Chapter 15
FITZ
The black dress hugs her curves. The low-slung strappy sandals would be easy to kick off.
Her hair’s soft at the nape of her neck when I grab her.
“You want to tell me why you lied to me, Creampuff?”
“It’s not lying.”
“You’d rather date my employee than me?”
“It’s not a date.”
“Not a date?” I snarl.
“You don’t own me.” Her voice is starting to quiver.
I tighten my grip.
“He paid me,” she confesses.
“What?”
I have to carefully release her before I slam her against the wall. She stifles a scream when I lunge, sending my fist through the wall.
I just bought a Manet when I was in Manhattan. It will go nicely over that hole in the drywall.
“You need money?”
“No.”
“What, then?” I push her back against the wall. “It’s some kink? It turns you on to have a man pay you for the pleasure of your company?”
“You’re overthinking it.”
I want my cum all over her—in her hair, on her tits, her pussy—to make sure she and everyone else knows she’s mine.
“Why the fuck are you taking some man’s money—some man who’s not me—so he can fuck your pussy?”
She slaps me. “Don’t use that word.”
I grab her hand and press her palm to my mouth.
“I’m not having sex with him. I’m here for moral support for my sister.”
“And I thought my family bonding activities were fucked-up.”
She almost loses her balance when I grab her wrist and jerk her. My hand on the curve of her waist steadies her.
I idly wonder how far she’d let me get if, instead of taking her to the private dining room, I took her upstairs to my penthouse, pushed her against the wall, and dug my fingers into the soft skin of her ass until she bruised.
The GM of the NBA team blanches when I walk into the private dining room of the Michelin-star restaurant, my fingers twined in hers.
“Gentlemen.” They all wilt under my gaze. I let the silence sink in until they look like they’re about to faint. “I take it you can’t attract a woman, so you have to resort to trying to bribe mine.”
“I wasn’t,” the GM whines. “She offered. There was a group discount.”
I slam a stack of hundred-dollar bills on the table in front of the GM. “You caught me on a good day, so I’m going to reimburse you. How about that? Next time you talk to the press behind my back, give them a good word about me.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” he moans and stumbles out of the private dining room.
I survey the rest of them. They’re all like the little wind-up toys that used to come in the cereal boxes that Salinger would let me have to play with.
I turn to the VP of the NBA team. “Seems like we may have a job opening. Don’t suppose you’d be interested?”
He shakes his head.
“Seriously? You’re going to make me hire externally? No one wants to work these days.” I pull out a chair for Winnie then take my seat at the head of the table. “Maybe I could hire a woman for the job.” My gaze rests on Winnie.
“Not me. I hate sports. If I’d known that was what this meeting was, I’d have paid you not to go.”
“Now.” I flip out my napkin. “Gentlemen, I’m so glad you could join our quarterly corporate bonding meeting. Have as much wine as you want, but be advised: if any of you touch my things again, I’ll drown you in it.”
“You can’t talk to your employees like that.” Winnie pinches my thigh.
I grab her hand and kiss it. “They’re hiring prostitutes, Creampuff. Don’t defend them.”
“Escorts.” Winnie’s friend Carolina raises her hand. “And I’ve seen the way you talk to Olive, so…” Carolina gives Winnie a pointed look.
“Olive is incompetent.”
“As are my sports-team leadership.” I grab the bottle. “Why don’t you have some wine, Winnie?”
The two girls whisper furiously to each other. I catch “…be nice… opportunity…”
I lean in. “Ooh, are we gossiping?”
Winnie grabs her oyster fork and jabs at me. “Back. Mind your own business.”
“This is literally my business.”
The GMs and VPs from the four major sports franchises that I own and their wives-slash-girlfriends-slash-paid-accompaniment are stoic.
“You sound crazy,” Winnie hisses at me. “Like those nutso Roman emperors.”
“You’re my Roman empire. Besides, you’re running a porn circle at your doughnut shop. I should call the labor bureau on you. Yes, I saw the ads.”
