JP: How was last night? We didn’t hear anything from you and I’m worried she blew it. Did she? Did she fucking blow it?
I stare down at the text from my brother and pick up my mug of steaming black coffee. I blow on the hot liquid and then bring the rim of my mug to my lips to take a small sip, letting the bitter yet smooth drink slip down my throat.
Did Lottie blow it last night?
She did not.
She didn’t blow one fucking thing . . .
If you catch my drift.
In all honesty, I didn’t expect her to look that damn good in the dress I picked out. Nor did I expect her to walk out of her sister’s bathroom looking like a goddess with her hair in waves and subtle makeup highlighting her mesmerizing eyes.
And I sure as hell didn’t expect to think about her last night, all last night, with that goddamn vibrator. After I got into bed, I swear I barely breathed, just hoping to hear her pleasure herself. After thirty minutes of staying quiet, my dick as hard as a rock, I relieved myself and then went to bed.
Three dildos. What woman needs three?
Lottie, of course. Because not only am I borderline fucking up my entire enterprise with my careless mistakes, but I had to pick the one girl who so easily gets under my skin. She’s annoying, frustrating, beautiful, and snarky. A total wild card. She makes me hold my breath with every word that comes out of her mouth, and then she surprises me with her brilliancy.
It’s exhausting.
I set down my coffee, taking note of the time. She’s two minutes late to breakfast. While I wait, I text back to JP.
Huxley: She didn’t blow it. Annoyingly, she exceeded expectations, made Dave and Ellie fall in love with her, and made me look good.
I take another sip of my coffee as my brothers text back.
Breaker: How is that annoying? Shouldn’t you be happy?
JP: Uh-oh . . . is there a problem in paradise?
Huxley: She’s a goddamn pill.
Breaker: LOL. Well, that makes me fucking happy.
JP: Difficult to work with?
Huxley: You could say that. She challenges everything, and she’s late for breakfast.
Breaker: You set a time for breakfast this morning? Dude, it’s Sunday.
JP: Let me guess, you’re being a complete ass to her. Classic Huxley.
Huxley: I’m not being an ass. I’m treating our interactions as business transactions. Because that’s what this is—business.
Breaker: He’s so romantic.
Huxley: There’s nothing romantic about this arrangement.
Breaker: So, you’re saying you don’t find her the least bit attractive?
JP: What does she look like, anyway?
Huxley: Does it matter?
Breaker: Yes.
JP: One thousand percent it does.
Huxley: Why?
Breaker: Because we need to know if this arrangement is going to end in you two fucking.
JP: We need to gear up the lawyers, make sure they’re on standby.
Huxley: This WILL NOT end in fucking. Trust me.
Just then, I hear the flop of slippers sliding across the hardwood floors, drawing my attention toward the stairs. Lottie comes dragging into the dining area looking as though she just rose from the dead, but fuck . . . she’s wearing those “pajamas.”
The shorts are barely shorts. They just slip past the juncture of her hip and thigh, smoothing over her curves, and the shirt . . . well, it shows off her midriff, just above her belly button, and then stops, minimally covering her breasts. The fabric is so thin, that if it were white, I know I’d see those tight, little nipples that are poking against the material.
Her hair is still in waves, but her face is clean and clear of the makeup she wore last night.
She looks, rumpled . . . cozy . . . and like absolute trouble.
There’s a place setting next to me at the table, and without saying a word, she drops down into the chair, picks up my coffee, and takes a sip out of it before slouching in her chair and resting her head against the back.
“You’re late,” I say. “And that’s my coffee.”
I reach for it, but like a rabid beast, she hisses at me, causing me to pull back in absolute fear. “Touch it and die,” she says in a deep, possessed voice.
Not a morning person. Noted.
After a few seconds and some large gulps of coffee, she sets down my mug and slowly turns toward me. “Your seven thirty breakfast is absolute horse shit.”
Really not a morning person.
From the kitchen, my chef, Reign, brings two plates of breakfast. Each plate has a slice of avocado toast, a serving of scrambled eggs, and a fruit salad, perfectly presented.
“Thank you, Reign,” I say. As he’s about to leave, I gesture to the devil incarnate next to me and say, “This is my fiancée, Lottie. Lottie, this is Reign. We’re very lucky to have him on staff. His food is impeccable.”
Shaking off some of the crust she accumulated overnight, she sits a little taller, brushes her hair behind her ear, and says, “Hello, Reign. I love food so I think we’ll be best friends.”
“Miss Lottie, the pleasure is all mine. Please don’t hesitate to ask me for anything. I shall make sure you receive the palate survey so I’ll know which foods you enjoy.”
“Thank you,” Lottie says with a smile. When he leaves, Lottie turns toward me, a frown on her face, and says, “You could’ve warned me other people were going to be here. I’m practically naked.”
“I told you I have staff in the house.”
“On the weekends?” she hisses. “You monster.”
“They’re compensated extremely well.”
“Great, they have money, but how are they supposed to have fun with it if they’re always working for you?” She whips open her cloth napkin and places it on her lap.
I study her, the pompous tilt to her chin, the proud puff to her chest, the stubborn set to her shoulders. “If you’re so worried about how people perceive you in what you’re wearing, then why did you come to breakfast wearing that? I’m not someone you’re very familiar with.”
Her eyes snake over to me as she plunges her fork into her eggs. “If you’ve laid eyes on my dildos, then you’ve seen pretty much everything.”
“Not everything,” I say, picking up my mug and glancing down at her chest while I take a sip. She catches my once-over.
