Destined To Fall (Reluctant lovers #1)

Chapter Seven

Fuck, what am I doing? I ’ m officially turning into a fourteen-year-old girl, but I can ’ t seem to stop. I ’ m smack-bang in the middle of one of the busiest weeks I ’ ve had in months, thanks to Laura, and I ’ m glued to my cell. Any chance I get, I ’ m on the stupid thing.

I ’ ve barely had a spare moment to myself to stop and think about anything—other than Jeremy, in every which way. Endlessly. Not once have I had any rational thoughts. Like where all this texting is going? I don ’ t date. We both know this. It ’ s so not my scene, or conducive to my line of work. He doesn ’ t sleep around. I ’ m well aware of that painful fact. Maybe that ’ s my problem; I ’ m jonesing for a guy I can ’ t have, or at least, not in the way I want. I ’ m sure if I scratched that itch, I ’ d lose interest. It ’ s been my MO for…well, ever. Yet whenever my phone dings, buzzes, or vibrates, I rush to check it, anticipating the next message like a crack whore does her next hit. Like now, scrambling to get it out of my back pocket in the cab, as if my ass will catch on fire if I don ’ t.

J: How was your flight?

J: Plane food sucktastic, as always?

V: I like plane food. Everything is better when you ’ re high. Miles high :P

J: LOL.

J: But seriously. It sucks up there. It ’ s all small and cramped.

V: Exactly.

J: You couldn ’ t possibly enjoy sex in a cubicle?

I love where his mind goes. It ’ s like he knows me already .

V: Hold the phone! HA. —see what I did there?

V: You ’ ve never had sex in a cubicle?

J: Nope.

V: You have to rectify this. Immediately.

V: You haven ’ t lived until you ’ ve had awkward, sweaty, cramped sex in a small, enclosed space.

I really didn ’ t need those visuals in my head, but damn, am I enjoying them immensely.

V: With a stranger, no less.

J: I ’ ll take your word for it.

V: Or you could meet me at the airport? :P

J: You ’ re not exactly a stranger now, are you?

V: Jer, I ’ m very strange.

J: Not to me. :P

V: That needs fixing, too. Wear a blindfold—problem solved. Plus, it ’ ll be extra kinky. ;)

J: Shouldn ’ t you be working or something?

V: Aw, are you getting flustered, Jer?

J: Very.

V: You ’ re picturing it, aren ’ t you?

J: In Technicolor.

V: With all its glory details?

J: Oh, yeah. My pulse is racing. My palms are sweating. And don ’ t you mean gory?

V: Nope. Glorious.

J: Hmm. There is nothing glorious about this. I ’ m in a meeting. It ’ s very hard to hide.

V: I ’ m sure it ’ s very glorious and hard.

J: It ’ s so hard, I ’ m shaking.

Jesus. I ’ m supposed to be torturing him, not me.

V: You might have to do something about that…growing problem. If I was there, I ’ d offer to lend my services.

Oh, the pun in that.

J: Oh, I ’ m handling it.

V: In the meeting? That ’ s very risqué .

J: I can ’ t exactly get up and leave.

V: Sure you can. Just sneak out and head for a… cubicle.

J: You ’ re making it harder.

V: I get that a lot.

J: Yeah, that ’ s so not helping.

V: I thought you had a hand-le on it?

J: I did. Until you mentioned cubicles, and I about lost it, in front of everyone.

I laugh out loud, and the cab driver looks at me funny.

V: Just, I don ’ t know. Drop a pen or something and hide under the table.

J: Under the table? How ’ s that going to help?

V: You can deal with the problem at hand. ;)

V: Just be…quiet about it. :P

J: Quiet? Kinda hard to do when you ’ re hyperventilating.

V: Take deep, long strokes.

V: I mean breaths. Breaths.

J: Ha ha. And picture wide open spaces?

V: Umm …

J: Doesn ’ t that help with claustrophobia?

Damn it, played again.

V: Put your head between your legs.

J: And then?

V: And then suck.

J: Hahaha!!!

V: Claustrophobic, really? Because if that ’ s true, you ’ re useless to me.

J: Nope, just messing with you. I had you going there for a while. :P

God, did he ever.

V: Get back to work. Ass.

J: I do have to go. I ’ ll talk to you later?

