Chapter 10
Chloe: Will you fire me if I punch Smith in the face?
Zeke: Yes.
Chloe: What if I make it look like an accident?
Zeke: How do you plan on doing that?
Chloe: I don’t know…say there was a wasp on his nose?
Zeke: Still yes.
Chloe: So what I’m hearing is, you won’t fire me if I can think of a good enough cover?
Zeke: Also yes.
ZEKE
I grimace as I stare at my phone, my elbows braced on my bare legs. Perspiration slides down my neck as I try to catch my breath.
“Did you finish?” The breathy voice from behind me does nothing but grate.
After an hour of itching for a release of some kind, and the weights in my gym offering no such relief, I called Lucinda, against my better judgement.
Having met at a charity function three months ago, I’ve seen her a couple of times.
She knows the score. I get sex and she gets me for a couple of hours.
She’s one of a handful I keep around. All of whom I’m brutally honest with before we sleep together about what I can and can’t offer.
If they’re not on board with that, then there are no hard feelings—but I’m out.
Chloe wasn’t wrong about me sleeping around, just that I’m more selective with where I put my dick than she might think.
Speaking of… I tear my eyes away from Chloe’s message and eye my wilted dick.
The condom is woefully empty and so am I, apparently, because I’ve never not finished.
Talk about going through the motions. The only thing that got me hard in the first place was the thought of pillowy pink lips and a flash of red hair.
“I’ve got to go.” My voice is steely as I discard the condom in the bin and stand to start throwing on clothes as quickly as possible.
“Won’t you stay, baby?” she whines, leaning back onto the pillow and arching her back in what I’m sure she thinks is an inviting manner.
And five weeks ago, it might have been. Objectively, Lucinda is a knockout.
The daughter of an oil tycoon, she’s all polished brunette hair and big, surgically enhanced tits.
Which is how we ended up in bed the first time. But now? Dead between the legs.
No. My sex life has been distinctly lacking since Miss Devlin charged into my life and upended it.
Best I get these days is fucking my fist in the shower with the thought of her raspy voice in my ears and the feel of her silky skin under my fingertips.
Embarrassing, considering I’ve barely laid hands on her.
“Can’t, have something important to do.” I offer her a smile I hope is apologetic as I scoop up my car keys, flipping them around one finger before they land in my palm.
“When will I see you next?” She pouts, sitting and pulling the silk sheets up over her body.
Here we go. “Listen, I’ve had fun. You’re a nice girl and I hope you find someone who can give you what you want. But you know that’s not me, and I won’t be around for a good while, so it’s best this comes to an end now.”
She bolts upright, her glossy, mussed hair falling around her shoulders. “What the fuck do you mean?”
“I mean this is over. But thank you.” I pocket my tie and slip on my shoes.
“But… How? Why?!” she screeches, angry blotches forming on her cheekbones.
“Well, sugar,” I say as I bend to tie my laces. “Because I’m about to go and buy the fattest engagement ring I can find and ask a fiery redhead to marry me.” I can’t help the grin that splits my face at the look of indignation on hers.
Am I an asshole for that one? Perhaps. But it’s going to come out soon anyway, may as well start now. I stand and leave the room, closing the door of her apartment behind me to the muted shrieks of, “My father will hear of this!”
***
“Chloe Devlin for you, Mr. Guerra.”
I smile as the intercom crackles, punching my finger down.
“Send her in.” It’s been a long day and I’m eager to get to pinning down how this is going to work.
The door cracks open and a flame of red hair appears.
My chest tightens, and the rest of her comes into view.
She’s in an all-black formal skirt suit today and it contrasts spectacularly with her pale, creamy skin.
Blue eyes as clear as a summer's dawn meet mine and I smirk.
“Ah, my beloved fiancée.” I sigh as she closes the door behind her.
Those neat little brows knit together momentarily as she walks gracefully across the room like a gazelle across the prairie—sleek and regal. “Steady on, cowboy. We still have to iron out the particulars.” She raises one hazelnut brow and I hold my hands up in a placating manner as I shrug easily.
Instead of sitting on the opposite side of the desk as usual, she walks around and perches on the lip by my side.
I turn my chair slightly to face her, propping one arm and running a palm across my jawline as I look up at her.
Peaches and cream, that’s what she smells like.
Fucking mouthwatering. The size difference between us means her steady gaze isn’t even that much higher than mine.
She reaches into her fitted suit jacket and pulls out a folded sheet of paper, silently offering it to me.
I reach across and pluck it from her fingers.
“My requirements,” she says softly as I unfold the paper and start to read.
A formal written agreement.
Separate bedrooms.
I bite back a smile when I see she’s underlined that one in red.
Method of break-up at my discretion.
I raise one eyebrow and glance up at her. She’s watching me closely as I read, her cheeks heated. “Any particular method of break-up in mind?” I’m curious what has her stipulating this one.
“Undecided, but it will have to be something where I can walk away with my pride intact. I won’t be known as the unwanted goods of the great Zeke Guerra.”
The way she emphasizes that word makes it clear she thinks me anything but great. I run my tongue over my teeth contemplatively, smothering a smile. I can see her point though. “Perhaps I can do something unforgivable?”