“Is that supposed to make me melt? Swoon at your feet? That one glance, the deep set in your voice? You’re going to have to try harder than that.”
“Who says I’m trying?” I ask, setting down my mug.
“Your breathless voice last night, when I came into your room.”
“I think you’re mistaking me for yourself. You were the one breathless, chest heaving, as you stared at my naked torso.”
“Pffft, okay, Huxley.” She stuffs a forkful of eggs into her mouth.
Great defense. She can be in denial all she wants, but I know what I saw last night. She might hate me, as she so accurately portrays, but she doesn’t shy away from ogling me.
“On that spectacular comeback, let’s get down to business.”
She shoots me a glare but doesn’t say anything. I open the folder on the table to the left of me, remove the first piece of paper, and hand it to her. She takes it, looking confused.
“What’s this?” she asks.
Casually, I pick up a piece of avocado toast and say, “That’s the letter stating your student loans have been paid off. Keep it for your records.”
Her mouth falls open as she examines the paper. I can tell when her eyes focus in on the owed amount, which says zero, because her face falls flat. “It’s all paid off?”
“That’s what was stated in the contract, was it not?”
“It was . . . but . . . it’s actually paid off?”
“Do you think I’m not a man of my word?”
“You’re deceiving a potential business partner into thinking you have a pregnant fiancée. Excuse me if I’m slightly skeptical.” She sets the paper down.
I say, “I signed a contract with you. I don’t take those lightly. You went to dinner with me, I paid off your debt. Now we move forward.”
“Just like that, we move forward? How? We seem to hate each other.”
“You can hate someone and still work with them. You need to learn to take the emotion out of business.”
“Are you attempting to make me your protégé?” she asks.
“That would be a death sentence on my part. I don’t have time to deal with your nonsense.”
“Nonsense?” she asks just as Reign re-enters the dining room.
“How is everything?” he asks.
Lottie’s angry face morphs into a smile as she looks up at Reign and says, “Absolutely wonderful. Thank you.”
“Good. Mr. Cane, is everything to your liking?”
I nod. “As always. Would we be able to get another cup of coffee? Although I enjoy having Lottie’s lips all over my mug, she’s drinking far too much of it.”
Reign chuckles. “Of course. My mistake. Miss Lottie, how do you take your coffee?”
“Just like Huxley’s is fine.”
Reign nods and then returns to the kitchen.
“It’s frightening how quickly you can change from angry to pleasant,” I say.
“Speak for yourself. You’re a modern-day Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”
Once Reign drops off Lottie’s coffee and gives us some space, I bring the conversation back to business. “I’m unsure what the timeline of our contract will be. It seems as though Dave is in no rush to push this negotiation along, and I don’t want to push my luck and pressure him.”
“Figured as much,” she says, mouth full of food as she leans back in her chair.
It’s odd how different her attitude is around me. She lets loose and has no shame in the way she slouches in her chair or talks with food popping out of her mouth. And even more odd, I don’t find it repulsive. Rather intriguing. Does she really have no care for her actions? For her decorum? And yet, when we were with Dave and Ellie last night, she carried herself with class. The contrast is incredibly confusing.
“Dave was all about Ellie last night. You have your work cut out for you.”
“Which means, you do, as well. I’m sure I’ll receive correspondence from Dave tomorrow, a follow-up on the evening. From what I could tell, Ellie liked you. She’ll probably want to invite you out, just you and her.”
Lottie pauses, her fork halfway to her mouth. “Excuse me? That wasn’t in the contract.”
“It falls under additional outings,” I say. My lawyers thought of everything.
“So, you’re telling me I’m going to have coffee with her? Spend extracurricular time with her? In actual life, we have nothing in common. She’s very much . . . affluent suburbia, and I’m . . . well, I have a jar full of spare bills that I use as savings so when Foreigner comes to town, I can buy the nosebleed tickets and finally see them in concert. I’m pretty sure Ellie has no idea who Foreigner is. Do you?”
I lean back in my chair and say, “I’m partial to ‘Cold as Ice’.”
Her brows raise. “You are familiar. At least, you know one of their main hits.”
“Agent Provocateur is my favorite album of theirs.”
She sits taller. “Is it now?” I can see the twitch of a smile, the hint of intrigue. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a Foreigner fan.”
“What would you have pegged me as?”
“I don’t know, constantly playing ‘The Imperial March’ over and over in your head.”
I glance down at my plate, a smile testing my lips, as the thought of walking around to Darth Vader’s theme song is humorous. “Consider it my second choice.” I clear my throat and try to continue with this meeting. “Concerning your job—”
“That has nothing to do with you.”
“I said I’d help your sister’s business. I have the connections she needs. Is your ego, your pride, too big for you to sit down with me and talk about her business?”
I can tell from the set of her jaw that she doesn’t like my approach, but too bad. A deal is a deal.
“No, but I’m not sure we need you butting in, either.”
“How much is she paying you, again?” I ask while bringing my mug to my lips, fully aware Lottie is getting paid nothing for the time being.
“God, you’re such an ass. Here I thought you were normal for a second because you like Foreigner, but then you go and say something like that.” She shakes her head. “Every business has to start from somewhere, so before you start judging—”
“I’m not judging. I’m attempting to help you, but you aren’t allowing that to happen.”
“I don’t want your help.”
“Then why are you here?” I shoot back, keeping my voice low.
She goes to answer, but then closes her mouth and leans back against her chair. She stares at her plate for a few seconds, then picks up her napkin, tosses it on her plate, and lifts up from her chair. She walks out of the dining room and back up the stairs.
Great. Just fucking great.