V: If you ’ re lucky.

J: With you, how could I not be?

V: Lame, Jer, even for you.

J: ;)

I shake my head and drop my cell on the seat beside me with a stupid grin on my face. I come back to my senses, and my smile dies instantly. Well, this is just dandy. I ’ m all worked up, and with no— hmm .

“ Sorry, can you take me to the Peninsula instead, on Fifth?”

The driver nods and takes a right instead of a left up ahead. I ’ ll be a few hours early, but I have a feeling Lewis won ’ t mind in the least if I show up at his hotel instead of mine. I need to work this out of my system, and the hotshot attorney is just the ticket.

Ah, Lewis, Lewis, Lewis …What ’ s there to say about him? Not a hell of a lot. He ’ s your average, slightly balding, middle-aged man with more money than sense. Maybe that ’ s not entirely true. Lewis keeps himself fit—how he finds the time, I don ’ t know. He ’ s also ridiculously good at his job, having only lost a handful of cases in the seven years I ’ ve known him. Each time I ’ ve been at his service to work out the tension. It ’ s how he found me that first time, and how he became a regular. I was in LA with…God, what was his name? Matt. No, James? Some weirdo. Laura booked me for this crazy-ass job of being the arm candy to some no-name actor wanting to make an entrance.

“ You don ’ t have to sleep with him if you don ’ t wanna.” She giggles. “ He ’ s throwing down two large ones.”

“ To not sleep with me? What, is he gay? Impotent ? Asexual? Deranged and demented?”

“ No. Like I ’ d set you up—”

“ You have, and you would.”

“ Whatever. Go make some easy money, party like a porn star, and enjoy an easy weekend.”

Famous last words. He was a total knob-knocker. Dyed my hair crimson, cut it in a super-short, jagged-edged bob, and wore black leather spandex the whole time. I made more of an entrance than he did, but then, that was why he hired me. I also chafed in places I hadn ’ t known existed. Baby powder saves lives, people. Don ’ t forget that. I wished I ’ d remembered mine.

“ Miss? ”

“ Huh? ” I startle, lost in thought. “ Sorry, what?”

“ We ’ re here.”

“ Oh, right.”

I hand over the fare and let myself out, waving off his offer to help. I scroll through my phone until I find the text from Laura with the room number and head for the elevators. Twenty-seventh floor. I should have guessed.

“ You came with that asshole?” I turn my head to find a bemused face staring at me. The bleary eyes tell me he ’ s well past baked.

“ Only because I was paid to.”

His eyes light up, and I chuckle.

“ Yes. ” I smile, answering his unspoken question.

“ Well, I ’ ll be damned. Now it all makes sense.”

I smirk. “ What doesn ’ t make sense is what you ’ re doing in a club like this, other than getting wasted. You don ’ t look like you ’ re in the rich-and-famous business.”

“ I ’ m definitely in the rich business.” One side of his mouth curves up. “ But I just lost my first three-million-dollar lawsuit.”

“ Ouch.” And hello!

“ So, my client”—he nods toward a tall, blond, beefy-looking guy by the bar—”thought this place would be a good idea.”

“ Ah, I see.” And I did. “ And was it?”

“ I don ’ t know. You tell me.”

I scoff and smile. Looking behind me to What ’ s-His-Name, I catch the loser making out with some random; by the looks of it, a fangirl desperate to get in with a celeb. Oh, the poor thing, she should have done her research. She ’ s definitely getting less than she bargained for. And if the little white pills I saw him popping earlier were what I think they were, he ’ ll be too wasted for anything, especially remembering who he paid to come with.

“ It would seem my night has freed up, and your luck has turned around. What say you?”

“ I say name your price, and let ’ s get out of here.”

The memory makes me smile. I rocked his friggin ’ world, repeatedly. Best money he ever spent, or so he told me. I wish I could say it was time well spent. Still, I got my rocks off—I always do. With a helping hand, of course.

The elevator door pings open, and I step out, making my way to Lewis ’ s suite. He ’ s learned a thing or two since then. I somehow managed to rub off on him, and a kinky side seems to have emerged. Nothing BDSM-like, just exhibitionist. He has a penchant to watch and be watched.

I ain ’ t gonna lie. I kinda dig it.

I knock on the door, and as I expected, it flies open mere moments later, Lewis ’ s crooked smile greeting me.

