30. McCarthy
MCCARTHY
“ S he’s basically if Jenna were athletic and well rested and was more diligent about her skin care routine .”
Jenna’s in my kitchen on the phone to her friend.
“ No, she sounded very excited… I don’t know? ”
“ What do you mean you don’t think this dress works? I’ve worn it to a work—yes, I know it’s a charity dinner, but I’m in the background. Sable St. James—yes, that’s her real name! ” The fridge door slams.
“ Don’t say that. She can’t be an escort. Bethany will kill me. ”
I don’t know who’s showing up. I didn’t even look at the page I slapped in Jenna’s hands.
Earlier in the study, I could focus only on Jenna—the obvious want in her eyes, the determined set of her mouth swollen from my kisses—as she fought an ugly battle with herself to keep from throwing herself in my arms.
Women don’t resist me. Certainly not ones like Jenna.
I watch her moving around my kitchen, talking to Truman, asking him if he’s been fed, and telling him not to get too cozy because they weren’t staying here.
“Where are you staying?”
She jumps and scuttles back against the countertop as I advance on her.
I don’t kiss her, though. I want to enjoy the chaos of the hunt. She’s making those big, unblinking eyes, like prey. I like toying with her. Still, I’m almost uncomfortably addicted to the thought of her being consumed by me, wearing my ring on her finger.
I shake my head, grab the back of her neck, and kiss her because I can, because even if she pushes against me, I can tell by the curl of her fingers that she doesn’t mean it. She wants me to hike her up on the counter and fuck her.
The skirt of the dress rides easy up her thighs. My fingers steal under the thin lace strings of her panties. My tongue slips in her mouth as she wraps her legs around my waist, trying to bring me closer.
The doorbell rings.
Jenna gulps and wrenches her mouth away from mine.
“Don’t.” I bite her lip, tugging it with my teeth.
“That’s your girlfriend at the door.”
“I can’t believe”—I jerk hard against her— “that you are willingly handing me over to this Sable St. James. Do you ever fight for what you want?” I nip her ear. “Ever fight to win?”
There are voices in the foyer. Truman starts barking like this is his fucking penthouse .
I see the little dachshund try to make the jump from the top of the fridge to the kitchen island and scoop him off before he can.
Leaving Jenna to fuss with her clothes in the corner of the kitchen, I fix my tie as a woman with a full face of makeup who’s trying to look like she doesn’t have any on and with her hair in a high ponytail struts into my penthouse.
The guards I’ve hired for Jenna cart in this woman’s things—dresses in garment bags, boxes of shoes on a cart.
I take one look at her… and smile.
Sable is an escort—a high-end one. Very high-end. I’ve been a billionaire for a while. I know how it works. She has that careful demeanor of someone who pretends like they’re unbothered by obvious wealth.
“Hi.” Jenna draws out the word, walking up to Sable, who’s wearing one of those skintight athleisure outfits that her boobs would fall out of if she actually did any moderately strenuous exercise.
“Great, you brought something to change into. You can use one of the upstairs bedrooms to get ready. Let me fetch your jewelry.”
Sable is cataloguing the penthouse, the expensive furnishings, the quality of my suit, the exclusivity of the watch on my wrist.
So that’s why you’re here.
Like I’m ever going to fall in love with her.
“I thought you vetted these women,” I hiss in Jenna’s ear. She’s in the library, fishing in her bag.
She slaps my hand away when I scoop it along the curve of her ass. I kiss her neck then slap her ass.
Jenna slaps the shit out of my face. “Behave.”
I grab her wrists and shove her on her back on the couch .
“Fuck yeah, I like it when you talk like that.”
She strains against me, flexing against the grip I have on her wrists.
“I want to come on your tits.”
“ Shit, ” she whimpers as I angle my thigh between her legs, rising above her on one knee.
I let her tear one hand away. Instead of hitting me, she tangles her fingers in my hair, kissing me back furiously before she can help herself.
“You want me. Spread your legs for me. Fall in love with me.”
Jenna’s fumbling around in the spilled bags on the floor.
I briefly, in a haze of desire for her, wonder if she’s going to brain me with that stupid mug. Instead, Jenna hands me a box.
“Jewelry.”
I sit up off of her.
“I don’t wear jewelry, Cupcake.” Except a wedding ring.
“Not for you, for her.” Jenna sits up, gulping air.
I open the box. On blue velvet is nestled a glittering diamond necklace with matching earrings, the kind of diamonds that look like candy draped across a woman’s bare breasts while you fuck her.
So Sable will not be receiving this necklace or the earrings that you’d push out of the way gently so you could kiss a woman’s neck.
“I told her you’d have jewelry for her.”
“ Not this. ”
“You are so… Argh! Why do you always have to make my job so, so, so difficult? Everything with you is ten times harder than it needs to be. ”
I grab her chin and kiss her hard until she’s moaning softly against me.
“I do not want to go to the charity fundraiser, and I certainly don’t want to go with Sable. This?” I snap the box closed and use it to push up her chin. “I want you to wear this jewelry when I fuck you. Therefore, Sable cannot have it. Find something else. Or come with me instead.”
She swallows noisily, licks her bottom lip, then catches it with her teeth. Then her eyes narrow, and the red blush of lust turns to scarlet anger on her face.
“I know what you’re trying to do.”
“You do?” I croon, tucking a sweaty tendril of her hair back into her ponytail.
That only makes her angrier. She shoves me, making me rock back.
