8. Eight
Eight
Payton
A insley dominates my thoughts as I swim laps in the pool on the roof of my loft. It doesn’t matter how fast I go or how long between breaths that push my lungs to burning. I can't escape her. Images of her and how I’ll use this connection to my advantage chase each stroke that pulls me through the crystal clear water.
My eidetic memory is a blessing and a curse—the vivid recall it provides meaning I have memorized every part of her. Every nuanced motion, carefully guarded look, and grimace she’s given me is seared into my brain. I know the way her nostrils flare when she’s angry, the way her arched brows pull together when she thinks I’m full of shit, the way the corners of her full lips twitch when I almost get her to smile .
It’s the lips that chase me most of all as I think of what they would look like wrapped around my cock, reminding me that I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this, especially now that she’s my fake girlfriend for the foreseeable future. I shouldn’t complicate my life like that.
Ainsley may say she wants nothing to do with me, but I know she’s more than a little curious and very interested in a connection despite her prickly exterior. She willingly went along with my charade to fool Harlowe. She played her part admirably, creating a backstory that was more truth than I could’ve imagined if she was also at the real estate summit like she said. She even melted against me each time I pulled her close and seemed to enjoy at least part of our interaction even if she said otherwise.
No matter how strongly she resists my charms, she’s eager to know about me. Perhaps wanting a story on Olympus or on my family motivates it. She could even be drawn to me in the same curious way I am to her. I have no problem dangling the carrot of information and an inside story in front of her. I’ll have plenty of opportunity to discover what she wants out of this connection now that we’re tied together for the foreseeable future, at least publicly.
The idea occurred to me on a whim as Harlowe backed me into a corner at the café. Having a favor in my pocket and realizing Ainsley would fulfill it regardless of the extremes meant I could ask for it. I don’t mind putting myself into a fake relationship if it gets me what I want—my freedom and a reprieve from Harlowe’s scheming.
It’s the kind of thing I’ve asked of my brothers when our company was under scrutiny and their relationship statuses could be used. Now it’s my turn to take one for the team and use it to my advantage. I just have to work out the details of what this fake relationship will look like and how we’ll sell it to ensure Harlowe and the world believe it enough to give me an excuse to be a brokenhearted bachelor again in three months so she’ll leave me alone for a nice long time after that. If that means Ainsley and I have to appear to be wildly in love publicly, then that’s what it’ll take. I’m willing to do anything for Olympus and my freedom, even deceive my family when it’s for their benefit.
I pull myself out of the pool and drop onto a lounge chair. My chest heaves from the exertion I’ve put in before seven a.m., but I don't feel settled. All I have to look forward to today is my continued work of trying to solve a six-month-old cyber breach with cold leads, no closer to putting away Archer Donovan, the assumed culprit of the attack. I can’t find any connecting evidence that would mark him as the hacker to turn over to the authorities.
A business associate, Octavius Rex, gave us secondhand information that led us to Archer as the potential hacker for hire with a strong motive against Olympus. We destroyed his father’s company, Donner Investments, then sent his father to prison for orchestrating an industrial accident at one of our overseas properties in retaliation. But Archer covered his tracks with his infiltration and never publicly claimed the breach, meaning I can’t do shit about it now.
Archer moved through my firewalls and systems with a sophisticated program I’ve tried reverse engineering to discover how he did it to see if it will lead me back to him. It’s been gnawing at me for months that the system I built for Olympus failed at the hands of a twenty-five-year-old punk-ass kid who sold off proprietary information. This let our competitors take our cleaner-burning Pegasus jet engine plans to market before we could. I want to tie Archer to his crimes and turn him over to the authorities—after I’ve made him pay for his misdeeds in my own way. I want him to feel the same sting of failure and embarrassment I’ve endured for this colossal fuckup on my part. A petty hacker like him never should have infiltrated my system. I’ve reinforced the system and made it airtight since, but that doesn't change the past or that I failed in the first place, which is unacceptable.
Shit, Ainsley’s right. I don't have a life. I should have gone to the coast this weekend like I wanted. Then at least I’d be working from my yacht with a briny breeze blowing through my hair instead of sweating in Atlanta. But if I’d gone to the coast, I wouldn’t have met the Spitfire who has me in my head today and is now somehow my fake girlfriend.
She’s back in my head with that simple thought. What is it about Ainsley that keeps my mind circling back to her? She’s undoubtedly attractive, my physical ideal, with her blonde hair, sun-kissed skin, rosy pink lips, and pretty hazel eyes that narrow in suspicion each time she stares me down, but plenty of gorgeous women have caught my attention over the years. Is it that she says all the mean, unfiltered thoughts that pass through her head, or that she doesn’t feel the need to impress me because of my status and power? That has to be it. Ainsley knows exactly who I am and doesn’t seem to give a shit. She busts my balls and tells me it means nothing every time she opens her mouth, and I can't get enough.
She’s also using it to keep me at arm’s length, and I want to know why. Any other woman who’s been aware of my family and what our business is has been beyond friendly and willing to fall directly into bed at the first smile from me should I have been remotely interested. It’s refreshing to have someone, especially a woman, know my net worth and not trip over herself wanting to get something out of the connection .
