Stealing the Bride

by Lee, Nadia

  “You asshole! You think money makes you better than me, but you aren’t that cool. You’re just a punk with money, but guess what? Money doesn’t buy you happiness!”

  Skittles covers her face and groans. “What the hell did I ever see in him?” she mutters.

  I pat her thigh. “It was before me, so I understand. You didn’t have a good, objective measuring stick. Anyway…” I turn to Tom and raise my voice. “Poverty doesn’t buy you happiness, either, Tom. So I guess we’re even...except that when I’m lying in my bed, on my five-hundred-thread-count Egyptian organic cotton sheets and feeling depressed about all the happiness I can’t buy, my girl here will be using hundred-dollar bills to wipe away my tears.”

  Tom’s face turns redder than a baboon’s ass. “You’ll be sorry!” he cries, shaking his fist like some third-rate actor. For a writer, he sure has crappy comebacks. The sight is even more ludicrous, since his arms are about as thick as carpenter’s nails.

  Could a sinkhole open up underneath Tom’s feet and suck him down into the magma, where he’ll be stuck for eternity? Somebody should invent that technology.

  He manages to walk safely back to his car, then peels out.

  “I actually hope he tries,” I say, watching Tom drive away, then starting toward the penthouse. “Then I’ll show him I wasn’t making an idle threat.”

  The look she gives is intense and scrutinizing. “You don’t make empty threats, do you?”

  “Nope. It’s bad for the image.” I grin, remembering what Tony told me. “Once you start making examples out of a few people, others will to get the hint and toe the line.”

  Her eyes shine, and she learns over and kisses me, licking my mouth.

  I savor the moment, trying not to wreck the Maserati, before she pulls back. “What was that about?”

  “You. Being sexy as hell.” She runs her tongue along the seam of her mouth. “Tasty, too.”

  I groan as lust pounds through me. “Fuck. We can’t do it in the car again, and especially not in your parents’ neighborhood.”

  “Drive faster,” she says, laughing.

  Chapter Forty

  Pascal

  Although the drive back to Court’s place isn’t too terrible—considering the traffic—it feels like an eternity. It’s empowering to know I can affect him with just a kiss—a glance and words. Even though he appears generally down to earth and easygoing, he’s more sophisticated and complicated than anybody I’ve ever dated. And the fact that he’s shown a few glimpses of vulnerability touches me more than I can say.

  I’m hyperaware of his scent, mixed with the subtle leather of the seats, and every flicker of emotion playing across his stunning face. The quick dart of his tongue as he licks his lips, a flash of white teeth, his hand brushing my arm…and the shivers that run through me. The desire that beats in my blood.

  He parks recklessly, then jumps out. I dash out and rush to him, wrapping my arms and legs around his shoulders and waist. He cradles my ass and his mouth crushes mine. I kiss him with pent-up lust, devouring him. He molds my lips with his, glides his tongue against mine and nips at me, the sharp sensation sending a hot streak of need all the way to my core.

  Oh my God. We might just do this in the garage. Again. I don’t think I give a damn, though. Somehow when I’m with Court, I become more reckless, more attuned to my most basic urges.

  Court maneuvers us until we’re inside an elevator. I feel the hard wall at my back and tighten my hold on him, losing myself in our kiss. I’m already wet, and my nipples rub and ache against my bra. He feels amazing, his hard cock pressing against me, his strong muscles bunching under my touch.

  Somehow we’re in the foyer, then inside the penthouse. The second the door closes, he pushes me against it, then shoves a hand under my flaring skirt without breaking the kiss. I tug at his pants, undoing the buckles and unzipping and pushing the whole thing down his legs along with his underwear.

  I vaguely feel the lace rip, and Court’s fingers running along my slick folds.

  My entire body is quivering with emptiness. “Now,” I demand, my voice low and thready with need.

  He thrusts two of his long fingers into my pussy. I clench around them, but they aren’t what I want. “No. Your cock.”

  His face is taut with barely restrained lust, but a grin pops onto it. “I love it when you talk dirty.”

