Colton
The minute the act finishes up, a server comes over to where Tessa and I have been chatting about the upcoming events, looking nervous as she stops before us. Her unease raises my hackles, instinctively straightening up to look around for Harper.
“You’re being requested,” she says, pointing over to the center table where I’m already looking.
My elation at being needed by Harper is quickly deflated as I look back at the server's retreating form. She’s never asked for me during a meeting before, and I worked hard to put together all the details of this bachelorette event on short notice.
My mind is working in overdrive, trying to find something I may have overlooked or done wrong.
Maybe she wants to tell me what a great job I did, or simply wants Ms. Harlin to know who I am in case anything comes up on the night of.
I straighten my spine, running my hands over my pressed shirt before grabbing my tablet and work phone. Harper finally turns towards me, and it’s like being doused in ice water. She doesn’t look like she’s going to congratulate a job well done, and she certainly isn’t smiling.
Tessa raises a hand to rest against my forearm. “Good luck,” she says in a breathy whisper, clearly seeing the tension in Harper’s stare.
As I weave between couples pressed close together and businessmen sprawled across their chairs, drinks being refilled one after the other, I begin to contemplate all the choices I made for this event.
What if Ms. Harlin hated something we put together?
Or wants to completely scrap the event because of a mistake I made?
I couldn’t care less if the over-perfumed celebrity thinks I’m incompetent.
I come to a standstill at the center of the floor, where I look into the eyes of the only woman whose opinion does matter to me. Whom I seek approval from, like a man seeks water in a desert.
My smile beams as she remains neutral, her gaze languidly shifting from the stage to my face.
Careful to keep her face wiped clean of expression as she taps her nails against her glass.
She used to do the same thing at the gym against her water bottle when she had something to say but didn’t want to admit her interest.
“Colton, let me introduce you to Cassandra Harlin. Ms. Harlin, this is Colton West, my new assistant,” Harper waves between us in introduction. I can’t make out whether the edge in the way she called me her assistant was real or a figment of my imagination.
“Ms. Harlin, very pleased to meet you. Big fan of your work.” I’m not, but that’s okay.
She doesn’t really care if I’m a fan or not.
She’s too busy roaming her gaze over my body, and she isn’t being discreet in her admiration, a contrast to the image she has so carefully crafted for herself over the years.
Chaste and pure, gaining her attention from the media, either to applaud or to insult. All press is good press, as they say.
“Please, call me Cassie,” she holds a delicate hand out for me in that awkward way you see in period movies, fingers pointed down with a slight curve to her palm.
Am I supposed to kiss the massive engagement ring and bow?
Not fucking likely. I take her hand and give a small shake, watching her lips curve into a smile as she release a single puff of laughter.
“As you know, Ms. Harlin is having a private bachelorette party here in a week’s time, and each guest will have their own personal attendants for the evening, specially picked from our dancers.
Ms. Harlin has requested you as her personal attendant for the evening.
I informed her that you are not part of the staff that provides those services.
But she is nothing if not persistent in her desires,” Harper says, eyes still trained on my face.
It's not lost on me that she isn’t actually asking, but simply relaying the request.
Cassie laughs coyly, lifting a hand in mock dismissal.
“She told me you wouldn’t be the best fit, but when I asked if it was against the rules, she said it’s never been a request before.
I do love being original,” she says. Resting one elbow on the table, she props her chin on her palm as she makes her case.
“It is a bachelorette party after all, and I am the bride,” she pleads, as if it would be anti-marriage to deny any request she makes.
I look back over to Harper, waiting for her instruction. Her nails are no longer tapping against the crystal glass. Instead, they are white-knuckled around the base.
“As I said, Colton has only worked here for two months, and he is not a dancer. I must insist that someone trained in the position would be better suited to satisfy. Don’t you agree, Colton?
” Harper looks to me in question. Her glare is a clear warning.
She doesn’t want me to take this offer. She has laid out the perfect refusal for me. All I need to do is agree with her.
“May I take some time to consider your request, Ms. Harlin?” I turn to Harper, hoping she understands my words may be spoken to Ms. Harlin, but they are for her.