She tilts her chin up, her eyes dancing with amusement in a way that has my dick thickening in my pants. “That’s agreeable, as long as you make a big public show of trying to win me back. Unsuccessfully.”
I chuckle and let out a low hum. “Noted.” I return to the list.
No sexual contact with women while the arrangement is in play.
My eyes bounce back to her, brows jumping up. “You expect me to be celibate the whole time?”
She’s full-on grinning now, a feline smile that cuts right through me. “You’re a big boy, Guerra. I’m sure you can keep your dick in your pants for a little while. Kind of hard to walk away with my pride intact if the city thinks you’ve been playing behind my back.”
I narrow my eyes. She’s enjoying telling me what I can and can’t do, that much is for sure. I have no idea how long this arrangement will need to play out for and as much as I seem to be sexually stunted right now, I find the thought daunting. “In that case, I expect the same from you.”
“Noted. Battery-operated boyfriends only.” She nods, holding my gaze.
Jesus Christ, this fucking woman. Now all I can think about is her— Nope, pack it in, Guerra. You won’t be walking out of here anytime soon if you go down that road.
“Maybe I could get you one of those fleshlight things? Seems unfair I have a whole selection of simulators and you don’t,” she muses, tapping one finger on her lips.
“Who says I don’t?” I don’t, but I want to give her a taste of her own medicine.
Her eyes round and she freezes, her eyes snapping back to mine.
The tension in the air amps up a notch or two and she shifts on her feet.
My eyes tumble down to her pulse point, which is hammering wildly at the base of her neck.
Yes, she’s definitely affected by me too.
The thought makes me exceptionally pleased.
“Okay, no fleshlight needed. Noted.” Her voice is raspy, and she swallows. I follow the line of her throat as she does, gritting my teeth. Back to the list. God damn it, man.
$111,000.73
“That’s a very specific sum,” I note aloud, leaning back in my chair so I can give her the full weight of my gaze. That money is child’s play to me. I make that every hour. But it’s clearly for something specific and I want to know.
“Please see section six,” she replies tartly, giving nothing away. I glance back down and see the final requirement.
You don’t get to ask about requirement number 5.
I laugh, casting the sheet of paper onto my desk with a light flutter. She has her reasons and I have mine—we can leave it at that. “Okay, I can agree to all of those points. Are you hungry?”
She had already started to move, seeming to think our interaction was over. Oh no, the evening has only just begun.
“Erm…hungry?” She casts a confused look my way.
“Yes. It’s the body's way of telling us we need to eat,” I deadpan, my lips twitching.
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Yes, thank you for the physiology lesson. Why are you asking?”
“Well, if we’re going to pull this thing off, we’ll have to get to know each other. Create a story of how we got together. That type of thing. Why not do that over dinner?”
She rolls her shoulders and considers for a fraction of a second. “Sure, makes sense.”
She turns to leave, but I call out after her, “Forgetting something?” She turns at the door, giving me an exasperated look as if to say “what now?” I stand, slipping my hand into my pocket as I move around the desk.
My fingers snag on a teal blue box and pull it out.
Her eyes fall to my hand, and she flushes.
“Oh…right.” She is looking at it like it might reach out and bite her.
She’s probably the only woman who has ever looked at a Tiffany’s ring box this way and for some reason I get a kick out of it.
I flip up the lid and grin as her jaw pops open.
Her brows knit together, and she stares.
Not in a good way. It’s the fattest, most expensive canary diamond they had in the joint, nestled amongst a ring of smaller white diamonds that snake along the band.
“It’s…” This is possibly the first time I’ve ever seen her speechless.
“Gawdy? Over the top? Obscene? That’s why I picked it.” My smug smile deepens as she glances up at me.
“I can’t wear that!” She’s horrified and looks a little pale.
“People will be expecting over the top. Besides, it’s the only engagement ring I’ll ever buy, so I wanted to get the full experience. The lady who handled the transaction was really very nice—gave me champagne and everything.” I’m poking at her now, but I can’t help it.
“I’ll bet she fucking did. How much did this cost?”
“Hand,” I order, ignoring her question and taking the ring out of the box with one hand before extending the other to her.
Her fraught gaze meets mine and we battle silently for a few seconds.
I can practically see the cogs whirring in her head.
Her teeth clamp down on her lip in a way I’ve learned means she wants to tell me to fuck off.
But she acquiesces, slowly extending her dainty left hand to me.
I’m surprised she’s making this so easy. “That’s it?” I take her hand in mine, dwarfing it, and almost wince at the zap of heat that runs between our skin like static. I run my thumb over the back of her wrist.
“If you’re expecting me to confess my undying love for you—”
“You’re not going to make me jump through hoops?
Maybe make me get on one knee and ask in the traditional way?
” I cut across her smartass reply as I slide the ring neatly onto her finger.
She tilts her head, and we both look down at it sitting snug against her knuckle.
Ostentatious though it is, it looks good there.
“Trust me, Guerra. If I wanted you on your knees, it wouldn’t be for a ring.” She snatches her hand back and turns. “I’m choosing where we eat,” she announces as she walks toward the door.
I let out a low breathy chuckle and send out a silent prayer to the gods that I manage to keep my edge around this woman.
“I’ll bet you are.”