  “Now, now, n—”

  He drives into me, cutting me off with a kiss. I’m so wet that he glides in like a dream, the slick friction positively delicious. I feel like I’m melting, twining myself more tightly around him. The rapid thrusts stoke the heat in my belly until it burns with an incinerating intensity.

  “You feel so good,” he mumbles against my lips. “I want to do this forever.”

  “So do I. But after we come.”

  He laughs. “Greedy.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be? You’re mine.” The words slip out, but he doesn’t seem to notice as bliss twists the chiseled perfection of his face.

  I cling to him as he pushes us harder and faster to a blinding climax. When the first orgasm hits me, it’s like fireworks are going off in my body. The second one makes me feel like every strand of my hair has been set ablaze.

  “Oh fuck, I can’t hold back anymore.” He grits his teeth.

  He pulls out with a groan, and warm wetness hits my belly. I watch him come. His eyes lose all focus as the eyelids flutter downward. He’s gorgeous—a masterpiece in rapture.

  Then he’s wrapping his arms around me like a vise, like he’ll never let go. I let him hold me, loving the sensation of having him around me.

  “Jesus. You’ve got me acting like a horny teenager,” he says when his breathing settles a bit.

  I grin. “The drive got me super hot and bothered, too.” And it isn’t just my sex drive that ramps up every time I’m around him. My shields drop. It’s like I instinctively know I’m safe with him.

  He kisses my forehead. “Move in with me.”

  That jerks me out of the postcoital haze. “Wait. Here?” I point my index finger down. “Like, here? Move in here? With you?”

  He laughs. “I don’t think you said ‘here’ enough.”

  Moving in together is the next natural step. I want to scream yes, but are we going too fast? We’ve known each other for a little over a month now—not counting the one-night stand.

  On the other hand, Curie said I’d know when I met the right guy. And my heart says Court is the man.

  Screw it.

  “Okay,” I say.

  A huge smile breaks out on his face, as radiant and precious as sunlight after a dark afternoon storm.

  “But it’s going to take me a while to move everything, what with my job starting Monday. And my lease isn’t up until the end of next month.”

  “That’s not a problem. I can hire movers to start as soon as possible, and your place can stay empty until the lease runs out.”

  I shake my head. “No movers. I hate it when strangers paw though my things.” Then I run my index finger along his biceps. “But you can help me move the heavy stuff and flex your manly muscles.”

  “Should I do it topless?” he asks with an easy grin.

  “Goes without saying.”

  “Deal. We move your stuff together. Both topless.”

  I laugh. “We won’t get any packing done.”

  “Welcome to the twenty-first century, Skittles. Equality for all.” He stares lasciviously at my chest, reaching for my breasts with splayed and wriggling fingers.

  Laughing and shrieking, I duck and run. All the while wanting him to catch me and knowing that he’ll do just that.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Pascal

  After a morning shower on Monday, I let my eyes roam over my collection of toiletries, sitting on the gorgeous marble double vanity in Court’s master bathroom. They look like they fit right in, but at the same time, it does feel slightly surreal. I’ve never, ever moved in with a guy before. I�
��ve lived with a couple, but they moved into my place, not vice versa. I clung to that because I wanted to keep my independence and a home of my own.

  But it doesn’t make sense for Court give up his place for my apartment. It’s so much smaller and not as nice. And where would we put the grand piano?

  Since we only had a day, I still have a lot of my stuff at my place. But I brought most of my clothes and all my toiletries because…priorities.

  I apply some pink lipstick to finish my makeup and lean back. I thought giving up my space might make me feel anxious, like something’s missing in my life. But instead, it feels natural to share his space. I grin. Maybe it’s because I’m falling for him. I’ve never felt this intensely for any of my exes.

  But enough sentiment. Today’s the first day at my new job, and I want to be on top of things.

  I put on a beige scoop-neck top, purple skirt and nude pumps, then go downstairs. Court hands me a spoon. “Greek yogurt and fruit for you, and a bowl of cereal for me.”

  I take it automatically, then give him a strange look. “How did you know I like Greek yogurt?”

