“Fucking marvelous,” I reply in a defeated tone I have no interest in trying to mask.
He drops his legs from where they’re crossed and resting on my desk and places the laptop down, giving me a concerned once over.
“Are you okay, Cal? You look like you’re ready to punch something.”
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Listen, I need you to call one of your friends.” I air quote the last word. “I need to find out some information.”
This has his attention.
“What’s going on? Are you in trouble?” has asks, leaning forward, listening intently now.
“Not me, Tweet.”
“Robyn?”
“Yeah, she owes some assholes ten grand. The debt’s not hers, it’s her asshole ex-boyfriend’s, but he’s not around to pay, so they’re coming after her. You should have seen her last night; they’ve scared the shit out of her. I kicked some guy’s ass a few weeks back when I walked in on him throwing her around. She called me yesterday in a flood of tears; someone had been around and hung her neighbor’s cat in her bedroom then threatened she’d be next if she didn’t pay up.”
Zane looks like he’s about to throw up, and I don’t blame him; saying it out loud flips my stomach too.
“Shit,” he breathes out. “So what do you want from me?”
“I need you to find out from that shady little fuck you used to hang with who this Mr. Carter is, who he works for and how I can get a hold of him.”
“Consider it done, man.”
“Thanks. Oh and Zane?”
“Yeah?”
“I need you to take a look at the books, put that MBA to some use. I can’t make them balance, and I have no fucking clue where the anomaly lies. See if you can figure it please? Or arrange for the accountant to come in and take a look.”
“No need for the accountant, sunshine…I’m a numbers wizard, you know that.” He grins.
“Plus, I need to take out the ten large that Tweet needs. I don’t want to take it out until the books add up.”
“You’re paying off her debt? Cal, don’t you think—”
“Don’t say it,” I interrupt. “I’ll be back in a little while, I need to go call CJ about Dad.”
I walk from my office down to the bar and pour myself a whiskey. It’s barely noon, and it’s already been a long day.
“YOU GOT HERE fast.” I smirk and open the door wider for Chantal to enter, and she smiles as she ducks under my arm, slipping her coat off.
“I was actually on my way out but I canceled. You’re a better prospect.” she says and winks.
Chantal is an old friend, and for the last few years whenever we’ve both found ourselves between relationships we’ve been each other’s booty call—for want of a better phrase. There are no airs or graces; I don’t need to wine and dine her to get into her pants. It’s a simple arrangement. If I text and she’s willing, we meet, have sex and then go on about our day as usual. It’s not as crass as it seems—it works both ways. If she calls me and I’m in a situation where I can oblige, I do. There’s no hidden agenda, no secret hope that one of us will suddenly fall in love with the other. We tried that route in college; we make superb sexual partners, but we soon realized that we made an utterly horrendous couple.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” I offer as she throws her coat over the kitchen counter top and sits at the island.
“I’d love one. White, please.”
“I select a bottle from the cooler and she leans over the island, her tits almost spilling out of the deep V of her sheer black blouse. She’s a stunning woman: ivory skin, tall, slender, long blonde hair and an ample-sized chest that gets me hard every time without fail.
I twist the bottle toward her. “Chardonnay, or would you prefer a pinot?”
“The chardonnay’s fine, thank you. So I have to admit, I’m a little surprised that you called. The last time I was here you were telling me you were pursuing a dancer. Did that not go too well?”
I smile to myself, remembering that I told her about Robyn and the lengths I was going to with the whole coffee situation. “It’s going well, actually,” I say, passing over her glass and sitting opposite as I take a sip of my own.
“Wait, you’re dating her? Hmm, Cole, I’m more than happy with our arrangement,” she says, watching me with a serious expression. “But I draw the line at being the other woman. I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”
“It’s not like that,” I say, lowering my glass and placing it on the counter. “We’re not in an actual relationship; she’s got things she needs to work through, and right now we’re just having fun and spending time together. I’m holding out for more, but she’s not there yet, and you know me, Chantal.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I have needs; I’m only human. If you’d rather not—”
“No, no, it’s fine. As long as I’m not going to have my eyes clawed out by a jealous girlfriend, I can deal with that.”
I smile, and she takes a long drink of her chardonnay, never breaking eye contact.
“Should we take this into the bedroom?” she asks. tinkling her glass.
“After you, you know where it is.”
I follow behind as she sashays her way through my apartment, slowly unbuttoning her blouse as she goes.
I place our glasses on my nightstand and turn to watch as she slips the silky fabric from her shoulders, letting it slide to the floor. Her arms reach around the back, unhooking her bra as she raises her eyes and looks at me watching.
“Don’t just stand there, Cole, lose the clothes.”
I let out an amused huff and do as she asks, unbuttoning my pants and pulling my shirt over my head. By the time I’m stepping out of my black boxers, she’s standing completely naked at the foot of my bed.
Chantal looks every part the socialite princess until you unwrap her and realize that she has a naughty side. The intricate black lines of her tattoo wrap around her waist and snake up and around her left side, stopping just under the swell of her breasts. The tattoo itself is an elaborate design of white lilies, intertwined with vines and foliage. It’s a stark contrast to the pale creaminess of her porcelain skin, and it’s sexy as fuck.
“Bend over the bed,” I tell her and a wicked smile forms on her bright red lips before she does exactly what I ask.
The deplorable idiot in me looks at her, splayed out ready and wanting, and I can’t help but smile at the thought of how amazing it will be when it’s Robyn here with me doing this. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out. She’s on my mind twenty-four seven, and when I returned home from work tonight to a text telling me she was busy and couldn’t meet, I caved. The last piece of my willpower shattered, and I called Chantal. I’m no idiot, I know I’ll regret this decision later, but I am so incredibly wound up I need the release. I look back down at Chantal and tell myself, this is it. This is the last time.
I wake up seconds before my alarm signals that it’s 5.30am. I rub my eyes with the heel of my palm and reach over to stop the buzzing. I knock over the wine glasses perched on the edge from the night before, and they tumble to the floor. I brace myself for the sound of smashing glass, but it doesn’t come. I peer over the bed and see that they’ve landed amongst the crumpled pile of clothes I’d left when I undressed for Chantal last night. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, thinking about the whole interaction and how stupid it was to call her over knowing how I feel about Robyn.
I groan as I stretch my tired muscles and adjust myself, the effects of the early morning, mixed with my thoughts of Robyn, have me almost painfully hard. I close my eyes and thank the heavens, God, Jesus and everything else that’s holy that I came to my senses and didn’t screw myself over by screwing Chantal last night. I wanted to, hell did I want to, but when I looked down at the person on my bed, eager and begging for me to take her, I couldn’t ignore that it wasn’t Robyn.