Always for her. “As Ms. Mathers said, I am not a dancer; however, I believe she would also agree that I am more than capable to satisfy.” Harper’s grip on the glass tightens, threatening to shatter under her anger.
Ms. Harlin claps her hands together once, as if the decision has been made, though I’m not sure that she even listened. She’s already turned away from us to look back at the main stage, prattling on about specific décor and table setup for the event that she just thought of.
“If that’s all, Ms. Mathers.” We are still staring at each other, her gaze searing into mine. Eyes burning with barely concealed rage.
Good.
I’ve heard you're ruthless.
Now let me see it.
You don’t want to share me?
Good.
Make me yours.
She was no longer pretending to listen to her music, the earbuds sitting snugly in their case. She still took them out and placed them on the treadmill frame, but she hadn’t put them in her ears since she admitted she wasn’t really listening to anything other than me anyway.
She was asking questions and laughing along with me.
Occasionally, she would tell me a story, usually about her and Sadie, or about when she was first setting up the club.
But overall, it was still mostly me talking.
And I was fine with that. Her walls were high, but I could feel them crumbling with each smile earned and each eye roll at my expense.
One morning I had even brought in boxing gloves, and when the time came for her to walk to the back area and wrap her wrists, she nodded for me to follow her.
She silently wrapped her wrists while I did mine, and when the time came to throw around her aggression, she had simply moved to the side during her breaks, letting me work into her routine.
She made room for me.
And from Harper, this felt like the equivalent of asking me to move in.
All of that was before Cassie Harlin. Before I was propositioned to dance for another woman, and before I let the request simmer, neither accepting nor refusing. Now, when I walk into the gym to start my workout, Harper is already walking on the treadmill at a fast pace and steep incline.
Uh oh.
I sidle up to her on the treadmill next door and lean closer to her when she doesn’t acknowledge my arrival.
“Hello there, Sunshine. You started without me today.”
She doesn’t even look at me, just scowls at the open air and stops her treadmill. Grabbing her bag and walking off to the back before I even have a chance to start my machine.
Aww, our first fight.
I stand there a moment, grinning like an idiot and wondering how far I can push her.
I hop down from the machine, leaving my bag at its foot, and saunter over to where she is wrapping her wrists and donning her gloves.
“Are we skipping cardio today?” I ask her, stepping up behind the suspended punching bag to face her. She glowers at me, but still doesn’t say a word as she steps up to face the enemy.
The punching bag. Not me, of course.
She adores me.
She leans forward with an arm extended for the first swing into the bag. I shift to the side, barely fast enough to avoid getting clipped by her right hook in the process.
Okay, so maybe a little bit of her anger is at me.
“Is everything okay on this bright and chipper morning?” I tease her, both of us knowing I’m baiting her.
“Yes,” she huffs out between swings as I shift to stand behind her.
“Are you sure about that? You seem a little worked up about something,” I reply, stepping slightly closer to where she comes back to center before striking out again. I can’t even hide the smile in my tone. I don’t want to. I like having the upper hand with Harper, and I like watching her squirm.
“I realized something after Ms. Harlin’s request,” I start as Harper hits the bag with a little more force.
“You never told me what you thought of my interview,” I tease, leaning down to brush my words across the shell of her ear as she straightens up.
“And after last night, you have me questioning my skills.”
I can see her body react to my closeness, a shiver that runs from her head down her spandex-covered body.
She’s in a black cropped tank top today, thin straps that look like they would be easy to slide down.
Black leggings that pull together between the perfect cheeks of her ass, giving me the perfect outline of my desire, like I haven’t spent countless hours daydreaming about what it would feel like to hold that ass in the palm of my hands.
“It was fine,” she rushes out.
I reach out a hand and wrap it around her hip, stopping her next advance on the punching bag.
“You seem awful breathless for someone who thought it was just fine. What’s wrong, Sunshine? Saving your praise?”
She lifts one of her gloved hands up in the air, waving it back and forth as she tilts her head back to look at me. “It’s because of this, not you.”