  “Because I peeked inside your fridge yesterday. You had ten of them.”

  Huh. I thought he opened it to grab a beer, which, in my defense, he did. And then guzzled it down.

  I devour the yogurt quickly, wanting to get an early start. Court also hands me my coffee in a tumbler. Smiling at his thoughtfulness, I give him a kiss. “You’re awfully domestic this morning.”

  “Just like to be helpful. Have a great day. You’re going to kill it.”

  Laughing, I hurry to the garage and start toward OWM. One more reason to move in: Court’s place is closer to the office than mine.

  The drive is sweet, despite the crappy L.A. traffic. I already filled out the tax forms and other paperwork for new employees online so I could get started right away. Gavin hiring me is just the beginning. I want to prove myself as soon as possible. Thanks to my dad refusing to give me credit I deserve, I’m at least a year behind on my career track, even with the promotion Gavin gave me. I don’t know if I can make up for that, but I have to at least try.

  When I walk into the office, the same sharply dressed receptionist with dark hair I saw before greets me. “Hello, Pascal. Welcome to OWM. I’m Sally. Here’s your temporary badge.”

  “Thank you,” I say, putting it around my neck. Man, it feels so official—a new job, a new Pascal.

  “After ten, the security people will be available to take your photo and make you a permanent one. If you can get it done before five, that will be fine. You’ll be reporting to Pete Monroe. His office is over there in that corner.” She gestures to my right, then lowers her voice. “He’s smart and super cute. But totally taken, darn it.”

  I grin. It’s nice how’s she’s trying to warn me. “Thanks. But I’m taken, too.”

  I make my way to Pete’s office. It’s smaller than Gavin’s, but quite nicely decorated. It’s ergonomic like Gavin’s, but has a softer edge. Maybe he inherited the space from some female executive.

  Pete is dark-haired and bright-eyed. He doesn’t seem that much older than me, but he’s already a level higher. I’m sure Sally’s right about him being smart. Gavin didn’t build OWM and its sterling reputation by employing fools.

  “Hi. I’m Pascal Snyder. I heard you’re expecting me?”

  He looks up from his laptop. “Hi.” He stands and walks around his desk, extending a hand. “Pete Monroe. Nice to meet you.” He eyes my purse and the coffee tumbler. “Have you been to your office yet?”

  I shake my head with a small smile, slightly embarrassed that it never even occurred to me in my excitement. “I don’t even know where it is.”

  “Tsk. Sally should’ve shown you.” He sighs. “She can be absent-minded at times. Anyway, it’s two doors down. We don’t do cubicles at OWM.”

  “I noticed.” I haven’t seen any, except for the ones for admins and receptionists.

  “But since Sally knows you’re here, IT’s going to bring your laptop in the next ten minutes, and when they do, I want you to work on the documents and projections I sent to your work email this morning, along with some models.”

  Excitement suffuses me. Hitting the ground running is exactly what I need and want. “Sure.”

  “As for the welcome lunch, it needs to be next week or something. Hilary will let us know. Gavin wants to come, and that means some schedule juggling.”

  “Oh.” That surprises me. Dad never attended those welcome events at SFG. “Are there a lot of new hires?”

  “Nope. Just you and someone else we need to make a decision on. Gavin doesn’t come all the time, but you’re his hire, so…” He shrugs with a smile.

  The hint of humor in his eyes lessens my anxiety. I thought for a second maybe Pete resented that he wasn’t part of the interview process, since he’s the one who has to work with me.

  “If you need help with your assignment, feel free to ask. We have a vested interest in your success. After all, it’s also our success.”

  I smile warmly, glad to hear that he cares that I do well here. It might just be something he says to every new hire, but it’s nicer than my dad’s dismissiveness. “Thanks.”

  I go to the empty office Pete shows me. It’s pretty basic—white walls, a few shelves and a desk—but I don’t care. I take my seat. The chair is to die for, molding to my back and butt to give me the ultimate comfort and support. I run a hand along the edge of my desk, thrills tingling up my arm. Wow. I feel like I could soar into space right now.

