CHAPTER 23
Jerico
“I don’t care if you’re having employee problems, Seth,” I growl into the phone. “My business is based on two things. First, that people like to explore their sexuality in a safe environment, and second, that if they’re a little anxious about doing so, they can have a couple of drinks to loosen up first. That can’t fucking happen when the liquor I ordered from you doesn’t show up.”
“I know, I know,” Seth hastily says in a soothing tone. “I’ve pinpointed the problems to the loaders. They’re not double checking. But I’m getting it fixed, I swear.”
“You better get it fixed and fast,” I warn him. “This is Vegas, Seth. You’re not the only distributor in town, you know?”
“I got it,” he says with relief in his voice that he hasn’t been fired. “I’m sending over the missing boxes that weren’t in the delivery and only charging you fifty percent for them.”
“I appreciate that,” I say as my frustration starts to seep away. It’s all these petty little problems of running a business that cause stress, and they can add up.
While it’s true Seth isn’t the only game in town, I don’t want to lose him as my distributor because he has a special service that the others don’t do. He carries drink condiments so I don’t have to order those from a separate distributor. Salt for margaritas, cherries for Manhattans, or limes for your vodka tonic, Seth carries all that shit, which cuts down on one extra thing I have to do.
“I’ll have my truck there midafternoon, will that work?” he asks.
“Sounds good. Thanks, Seth.”
I disconnect the call and look down at my written to-do list. It’s my habit every morning. I have a digital list on my computer which I look at but then I take the five most important things and write them down on paper. I have to accomplish the tasks before I can go to bed at night.
It’s a Sunday, but that doesn’t mean I don’t work. I run two businesses at this point, and while I have good help to manage both, I still have the lion’s share of the work. Which means I work pretty much every day.
Looking down at my list, I take my pen and cross through “Call Seth and chew his ass out.”
That was number six on the list—an add-on item after my head bartender called me freaked out after realizing half the delivery of liquor was missing. To put his mind at rest, I pick up the phone and buzz his station, giving him the good news that more alcohol was on its way. When that’s done, I look at my watch and realize that it’s only eleven and I have finished six of my top priorities.
I do work hard, but I also have some days where I knock off early and can do something I enjoy. That could be a rip-roaring, raunchy fuck in the club, a round of golf, or even just sitting in my apartment watching ESPN. Only the last two of those things are viable today since Trista’s spending her day with Corinne.
There’s only baseball or NASCAR on right now, neither of which I’m a huge fan of, so it appears I’m going golfing, which is something I really love to do. I pick up the phone to call the country club I belong to so I can find out available tee times, but I don’t even get to dial when there’s a soft knock on my door and it immediately opens. Only two people walk in here without waiting for my invitation—Kynan and Trista. It used to be only Kynan, but Trista’s now on my allowed list. I happen to know Kynan’s in D.C. this weekend so I know it’s Trista before I even see her. A zinging jolt of electrical excitement courses through me.
Now that is a weird fucking feeling.
She pops her head in first and gives me a tentative smile. “You busy?”
“Not at all,” I tell her as I wave her in.
She disappears for a moment, and then opens the door wider. I see she’s carrying a large, plastic container that’s dome shaped and has a handle on top. My eyes only flick to it briefly before coming back to her. She’s much better to look at.
Shutting the door behind her, she walks up to my desk with a goofy grin on her face and sets the plastic container in front of me. I look down at it, and then up to her. “What’s that?”
“Something I made for you this morning,” she says, unlocking the tabs at the bottom. She lifts the dome top off, and I’m staring at a cake in front of me.
Slowly, I look back up to her. “You made me a cake?”
“Not just any cake,” she says while wagging a finger at me. “A four-layer, homemade red velvet cake with whipped mascarpone icing.”
“Jesus,” I mutter as I look at the cake, wondering what this weird squeezing sensation is in my chest. When I look back up to her, I have to ask her again, “You made that just for me?”
“Just for you,” she says with satisfaction all over her face. “You said it was your favorite, and I had some time this morning after pancakes.”
I push out of my chair and wave a hand at the cake. “You just happened to have all these ingredients, huh? You routinely use something as odd as mascarpone?”
Her grin turns mischievous as she shrugs. “Well, I may have had to go to the grocery store for a few things.”
Jesus fuck. I can’t believe she did that for me.
My mind races over the years, and I can’t remember anyone doing something so randomly nice for me. So spontaneous and with the sole intention of doing it to please me.
Picking up the cake, I round the desk and head for the side door that connects to my kitchen. “Let’s take this next door.”
I don’t miss the disgruntled expression on Trista’s face as she clearly expected me to act differently. I’m sure she was thinking I’d be a bit more effusive in my praise, and I intend to be.
Just… in my apartment.
She follows me through the door as I balance the cake on my hand. I immediately lay it down on my kitchen counter and spin around just as she’s walking through the door, taking her face in my hands and walking right into her. My mouth hits hers. She gives a huff of surprise as I turn slightly and back her into the refrigerator. Angling my head, I kiss her deeply. It’s possible because she angles hers the other way, opening her mouth to give me entrance.
Yes, it’s a deep kiss, but it’s not sexual. It’s a show of unbridled happiness that makes me feel like a kid, or perhaps it’s gratitude that Trista perhaps thinks this is something other than “just sex”.
When I pull away, Trista’s cheeks are pink and she’s slightly panting. She whispers breathlessly to me, “I should make you cake more often.”
