Pierce
After a very long, very restful sleep filled with all manner of deliciously naughty dreams, Pierce rose to a too-bright sun shining into his window. Tensing, Pierce looked around in horror, his mind slower to wake than the rest of him. It took about a minute to remember why he was sleeping in a strange bedroom.
It took a few disoriented seconds to remember that the blonde beauty who had been featured in most of his sex dreams was a real person, and she’d been in this bed with him the night before. He could remember each detail so vividly, his body reacted like a teenager’s just at the thought of her body rutting up against his, almost as though they had actually been fucking.
I have to get out of this house, he realized, trying not to think too hard about how twisted up he’d gotten over Felice’s little experiment last night.
He wondered if she’d sent those photos off to her ex yet. He wondered if the man was jealous or angry. Pierce was pretty sure he didn’t want to stick around and find out.
Getting ready as quickly as possible, Pierce mourned that he had to rush through the shower. It had been a few days since he’d gotten a proper bath, and not knowing when he would have another real shower next made him want to linger in the heated water.
Dressing quickly, Pierce nearly ran down the stairs, flying into the kitchen to come face to face with his hostess. She stared at him, a dead look in her pretty, emerald eyes. There was something so empty and sad in her that Pierce almost reached out to comfort her.
With a great deal of effort, he kept his hands to himself.
Felice glanced down at his mouth, then back up at his eyes, something indescribable in her face. He couldn’t image what she had seen in him that made her make that face, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“I was just about to write you a note; I’m heading to the bank now that they are open. I’m going to get your cash.”
Pierce leaned on the counter, sniffing deeply. The bitter and sweet scent of coffee floated around him, much to the delight of his nose. “I thought spoiled rich kids were supposed to stay in bed until noon.”
Felice frowned, walking over to the coffeemaker and pouring him a mug without asking if he wanted it. “Not when they own their own business. I’d meant to sleep in but ended up just waking up at my normal time anyway. Do you take anything in it?”
“A little creamer,” he answered. “So what does your business do?”
“You really don’t know, do you?”
Pierce shrugged, still feeling lost like he was missing some huge piece of the puzzle that was incredibly obvious.
Felice’s pretty brows knitted together in confusion. “I own Steel Dom Couture; we’re a high-end fashion shoppe in the Valley. I — ” She paused for a long time, looking a little embarrassed. “My mother and my siblings and I, we have a reality show, à la the Kardashians. It’s about us rich kids being silly and not knowing how the world works and our various projects. We have such good ratings that I thought … Well, it doesn’t matter. You don’t know us, but you don’t seem like the type to watch reality TV anyway.”
For a second, Pierce just stared at her. “You’re serious?”
Felice just shrugged in response before grabbing her car keys off of the counter. “If anyone drops by, don’t answer the door. Just sit here and, like, watch TV or something. The remotes are all by the TV somewhere. I think Paula left them in the basket where they belong.”
“Paula?”
“Can you do anything but ask questions?” Felice laughed. “Paula is my maid that comes every other day. She was in yesterday and shouldn’t be here today. But if she stops by, just ignore her. I’ll be back in an hour.”
And Felice was out the door before he could say another word. Sighing, Pierce went to sit on the solid white couch. It was more comfortable than it looked; he sunk into the embrace of the couch like it was a beanbag chair. Grunting in unexpected pleasure, he picked up a few of the remotes from the basket and pondered over their uses.
Seven remotes in total filled the basket, each of them nearly identical from the others. But after a few minutes of experimenting, he realized two things: apparently rich people used remotes for everything, including ceiling fans and blinds, and that Felice’s TV setup was stupidly complex.
The TV finally came on with a bit of prodding; he found the TV remote, which was separate from the surround sound remote and the cable remote, and settled back to flip channels.
After flipping past a cooking show and some shopping channels, Pierce finally found a news station. They were reporting on a vehicle found in the desert, smoldering, and had yet to identify the owner. He laughed out loud at that, remembering watching Felice’s beautiful body walking away from the flaming wreckage like a heroine from an action movie. He could feel his cock harden at that memory; there was certainly something about her that made Felice impossible to ignore.
He flipped away from the news, finding Felice’s face on the TV. Entranced, Pierce studied the sexy figure of his hostess on the TV. On the screen, she wore more makeup and acted dumber, but she was still Felice. All of that carefully controlled attitude was there as she helped to set up mannequins in the front windows of her store, much to the chagrin of someone standing behind her. The moment she was off the screen, he flipped it back to the news, wondering if the national news would be streaming soon.
“And in other news, from Boston. And murder suspect on the run. Last seen riding a motorcycle, this man —” Pierce’s face flashed across the television screen, and he winced. “He was seen leaving the scene of a murder. If you see this man, know that he is both armed and dangerous; do not engage, but call 911 immediately.”