“You’re trying to get me fired. You’re ticked off that you can’t get your way, and you’re being cruel just to be cruel.”
“You haven’t actually seen me cruel.” I dig my fingers into the soft, warm skin of her thighs. “Wait until I’m fucking your ass.”
“Sable, are you a ballet dancer, by any chance?” I ask as she walks by.
“In a former life.” She does an elegant curtsy, her tiny ballerina bun high on her head. She’s wearing a gauzy pink dress like an old-world actress.
Behind her, Jenna has a whole bag stuffed with papers, tablets, phones, and food. She’s digging in it, the charms on her Stanley cup jangling. Even though she has a bag, she still has her phone and her keys in the same hand as her cup .
Why does she need the cup? Why can’t she just put her stuff in her purse?
She bops Truman on the head. The dog yips.
“There’s food at the party, Cupcake.”
“This is just in case you don’t like it. I don’t want to hear you complain,” she says, holding up little plastic baggies filled with snacks before she continues to rummage in her enormous bag.
“You treat me like a child.”
“I know you have mommy issues, so”—she gives me a saccharine smile—“I’m trying to be accommodating.”
Sable senses my attention slide from her. She tilts her head prettily.
Meanwhile, Jenna is trying to keep Truman from chewing on the strap of her purse, which for some reason is inside of her other purse.
I resist the urge to smooth down the hair that tangles in her red face.
Sable makes two little ballet steps toward me.
I dutifully drape a wrap around her shoulders, which are highlighted by angular collarbones. Her long ballet-dancer’s neck is decorated with an emerald choker.
Too bad Jenna didn’t run that choker by me first. I’d have put that on my no-go list just so I could fasten it tight around Jenna’s neck, wrap my hands around it, and squeeze while she ground her pussy against my knee.
Jenna’s wrong. If I had mommy issues, I’d fuck Sable in the back of my car. However, my father had some sort of fetish for ballerinas. As such, I don’t want one near me. Sable has big blue doe eyes. Just my dad’s type.
Jenna piles in the limo behind us.
Sable crosses her legs at her ankles .
Jenna’s got her big bag on her lap, her feet set apart, and Truman is panting over the side of the bag.
“I think,” Sable says in a throaty purr, “that it’s wonderful that you’re trying to be more involved in the charitable scene.”
I grunt.
Truman’s trying to eat whatever snacks Jenna’s packed in the tote bag. It’s black, I notice—to match her outfit, maybe?—not the quilted pink one.
Jenna scolds the dog, who is unrepentant.
“…animal lover?”
“What?” Truman makes a gagging noise, and I yank the plastic bag out of his mouth.
“The Evergreen Trust raises money to distribute to local animal charities,” Sable says.
My lip curls.
“Behave,” Jenna says sharply.
Make me.
The doorman at the hotel opens the limo door.
I crawl over Jenna, cupping her tits briefly through the dress and making it look like an accident, then I offer a hand out… to Sable—and slam the door in Jenna’s face.
“Don’t think you’re just going to disappear, McCarthy,” Jenna rages, throwing the door open.
“You’re in the photo, Jenna,” I whisper, putting my arm around Sable, who smiles and poses prettily next to me as the photographer the charity hired snaps away. That’s money they probably could have spent buying dog food, but what do I know? I only run an international multibillion-dollar company.
I don’t have to be in PR to know that Sable and I are a beautiful couple. I want to needle Jenna about it, but she’s huddled with the rest of the PR people and assistants all along a wall, holding their laptop cases and their bosses’ coats and extra makeup bags.
Sable leads me over to the chairwoman of the Evergreen Trust, greeting her with air kisses and big fake smiles.
I’m gearing up for a nasty comment when I see Jenna across the room. She’s talking to someone.
I know that man. Rex Montague, from Vortex Industries.
Cocksucker.
Why the hell is Jenna talking to him?
I need a closer look.
“Yes, of course,” I say to the chairwoman. “You can count on my support.”
The older woman beams at me.
“I suppose all you needed was a woman’s touch to tame the beast.” She’s drunk, reeking of expensive rosé.
Sable simpers.
I tug her. “Another drink, darling?”
Jenna’s near the bar, behind an oversized flower arrangement. I hear her PR voice, strained but still bubbly.
If you didn’t know her, you’d think she was happy to talk to Rex. But I know Jenna—the way she’s leaning to the side, the tight lines around her smile, the way her eyes flick from side to side. She doesn’t want him near her.
Sable is saying something to me.
I ignore her, focusing on Jenna and Rex, taking a step closer, just to overhear that piece of shit ask her if she’s going to stop being a tease and put out.
“We don’t sleep with clients.” Jenna gives that nervous, scared laugh that rakes across my heart.
I almost muscle in and slug him in his gelatinous face for talking to Jenna like that. Then I remember—I’m on thin ice. No matter. I’m going to kill this fucker, and it’s not good if I’m seen arguing with him beforehand.
I don’t let them out of my sight.
Sable senses something’s wrong. Her big fancy wedding and life of luxury as a billionaire’s wife are slipping through her fingers.
Meanwhile, I’m painting a target on Rex’s back.
Sable makes a disproving noise out of her nose, clearly directed at Jenna.
“Someone’s enjoying herself.”
“So,” I ask Sable, offering her my arm, my shoulders back as I watch Jenna in the corner, talking to Rex, that greasy walking sex-offender list, “how long have you been an escort for?”