8. Peyton
PEYTON
The timing was either perfect or terrible, depending on how I wanted to look at it. Both. It was definitely both.
Elena rounded the corner as soon as Misha left, her dark eyebrows climbing toward her hairline.
Thank God Misha had already stepped back before she spotted us, but the heat in my cheeks was a dead giveaway that whatever she’d interrupted was several degrees past professional.
She turned to stare at the doorway where Misha had disappeared. “Did I interrupt something?”
“No. He was just reminding me about an email I’d forgotten.” My voice came out steadier than it should have considering the current situation, and I straightened my blouse and picked up my coffee. “You know how they are when things are not done exactly on time.”
She didn’t know, but she’d likely heard me make enough random comments throughout the last few months to have an idea.
Elena made a noise that could have been agreement but sounded an awful lot like a disbelieving snort.
“Don’t.” I held up a hand to ward off the incoming barrage.
“I haven’t said a word.” She sniffed, but her smile stretched wide.
I rolled my eyes. “Your face is saying everything for you. I’ve told you already. They’re too handsome for their own good, and I get flustered around them.”
All still true.
Elena tilted her head. “I’m merely observing that your neck is a curious shade of red, and Mr. Petrov left the kitchen in a rather big hurry.” Her smile turned feline. “And you have yet to tell me what happened last night.”
Last night? Oh, God. I had promised her details. I had no choice but to follow through, and I’d not taken a single second to prepare how I’d do that without revealing that I’d been in bed with my bosses.
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again and released a puff of air. The problem with having one friend in this city was that she knew me far too well already.
I weighed my options. I could lie outright, deflect, or give her just enough to keep her satisfied without letting the most explosive details spill out.
One look at Elena, and option three became my only option. “It went well. Better than. Like, life-altering.”
Her expression shifted, and she reached into the refrigerator for her daily salad. “All three of them?”
I nodded. My cheeks were going to sunburn if I kept blushing. “All three.”
She grabbed my arm and pulled me to the side, into a nook where we could talk undisturbed as more employees spilled into the room for their daily lunch break. “Tell me everything.”
I did my best, giving her details about the club, the VIP room with its ginormous bed.
I even told her about the food they’d ordered and how they’d remembered the things I said in my messages.
She fanned her face when I talked about how they’d taken care of me afterward, washing me and making sure I was comfortable with everything they did.
That had been the part that scared me so thoroughly, I’d dashed out the door.
I managed to tell her all of that without uttering a single name, and I wanted to pat myself on the back.
“They want to meet again.” I tried to take a bite of my salmon and asparagus, but it turned sour in my mouth. “They messaged me this morning.”
“And?” Elena leaned forward.
“I haven’t answered them yet.”
“Peyton.” She whined like I’d personally offended her. “You have to.”
“I’m thinking about it.” I pushed my food around on my plate. “If I say yes, I need them to understand there are rules. Boundaries. I can’t just…” I searched for a word that fit. “I can’t let this be casual. I’m not a booty call.”
I hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud, but now that I had, I stood by it. I’d been down that road, and while I understood that this was nothing more than sex, I needed to put standards in place.
Elena pointed her fork at me. “You like them.”
“I don’t know them.”
“You know them better than you think.” She tapped one manicured nail against her water bottle.
“You have been talking to them for weeks. You know their humor, their desires. The things that matter to them.” Her left eyebrow rose.
“The question is whether you are willing to find out who they are outside a hotel room.”
“Well, that was the whole point of not being a booty call.” I tried to sound indignant, but it came out high and squeaky.
We finished lunch and I retreated to my desk, where I sat with my phone in my lap and my gaze locked on the closed door where the three of them had holed up for afternoon meetings.
They wouldn’t be out for hours. Did I dare respond now, knowing they might feel their phones buzz and know I’d replied during business hours… when I knew they could not answer me?
I typed and retyped until I had a message I could live with.
Interested in meeting, but I need to talk first. We need to discuss ground rules and where things go from here. Let me know when and where.
I hit send before I could overthink it for the next hour and turned my phone face-down on the desk. Their response came two minutes later, from Misha.
Our house. Tomorrow evening. We’ll send the address.
Their house. Holy shit. Not a club or a hotel. Why did that feel even more intimidating? I fanned my face and wrapped up the rest of my work, leaving half an hour early–something they knew and approved of every week–to FaceTime my family in Wisconsin over dinner.
If not for that set-in-stone meeting, I’d have been tempted to join Misha, Leo, and Viktor tonight, but these weekly dinners were non-negotiable.
Mom would fly out and give me a stern talking to if I so much as called in five minutes late.
The whole thing operated on its own time zone, one that had nothing to do with the time difference and everything to do with Mom treating each call like she hadn’t seen me in years.
By the time I’d propped my phone on the fruit bowl and poured myself a glass of wine, she’d repositioned the iPad in her kitchen three times and hollered for Dad twice.
“She’s here!” Joey, my youngest brother, appeared in the frame, face too close to the camera. Seventeen and with the same green eyes, the kid had zero concept of personal space. “Peyton, tell Mom I don’t have to do dishes. I did them yesterday.”
