Chapter 20
Piper
A lmost an entire week, six days, to be exact, has passed since Enzo made me beg for his cock, only to turn around and deny me. Fucking bastard. At least he dressed me and escorted me outside, so I guess he’s not completely heartless. Just eighty percent so.
Shaking my head, I banish those thoughts from my mind and push open the door to Lena’s apartment.
“Jesus, woman!” I exclaim as soon as I step through the door, almost dropping the cups I’m carrying.
The place smells like burnt eggs and charred bacon, a culinary crime scene that assaults my senses. The smoke detector hangs disabled from the ceiling—a precaution she’s learned from experience. Despite my stomach’s protest, I force a smile.
“Sorry about the smoke,” she grins, waving a dishtowel frantically at a particularly thick cloud hovering near her kitchen window. “I swear to God I followed the recipe this time.”
She’s wearing fuzzy slippers, and her hair is piled on top of her head in what could generously be called a bun. A Georgetown sweatshirt hangs off one shoulder, revealing a bra strap the color of traffic cones.
This is Lena in her natural habitat: chaotic, comfortable, completely herself.
“It smells…” I search for a diplomatic lie, “…homemade.”
She snorts, pointing her spatula at me. “That’s Piper-speak for ‘it smells like shit.’ Just say it.”
Returning her wicked smile, I kick my shoes off and grab the equally fuzzy slippers reserved for me. “Okay, you got me,” I shrug. “But if it helps, I promise to take exactly three bites before ordering from somewhere.”
“ Aww, you really do love me,” she sing-songs, waggling her eyebrows while opening the oven, revealing several containers. When she pulls them out, I immediately spot the telltale logo from one of our favorite brunch restaurants.
“Thank God,” I laugh.
Cackling, she starts arranging the eggs, bacon, and pancakes from Susie’s. I place the cups on the counter and hip-bump her out of the way so I can help. Once we’re done, she grabs the Chai tea I brought and after grabbing my vanilla latte, I follow her into the living room.
I lower myself onto her couch, balancing a chipped plate and cutlery in my lap. Without wasting any time, I dive in, moaning around a bite of the best scrambled eggs known to man.
Lena nudges my plate with the edge of her cup, smiling. “So,” she starts, cramming bacon into her mouth, “tell me about the internship at Blackwood Strategic Advisory. Are you making coffee for soulless lobbyists?”
I take my time swallowing. “Something like that,” I answer.
She swirls her hand in the air, silently telling me to go on, but I can’t. My fork pauses mid-air. No matter how much I’ve tried to prepare myself, I’m not ready for this conversation.
“It’s just like any other internship. Lots of copying, filing, taking notes during meetings.” I force an expression of boredom. “You know how it is,” I say pathetically.
“That’s pretty much what it’s like at McKinley & Stern, minus the copying. My boss is allergic to paper. Says it’s ‘archaic technology.’” She rolls her eyes, then leans forward. “But come on, Pipes. Do you really not have any scandalous stories to tell?”
I choke on the sip I just took of my coffee. If only she knew. But no, that’s the point. I can’t tell her. “Sadly, no.” I shake my head for emphasis.
“Well, at least it’ll look good on your resume,” she says, mercifully changing the subject. “Unlike my internship, where the highlight so far was watching Jim get caught sending dick pics during a staff meeting.”
“No way.”
“Yes way. Projected his entire phone screen while trying to show a PowerPoint.” She waggles her eyebrows, and I laugh despite myself. “The best part was watching him try to explain it away as ‘reference materials for a medical consultation.’”
“That’s… creative.”
“It was pathetic,” she corrects. “But not as bad as my date last week. Matched with this guy who works at the State Department, right? Super hot, speaks three languages, and had this whole worldly vibe.”
“Let me guess, married?” I ask.
“Worse. Lives with his parents and has a room full of Star Wars figurines he doesn’t let anyone touch.” She makes her voice deep and serious. “‘They would depreciate in value, Lena. ’”
I try to listen, I really do. But my thoughts slide sideways—back to Enzo’s office. The praise, the way he made me come, the sound of his voice. It shouldn’t still live rent free in my head like this.
Lena’s fork clinks against her plate, dragging me back. “…and then he tried to explain the entire plot of all nine movies,” she continues, oblivious to my mental wandering. “Including his theories about how they connect to current geopolitical tensions in the Baltic states.”
I blink, forcing myself back to the present. “Sounds like a keeper.”
“Oh, absolutely. I’ve already picked out your Wookiee bridesmaid dress.” She sighs dramatically.
“God, Lee,” I laugh. “How do you always find the weird ones?”
“My vagina’s cursed,” she deadpans.
I shake my head. “Wait, is this the same guy who said his cats were named after CIA operatives?”
“No,” she sighs. “That one ghosted me after I asked if they were spayed. Can you believe it?”
The laughter that burst from me is real, and tears gather in my eyes. Because no, I in fact can’t fucking believe how my bestie always ends up being the one who gets dumped.