Of course The Atlanta Haute List ran a story about me being spotted at The Unicorn Café before the day was even over, linking me to Ainsley as an unknown blonde and setting me up as the newest most eligible billionaire bachelor for Atlanta women to salivate over. The story will be a perfect way for me to introduce Ainsley as my new girlfriend to the public and squash that whole narrative.
I’ll have to feed a few select details of my own to the gossip site to encourage the connection. I’ve done this for Olympus over the years, keeping the company name in the news with small tidbits of positive information here and there, so it should work for me, personally, as well. A little PR magic never hurts, and using the Haute List to my advantage would finally be putting the salacious gossip site to good use after all the trouble it’s caused my family and business over the last two years.
I slick wet hair off my face as I grab a towel and dry off as I make my way into my bathroom. My phone chimes a few minutes later while I turn on the shower. I pluck it off the counter, thinking it could be one of my brothers, or even Harlowe checking in after reading the Haute List story and giving me a hard time about it, but I’m shocked to see it’s not from them at all.
Muffin: Why the hell did you end our conversation like that last night?
I bark out a laugh at the unexpected question, bringing my phone into the shower with me as I type back a response. Thank God for waterproof technology and large shower enclosures where I can keep my phone out of the spray. I don't want to miss the opportunity to spar with her.
Me: Why? Did you stay up all night thinking of me?
Good to know I’m not the only one with a brain stuck on repeat over the person I met yesterday. I put the phone on the ledge next to my shampoo and step into the shower spray, rinsing off until I hear my phone ring, surprised it’s the FaceTime sound instead of a text notification. She’s the initiator this morning. I smile and it feels wicked. I must’ve gotten under her skin good last night. I leave the phone on the ledge and accept the call. The camera only shows me from the abs up if I don’t step back. It could get indecent if I went far enough, but I can keep the mystery intact unless she requests otherwise. Then all bets are off and she can have whatever she wants. I’m not shy in the least.
“Miss me, Muffin?” I ask, loud enough to be heard over the sound of the shower.
“What the hell, Payton?! Why would you answer a video call while in the shower ?” she screeches, her pretty eyes popping wide but not averting from my body, dominating her side of the screen.
“You called me. It’s only polite to accept.” I lift my arms and slick back my hair, giving her a show of my tan, wet, muscled arms and flexing abs with water sluicing down my chest toward other, hidden parts. “Like what you see of your new boyfriend?” I ask as she stays quiet and I catch her lips parting.
Her mouth snaps shut and she glares at me. “Fake boyfriend. It’s entirely inappropriate to answer a call like this. You could’ve declined and texted that you’re busy. Why do you have your phone in the shower, anyway?”
I reach out and grab the bottle of shampoo next to the phone. She moves like she thinks I’m reaching for her. I laugh, water dripping off my face with the movement. “It's efficient. Besides, I don't mind if you watch.”
She makes a sputtering noise, her cheeks growing red. “I don’t want to watch you in the shower! You’re all…wet.”
I smile at her embarrassment over her blatant interest because she refuses to look away or hang up when that would solve her problem in the simplest way. “Relax, Spitfire. We all get wet when we shower.”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes, but they return to me, and I give her a slow, sultry smile as I pour shampoo into my palm and return the bottle to the ledge. She doesn’t flinch away this time.
She stays silent, her face set into an uninterested look, but her eyes are burning hot and a rosy glow is creeping up her neck in a way that makes me want to see where else that pretty shade is coloring and how far down I can make it spread. My innuendo and the fact she knows I’m naked in the shower affect her and yet she continues watching.
Voyeur , my brain catalogs about her, while I’m an exhibitionist. Perfect fucking pairing.
“You know getting wet never hurt anyone. I spent the last hour working myself up, getting really wet, so I need this shower.”
Now I’m getting into it, playing up the tension, seeing where it’ll get me, just because I can. My brothers call me a meddler. They’re not wrong. I like to see what kind of reaction I can get from people. Ainsley’s easy to provoke. She wears her emotions on her sleeve despite wanting very much to appear unaffected, which is why she relies on her surly attitude and snappy replies more often than not. She started off a bit hard to read, but now she’s as clear to me as the newsprint her stories run in. I can read her every nuance, and I’ll use that to my advantage at every opportunity. If she were really mine, I’d be testing her boundaries for different reasons.
I lather the shampoo into my hair, really giving her something to watch. I’m not bad to look at. Even if I’m not built as huge as Hayes or as devastatingly handsome as Zander, I hold my own just fine, and I’ve been told I have eyes that women could drown in. I keep myself fit, maintaining a shredded body to ensure I can keep my brothers from killing each other when their dominant personalities clash in the boardroom—or anywhere, really. Being the middle brother—often the mediator—means I have to step in to soothe ruffled feathers and keep them from coming to physical blows more often than not. I have to stay fit enough to stop the freight train that is Hayes and nimble enough to intercept Zander’s willingness to bait him. Not easy with stubborn brothers who are too much alike and too eager to be the authority on everything.
