Chapter 15
She steps off of the elevator, her burgundy tweed coat cinched tight at her waist and her slim-fitting gray skirt hugging her hips. Her hair is straight and shiny and neatly combed.
She looks so professional now. An auditor, for sure. But, I can’t help but think about the way she looked last night as the strap of her white dress had slowly slipped down her creamy skin and she’d pleasured herself until she exploded into bliss. Each time I close my eyes, I see the vulnerable look she’d worn on her face. I feel blood rushing to my cock as the image replays in my head.
She’s frowning now, disappointment tinting her eyes. Despite her facial expression, she’s still the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. When she spots me sitting on a squeaky, faux-leather couch in the lobby, her frown deepens, transforming quickly from disappointment to suspicion. "You waited?"
I smirk at her. "Of course I waited. How were you supposed to get home?"
She doesn't answer. She just sort of stands there, silently glowering at me. I don't let her get to me, though. I rise to my feet and walk ahead of her, holding the door open. "After you," I say gallantly. Instead of thanking me, she rolls her eyes as she moves past me, leaving a whiff of her sweet fragrance behind.
Damn - her walls are up so high when it comes to me and I can't even blame her. I'm the asshole who broke her tender teenaged heart. She doesn’t trust my intentions. She doesn’t want my friendship.
I pull my remote starter out of my pocket and allow the truck to start warming up as we make our way across the crowded parking lot. The snow is already melting, leaving a brown, slushy mess on the uneven pavement. She’s struggling in her heels and although I know that she’d probably try to bite my head off, I slide my hand across her lower back to help steady her steps. I feel her ribs expand under my fingers as her breath hitches. It may just be a fleeting moment, but to me, it’s a small victory. Like it or not, she reacts to my touch. I fight a smile away from my lips.
I move toward the passenger’s side and pull the door open for her. She gives me that same sharp, unflinching glare as she climbs into the seat. I close the door behind her and round the vehicle, jumping behind the wheel.
When I close my door, I turn in my seat to face her. “So, how’d the interview go?”
She appraises me with hesitant scrutiny. I think I’ve actually become accustomed to her stink eye by now. A small part of me probably even looks forward to it. But then something in her melts just a touch. She blows out a tense breath. “They wanted someone with more experience…I’m pretty much still fresh out of school, so…” She shrugs looking hopeless and defeated.
I pull out of the parking lot as she slumps back in her chair, staring off into the distance. She really doesn’t seem to be in the mood to talk, so I leave her be. We drive wordlessly until we’re halfway back home.
Then, she sighs into the silence. “I’m really fucked now. My car’s broken down, I’m blowing through my savings, I’m living in my parents’ house and I have no freakin’ job prospects.” She mutters a string of curse words under her breath. “I’m gonna have to ask Daniel for a loan…and he’ll hang that over my head until the day I die, broke and destitute in a cardboard box at Kennedy Square.”
I reach out and tug softly on the tips of her hair, the way I used to when we were younger and she was being uptight or worrying about something silly. “You’re not completely out of options, Sammie.”
She looks at me with a frown pleating her forehead. “Uh, yes I am. This is Reyfield. It’s not exactly the center of industry. There aren’t big auditing firms just lining up waiting to hire, especially someone with as little experience as I have.”
“I was serious when I offered you a job the other day. I may have used some poor delivery, but I really could use your help.”
She scoffs. “I don’t need your pity money, Keeland. I need a real job.”
“I’m offering you a real job.”
“What? You need someone to organize your hair gel receipts?” she quips. She smiles smugly to herself, clearly proud of her joke.
I shake my head, unable to resist a smile of my own. “My hair gel receipts are in order. Thank you very much.” I set my eyes back on the road as I switch lanes. “Look — when I was out in California, I opened a tattoo shop. Not just any tattoo shop. The tattoo shop in L.A. Celebrities, athletes, high rollers — they all came to me to get inked. But I’ve been…away from the business for a little while –” I deliberately omit the part about being locked up in jail for the past three years. “– and I’m trying to figure out whether I should put it up for sale. The accounting is all messed up. The books aren’t up to date —”
She cuts me off. “I’m not a bookkeeper.” She looks seriously offended.
We’re stopped at a red light. “I know you’re not a bookkeeper. You’re a big, fancy auditor. But as you said, your options are limited. You either work for me,” I stick out one hand, “or go hand in your application at Billy’s Burger Bar.” I stick out my other hand and make a weighing motion.
She groans, closing her eyes momentarily. Then her gaze moves to me and she scrutinizes me yet again, probably trying to gauge my seriousness. She sits there biting her lip as she considers my offer.
“C’mon, Sam. I’ll pay you four times more than what you were willing to accept from those chumps who interviewed you today.”
Her eyes go wide for a second. Then, she tilts her head and looks at me for a long while. “Okay,” she says despite the skepticism on her face. “Okay, I’ll work for you.”
Now, I’m grinning from ear-to-ear as the traffic light turns green.
She narrows her eyes at me. “But I have conditions, though,” she says sternly.
I feign offense. “I’m the boss. I’m the one who gets to have conditions.”
Her expression remains stoic. “I’m serious, Keeland.”
I sigh. “Okay, hit me. What are your conditions?”
She sits up straighter in her chair. “No more teasing. No more pulling my hair. I’m a professional and I’ll need you to take me seriously.”
I hold up my palms, surrendering to her. “Fine. No more teasing. You’re a professional and I’ll treat you with respect.”
She seems satisfied. She gives me a slight nod.
“So, can we shake on it?” I ask.
“We can shake on it.”
She stretches out her small hand and my fingers wrap around her soft skin. Fuck — I kind of don’t want to let her go. I kind of want to pull her even closer.
What’s that she said about treating her like a professional?
She eases out of my grip. “And one last thing…” Red creeps up her neck and I hear an uneasiness in her voice. “Please, let’s forget that last night ever happened.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Of course,” I say.
But I’m lying. The memory of Sammie Trotten going over the edge is indelibly tattooed into my mind.