“ Well, this is a pleasant surprise.”

“ I got in early.” I barely get the words out before he pulls me in by my wrist, my bag falling to the floor inside and the door slamming behind me.

“ How ’ s the wife?” I ask . His clumsy fingers undressing me already.

“ Oh, fine. ” He nips the bare skin at my shoulder as the blouse I was wearing falls at my feet. “ In Spain, with the manny.”

I laugh. It ’ s always been about the money for them. The best of everything, or nothing will do. I shimmy out of my jeans, kicking my heels to the side.

“ Leave them on.”

I grin, stepping back into my shoes, and stand before him, clad only in panties and my Manolos.

“ So, where do you want me?”

“ Against the glass window…”

Warmth pools between my thighs, and I bite my lip, grinning from ear to ear as I saunter to the floor-to-ceiling windows facing Fifth Avenue.

Some days, I really love my job.

Two days with Lewis and two with Antony have left me ready to collapse and never get up again. I leave Antony asleep and make my way to my hotel room. I ’ m too drained to even strip, barely managing to remove my coat before falling face-first onto the bed. I sigh as the soft, pillowy comforter and mattress envelop my body in a bliss bubble. But something ’ s missing I can ’ t put my finger on. I feel…off. I reach for my clutch and remove my phone to check my calendar , but become minutely distracted by a missed text from Jeremy.

J: How ’ s your Fourth of July? Can you remember any of it?

Ha. Ha.

The text was sent only a few hours ago, and I can ’ t help wondering if he ’ s still awake. Before I realize it, I ’ ve pressed the call button, and the phone ’ s picked up.

“ Vivienne? Hey. ” I ’ m met with surprise, but he doesn ’ t sound sleepy, just drained.

“ Hey.”

“ Hi. ”

“ Hi…”

“ Hi? ” He laughs.

I groan. “ You ’ re up late. Shouldn ’ t you be passed out drunk after partying hard all weekend?”

“ Nah. I didn ’ t really do anything this year.”

“ Lame. Then whatcha doing still awake?”

“ Oh. Just…nothing, nothing at all.” He chuckles lightly.

“ You ’ re watching porn , aren ’ t you?”

“ You think I ’ d answer the phone in the middle of that?”

“ Maybe…so, what are you wearing?” I can picture him looking down to check, his forehead furrowing.

“ Sweats. Wait, why?”

“ No reason…”

“ Why? What are you wearing?”

“ Oh, you know, the usual. Thigh-high lace-top nylons, a barely there G-string…”

I hear him swallow on the other end of the line, and I smile. “ Vivienne …” His voice is deeper, huskier. “ Surely that ’ s not conducive to sleeping in.”

I snigger. “ Who said anything about sleep? But you ’ re right. Phone sex does sound better.”

His laugh is rich and soothes a part of me I didn ’ t know was aching. “ What did you call for?”

“ Just that.”

“ Phone sex? ” He sounds surprised, and if I didn ’ t know better, a little nervous.

“ No, your laugh.” I missed it, I realize. “ Although, now that you mention it, phone sex wouldn ’ t be breaking any of your cardinal rules…” I chuckle, but my heart rate spikes at the possibility.

“ I ’ m pretty sure you suggested it.”

“ Guilty.”

“ That you are.”

“ Is that a no?”

“ Yes. ”

“ Yes? Oh, well—”

“ No, that ’ s a yes to it being a no.”

“ Oh, so that ’ s a no? ”

“ Yes. I mean, no. I mean, yes to a no.”

I laugh.

“ You ’ re paying me back for the cubicle thing, aren ’ t you?”

“ Maybe.”

“ It ’ s taken you this long?”

“ I ’ ve been busy.”

“ We ’ ve been texting nonstop.”

“ And? ”

“ Nothing,” he says, with a smile in his tone.

“ Whatever. Why are you really up so late? It ’ s almost two in the morning. Don ’ t you have work tomorrow?”

“ Don ’ t you?”

“ Nope. I worked all weekend. I have a blissful day off.”

“ You ’ re going to waste it sleeping all day, aren ’ t you?”

“ Maybe.”

“ Okay, now I hate you. I have a client flying in first thing tomorrow for my pitch, and I ’ ve got nothing.”

