SEVEN
- Reuniting
Sometimes, Ev had a penchant for over-exaggerating.
Unfortunately, in this situation, he had been pretty on-point.
Without focus, everyone had sectioned off into little cliques, each one of them having a queen - or king - bee who, thanks to the vote of confidence by their peers, thought it would be appropriate to give me shit when I got there to try to focus everyone.
None of the decorations had been hung, or even the floors swept or mopped even though the cleaning staff had been there when I got there.
Aiden was sleeping off whatever he had smoked or snorted or whatever. Right there on the stainless steel island, clutching a bushel of carrots to his chest like a teddy bear.
At least the bartenders picked up on the recipe quickly.
That was one thing off my list.
"That's right," Evan called out as people finally started falling into line, as the empty, ugly nightclub became something else entirely, something festive, bright and dark at the same time, something begging everyone to have a good time. "I told you that she'd be cracking the whip when she got here! Girl," he said, voice lower so only I could hear. "What the hell is going on with your hair?"
"What?" I asked, reaching up to pat the messy bun. "I'm working."
"And Mr. Boss Man is going to show up any minute now and see you looking all sweaty and boxy," he grumbled, tugging at my blazer.
"I'm not trying to impress him."
Okay, even as I said it, I knew it was only half true.
I could feel a bead of sweat trickle down my back, knew my hair was probably half falling out of the bun, that my mascara likely needed to be swiped off the skin under my eyes.
And, no, I didn't want Mr. Boss Man to see me looking a wreck.
"Everyone is working their magic. The DJ is unloading his equipment as we speak. The Photo Booth is set up. You can go take a few minutes to get yourself ready. The doors open in..." he paused, flipping his arm over to reveal one of his platinum watches. "Two hours."
Already?
Time was flying.
It had been Grant's idea to open the doors at six-thirty, just early enough to get a drink in them for half an hour before Aiden would start serving the buffet which would line their stomachs for all the future binge drinking.
And speaking of, if we were that close, I was actually really surprised Grant hadn't shown up already.
Maybe I could go and get myself cleaned up a little bit in the staff bathroom off the kitchen. I would perform better if I felt better.
"Oh, and I left you a pair of heels and some makeup refreshers in the bathroom too," Ev told me when he somehow managed to read my acceptance in my face.
"What? Why? The dress was generous enough of you." And I was suddenly more than a little worried that I hadn't taken it out and looked at it before I grabbed it. But, worse case, I could wear my blazer over it.
"You can add them to my bonus," he told me with a smirk. "I will keep cracking the whip for you."
"Alright. I'll be back in ten minutes," I promised, making my way through the kitchen where Aiden was suddenly up, steadily chopping lettuce.
"Hey there, boss lady," he called, waving his knife at me in greeting. "Sorry I assed out on you back there. There were three dorm parties going on last night, I parked the truck there. Was slinging tacos until four a.m." It also explained where the pot likely came from. Knowing him, he took that as payment. "But I am right on schedule. No worries. Everything will be ready in time."
"Sounds great. Thank you. It's probably good you got a little power nap. It's going to be a late night."
"Got any resolutions?"
"The same one I've had since I came to the city. To grow my business."
"Good goal, boss lady, good goal. Me, I want to learn Spanish. Go down south of the border, get some hands-on practice with my culinary superiors. You know, homemaking grandmas and whatnot."
"Sounds like a great goal," I told him, letting myself into the cramped staff bathroom, thankful for the cool as I stripped out of my layers, wiping some of the stickiness off my skin with paper towels before reaching up to let my hair down, combing it through, thankful I had put it up when it was damp because it dried with some waves, making the elastic band wrinkle not as obvious.
Reaching in the bag, I pulled out a dress I knew as black, but hadn't known would be quite so short, quite so tight, quite so low-cut.
