“Maverick…” I tried to catch my breath. Something was stirring low in my stomach, reaching down, gripping my core.
“I’m hard as fuck,” he continued in a relentless whisper. “It doesn’t take much these days. All I have to do is think about the way your skin felt against my fingertips. Or the way your ass moved in that red dress the night of Nichola’s art show.”
“My granny could have made that dress,” I tried to distract him.
He hummed.
Clearly, it hadn’t worked.
My phone dinged.
Another message: Touch your pussy for me.
“I will do… no such thing!” I gasped again, yet something tingled in my nether regions.
He laughed. “Okay. For now.” He exhaled and I imagined him releasing his rock-solid… cock, willing it to go down on its own. Or maybe he’d finish what he started after we hung up. Damn, I was already searching for my rabbit.
I was afraid to ask the next question, but I did anyway. “What happens if we reach year four?”
“When we hit Year Four, I want you to meet my mother.”
“What?”
“I know, it seems worse than the sexting idea. It probably is, but… that's what I want.”
That seemed random, I thought, and perhaps even a little tame compared to the previous privileges, but I shouldn't complain. At least he wasn't saying…
The thought arrested. “What’s the five-year privilege?” I asked cautiously.
He hummed. “You know what happens at the Year Five mark,” he growled. “By then, there’ll be no constraints, no limitations. I'm going to fuck you until we're both sated.”
Oh!
His voice lowered. “I'm going to turn you out, Amaris. I'm going to make sure I'm the only man you ever think of. Whatever shit you experienced when you were younger, I'm going to replace those memories.”
Electricity crackled in the air.
“Do we have a deal?”
“Fuck you, Maverick,” I breathed out the curse word I only used in life or death situations, like whenever a mouse found its way inside, which rarely happened.
“I promise, you will,” he came back. “Do we have a deal?’
I was hot as hell, writhing in my bed, getting menial amounts of satisfaction from the sheets sliding against my aching sex; but in reality, I had little to worry about.
The likelihood that Maverick would make it to the five-year mark was almost nil. Hell, if he made it to two, I’d be impressed. And he was right: the more time passed, the less he felt like my client. It didn’t negate my responsibilities, but if agreeing to these ludicrous terms would get him off my case – even if it was just for now – I’d agree.
“Fine,” I snapped. “Now, I’m ending this call. It’s already gone on for way longer than it should have. It’s late, and I need to rest.”
He laughed. “Of course,” he agreed, and then we fell into a flickering quiet.
“You won't regret this, Amaris,” he whispered.
“How can you be so sure when I’m not?”
“Because I know what you need,” he replied. “When we were in your office, you were the expert. Now, the roles have shifted. You helped me, and now I’m going to help you. All we need to do is take it one year at a time. All I need to do is keep you thinking about me.”
His words made my stomach lurch forward.
“Good night, Mary. We’ll talk. Soon.”
13
Maverick
~Eleven Months~
My secretary knocked on the door to my office and waited until I summoned her in. My nose was buried in a deep stack of files. Yesterday, she’d dropped them on my desk and the expectation was that they were reviewed in time for tomorrow afternoon’s meeting. Each file took thirty minutes to complete, despite the fact three of my staff members had gone through each with, what was supposed to be, a fine-tooth comb.
But they were incompetent, and now that I’d been elevated to partner, the incompetence grated on me more now than it ever had.
I raked my fingers through my hair and pinched the bridge of my nose. “What is it, Camille?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you sir. Buchanan delivered four more files for your review.”
My head jerked up and I pinned her with an agitated glare. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
Her chin dipped.
“Buchanan, Walters, and Marigold knew that the deadline was last Friday!” My voice ricocheted off the walls and my secretary startled.
“I know, sir, and I reminded him of that when he dropped them off five minutes ago.”
I hissed a curse and squeezed my eyes shut. I was trying to reduce my anger, trying to remember the things from my counseling sessions almost a year ago. I drew in a breath, but the only thing to fill my lungs was more toxic rage.
“Get him in here,” I muttered.
“Pardon me, sir?”
Slowly, I lifted my eyes until they arrested her on the spot. “Call Buchanan and tell him to come to my office. Immediately.”
“Right away, sir.” She hurried out of the room, tripping over the edge of the rug in the process. When the door sealed behind her, I jumped up from the desk and stomped over to the bar.
This was the shit I was talking about. The phrase teamwork makes the dream work only applied if the team was effective, and as it stood, I had a team that was more incompetent than was worth my time.
The dark liquid splashed against the glass and I swirled it a bit before taking it to the head. I tried not to do this at work, but I’d learned that this position required a certain level of inebriation.
And half-a-pack of cigarettes a day, but my smoke-break wasn’t for another fifteen minutes so I’d have to wait for the nicotine rush.
I looked at the stack of files on my desk and immediately, anger and frustration rattled my insides.
What are you really angry about?
Like the voice of an angel, Amaris’s words floated into my mind. It had been almost a year since I’d sat on anybody’s therapeutic couch, but the hell if I was going to engage in another round of counseling, especially if it wasn’t with her. And the hell if I was going to engage in counseling with her. It was a catch-22.
Five years had turned into four. If I was patient enough, four years would turn into three. All I needed to do was fight the good fight, remember the things we had talked about and apply them.
I didn’t need counseling.
Amaris…
My shoulders loosened a little.
The last time I’d spoken to or seen her was eight months ago. I’d battled the urge to call or text her, but I couldn’t help but think the sound of her soft voice caressing my inner ear late at night would reduce some of this anxiety. And irritation.
A knock on the door sliced into my musings.
“Come in,” I barked and refreshed my drink. Evan Buchanan peeked around the edge of the door, his eyes as wide as saucers, before he took one timid step across the threshold of my office.