My older sister swatted at him with a kitchen towel. “You wanted to swap days last week, then you reneged. You owe me.”
“I’m not getting in the middle of this.” I took a drink of wine and crossed my legs in the seat.
Mom appeared in the frame, nudging Joey out of the way. “You look tired. Are you sleeping? What are you eating for dinner?”
I showed her my plate, doing my best not to roll my eyes when she huffed. “I’m sleeping fine. And there’s nothing wrong with my dinner.” Even though I also had to hide my disgust at the chicken salad sandwich I’d picked up from the local deli. It wasn’t great, but it would be fine.
“You look–”
“Maggie.” Dad walked up behind Mom, all six feet of him slow and unhurried, the same way he’d been my entire life. He gave me a quiet look and a quick wink while wrapping his arms around Mom’s waist and resting his chin on top of her head. “How’s work, Pumpkin?”
“Good.” An image of Misha’s arms banding around my waist slid through my mind. I drank some wine and banished the thought. “It’s busy, which is nice.”
Brandy, my oldest sister, claimed the chair beside Mom. At twenty-nine and perfectly proportioned, she moved through the world with an easy confidence I’d spent most of my life faking. “You’re distracted. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
She harrumphed and swatted at Joey when he tried to steal her wine. “Try saying that without wincing.” Brandy stood and chased Joey around the table, shooing him into his seat with a flap of her hands she’d learned while herding chickens.
I was surrounded by people who knew me too well, even if they were on the other side of a screen.
That was what happened when you grew up as the middle child in a house full of people who treated oversharing like a competitive sport.
Must be why I struggled now that I was on my own. “How are things there?”
The distraction worked, instantly launching everyone into a detailed explanation of everything that I’d missed.
Brandy had a new job she loved. Joey had won his latest track meet.
Mom and Dad were considering taking a vacation, though the location was up for debate.
“You could come to New York. I’d love to show you around.” I leaned forward, suddenly enamored with the idea. “Mom, you’d love some of the shops.”
I ached, sometimes, realizing how distance could make a place feel bigger and more lonely than ever. I wrapped both hands around my wine glass, ignoring my sandwich, and let the sounds of home wrap around me.
“Tell us something good.” Mom leaned forward, the question bringing the conversation toward a close.
She did this every time before we hung up.
My mind went straight to all the things I absolutely could not say. “I have plans tomorrow night, with some new friends.”
“Oh?” Mom lit up. “Who?”
“People from work.” I left it at that. She’d worried about my coming to the big city on my own. Work friends were better than no friends, and she accepted that… for now.
“About time.” Joey rocked back in his chair and waved both hands. “I have to go do homework. See you next week, P.”
“Bye, Rugrat.” I waved at him, then kissed my fingertips and pressed them to the edge of the screen. “Bye, Mom. Dad. Love you all. Give each other a hug for me.”
“Will do.” Dad ruffled Joey’s hair with his knuckles, making my younger brother yelp and take off at a sprint. “Take care of yourself, Pumpkin.”
“I will.” Tears threatened, but I pushed them back the way I always did.
I loved New York too much to run back home.
This was where I belonged. I ended the call and closed my eyes, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes and taking a deep breath in the sudden silence.
My phone buzzed, and I lunged for it, my breath catching as I checked the address Misha sent me.
I could message them, let them know I was free tonight.
No.
I was not showing up in the middle of the night. I was not going to be the woman who came running the second they gave a signal. Whatever this was, whatever it might become, I refused to be a booty call. So I closed the app and went to bed.
The next day at work killed me slowly.
It started with Viktor. He passed my desk on his way from the elevators and paused long enough to set a folder in the wire rack I used as a physical inbox.
“You look rested today.” His voice pitched low, despite it only being the two of us in the room.
“I like that color on you.” He walked away, whistling.
Two hours later, Misha passed close enough behind my chair that the air shifted, bringing his musky whiskey and leather sent to my nose.
His fingers grazed my shoulder in the suggestion of a touch, so light it could have been an accident.
He didn’t slow, but the heat of it stayed on my skin, leaving it sensitive.
Leo was the worst of all. He stopped at my desk mid-afternoon to ask about a rescheduled call and leaned one hip against the desk while I pulled up the calendar. We’d done this exact thing a hundred times. It was all completely normal, but when I confirmed the time and looked up, he held my gaze.
“You’re good at this. Not just your job, but the way you hold it all together.” He crossed his arms and relaxed, looking for all the world like he might perch on my desk all day. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I did not know what to do with that, with being looked at like I mattered and was worth paying attention to. “Thank you.”
He straightened, buttoned his jacket, and walked away with a nod.
To him, it was nothing.
A compliment that anyone might have given me.
But it created a crack in the armor I’d been trying to build.
By four o’clock, I stopped pretending I could concentrate on anything other than the address they’d sent me and the hours remaining between now and tonight. I knew their coffee orders and how they preferred clients to be presented to each of their offices.
But I wanted to know what they talked about on Sundays when they were not at work.
Did they sit around and watch sports? They obviously worked out.
Did they make it a competition to see who could lift the most weight?
I wanted to know who they were when the suits came off, and not just for sex. And that was a dangerous thing to desire.