Bounty (60 page)

I
want to puke
.

I’m dizzy as my fingertips touch the closed door in front of me as it teases me with the afterimage of what is behind it. I’m tempted to push it open again, but what would be the point? The scene isn’t going to change; I know what I saw. There’s no chance anyone can deny or talk their way out of it. And I’m not going to give them a chance to try, either.

Still, it takes me a moment of standing there with a heart pounding so hard I’m sure they can hear it on the other side. Are they laughing about it? Am I a joke to them?

I stiffen my fingers against the frosted glass and press against it. Not to open the door—I’d have to turn the handle to do that—but to launch myself backward. I need that extra push to get my leaden feet to actually move. Force them to step back to keep me balanced, and then once they’ve started to move, I can use the momentum to carry me out of here.

I need to get away. As fucking far away as I can.

G
lobal warming
, my ass.

It figures that I’d have to make an airport run during one of the biggest blizzards Chicago has seen in years, at least for March. It’s supposed to be getting warmer, not fucking colder. How is it that I ended up moving to one of the only cities in United States that has even worse winters than Toronto? Why the hell couldn’t Visions International—or VI, as everyone always calls it—have its headquarters in L.A. or San Francisco? It’s definitely something I need to take up with Edward.

Not that he’s likely to change anything. The CEO of a company the size of VI doesn’t normally get affected by such pedestrian matters like weather. He has people to deal with things like that. People like me, apparently.

It’s not that I want to be treated differently, or special. Hell, one of the biggest reasons I resisted his advances as long as I did was that I was afraid that people would think that I only got my job because I was sleeping with the boss. I made sure that my hard work was already being recognized before I ever even agreed to a first date with him. After all, I don’t plan on being an executive assistant forever. Crossing off the “assistant” part of that title has been a goal of mine for as long as I can remember. So no, I don’t want people to think that I get special treatment.

But maybe, in this one instance, he could have found someone other than his EA/girlfriend to pick up Mr. Himura from O’Hare?

Like the car service that I had booked a week ago for this very job.

I know that this is a big client, representing millions to the company, but we have deals like this happening all the time. I’m not sure why Edward made a last-minute decision that he didn’t trust the service in this storm and wanted me to attend to it personally. There may be more at stake here than I know about, but given my position, I should be in the loop. That’s yet another thing he and I will have to discuss at home.

If I even see him there tonight, that is. The very definition of workaholic was modeled on men like Edward Stonewall. I don’t think you can build a company as big as VI by leaving work in time for dinner. Some days he isn’t even home by breakfast and I meet him in the office, bringing him a fresh suit to replace the rumpled one he’s worn all night. That was more of a pain before I moved into his penthouse last month. Now that we live together, it’s just part of the routine. He works all night at least once or twice a week, and a weekend to him just means that he works a few hours less and does it from home, or his phone, while we’re out and about.

Usually.

The one positive was that he rushed me out of the office so quickly that I forgot my laptop, which means I can’t do any more work tonight. That’ll probably annoy him, but it’s his fault, and I’m feeling too petty for having to make this trip to even consider swinging back afterwards to go and get it. Anyway, I’m sure he’ll bring it home with him tonight. God forbid we take the weekend off and actually do something fun.

I take a sip of coffee to take the edge off of my sour mood as I look out across the endless white tops of the cars sitting ahead of me on the I90. Even if it wasn’t already getting dark, it would be impossible to tell the color of any of them in this storm, and the fact that we aren’t even moving is letting the snow accumulate even more.

At this rate, even the two hour lead time I have to get to the airport before Mr. Himura is due to arrive might not be enough. I’ve barely made it out of downtown.

My phone beeps from my purse, and since I’m not moving anyway, I pull it out, expecting a text from Edward wondering if I’ve made it to the airport yet. Mental replies that range from scathing to sarcastic are all running through my head, and I’m almost disappointed to find out that it’s just a news alert.

Unexpected Blizzard Causes Chaos at O’Hare.

Fabulous
. I let out a groan as I flip over to my airport app to check on the status of the flight from Tokyo.

It’s been diverted to Detroit.
Wonderful
.

The only thing in my favor tonight is that I’m stuck right next to an exit, allowing me to ease out of freeway gridlock without any further delay. Mr. Himura is going to need a new hotel and pickup in Detroit, and that will be a pain in the ass to do on my phone. I need my laptop after all, which means heading back to the office instead of home.