"Oh, I'm gonna kill him," I grumbled as I stepped into the material that slid up like a second skin. It felt oddly intimate, like sliding on lingerie after shaving and smearing lotion all over yourself. Luxurious and sexy. The built-in bra made my breasts lift, spilling a bit more over the bodice than I was comfortable with, but with a little tugging, I managed to get the hemline to come down a bit more at least. The shoes were black, sky-high, icepicks that I was sure would make my ankles ache by the end of the night, but I slipped my feet in regardless, touched up my makeup, then attempted to roll the tension out of my shoulders before stashing my clothes in a locker in the break room, and making my way back into the kitchen.
"Work it," Aiden called as I moved through the room, smelling cumin and hot sauce and onions frying.
I have to admit, that put a little smirk on my lips and spring in my step as I moved out into the club, hearing the music playing - not on all the speakers, but loud enough that the staff seemed to have perked up, smiling while they worked.
The bartenders were chopping massive amounts of fruit.
The servers were setting up the buffets.
Everything was falling into place.
Evan's gaze caught mine from across the room, fanning himself.
But then something made his eyes go a little wicked.
I didn't have to turn to know that Grant had finally made an appearance.
I took a breath, and then, well, made a bee-line for the nearest server, pretending like I needed to give very important instructions to them about glass cleanup.
Evan hadn't been wrong.
I was a chickenshit.
I kept my eyes downcast, but chanced a look over to find him looking at me for a long moment before moving away, not to be seen again while the preparations finished.
When the doors opened, he magically reappeared, greeting some of his staff with handshakes and - and had I not seen him schmooze Chef Nicolas, would have found this incredibly uncharacteristic - giving them all big smiles, acting like they were all the best of friends.
It was easy to get lost once the floors started filling up, once people started having questions for me or needed a hand here and there.
Before I knew it, we were closing in on eleven, the energy in the building heightened, ready to explode when the countdown finally began.
I could feel it too, despite the fact that I knew that when the moment came, I would feel that sinking sensation in my belly as everyone around me kissed and wished one another a great year.
Alone in a room full of people.
I couldn't think of anything more depressing.
I noticed that even Ev had snuck a date in after the door closed.
I was happy for him.
Even if I was feeling a teeny bit sorry for myself.
"Are you done avoiding me?"
I had felt a body press in behind me, but the place was packed, bodies pressing against your body started to feel normal and not invasive after a while. I hadn't thought anything of it.
But now that I knew it was him, I could feel the heat from his body warming my back, the way his hip brushed my ass, the arms that moved out, grabbing the railing of the balcony on either side of me, caging me in.
"Don't," I demanded, but my voice was too small, too weak.
"Don't what?" His body had curled downward slightly, his lips near my ear.
"Do this. Here."
"Where else should I do it then? Since you're avoiding me. Not very professional of you, I might add."
I had a feeling he was saying that on purpose, just to get a rise out of me. I knew this even as I felt my spine stiffening, my jaw tensing. "Evan was always here when my company needed to be represented."
"Yeah, that must have killed you. You're as much of a micromanager as I am."
"You don't know me well enough to make that comment."
"I think I know you pretty well," he said, voice dipping low, the sound shivering through me, reminding me just how well he did know me.
"That is different," I insisted even as he moved in closer, my ass nestling into his pelvis, his scruff teasing over the skin of my neck.
"Spent more time with you than any woman before," he admitted.
"That's kind of sad."
"It's a compliment."
"All we did was fight."
"We were getting to know each other."
"It's not normal to fight with someone every time you interact with them."
"So... maybe I really didn't give a damn about ceramic plates or shades of black or the font on the invites. But the only time you open up is when you're riled."
"You called my shoes plastic." I clearly was still not over that.
"I'm an asshole sometimes."
"You don't sound apologetic."
"That's because I'm not," he said with what sounds like a smile on his lips. "And, for the record, they were plastic. These ones are much better. Not," he cut me off when I started to snap, "because they're expensive, but because they look less likely to fall apart and make you break an ankle. If you're going to invest in an expensive item in your wardrobe, it should be on your shoes. Especially if you are on your feet a lot."
That was fair enough.
