To Catch A Rook (All The Queen’s Men #1)

11. Chapter 8 - Lauchlan

A merica was a funny place. Near impossible to get a decent pint to put a few hairs on your chest, but you could buy a cuppa dirt from every street corner that would give you gorilla pecs after a few sips.

I poured out the white paper cup of filth into a random planter and continued strolling through the busy downtown streets of the new city I called home.

Pretty nondescript as far as cities went. Buildings. Trees. Stressed-out looking people racing to their next stressful thing. I’d never admit it to Ma, but I missed the heritage buildings and centuries-old architecture she used to yammer on about every time she visited Dublin.

Odd for me to be nostalgic, considering I preferred to go after shiny things. America was very shiny.

I’d set my sights on two particularly shiny things. One of them was about to go into the upscale smoothie bar in the building across from her condo this very minute.

I watched the tempting little blondie walk across the street as if she owned it. She wore a tight blue skirt and white blouse like she’d just come from filming my favorite office porn scenario. Difference being, she was the boss and I was the whining little secretary offering up my body to be used for her pleasure.

Wouldn’t be a bad way to go, really. I wasn’t above degrading myself for a good bit of fun.

I waited another minute until she’d walked into Juice Junkies, then crossed the street myself, weaving through a car or two to make sure I timed it just right. I took out my cellphone and dialed my voicemail before walking through the glass door that dinged upon my entrance.

“I’ll have to get back to you on that.” I spoke into the phone and checked my watch as if I was pressed for time. “That works for me. Okay, slan.”

I hung up and looked down at my phone, opening my text messages to start typing.

“Lucky?”

Bingo.

I paused and brought my gaze up to meet hers. Hillary Lane, goddess of my dreams, stared back at me. A smirk played on her hot pink lips, and my dick twitched to attention in my tight trousers.

Play it cool, Lauch.

“Oy, Blondie.” I feigned surprise and looked around the empty juice bar—fitting, because who the fuck wanted to drink the blood of carrots?—and allowed a playful grin to smile back. “Don’t tell me you’re a health nut too?”

Her gaze wandered up my torso; I dressed in my most expensive suit today—perfectly tailored around my broad shoulders and trim waist, in a navy that was definitely my color. I don’t do ties, so the top collar was unbuttoned lazily, something I learned was very appealing to the opposite sex. The same sex too, if we were going by my track record.

“You don’t strike me as the ‘health-nut’ type.” Those sky-blue eyes stared through me in mocking humor, and I laughed easily.

“You got me.” I grinned ruefully and pointed to the ‘frozen yogurt’ ad that had popped up across the rolling TV screen. “I’m here for that.”

That, at least, wasn’t a lie. I’d already eaten my bowl of Fruity Pebbles—one of my favorite parts of America so far was the wide selection of sugar cereals—and I’d round it out with some fro-yo. Nothing like a balanced breakfast.

Her eyes widened in surprise, followed by a very ‘unladylike’ snort. Fuck me, I liked that sound from her lips.

“I’m still concerned you’re secretly a twelve-year-old boy underneath all of that muscle,” she said, as she turned back to the counter to make her order. “I’ll go with a ‘Green Grenade,’ this morning, Timothy. I’ll add some wheatgrass and an extra shot of protein powder.”

Timothy, the barely twenty-something smoothie slinger, nodded and stared at Hillary with stars in his eyes as she bent her head to check a notification ding on her phone.

Don’t blame ya, mate. She’s my fantasy too.

She turned to wave me over to the register. “Put his order on my bill too, please.”

“Some men don’t like women to buy things for them.” I was teasing, but briefly scanned the menu. I didn’t care what I was ordering, but I’d get something, anyway. “I, however, have no ego when a beautiful woman wants to buy me bre akfast.” I shot her a cheeky wink before deciding. “Chocolate with skittles topping, mate.”

You’d have to be a boat away to not see the look of disgust on both of their faces. Like eating that was any worse than a Starbucks ‘whipped cream, sugar pumps, flavor this’ shyte.

Ol’ Timmy handed Hillary her swamp-water cocktail and then made my delicious, flavorful snack. I beckoned toward a neon green and orange booth at the back.

“Got time for a seat?”

After a quick check of her watch, she dipped her head and followed as I led us over to the quiet corner. The space was still empty, because the good people of Carlisle valued their tastebuds this time of morning.

She slid across the bench looking decidedly out of place, but she managed to settle into the vinyl cushion like she belonged there. I unbuttoned my suit jacket and tucked myself into the narrow seat opposite, feeling a bit like the Hulk at a children’s supper table.

“Bite?” I offered her the clean spoon, holding it between us in challenge. Little Miss Billionaire Boss could join me in a sugar rush, or keep to her disgusting sludge routine.

“A taste for a taste,” she replied, those feisty little eyes narrowing in on my lips.

A taste for a taste would be a very satisfying trade this morning. Then she placed her cup of slop in front of me.

My smile melted into a grimace. “Always a tit for a tat with you, eh?”

The devilish twitch of her mouth made me want to dive into all kinds of challenges with her, but today was about a tease, a taste in its own right.

So, I’d play the game.

My shoulders slumped as I sighed in dramatic defeat. “Alright, Blondie, I’ll give it a go. Me first, right?”