I can feel my annoyance start to rise even higher until I realize that even backtracking from where I am now will still save me far more time than continuing on to the airport, waiting for my pickup, and then driving him back to his hotel downtown. This flight diversion actually saves me from wasting another Friday night sitting in traffic on a day where everyone else in their right mind is curled up at home with loved ones. Or at least, a good book and a bath.

The latter is my new plan, since I know the weather isn’t going to send Edward home early, even if he did tell everyone else that they could leave. I was actually surprised by that gesture. He’s normally such a hard-ass at work, expecting everyone else to work the crazy hours that he thinks is normal. He pays well, though, and most of his executive team are pretty rich, so it’s rare to hear any complaints. Of course, that doesn’t mean anyone stuck around to keep working once he told them they could leave early.

If you can call four in the afternoon early.

Still, it’s a step in the right direction for Edward. I know that people often wonder why we’re together. In truth, he can be a complete ass sometimes. But he doesn’t act like that to me. He’s always treated me like his princess. It’s just that most princesses can command more than a few minutes a day from their Prince Charming.

I’ve been trying since we got together to get him to soften up a little bit to his staff. Maybe today is finally a step in that direction. I’ve heard people talk about him behind his back. Most of them think he’s a complete asshole. I’m just trying to get them to see the side of him that I’ve seen.

By taking the side streets and shortcuts I’ve figured out running errands over the last eight months, I get back to the office in less than thirty minutes. Edward had me schedule a conference call with Sydney for before market opens, which means he’s on that now, otherwise I would have called to let him know about the flight issue. It’s probably something I should handle in person, anyway. Given how important this meeting seems to be, Edward is likely to blow his top if he doesn’t have me around to talk him down. That’s much harder to do over the phone.

I pound on the button for the fortieth floor, anxious to get in and out of here as fast as possible. Maybe I won’t even tell Edward about the change in plans until he gets home tonight. Besides, my mood was just starting to improve and I’m not sure I want his anger at an uncontrollable situation to bring me down again. The problem with a man like Edward is that he’s so used to getting his own way that anything he can’t control makes him crazy. I can’t imagine a snowstorm will be an exception.

I step out of the elevator as soon as I reach the top floor of the cone-shaped building, stepping out into the familiar space. Everything seems the same as always, with one exception: it’s unnaturally quiet, the by-product of Edward having sent everyone home early. Normally each of the windowed offices that span the perimeter of the floor has one of the executives working in it until late into the night. It almost seems like a waste to give them all such incredible views, since I don’t think any of them ever pause long enough in the day to enjoy it.

I can tell by the frosted glass doors that all of the offices on this side have their lights off. All except for one; the office of Charles Carmichael, VP of Sales. Charles is married. I’ve met his wife on many occasions, but they also have three young boys, and I get the feeling that he works late sometimes rather than go home and deal with them.

As I pass by his office, I hear a sound that makes me pause. It sounds like groaning.

His door is closed, but not all the way, like it was pushed shut in a hurry. Then I hear it again. This time it is more of a moan than a groan, and I’m close enough now that I can tell it’s coming from a woman. Is Mrs. Carmichael really the type to stop by for a quickie in the middle of a freak blizzard?

"Fuck yes, give it to me!" The voice is hushed, but loud enough to sound familiar. My eyes flick over to the desk outside of the office. Lindsey Spears. Charles' secretary.
Oh my God, he's having an affair!

My heart starts to pound as I consider the implications. It's actually not all that surprising. I've never had a very high opinion of Chuck. And Lindsey has always seemed a bit on the slutty, happily-sleep-her-way-to-the-top side, but to do it here in the office with Edward on a conference call across the floor seemed very dangerous. He would be furious. The question is, should I tell him?

"Oh God, yes," she moans again. I hear Chuck grunting now as well. He must be getting close to coming.

Under normal circumstances, I’d think it was kind of hot, secretly listening to people fuck. They sound really into it, and the way she’s talking to him doesn’t sound like this is their first time. But the thought of his poor wife at home taking care of his three kids sucks all of the joy out of it. For me, at least. Doesn’t seem to be having any negative effect on the two of them.

