11
“You’re late,” Robert says as soon as I enter the office.
I glance down at my watch. “By one minute.”
“That’s still late,” he declares, handing me a stack of paperwork. “You can’t write one decent piece of work and then decide that the rules don’t apply to you. Are you ready for the pitch meeting?”
Did he really just go there?
This here is the problem with working with your ex-boyfriend. I shouldn’t have shit where I eat, but I did, and now I have to see him every day, after he cheated on me and made a fucking fool of me in front of everyone. I’ve considered applying for a new job, but this is the newspaper I’ve always wanted to work for, ever since I was a little girl, and I’m too stubborn to let him ruin that. He’s not going to win, and although he fucked me over, it’s me who gets to walk around with my head held high because I didn’t betray anyone, and because, unlike him, I’m a good fucking person.
“I’m ready. No need to worry about me.”
While Robert isn’t my boss, he’s a senior editor and is good friends with my boss, so he’s higher ranked than me.
“Good,” he says, and then walks off.
“Good morning to you too,” I mutter under my breath. “Asshole.”
After the pitch meeting, where Tim loved my idea about writing an exposé on the inner workings of the MC, I spend the morning doing some research and follow-up with sources, but when it hits eleven my phone beeps with a message from Knuckles.
Does 12 work for you, beautiful?
Yep.
Okay, I’ll meet you out front.
Is he going to come on his motorcycle? I’ve never ridden one before. Erin said she’d take me, but it would be a whole lot more fun riding on the back of his. I glance down at my black pencil skirt and blouse and reconsider. I can barely spread my legs enough in this to walk, never mind get on the back of a bike. The next hour goes by slowly, but as soon as the clock hits twelve, I’m out of there, bag in hand. He must have arrived a little early because he’s already outside waiting for me. Punctual, I like it.
“Hey,” I say, smiling at him. I glance behind him and see his bike. “You came on your bike?”
He’s wearing a leather cut today, with a few patches on the front. One of them reads SERGEANT AT ARMS.
“You’re the MC’s sergeant at arms?” I ask him, remembering what I read on the position online. It explains his road name, because I’m pretty sure the sergeant-at-arms job is to keep order, by any means possible.
He glances down at his cut, as if he forgot he was wearing it in the first place. “Yeah. Come on, I thought we could walk to Bravo’s, especially since you can’t ride in that skirt.”
I don’t miss the quick change of subject, but I let it slide.
“I do like that skirt,” he murmurs, not hiding the fact that he’s clearly checking me out. “Kind of want to kill anyone who is walking right behind you though.”
I roll my eyes, then look away as he grabs my hand and leads me down the busy pathway, all the professionals heading out to lunch at the same time as us.
“So you managed to book Bravo’s?” I ask, impressed. “You must know someone, because there’s no way you could have gotten a table otherwise.”
“I might have a connection or two,” he admits, running his thumb along my knuckles. “Bravo’s has the best food in the city, and there’s always a table there for members of the MC. We don’t have to worry about booking.”
“Underworld connections,” I mutter, shaking my head with a smile. “Being badass gets you amazing food whenever you want it, who knew?”
I should have chosen a different career. Actually, like Willow said, being a journalist is pretty badass in its own right, although some days it sure as hell doesn’t feel like that.
“Being badass gets you anything you want,” he adds, grinning. He lifts our joined hands up. “Including the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“You don’t have me yet, buddy,” I reply, eyebrows rising. “You’re a little too cocky for your own good, you know that?”
“I like to think of it as being optimistic.” He looks down at my black block heels. “Can you walk in those? I can carry you, if you like. Or we can walk slower. I forget that you have small legs.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “But thank you. These shoes are comfortable, or I wouldn’t wear them to work.”
“Right, beauty and brains,” he mutters to himself. “I don’t think I’ve ever dated a woman who has had her own career before.”
I wince. “We’re not rare, you know. It’s modern times. Women don’t need men to thrive.”
“Need us to reproduce though.”
“Actually—”
I’m about to tell him about sperm banks, when he cuts me off. “You still need men for sperm. How about to make you come? Yeah, there are toys, but nothing beats skin-on-skin contact, connection, and sexual tension. Don’t even argue with me on this.”
“Not going to argue with that one,” I reply, licking my suddenly dry lips. “Nothing beats naked cuddling.” I pause, then add, “After hot, dirty sex.”
“I knew I liked you,” he says, smirking. He leads me up the stairs to the restaurant and opens the door for me. “At least I get to sate one hunger for you for now.”
Is it suddenly getting hot in here?
“Mr. Knuckles,” the waiter greets, smiling. “We have your table waiting for you. Please, come through with your guest.”
With a hand on the small of my back, Knuckles ushers me to what is clearly the best table available, with a view overlooking the city.
“Wow,” I whisper, as he pulls my chair out for me. “This is something else. I think when I ate here that one time I was in the corner by the wall.”
“No more corner tables for you,” he says, amusement filling his gaze. “Can you have a little wine? Or do you want something else to drink?”
“I can have a glass,” I tell him. “But no more, or I won’t be going back to work.”
“Where will you be going then?” he asks, glancing over my blouse.
To the closest bed. With him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
The wine is poured, and the menus are delivered. Struggling to decide on what to choose, I ask what he usually orders.
“I like to try something different every time,” he says, studying the menu. “And they keep changing it up, so there’s always something new. I had the prawns last time, they were good.”
“I love seafood,” I tell him, getting excited. “Maybe I’ll get that then, it does sound good.”
“You won’t regret it,” he says, placing his menu down and studying me. “Do you always wear that shit to work? Fancy shit? You look so fucking sexy right now.”
I lean back in my chair, resting my elbows on the table. “Yeah, what else am I going to wear to work? It’s business attire.”
“I don’t know, I guess a tight skirt that shows off the curve of your ass didn’t pop into my mind when I pictured you walking out of your office today.”
“Not everyone is as pervy as you,” I reply, arching my brow.
“That’s true,” he admits, laughing to himself. “Can you blame me though? I don’t know what it is . . . but there’s just something about you. I seriously haven’t stopped being hard since I first saw you.”
I’d just taken a sip of my wine, which I proceed to almost choke on. “We’re at the fanciest restaurant in the city, can you not say that shit here?”
“Fuck, you being uptight just turns me on more,” he groans, shifting in his seat. “The waiter better hurry up or we’re not going to make the meal.”
“Says who?” I ask, licking my lips. “I’m hungry, and unlike you, I don’t get to come here all the time.”
“You will,” he says, running his hand down his beard. I find myself wanting to do the same, to play with it, and run my fingers through it, preferably while he’s inside me.
I don’t know when I decided I was going to sleep with him, but it’s clear that this is inevitable. Maybe I just need to get him out of my system, and then he can go back to his life and I can go back to mine.
Just two consenting adults having some good sex.
No harm done, right?