Pierce felt ill suddenly, and flipped the channel to a sports network. He needed to get out of this house as soon as Felice came back with his money. The moment he had that twelve thousand in his paws, he would be able to head to San Diego with a clear conscious. He’d managed without robbing the stunning lady who had been so kind to lend him a room. Then he would find a non-extradition country to run to and never look back.
Then I can finally get away from my past and change my life. Start over. Clean this time. Pierce laid down across the couch, stretching out across the amazingly comfortable cushions. Starting over sounded like a great idea. This time, he could do it differently, better. Maybe make up for all those years of doing things on the wrong side of the law.
He meant just to close his eyes for a second, but instead he ended drifting off to sleep, dreaming of tropical beaches and a new name.
# # #
Felice
“Well, Ms. Domiano, we thank you very much for banking with us, as always.” The banker got up from his seat with a smile on his face, pushing his round, Harry Potter glasses back up on his nose with an unconscious motion. His ill-fitting suit was clearly off the rack, but the man didn’t seem to mind all that extra fabric around his middle and the too-short pant legs.
Felice made a face, which she quickly turned into a winning smile. “You are a doll. I’ll take the $12,000 in whatever denominations you have, but I need a few ones and twenties in the mix if you don’t mind.” Felice batted her lashes, and not a single question was raised. The banker just did it.
“The upside of everyone thinking you’re bad with money: the bankers don’t ask what you’re going to do with it. They just assume you’re going to do something stupid.” She almost laughed. She supposed she was doing something stupid with it. This much for a few dirty photos.
Shrugging, Felice turned her attention back to her photo. After much thought, she decided to go with one of the shots where Pierce was holding her up and she was arching her back. If she hadn’t been there herself, she would have sworn this was a photo of two people actually having sex. After a few moments of touching up the photo on her phone and cropping the faces out, Felice decided it was perfect.
“OMG, check out the hot dude I met last night!” she typed out carefully after mulling over the exact wording. It was perfect. And before she could question her decision, she attached the photo she’d cleaned up to the text, then sent it “accidentally” to Clay’s phone number. Feeling smug, Felice daydreamed and waited for a reply. “He’ll probably beg for me back right away, selfish jerk.”
So busy was she daydreaming about what she was going to do with all of that money her brother would owe her, she completely missed it when the news station on the bank’s TV above her head ran a story featuring Pierce’s pretty face.
Instead, she dreamed of watching Clay crawl back to her, his face all twisted up in horror as he realized that Felice had no intention of taking him back. The thought was tinged with just a touch of guilt at trying to make her ex feel bad, but she managed to convince herself she was in the right. A little. Maybe.
He cheated on me; he deserves a little hurt, too. Doesn’t he?
The teller returned, handing her an unmarked envelope. With a quick glance inside, Felice shook the banker’s hand. “Thank you for your help,” she said, a smile on her face.
The desert was, as deserts usually are, hot and dry, even in the fall. The sun was shining down on the hard-packed earth. The cacti looked full of water and brilliant, with greens and little white blooms on them. Felice didn’t spend much time out in the desert, but she loved it. It wasn’t brilliantly green like the family beach house on the east coast, but it did have its own strange kind of charm.
Humming some pop tune, Felice checked her phone as she got into her car, turning the A/C up to arctic as she slid into the driver’s seat. She loved her cars, but this one, her white and gold Porsche 911, was her favorite. It was fast and handled like a German vehicle was supposed to. And she looked absolutely fabulous in it.
There were three texts from Clay, and she pushed to open them immediately. She couldn't wait to see his response.
The moment she read them, her face fell, and the guilt that had been blooming in her chest turned to full-on depression in seconds.
“Wow, this is low even for you, Felice. This is sad.”
“I can’t believe how trashy you are. How did I not see it before?”
“You’re a classless whore; I’m glad we’re no longer together.”
Felice stared down at the screen of her phone, shaking with a combination of tears and anger. A feeling of lost, hopeless betrayal joined the mix, which was odd. Hadn’t Clay already betrayed her? She shouldn’t have expected anything less from him, in fact.
“Well, I’m not going to give up.” She pondered over the texts for a second, then sent a quick reply text. “Oh, gross, wrong person.”
Then she blocked his number, ensuring that whatever messages he sent after this wouldn’t show up as “read” on his screen. She would unblock him later, but for now, she needed him to know how little he meant to her. How little his opinion meant. If he believed that she was already completely over him, it would help to bring him around to her again.
“I may need to find a way to get Pierce to stick around a little longer.” She frowned, her heart feeling uncertain and a little unstable. But she took a deep breath, wiped away her tears and thought up a new plan. It looked like it was going to take more than a naughty photo to make Clay want her again. Luckily, she wasn’t out of ideas yet.