“Ugh, I can’t believe I’m stuck here with you.”
I host these dinners because sometimes, I like to take all my stuff off of their shelves and spread it out and worship it. But now I have something more interesting to catch my attention.
Winnie.
“All of you, leave. Dinner is canceled.”
The GMs and VPs wordlessly stand up.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Carolina throws down her napkin. “Winnie, I shaved my legs for this shit.”
“Aren’t you getting paid?” I remind her. Carolina gives me the finger.
“Not you, Creampuff,” I say. “You stay right here.”
“What the hell? Sit down,” Winnie tells the GMs. “Don’t listen to him. He’s lost his goddamn mind. Grow up, Fitzgerald.”
“Uh-oh,” Kathy says under her breath. “Now you did it.”
“They get paid a lot. No one here makes less than two million dollars a year,” I argue.
“Well, shit, maybe I should be a GM.” Winnie hums.
“You know what? You should. It pays better than prostitution.”
“You hired a prostitute?” one guy whispers to the VP.
“We’re doing favors for my sister!” Winnie shrieks. “Goddamn it. I could be at home rewatching Jane Austen remakes. Now we’re going to have dinner. I want this lobster mac ’n’ cheese.”
I still for a second. Is it a sign?
No. She just likes pasta.
“My lady has spoken. You may all be seated.”
“Knock it off,” Winnie hisses at me as I pass her the bread. “You’re just pissed about the sit-in. I know you.”
“The Titties and Knitties?”
The waitstaff brings out the first course.
“Did you want an update on our new players?” the hockey GM asks uncertainly. “I think Kn—”
I hold up a hand. “Winnie, how do you like the pasta?”
“Fantastic.” She turns to the men at the table. “Not to usurp this meeting, but how do you all feel about selling themed baked goods at your stadium? We did these cookies for an Instagrammer’s wedding and had her brand affiliates’ logos on them. They were a big hit.”
“Is this Loony Laura’s wedding?” Winnie kicks me and passes around her tablet. I poke at the tiny purse she’s carrying. “Did you have that tablet stuffed down your dress? Also, you’re co-opting my business dinner.”
“You mean your ego trip?”
“You could just schedule a meeting with me.” I peer at the cookies.
“You’re the owner. You don’t negotiate these kinds of contracts,” Winnie tells me, snapping her notebook closed. “It’s beneath you.” She’s tipsy from the wine, high on the win of the big contracts she just landed.
“They’re going to give you those contracts just because they want to get in good with me.”
Winnie snorts. “Please. They know you don’t actually care about me. You want to see quarterly growth, or heads will roll, and those cookies have a very high profit margin. Even Olive can bake them.”
“I’m shocked that you’re debasing baked goods with capitalism.”
“And I’m not shocked that you’re shocked.” She points with her fork. “You’re just another mediocre man with money. Has no idea how to run his business, just fails upward and hires his useless buddies.”
“I’m good at hiring. Elliot used to work at Rainier Investment and oversaw the Harborfront redevelopment project.”
“You need to fire Elliot—I don’t know why you have him working for you.
He was a useless lump at Rainier Investment.
” She cuts off a piece of her chicken. “I’m pretty sure his wife is telling him what to do, and she’s the only reason he hasn’t been set on fire in a performance review yet.
Carolina talked with his girlfriend in the bathroom and says Elliot is cheating on his wife—so you need to fire him once that blows up publicly and hire her.
You can probably get her for half the price. ”
I regard her. “You impress me, Creampuff.”
“Funny, you don’t impress me. In fact, you’re incredibly underwhelming. Which is what I’m sure all the women tell you.”
The outline of her nipples is visible through the thin T-shirt fabric as she lies there sprawled on the couch. She didn’t take her makeup off, and it’s smudged around her mouth and her eyes. She looks like she just got fucked hard.
I stroke myself in time to the rise and fall of her chest.
Stop my hand way before I can even think about giving in and jacking off until I come all over her face and that half-parted mouth.
Instead, I leave the typewritten note between the valley of her breasts…