I have to tell Edward. Let him deal with it. But I can't interrupt his call for this, and if I wait, they might be done and it'll just be my word against theirs. Chuck will just claim I misheard things. He's in sales. He'll find a way to talk his way out of it.

"Oh, my God. Holy shit. Slam me with your hard cock, you animal!"

I roll my eyes at her over-the-top dirty talk. She's probably faking her orgasm, too. I can't imagine Chuck is
that
good.

Making a quick decision, I put my hand on the door. It's now or never. Catch him in the act and, if I'm lucky, interrupt him right before he finishes. Totally cock block the asshole.

Taking a deep breath, I push the door hard. As soon as it opens, I catch a glimpse of Lindsey. She's completely naked and leaning over Chuck's desk. The puddle her long, blonde hair is forming around her is a sharp contrast to the ebony wood it's draped over, but it quickly disappears as she lifts her head and gapes at me in shock. Her big, green eyes are wide and her mouth is open even wider, although in fairness, it might have been like that before I even came in.

The door slams against the opposite wall as I lift my eyes to look at the man holding onto her hips, buried deep into her from behind, and just as naked. His eyes are wide as well, but the look of shock on his face is even greater. I only make eye contact with him for a second before the door rebounds off the wall to close the couple back inside the office. But it’s enough time to weaken my knees and take my breath away.

The man fucking Lindsey isn't Charles. It's Edward.

I
take
a drag of the joint that Jez passes to me, only inhaling a bit while keeping the rest in my mouth and blowing it out after a few seconds to make it seem like I took a normal hit. As much as I’d like to get high right now, especially with Jez rubbing her tits back and forth against my arm to get my attention, Axle’s is busy tonight. More so than usual, which means I need to stay alert. All I need is another fucking incident bringing eyes down onto the MC.

Jez takes the joint back and inhales deeply, intentionally thrusting her tits against my arm again as she does. I know she’s looking for me to take her back to my place tonight. I might do just that. I could use a good lay, let loose some of the fucking tension I’ve been feeling lately. And Jez is an enthusiastic fuck, if nothing else. The nice thing about her is that she knows that fucking me isn’t going to lead to anything deeper, and she doesn’t care. She’s a true house mouse, and she’ll be in someone else’s bed tomorrow night. Chicks like her are a good distraction for the club, and distractions are what we need most right now.

I scan the crowd, looking for potential signs of trouble. At least there’s no cops here tonight. Our club is small enough not to attract much attention from the law, but even so, we’ve been lucky with some of the shit we’ve done in the past. But how long can our luck hold out?

How long can mine?

Most of the crowd is familiar, or at least typical of a Saturday night. Regulars and college kids who like the cheap booze enough not to mind the occasional biker brawl or lingering stink of tobacco and pot that has seeped into every inch of this place over the years.

I do notice one new face, though. There’s a gorgeous blonde sitting at the bar with a friend. She’s dressed in clothes that are far nicer than a place like this warrants, and clearly looks uncomfortable.

What the hell is a woman like that doing in a place like this?
Probably lost.

When she glances over here, our eyes meet briefly and I flash a smile that is more malicious than friendly. It makes me laugh when she turns her head quickly away. If she leaves here telling all her friends to avoid this place, all the better for me. It’s not like she’s my type, anyway.

Billiard balls crack against each other, yanking my eyes off of the stranger and back to the game.

“That’s a scratch. You missed everything,” laughs Snake. He’s speaking too loud, as usual, as if the whole bar is interested in what’s happening on the pool table.

“The fuck it was,” snarls Ripper. “I hit the nine ball.”

Snake’s head spins around so fast that his thinly braided beard slaps against his cheek. “Bullshit. There was like, an inch between them. I’d say you need your eyes checked, if I didn’t already know what a filthy fucking cheater you are.”

Here we fucking go.

Before I can even slide off of my stool, Ripper has lifted his pool stick and slammed Snake across the head with it, toppling the wiry man over. As Snake spins, he grabs a nearby table for balance, sending beer bottles over like dominoes onto a bunch of college kids.

The young men at the table all jump to their feet, fists clenched, as one of them pushes my bleeding VP off of the table and glares over at Ripper. These guys have no fucking clue what they’re in for if they don’t back off. And as much as I’d love to kick some college kid ass right now, that would definitely quality as another incident. So it’s up to me to shut it down before it gets out of hand, as usual.

