, I wondered what, exactly, Billy would even do when he got here.
Nine
Jax
Normally, if someone I wanted to do business with had rejected an offer, I’d wait a couple days, give them a chance to think about things, then return with something new if they didn’t contact me first. Sometimes, they called, wanting to accept my original offer because they realized it was the best they’d get.