It had been hours and my feet still didn't have blisters. In my old shoes, I would already have had several Band-aids on my heel or toes to try to make it through the night.
"They're comfortable," I begrudgingly admitted.
"Why didn't you call me back? Or text me back for that matter?"
"What? I didn't have any missed calls or texts from you." And, as much as it killed me to admit it even to myself, I had been glued to my phone in case he did reach out.
"When your ass didn't show up on Sunday, I called. And texted. And called again. And, babe, I am not that guy."
"I dropped my phone," I told him as my belly fluttered a bit at the idea of him frantically trying to get in touch with me. "Down three flights of stairs. I couldn't get a new one until this morning. What did you say?"
"That maybe it was premature, that it was unlike me, but I want to give it a go."
"Give it a go," I repeated, trying not to shiver when his lips teased over my neck.
"You. This."
"I'm going to need more than that."
To that, a low chuckle moved through him. "All about that fine print, huh? How many times did you read over the employment contract before you signed it?"
"Six. But that has nothing to do with this."
"Look, Sage, I'm not a relationship guy. Or, I never have been. I don't need to wine and dine women. And..."
"I get it. You're a whore. I don't need the details."
One of his hands left the railing, closing around my lower belly, holding me to him. "And because I don't have experience with it, I can't make any promises."
"No one can give any promises," I told him, finding that the divorce rate among the weddings I had done turned me a bit cynical about forevers.
"But I want to give it a try. The wining and dining and all that shit."
All that shit.
My lips tipped up.
And I maybe leaned backward into him a bit.
"We're from different worlds."
"Yet we're a lot alike."
"It's probably doomed to fail."
"Probably," he agreed, but he was smiling as his arm squeezed me tighter. "Now, you ready to come back to a little, private room with a locked door?" he asked, making my belly go liquid.
"Yes," I agreed, laughing when he whirled me away only to grab my hand and practically drag me with him, slamming and locking the door before pressing me against it, his lips sealing over mine as his hands roamed - up my sides, over my breasts, down my belly, my thigh, then snaking inward and up, pressing his fingers against the swatch of material between my thighs, dragging a ragged moan out of me, a sound drowned out by the party just a few feet away from us, playing out on the screens to our side.
His hand shifted and the material tore, falling carelessly to the ground as he pulled me with him over to the couch, lowering down, situating me on his laps, my hips dropping down to feel his cock pressing against me.
As my lips sealed over his, my hips dipped and circled shamelessly, getting something I had been trying to deny it.
There was no exploring this time, no getting to know hot spots, getting to exploit them, drag it out.
Our mouths and hands were greedy.
My dress pulled down in front, his lips closing over my nipples as I moved against him, stoking both our desires until we couldn't take it anymore.
He protected us.
I took him in.
"Ride me, baby," he demanded, jerking his hips upward into me, making me let out an almost pained whimper.
My hands planted on his shoulders as I started to ride him - a bit uncertainly, shyly at first, growing harder and faster as the need in my body demanded it, as his hands moved down my back to sink into my ass, coaxing me.
Outside the room, all the voices chorused at once.
Ten.
Nine.
Grant's hips started to move in circles as my hips thrust down, making my walls tighten impossibly hard.
Eight.
Seven.
"Fuck," Grant growled, his hand sliding to my hip, holding me still as he started to piston up into me - hard, fast, not giving my body a second for the orgasm to recede.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
"Come baby," he demanded, voice tight.
His hips slammed upward.
And I shattered apart.
"Fuck, Sage," Grant gasped as my walls spasmed around him, as he came with me.
One.
My body collapsed forward into him, my face buried in his neck as the waves crashed through me over and over until I was completely spent, a boneless weight against him.
"Happy New Year," he said in a quiet voice, his hand moving up to stroke through my hair.
A bubble of laughter rose up and burst out, making me press back to look down at him, finding a smile on his lips, his eyes still heavy, his breathing still as uneven as mine.
"Now that is a way to ring in a new year," I decided.
"Sounds like you'd like to make it a tradition."
And I did.
And he did.
And so we did.
XX