The office was as imposing as I was. I’d designed it to be that way. It could fit five of my underlings’ offices in it, and still have space to do a fifty-meter dash. The wall behind my desk was a panoramic window, which afforded a majestic view of the harbor.
Amaris’s office was located downtown and if I looked to the right, I could imagine it.
Imagine her.
“Sir.” Evan’s voice cracked and he cleared it, no doubt trying to restore the bass. “You wanted to see me?”
“I did.”
I observed his posture before strutting over to view the city and cast my gaze off to the right. “The effectiveness of our department rides heavily on my ability to speak to the performance of the portfolios under our charge,” I started, saying shit he was well-aware of.
He took another small step deeper into the office.
“Yes, Mr. Dangerfield, I know,” he stuttered, “and I know you’re upset that I only recently delivered those files
to Camille – ”
“You know that I’m upset?” I parroted. I grunted. “Then since you know this, tell me what’s going to happen next.”
Evan’s chin trembled and his eyes flitted around the office before landing back on me. “Mr. Dangerfield, I need this job,” he immediately went to begging. “I’ve worked here for four years.”
“Four years, yet you still don’t know the expectations of this company? This isn’t the first time you’ve caused a setback, Evan.”
“I know,” he admitted, “but I swear I’ll be on top of my game.”
“You said that last time.” I folded my arms over my chest and grimaced. “I’m not gonna make this any more painful than it has to be,” I said. “As it stands, you’re already wasting more of my time, standing here in this office.” I paused. “I want your shit packed and you the fuck out of the building before the hour expires.” With an agitated huff, I sat in my seat and started flipping through the new files, cursing.
Evan hadn’t moved. I could still feel his quivering presence.
My eyes pulled up. “Or should I have security escort you out?”
“Mr. Dangerfield, please,” he started to petition, but I only waved him away.
His shoulders caved as he walked out of my office.
The door closed, and two seconds later, the phone rang.
“What is it?” I barked at Camille.
“Mr. Dangerfield, there’s a call on line one. It’s Mr. McConnell,” She squeaked.
I threw my head back and groaned.
Mitch was the last person I felt like talking to, especially because I knew what he was calling about. He was checking up on me, trying to make sure I was ready for the meeting tomorrow. Had he called thirty minutes ago, the answer would have been yes, but now, thanks to fucking Buchanan, the answer was not yet.
“Put him through,” I muttered.
Mitch’s cheery tone sounded over the line. “Mav, are you ready?”
Just as I’d predicted.
“Mitch, I wanna pretend that I’m grateful for your constant wellness checks, but I’m not good at being fake.”
Mitch laughed, but I knew that my admission wouldn’t deter him. “It’s not a wellness check,” he said. “It’s a do you have the shit ready for the board meeting check. I just saw Buchanan rushing past my office with tears in his eyes. What did you do to him?”
“I fired his ass,” I answered. “That asshole had the balls to drop three files on my desk fifteen minutes ago, despite the fact the deadline was last Friday. You know what that means.”
“You’ll be pulling an all-nighter.”
“Again,” I bit out.
I needed another drink.
Silence fell over the line. Again, I knew what was coming next.
“I know you completed your therapy sessions a few months ago,” he started, but I didn’t let him finish.
“Is my attitude still a problem?” I huffed.
“No,” he answered thoughtfully, “but you’re stressed, Mav.”
“I’m a partner. It’s part of the damn job description.”
“You’re right. Running a firm isn’t for the faint-hearted, even if there are four on the team.”
“What’s your point, Mitch? I just told you, thanks to Buchanan I have a ton of shit to do.”
“Maybe you want to re-engage Amaris Flowers.”
I threw my head back and let my eyes close. Over the past few months, my frustration tolerance had reduced. Little things set me off, like incompetent assholes dropping files on my desk at the eleventh hour. I remembered all the things Amaris had said when she was my therapist. I knew where the anger stemmed from: my overbearing and negligent mother.
Had the circumstances been different, I would have taken Mitch up on his suggestion, but the hell if I was going to sit in Amaris’s office again. There was too much at stake. Fuck that!
In three weeks, an entire year would have elapsed since I walked out of her office and now, the terms of the deal we’d struck floated into my mind.
I would have her to myself.
We’d be going on a date.
I’d already made the arrangements. In fact, the day after I’d last spoken to her, I’d made a few calls and put things in place.
“I’ll think about it,” I relented in an attempt to allay his well-meaning concern.
I felt him smile through the phone. “Good. I’ll let you go and tend to those delinquent files,” he said, and then he hung up.
Three weeks later, I was picking up my cell phone and opening my contacts, looking for Amaris’s number. I hadn’t used it but once, but I'd never forget the digits. I looked at them every night, considering calling her.
Just to talk.
About what, I never knew.
Maybe I’d tell her that I missed her; that even though months had passed without us seeing one another, I still thought about her day in and out. Maybe I’d tell her about my success at work and ask her how things were going at CCDS.
I had practiced maddening self-control, but tonight, there was no need. We were on the threshold of our one-year monthversary, and as far as I saw it, she should have been expecting contact.
I opened a new text message: Hey.
I stared at the phone, waiting for a response.
Would she make me wait? Would she even answer? There was nothing to stop her from ignoring me. Sure, we’d agreed to observe this moment, but all she had to do was act as if I didn’t exist, then what would I do?
Finally, the cue that she was typing a message arrived and her response came through: How are you?
Tension I hadn’t even known was hiding in my muscles seeped out, and a smile took over my mouth.
I’m pretty good. Long day. I’m glad it’s over. I’ve missed you, been thinking about you.
Five Years Page 12