All these years, I’ve envied her adventures. Not the being dumped, but that she’s never scared to put herself out there, to experience life to the fullest. Maybe telling her about Enzo wouldn’t be that bad.
Except… if I do, I have to admit I know he’s the one that stalked me. Yeah, I’m still not ready to admit that out loud.
Despite knowing that, the need to confess everything sits in my throat like glass. From how I earned my internship with my body, to how Enzo broke into my apartment and fucking spanked me just because he could. And… that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
I should hate him, Enzo, my boss’ boss’ boss. But instead, he occupies ninety percent of my thoughts. And more than half of said thoughts are turning into fantasies about things I want him to do to me.
Shit, I don’t know how much longer I can hold all this in. I’m one bad day from blurting everything out in the middle of a lecture hall.
“Lee.”
“Hmm?”
“Have you ever…” I trail off, blowing out a frustrated breath when no words come. Clearing my throat, I try again. “Have you ever kept something inside so long it started to feel like part of you? Like a bone that healed wrong?”
Her teasing expression drops away in an instant. “What’s this about, Pipes?” she asks, looking at me in that Lena-way that means she sees too much. “Is something off at Blackwood?”
“Kind of,” I admit. Knowing that I have to give her something, I decide on a partial truth. “It just seems like there’s a lot more going on than I thought. Like maybe they’re pulling more strings than I knew even existed.”
“ Like what?”
“Well, I was sitting in on a meeting, and it almost sounded as though there was more to it than what the public sees.” There, that’s not a lie. The meeting I listened to from beneath Enzo’s desk did sound like that.
Lena gently squeezes my arm. “Pipes,” she says warily. “Isn’t that exactly what politics is? Shady doings and backroom deals. I mean, this can’t be news to you.”
My throat tightens again. She's being an amazing friend—the best, really. And all I do is lie. “Yeah, I know,” I whisper. “But knowing and then knowing is different. It’s messing with my head.”
“Don’t I get it.” Taking it upon herself to lift my mood, she throws herself into more stories, animatedly painting picture after picture about her own internship.
Instead of coming clean, I laugh at her stories and sip my now lukewarm coffee. I let her voice fill the spaces between us, so I don’t have to lie out loud. I nod and smile in all the right places, while a voice inside me screams for the relief of confession.
The city filters through her cracked kitchen window—a symphony of sirens, impatient horns, and distant shouts.
The breeze shifts, and for a moment, I swear I catch a different scent beneath the rain.
Expensive cologne and cigar smoke that doesn’t belong.
I close my eyes, telling myself I’m imagining things.
“Okay,” Lena huffs, standing and stretching. “Enough brooding. Come help me pick slutty work-appropriate Halloween drag for next week.”
“You have plans?” I ask, grateful for the redirect.
“Duh. Ross is dragging me to some rooftop party for staffers, which means I need to look hot without making HR twitch.”
I trail behind her into her bedroom, where clothes are already scattered like she tried on looks before I even got here.
“Slutty FBI agent, slutty press secretary, or slutty… no, on second thought, the last one will never work.”
I raise an eyebrow as she tosses a silk camisole onto the bed. “That’s a lot of power for one wardrobe.”
We work our way through lace, fishnets, boots, latex, and basically, most items in what she calls her slutty wardrobe. Her Lena-ness is a welcome distraction, one I’ve missed more than I realized.
Hours later, Lena has finally settled on being an FBI agent with enough cleavage she really should ask for a license to kill.
“Damn,” I whistle as she does her fifth twirl in the mirror, striking a pose like she’s about to cuff someone for bad taste in shoes.
“Yeah?” When I eagerly nod, she shoots two finger guns into the mirror while pushing her breasts higher up. “No, I don’t think I need my special occasion push-up bra,” she decides.
Before I can brace myself, she turns back to me.
“ What are your Halloween plans? Didn’t you say you had something fancy going on too with Blackwood?”
I reach for my phone and start scrolling for the outfit I bought. “Yeah. It’s at some private venue they own.” I keep my voice breezy, like it doesn’t mean anything. Like I’m not hoping Enzo will be there.
“What are you going as?” she asks, coming to sit next to me.
I pause, then swipe to the photo I saved earlier this week. “This. It’s kind of inspired by a toy—”
“A toy?” she laughs.
Nodding, I force myself to continue. “A doll, actually. Not a specific one, just dressed to impress.”
Lena peers at the image and whistles. “Damn, Pipes. This is—”
“Too much?” I interrupt, already second-guessing it.
“No,” she grins. “It’s perfect. It’s classy, it’s sexy, it’s… unsettling. But in a hot way.” She throws a pillow at me. “You’re going to look iconic. I just have one question…”
“What?”
She playfully waggles her eyebrows. “Who’s going to pull your string?”
I burst out laughing, shaking my head. Not because she’s wrong to ask, but because she nailed it. I am dressing like a doll because I want to play.