The grin that breaks wide is my answer, followed by another swift kiss. Then I’m turning away from her and grabbing a fork out of my drawer. Without any pomp, and certainly no circumstance to wait for a plate, I punch my fork down into the top of the cake and pull a huge chunk out.
“Oh, my God.” Trista giggles as she comes to stand beside me at the counter. I angle toward her as I bring the fork to my lips, open my mouth wide, and shove the cake in. Cheeks bulging and the taste of rich cake and lightly sweet, tangy frosting coating my tongue, I groan in satisfaction. Our eyes stay locked as I chew and chew and chew, and finally swallow the heaven in my mouth. Trista’s eyes are sparkling with humor and a bit of pride.
“Good?” she asks.
I give a swipe of my tongue over my bottom lip to catch some stray frosting there. “It’s amazing. Thank you.”
She beams a brilliant smile as she sets the cake carrier on the counter and turns toward the door that leads back into my office. “You’re welcome. Now… I’ve got to get going.”
“Wait,” I say as I snag her arm and turn her back to me. “You just got here.”
“And my work is done,” she says impishly, going to her tiptoes to give me a quick kiss. “I’m meeting Mom and Corinne for lunch, and I’ve got to get going.”
Well, there goes all thought of spending my afternoon with Trista in bed rather than golfing.
But I’d never begrudge her time with Jolene and Corinne. Their unity right now is extremely important. I do pull her into me and wrap my arms around her waist after throwing the fork into the sink. Trista’s hands come to my chest as she looks up at me curiously.
“Take the night off,” I tell her softly and I have to admit, the way her eyes go warm makes me feel fucking really good. “Make it an entire day and night thing with Corinne, okay?”
“Really?” she asks with sweetest type of surprise in her eyes.
“Yeah,” I murmur as I tighten my arms around her. “I’ll keep myself occupied with the cake tonight.”
Her lips quirking, she gets a playful look in her eyes. “We could… um… FaceTime each other later.”
My eyebrows rise with interest, but I play a little stupid. “FaceTime?”
“Naked. FaceTime.” She annunciates each word slowly, and my dick perks up at this suggestion.
And for a man who has done about every dirty thing imaginable, it hits me hard that this is something new. Something I’ve never done with another woman and now, I’m glad she’s not coming so I can have something new and unique just with Trista.
“What time might you be calling me?” I ask in a husky voice.
“Be ready around eleven,” she says, pressing into me. “Clothing is optional.”
“Wrong,” I tell her with a shake of my head. “Naked is mandatory.”
Trista giggles. It’s a great sound. It’s not girlish or immature. It’s sweet and melodic, and while I like making her scream and cry out, I like making her giggle too.
“Okay, I’ve really got to get going,” she says with a smile, then gives me another quick kiss.
With a hand behind her head, I ensure it’s not quick, but one that’s deep and meaningful. When I finally pull back, I rub my nose against hers. “Thank you again for the cake. It was the nicest thing anyone’s done for me for as long as I can remember.”
Trista sort of jerks in my arms and leans her back to look at me. “Now that’s just sad, Jerico.”
“Pitiful really,” I agree with a pathetic downward turn of my lips.
Patting me on the chest, Trista smirks. “I’ll make you another cake.”
Yes, I’d like that a lot.
I don’t get to tell her that because she’s pulling out of my arms. “I really have to go. When you’re touching me, it makes it hard to remember that.”
Snickering, I make a playful grab at her, but she sidesteps me, blows me a quick kiss, and then disappears through the door back into my office. I follow, enjoying my view of her ass as she sashays out without a backward glance. Smiling, I walk to the door and lock it, intent on spending the afternoon in my apartment now, eating cake and watching TV. Not the most exciting of days, but I figure I’ll spend part of my time thinking of interesting things I can show her while we FaceTime tonight.
But first…
I head to the built-ins, swing the Ansel Adams print away from the wall, and pull down on the lever that opens the safe. After I snatch the manila envelope out, I walk to my desk. Pulling my rolling chair back, I sit down and lean forward with my elbows on my knees, staring at the packet of lewd fuckery I hold in my hands. I’d even addressed it to Jayce, having easily found out where he lives due to my contacts through The Jameson Group.
My revenge used to be very important to me, but I realize that the moment Trista showed me that cake, it’s simply not anymore.
I can’t risk hurting Trista just to hurt her brother.
Can’t do it.
She’s more important than revenge.
She makes me feel better than any retribution toward Jayce could ever do.
I look at the gray box under my desk. It’s my shred bin and it gets picked up once a month as I don’t have a lot of paper documents that are confidential. Normally, there’s a top on the box that locks but the slot to slide the papers in is really narrow which makes it hard to put a thick stack in there, so I took it off and God only knows where it is now. I’m not worried for the same reason I don’t lock my safe. I’ve got a good security alarm and a lock on the door that’s sufficient.
I toss the envelope into the deep rectangular box without a single worry about the contents sitting there for a few days. No different than sitting in an unlocked safe, and I’m afraid I might forget and miss the shred pickup, which is at the end of the week. Then it will be destroyed forever.
But starting this moment… I’m not thinking about it anymore. Not about the photos, or the fucking hot-as-hell video, or the fact I hate Jayce more than anything in this world except perhaps Michelle. I’m not thinking about any of that. I’m letting it go.
I’m letting everything go.
Except Trista.
I’m not giving her up.