Even with the weed tugging at my muscles, I’m still in front of the table before any of them act. None of them have worked up the courage to do much more than try to look tough. Smart, even if they are a bunch of cowards. Right as I step forward, one of them starts to move, finally screwing up the balls to act.
Bad timing, kid.

“Sit the fuck down.” I shove my hand against his chest, pushing him hard enough that he stumbles, the backs of his legs hitting his chair and causing him to collapse back down onto it. That move seems to give one of his friends some new courage, as well. Even in my slightly high state, I can see his punch coming a mile away. Catching it, I grab the kid by the arm and twist it roughly, pressing my other hand down on his shoulder as I slam his face onto the table. The puddle of beer splashes as his cheek slaps down into it.

“Don’t be an idiot,” I growl. Since the kid I’m holding can’t see my face, I let my glare take in all of his friends at once until I get the desired effect. Each of them drop back down into their seats. With one last twist of his wrist, more for my own satisfaction than anything else, I let go of the one kid and turn my back to my crew.

Snake is still on the ground, blood dripping down from his head and into one of his eyes. Despite this, I can see the rage building behind them. I know that rage. I’ve felt it. Hell, I feel some of it now. But the difference between the two of us is that I can control mine. Most of the time, anyway.

“Get up, Snake. You look like a fucking fool on the floor. Go home if you want a nap or need your mommy.”

Snake glares at me. Maybe antagonizing my VP isn’t a good idea, but neither is acting soft around this crew. And Snake needs someone to take him down a peg, anyway. Still, hitting my VP can’t go unpunished, either.

Ripper is still standing by the table, holding the cue he’d used against Snake. He’s smiling, probably thinking that what I said to Snake meant he was going to get off easy. Wrong.

Without warning, I grab the stick right above Ripper’s hand and push it forward, the end of it slamming into the big man’s head. He lets go immediately to rub his injured forehead, but that was just a light tap. Twisting my wrist, I bring the bottom, thicker end of the cue up and swing it around, cracking him on the side of the head this time. Only after he drops to his knees do I return the cue back to the wall. I don’t need to say anything beyond that. If Ripper doesn’t take that as a warning, he’s going to get a lot worse. But that should keep things from escalating further between him and Snake. For now, anyway. He’s been punished in front of the club, no further retaliation is needed. But Snake will be pissed that I took that pleasure away from him.

It’s only when the bar erupts with music and chatter that I even notice it had gone silent in those few seconds while I dealt with the problem. I take a quick glance around as Jez offers me the joint again. Most of the room has returned to their own conversations, but the blonde at the bar is working overtime at trying to look uninterested. Her head is tilted at just the right angle so as to watch us out of the corner of her eye. Even when her friend says something, she just tilts her head instead of turning.

Jez shakes the joint at me again to get my attention, but I brush it away with a shake of my head. She hates to be ignored, though, and now I feel her pressing her tits against my arm again. Having to crack Ripper in the head has put me in a foul mood, and instead of looking to mellow it out, I’d rather add fuel to the fire, which means having a drink instead of a smoke.

Sometimes pushing back my irritation for too long just means it’ll come out when I don’t want it to instead of when I do, and that’s dangerous. I’m better off letting off steam when I can, and the thrashing I just gave to Ripper probably bought me at least the night off of having to babysit the rest of the crew. They’ll stay in line now. At least until tomorrow.

Of course, I can’t stop myself from making sure that I approach the bar right next to the blonde that clearly thinks that it’s up to her to keep an eye on us. As if she’s the last line of defense in case the crew and I decide we want to rob the place, or something.

She finally turns her head away as I approach, immediately becoming intensely focused on her friend. Unfortunately for Blondie, her friend’s more interested in talking to the bartender now. Guess Blondie shouldn’t have spent so much time ignoring her.

“Enjoy the show?” I know she knows I’m standing next to her, even though she’s looking the other way now, but she still turns and acts confused. Her eyes are a pale shade of green that go well with the blouse she’s wearing.

“Excuse me?” I’ll give her one thing—she has a pretty good poker face. She just sucks at spying.

“Over at the pool table. You were watching us pretty intently. Guys in leather turn you on, or just violence?”