I g rabbed the plastic cup out of her hand, drew the straw between my teeth and took a long pull, swallowing quickly to bypass my tastebuds.

I choked on the thick, seedy sludge and shoved a spoonful of fro-yo into my mouth to smother the disgusting taste.

“I thought you were a badass, but now I know you are. That shyte’s dreadful, Blondie. I think that deserves two bites, that.”

“One bite.” The flicker of amusement betrayed her hard stare. “A deal’s a deal, Lucky.”

She wrinkled her nose in distaste, but opened her mouth to accept the spoonful I held out. I couldn’t take my eyes off her lips as I nuzzled the plastic between them; I imagined those lips around my cock, guzzling my cum like she was swallowing the sugary cream.

I hoped she wouldn’t look as revolted as she did right now, though.

“I can’t believe you’re eating that for breakfast.” She snatched the smoothie cup off of the tabletop and washed down my generous offering. “I’m not convinced you’re an adult, Lucky.”

I wiggled my eyebrows as I sucked another delicious spoonful, fully aware she watched my lips with the same interest. “Lass, where it matters, I can assure you I am very much a man.”

The fire in her eyes was enough to tell me I hit my mark. That was enough for today.

I tapped a button on my watch, triggering an automatic call to come through my cell. I glanced at the fake name coming across the screen and furrowed my brows in concern.

“Gotta take this, love. Thanks for breakfast.”

I awkwardly sidled my body out of the booth for ants, waved goodbye with a wink, then took my very ‘urgent’ call.

Ste p one and two complete. Hillary Lane would be calling me soon enough. I was sure of it.

“Thanks for meeting with me today, Lauchlan. Your portfolio is quite impressive.”

Marco Alvarez, the eldest son of Silicon Valley’s most major player and the world’s most major git, took stock of me from behind his mega desk, which was likely making up for a tiny cock.

I looked around the Elon-wannabe’s office, or what I imagined his office to look like; stark white, all metal furnishings, and a pretentious titanium sculpture of a human form on display in the middle of the room.

It was worth a bloody seven million dollars. That would normally pique my interest, but it was ugly as sin and wasn’t the reason for this ‘interview.’

His company hadn’t been here long. Rumor had it they’d recently shifted their base of operations to Sequoia on grounds of ‘tax reduction.’ My connections had landed me a conversation with ol’ Marky Mark, but I had to sell myself to get into the fold.

Challenge accepted, of course.

“I’m a lucky bugger who got into app development early,” I replied smoothly, feigning humility as much as I was pretending to care about cell phone apps. “I had a great team in Dublin, and I’m still managing that branch remotely, but I’m eager to break into the American market.”

The arrogant man’s booming laugh echoed through the creepy modern tomb. “I’ll bet you do; app development is the fastest growing industry in the world, and American technologies will be at the forefront.”

His dark eyes watched me like a hawk before he noted the sizable file on his desk. “Your work is impres sive and your track record speaks for itself. I want you on the winning team with us.”

What a wanker. Instead of saying so, I pasted on my most gracious smile.

“I’m glad to hear that. When would you like me to start?”

“You’ll have a team of twenty. We’ll assign you to a few of our current priorities, but you’ll have time and flexibility to work on your own projects. Occasionally, we will pull your team for emergency requests, or when needing immediate work done for highly sensitive clients.”

Oy, there it was. Marky had earned a reputation for dodging the line now and then—it was that line I was counting on.

I took in the sight of him; all smiles and charm from a bloke who’d destroyed as many lives as he had millions. The greedy fucker just took and took and took, until all that was left was a shell of a human being, their soul long sucked out of them. Her soul -

I buried that thought, swallowed the bile creeping up my throat and opted for a charming smile of my own.

“And you’re okay with me maintaining my ties to my Dublin team? I won’t be able to commit to full-time hours.”

His eyes darkened, but he grinned wide, like we were scheming boys in a frat house. “We believe in results. If you’re as good as your work shows, just get the job done. Whether you take ten hours or a hundred, makes no difference to me.”

What a trap that was. Companies said that like it was such a wonderful HR offer, but it was just a smoke screen for not paying people for the actual hours they had to work. Rich people had to stay rich, and all.

“Thank you for the opportunity. I think I’ll fit in here just fine.”

I s tood and held out a hand, not responding to the crushing grip in a clear Alpha male pissing match. Marco scrutinized my expression, looking for weakness, no doubt, and then plunked my tender fist. I’d put it in a bucket of ice later.

“Welcome.”

He turned his attention to the computer at his desk, effectively dismissing me. I strode past the twisted hunk of metal and hoped that one day, I’d get to kick the bloody thing over.

Gerta, the young receptionist, smiled apprehensively as I passed her desk.

“I’m in, Gertie.”

We’d chatted for a half hour while Marco-the-insufferable left me to wait in his lobby, and she was a sweet little thing I was going to keep close to—she was a bank vault of information, and I’d subtly gleaned enough out of her in that half hour that would have taken me weeks of sleuthing to find otherwise, so we were about to become pals. Best pals.

She beamed at me, her cherub cheeks pinkening. “I’m so glad to hear it! I’ll see you soon, Mr. O’Donnell.”

Right. Mr. O’Donnell. That would take some getting used to.

I walked out of the glass and steel building with a renewed spring in my step. Ice cream for breakfast, and a job before tea.

Just a few more checks, and I’d be at mate.