“ You ’ re working on a Sunday night? Oh, that ’ s rough.”

“ Didn ’ t you just say you worked all weekend?”

“ Yeah, but I have Monday off.” I smile at the thought. “ Do you really have nothing?”

“ I just don ’ t like what I ’ ve got. The slideshow is mediocre. The entire presentation sucks.”

“ Send it to me.”

“ What? My slideshow?”

“ Yeah, I ’ ll tell you if it ’ s shit.”

He chuckles. “ I ’ m telling you it ’ s shit.”

“ I ’ m not exactly going to trust anything coming out of your mouth. I ’ m hanging up and texting you my email.”

“ Viv, it ’ s two in the morning…”

“ Are you going to sleep?”

“ No. ”

“ Neither am I.”

I hang up and text him my email, telling him to make it quick because we ’ re both losing beauty sleep.

J: You can afford to lose some.

V: And you can ’ t?

J: Are you calling me pretty?

V: Send the damn email, Jer.

J: Ha ha. Sent.

We spend the next two hours fixing his campaign. The slideshow was fine, but boring. He was targeting the wrong audience and pitching all over the place. The clients would have come in, seen the same thing everyone else no doubt would have put together, and left, never to be seen again.

“ How did you do it?” he asks.

“ It ’ s basic principles, Jer. Action speaks louder than words; pictures are worth a thousand; black and white stands out more than a mishmash of colors; and anything that ’ s a play on words will be remembered. Catchy, instant, clear. It ’ s simple. Did you learn nothing at BU?” I tease.

“ And you didn ’ t even graduate. I ’ m impressed, I ’ m not going to lie. I wouldn ’ t have been able to do any of this without you. Thank you.”

“ Any time.” And I mean it. That was the most non-sexual fun I ’ ve had in a while.

“ I owe you, big time.”

“ No doubt. I collect in sexual favors, though, so…”

“ Mine or yours?”

“ Oh, either, Jer. I ’ ll take either.” I smile, knowing full well he won ’ t deliver on any.

“ I ’ ll keep that in mind. Will you settle for lunch when you get back?”

“ Not dinner?”

“ Wait. Would you have actually said yes to dinner?”

“ You ’ ll never know.” I chuckle as I hear him mutter on the other end. “ Wednesday? I ’ ll meet you downstairs, say midday?”

“ Fine, but I ’ m taking you to dinner on the weekend. Non-negotiable.”

I laugh. “ Fine.” I ’ m met with what I can only gather is stunned silence, and I laugh again. “ Good night, Jeremy.”

And before he has a chance to respond, I hang up.

I stroll into the lobby of Jeremy ’ s office building at five minutes to twelve , with an unprecedented amount of nervous energy running rampant in my body. Almost giddy with anticipation. I try to brush it off as eagerness to hear how Jeremy ’ s meeting went. He ’ s refused to tell me a thing until our lunch date .

“ Vivienne, what a pleasant surprise.”

I look up seconds before I no doubt would have walked into a body. “ Hello, Maxwell. ”

“ What brings you here?” He looks around quickly. “ Did we have a meeting?”

“ No, not today. You ’ re not seeing me until tomorrow night. We are still on, aren ’ t we? ”

“ Oh. Yes, yes. Tomorrow.”

“ I ’ m here to torture someone else with my company, so you ’ re off the hook.”

He chuckles warmly, and I hear the ding of the elevator. My eyes shoot to the doors as Jeremy exits.

“ Speak of the devil.”

I chastely kiss Max on the cheek and sidestep him, making my way toward Jeremy before I realize my slip. His step falters, and his brow pinches as his eyes bounce between Max and me. I look back at Max ’ s pale face and frown, unsure of what I ’ m missing. Jeremy looks mad, his body radiating with controlled fury. Is he jealous of Max? It was a harmless peck on the check, but he looks ready to go caveman on me again.

Max opens his mouth but closes it as I feel Jeremy come up behind me. One of his hands goes to the small of my back, sending shivers up my spine. It ’ s a simple gesture, but the possession in it speaks volumes. Jeremy is jealous. Or suspicious. Or both.

“ Vivienne. ” It ’ s almost a growl. The deep baritone resonates all the way through me to my toes, but my mind reels, wondering what ’ s gotten into him. “ I see you know my father.”