I tip my head back into the spray and rinse the lather from my hair. I may step back a little too far because I hear a gasp over the sound of water hitting the tiles and cascading around my ears. I pull my head out of the spray, stepping forward again. I blink and check the small view of myself in the corner of the screen. She can see the V cut of my low abs but not my cock, so we’re good.
“Am I offending you by getting clean, Muffin?” I ask, wiping my eyes and stepping toward the phone.
“You’re ridiculous. Why do you insist on staying on the call while you shower?” She huffs cutely.
“We’re supposed to be dating. It’s only natural that you’d be familiar with my body and I don’t mind you watching, but hang up if you want to. I have to condition my hair and wash my body first. Remember, I got worked up earlier. I need to get clean, and you called me, so we can chat while I do it.” I reach for the conditioner, shake the bottle a little indecently just for her benefit, and squirt out some product right in front of the camera so she sees the opaque white product hit my hand, to really get her dirty mind going.
“What were you doing this morning?” she asks slowly, her eyes closing tightly like she hates that she even asked. That’s my good girl, following the breadcrumbs I’m leaving exactly the way I want her to.
“Swimming laps,” I answer honestly as her reward. “I do it most mornings. The pool is salt water filtered, which is nicer than chlorine, but it still needs to be rinsed off fast or it dries out my skin. I’m sensitive.”
The look of relief that crosses her face at the innocent answer is hilarious enough to make me laugh as I finger-comb conditioner through my hair. “What did you think I meant? Something dirty, I bet. God, you must be a nasty girl if that’s the first place your mind went to. I like it.”
She growls in annoyance and narrows her eyes at me. “You’re obviously baiting me to think that way. You’re an unreliable source. I can’t trust anything you say.”
“You thought I was doing something naughty. Tell me where your mind went. I want to know just how dirty it got. My hands are slick enough with conditioner, I could do something about what that thought does to me.” I want to see if it can get a rise out of her. I’m only semi-hard at the thought, trying not to let my cock take over. Despite how deplorable she thinks I am, I’m actually on my best behavior for her. I’m just messing with her head and seeing where it gets me.
“Payton!” she chastises, dropping her head back against a pillow, and I realize she’s still in bed.
“Did you call me from bed, Muffin? Wow, did thoughts of me not only keep you up last night, but I was the first thing on your mind when you woke up this morning? I like seeing you in bed.” I skate my hands from my head, to my chest and start to drag them lower. “Let’s play a game. You tell me when my hands should stop moving, and we’ll see what I find.”
“You’re the worst!” she growls. “Don’t touch yourself inappropriately while I’m on a call with you. That’s gross.”
“You’re still watching. You don’t actually think it’s gross, and I'm your boyfriend, so I should think of you when I touch myself, right?” I playfully tilt my head as my hands continue to slide down my torso, nearing the edge of the camera frame. They pass out of view and her lips part, but no sound comes out. Her eyes lower as if following the progress of my hands, the line of my biceps stretching out giving her the only indication of where they could be on my body. I keep my hands moving now because she seems to be playing along, even though I was kidding, initially. “Tell me when,” I growl, hitting the V of my abs and feeling my cock jump at the proximity.
“Stop,” she says, voice shaking before rolling her lips together. It could be a stop for my hands, or stop this altogether. But I’ll take it as the game.
“Good timing,” I groan, moving my hands off my lower stomach where my cock is brushing my fingers, but I refrain from wrapping my hand around the hard, thick length. “That could’ve gotten heated quickly. Who knows what I would've done or said if you let me be gross and touch myself while you’re on the call with me,” I say, raising my brows and throwing her own words back at her.
She looks away, biting her lip. “You’re the worst,” she says, lacking conviction while refusing to meet my eyes.
“Oh, Spitfire, you like it. You have my permission to if that’s what you’re waiting for. Be as depraved as you want to be, no need to let propriety hold you back, or think I’m expecting you to be some squeaky-clean, ethically bound journalist, prickly persona and all. I just want you to be my fake girlfriend. You can enjoy all that entails, fake or not.”
“I don't need your permission for anything.” She seethes, her lips flattening. “There you go, being a dick and a pompous ass again.”
Dick and ass in the same sentence, what a naughty girl, and she doesn't even realize her slip. I bite my lip and lean a forearm on the wall over the ledge where the phone rests, coming closer to the screen, her eyes widening under my gaze.
“Oh, Muffin, you gotta stop now. Those mean words work just as well as knowing that you’re thinking dirty thoughts about me. Now let me finish showering without saying any more naughty things that make me want to do bad things while you watch, or let me handle myself and get it over with. What’ll it be? My hand’s still slick enough to feel good, and I’d like your consent to watch.”
“Fucking hell, Payton,” she says, breathless and unnerved. “Do whatever you need to get yourself under control. I can’t talk to you like this.”
“Sounds like you need to take your own advice, Ainsley. You should do whatever you need to make yourself feel better. Talk soon.” I raise my brows at her flushed face and end the call to put her out of her misery. I do take matters into my own hands and finish my shower thinking about her breathy voice, her pretty pink lips, and that blush on her skin that I put there just by saying a few choice words. Ainsley Montgomery with her unrealized words kink is going to be so much fun to play with for the next three months.