There it is—a crack as her face reddens a bit—but she maintains more control than I expected.

“I just…”

I don’t wait for her to come up with something and regain her composure. Instead, I press on. “I just figure you’re either lost, or looking to add some excitement to what I imagine is a pretty boring life.”

Her eyes widen, and now they seem more brown than they did a moment ago has her face reddens even further. This time I’m not sure if it’s from anger or embarrassment. But my mood won’t be satisfied if I let her off now. I’m still angry at having to deal with the shit between Snake and Ripper, and taking it out on a Barbie doll that wandered into a biker bar by mistake is probably the safest way to let off steam.

“Listen, I don’t know who you think you are, but my friend and I are just here to have a drink. I don’t care about you or your friends, and I certainly don’t care if you want to beat each other with pool cues all night long.” Blondie turns back to look for help, but her friend is still busy flirting with Andy, the bartender. That’s probably why he hasn’t come over to serve me yet.

I can feel a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. It shouldn’t amuse me so much to tease this girl, but she’s so far out of her element it’s funny, and I’m just in that kind of a mood. Sucks for her.

“You sure seemed to care a minute ago. You couldn’t take your eyes off me.”

“Are you kidding me? I wasn’t even looking in your direction.”

I laugh, giving into the smile finally, but it isn’t meant to make her feel good. “That sure is the look you were going for. I’ve never seen someone stare at me so hard, while at the same time, try so hard not to look like they were staring.”

Her mouth opens but no sound comes out, and for a moment, my eyes are drawn to her lips. They’re full and red, and I’m jealous of whoever it is that gets to kiss them. That thought makes me even more annoyed than I was a moment ago, but hornier as well. I need to get back to Jez. She may not look like this beauty, but she’s also guaranteed to be a lot less complicated.

“You’re a fucking lunatic, you know that?” Finally, she finds her voice.

“Are you normally attracted to lunatics?” I counter. “Look, I’ll be honest, you aren’t my type, but if you want to fuck, I have access to a back room that we can use.”

Blondie is looking around now, almost as if she thinks maybe she’s being pranked or something. She turns back to her friend and this time grabs her arm to get her attention. As soon as she does, Andy notices me.

“Bash! Sorry, man, what can I get you?”

“Whiskey, a double. And another of whatever my girlfriend and her friend are drinking, as well.” I point to the women, but Blondie shakes her head vehemently.

“No, thank you, we can buy our own drinks.” She then turns to Andy. “I’m not his girlfriend.”

Andy laughs as he puts a glass on the counter and fills it with more than two fingers of the hard stuff.

“Then spill them out. Andy, whatever they’re drinking.” I turn without waiting to see what Blondie does. The way she was staring at me, though—she’s probably just distracted by my ass now. Or at least, trying to figure out a way to stare at it while looking in the opposite direction. Her type is always the same. She’s attracted like hell to the bad boy, but she’d never admit it to anyone. Least of all herself. She’d be a fun diversion, but I can’t risk getting mixed up with a woman like her. She’d be looking for a relationship, and that’s something I’m not offering. Especially not to someone who is clearly a corporate. Way too risky.

By the time I reach Jez again, she’s practically throwing herself at me and I let her hand graze my cock.

“You attracted to blondes all of a sudden?” she says with a harsh laugh as she brushes her own dark and messy hair back away from her face. I’m harder than I should be after just verbally sparring with Blondie, and Jez is probably feeling jealous. Not in a possessive way, but in a way that demands she prove she can jam my dick down her throat better than any blonde bimbo can. And that’s fine by me. A little added sexual motivation is never a bad thing. Especially when I’m feeling so fucking horny.

I glance back to the bar to see if Blondie is still watching me. I’m curious what she’d think about Jez so openly rubbing my cock through my jeans. She’d probably act horrified, but then run home to roll around with an expensive vibrator for the rest of the night as she imagined being in Jez’s spot.

It’s disappointing to see that she hasn’t even noticed. Her attention is turned away completely as she stares at a new face in the crowd. I might not know this girl at all, but I know anger, and that’s some undisguised rage she’s got plastered all over that gorgeous face right now.

It’s a man that pushes his way to the bar, and as he comes into view, I’m surprised to see someone even more out of place here than she is.

What the hell is a guy in a three piece suit doing at Axle’s?