  As soon as I put my purse away in a desk drawer, the IT guy Pete mentioned shows up and gives me my laptop, corporate ID and password.

  Only four emails pop up on my inbox, which is…surprising. Most companies have hundreds of emails flying back and forth—in a huge list for everyone, then sub-lists segmented by interest, region, industry and whatever subcommittees you’re on. I’m actually glad. I disliked wasting so much time sorting through them to find the ones that I actually needed.

  Since Pete’s assignment is waiting for me, I start on that immediately, determined to do a good job. The first impression is critical. I don’t want Gavin or Pete to think I’m a mistake.

  Lots of numbers, complex models. Whoever worked on them thought of almost everything. But…

  I drum my fingers as the models dump out numbers and projections. I don’t really like the recommendations. They all indicate buy, but my gut says sell. It’s the qualitative data that make me uncertain.

  Do you really want to challenge the models Pete is giving you on your first day?

  Obviously not if they’re fine, but…they aren’t. I don’t want to put my name on a memo with something I don’t believe in.

  On the other hand, what if Pete’s the one who actually made the models? Will his ego be able to handle a challenge? Especially one from a woman?

  Ugh. This is so complicated. I hope it isn’t some kind of test.

  In the end, I decide that all I can do is say what I think. I type up a memo, listing both the model-based recommendations and my own feelings about them. Then I email it to Pete and lean back in my seat, anxiety coiling like a snake in my gut.

  It’s already a little after one. I got so wrapped up in the work that I didn’t realize how much time was passing. I run to a shop a block away from the office and grab a quick sandwich and chips. I’m not really hungry, but if I don’t eat, my blood sugar is going to crash.

  Back at my desk, I’m finishing the food and wadding up the waxy paper when Pete knocks on my door.

  “Hey,” he says. “Got a minute?”

  Shit. Is he already done reading my memo? Gotta stay cool. He might’ve not totally hated it. “Sure.” I toss the paper ball into the wastebasket and take a quick sip of coffee. “What’s up?”

  “I got your memo.” He takes a seat on the other side of my desk and props his ankle on his knee. “You don’t agree with the models we’ve created?”

  I watc
h his face, but it’s like trying to read a frying pan. See? Should’ve just agreed with the models.

  I clear my throat, pretending a layer of slick sweat isn’t coating my palms. “Models are fine, but at the end of the day, they’re just tools that require human judgment. My judgment says we should modify the recommendations a little.”

  Pete arches an eyebrow, then gestures for me to continue.

  He’s going to fire me. I have to convince him I’m right. “The models didn’t account for qualitative data. Which is to be expected, since you can’t really capture that sort of factor with numbers.”

  Without criticizing the beloved models! my brain screams frantically. I go into a rather involved explanation of the qualitative data I discovered, the things I did to try to incorporate them into the calculations, but how they were insufficient.

  Throughout it all, Pete looks at me, his face frustratingly impassive, although he’s listening intently, his torso angled slightly forward.

  “Anyway, does that clear things up?” Say yes, say yes, say yes. I don’t know what I’ll do if he says no in some passive-aggressive way and wants me to go into it more. Some of the VPs at SFG did exactly that with people they disagreed with.

  “Yeah. I’m just surprised you wrapped it so quickly and that you actually saw beyond the numbers. When I read your résumé, I thought you were a math geek, and that’s what got Gavin interested.”

  I let myself relax, just a bit. “I like numbers, but the market’s made up of emotions, too.”

  Pete grins. “Precisely. I’m glad we’re in agreement. Your conclusion matches mine. Good job, Pascal.”

  Relief rushes through me, pushing the tension away from my neck and shoulders. “Thank you.”

  “Seriously, I don’t know where Gavin finds his talent, but he sure is quick to snatch it up,” he says quietly, a hint of awe in his tone. “We’re having a happy hour tomorrow to welcome you to the team, separate from the lunch Gavin’s coming to. You okay with that?”

  I grin. “Of course.”

  “Awesome. See you at the meeting.”