Falling Under You: A Fixed Trilogy Novella (1001 Dark Nights) (15 page)

She’s brash and bold and stubborn as hell, and she doesn’t believe it’s possible to satisfy her. But I’ve discovered her secret, one she hasn’t even figured out herself—she wants what I want.

And not only does she want it—I'll make her need it.

No matter what.

* * * *

Chandler is a standalone novel, set in the Fixed Trilogy universe. While characters from the Fixed Trilogy and Found Duet will be seen in this story, it is not necessary to have read them to enjoy Chandler.

“Can you manage to keep your dick in your pants for one night?”

Hudson’s question is meant to grab my attention, and it does. To be fair, I heard most of what he’d said up to this point. The parts that were of interest, anyway.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t much.

“Probably not. I don’t sleep in my pants, for one, and I do plan on sleeping.” I pull next to the valet podium at the Whitney Museum of Art, and add, “eventually,” because I know it will rile my brother up.

His sigh is heavy with exasperation. “Can you keep your dick in your pants
at the gala
?”

I grab my phone from its dock, automatically switching it out of Bluetooth mode, and bring it up to my ear. I pretend to consider as I step out of the car and button my tux jacket. “Hmm.”

“Nice wheels,” the valet says, unconcerned that I’m on the phone.

I pull out my wallet and flash a fifty-dollar bill. “Take care of her and this is yours.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Pierce.”

If Hudson were here, he’d wince at the recognition. It’s possible the valet knows me from the latest list of “Richest Men Under Thirty”
—
it’s the first year I’ve hit since I only got my trust fund when I turned twenty-four a few months back. But one look at the tattooed, pony-tailed Italian says he isn’t the type to read
Forbes
, which means he recognizes me from the gossip sites instead. Honestly, I don’t mind that I have a rep. It’s the elder Pierce who seems to care.

Speaking of the elder Pierce…

“Can I keep it in my pants until after the gala?” I repeat his earlier question as I stride toward the entrance of the museum. “I don’t know. How long is this thing supposed to last?” I’m messing with Hudson. It’s too easy not to. And really, what does he expect me to say? It’s not like I’m planning to try to get a girl to blow me on the event premises.

Though, if one were to offer…

“And don’t hit on anyone while you’re there, either.”

Now he’s going too far. “Is that a baby crying?” I don’t really hear a baby crying, but the likelihood that there is one somewhere near him isn’t too slim. The recent birth of his twins is the whole reason I’m stuck going to this stupid shindig in the first place.

“I mean it, Chandler.”

As if on cue, a baby actually
does
start crying in the background. “Shouldn’t you go put a pacifier in it or something?”

Hudson ignores me. “This is an important event,” he chides. “Accelecom is about to strike a deal with Werner Media, and it’s crucial we make a good impression.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” It’s not like I don’t know this. He’s told me seventeen times just today, plus several hundred times earlier this week. In fact, every conversation we’ve had in the past few days has been about Accelecom’s charity gala tonight, which is more than a little strange, even for my work-obsessed older brother. Mainly because Werner Media isn’t a company we own. Sure, it belongs to family friends, but the Pierces haven’t been that close to the Werners since, well, around the time I graduated from high school. So why the fuck does he care so much about the impression I leave?

It suddenly occurs to me to ask. “What exactly is it you hope to gain from my presence here tonight? The Werner-Accelecom merger has nothing to do with Pierce Industries, does it?”

A beat goes by. “It’s a good opportunity for you,” he says finally. “There will be a lot of press there this evening, and if you play nice, you could get a good write-up, one that doesn’t involve the mayor’s daughter.”

His answer is irritating. Though he’s easing me into the family business, I’m technically an owner of Pierce Industries, just like he is, and I hate it when he treats me like an average employee.

But I’m not in the mood to argue.

I’m in the mood to deflect. “Man, that kid of yours is really howling. I didn’t know you subscribed to the cry-it-out method. I knew you were old, but 1990’s parenting? Come on.”

“Chandler.” Hudson’s tone is clipped and stern. He means it to be intimidating.

Spoiler: Hudson doesn’t scare me.

“I’m hanging up now,” I say, pushing through the doors of the museum.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes. I understand.
Dad
.”

I expect him to growl about my latest poke, but he’s distracted. “I’ll take him,” I hear him say, his words muffled as though he has his hand over the mouthpiece. Then, more clearly, “Chandler, I have to help Alayna with the babies.”

“Finally. Wouldn’t want to have to accuse you of child neglect.” Without saying goodbye, I click
END
and, after putting it on silent, slip my phone into my inside jacket pocket. Hudson’s children can only preoccupy him for so long. Sooner or later, he’ll be back to riding my ass, and even though I’m here at this event in his place, as far as I’m concerned, I’m off the clock.

* * * *

The thing is, Hudson’s concerns are somewhat legit. Not because I
can’t
keep my cock in my pants, but because most of the time I don’t
want
to.

What can I say? I’m a guy who loves women.

Lucky for me, women usually love me too. And why wouldn’t they? I’m charming, young, good-looking, smart. Decent at my job, despite what Hudson tells anyone. Oh, and let’s not forget, filthy rich. I’m shower masturbation material come to life.

Most impressive, though, is my bedroom portfolio—it’s not a secret that I’m a giver. Swear on the Pierce family name, I do not let a woman leave my sheets before she’s received at least two orgasms. The goal is always three, but I’m willing to concede that there are sometimes other factors besides me contributing to that outcome. Maybe she’s tired. Maybe her head’s too into it. Maybe she’s not good at relaxing. Whatever, I get it. But she’s getting two O’s regardless.

Before I start sounding too noble, let me clarify—the orgasms are for
me
. There’s nothing like the feel of a pussy clenching around your cock, milking you to your own climax—that’s got to be the best definition of heaven around.

But the biggest reason I deliver is because of the cost-benefit ratio. I’m a firm believer in
what goes around, comes around
. The happier she is, the happier she’ll want to make me. I’m talking Happy with a capital “H.” And while I’m a one-night-only kind of guy—a fact I always make clear from the beginning—I’ve done really well with referrals. Call it a successful “business” model
.

Sometimes
too
successful, considering the way some of the ladies are eyeing me as I glance around the museum.

It only takes one sweep of my gaze to know tonight is not going to create any problems for my brother. The room is filled with the kinds of women I’m one hundred percent not attracted to. Trophy wives looking for a distraction. Cougars who sit on the boards—and the faces—of whatever-and-whoever-is-
in
-this-week. Rich dames with so much Botox and spandex their bodies don’t even jiggle when they’re supposed to—and if she’s lying underneath me, it’s supposed to.

That just leaves the women I’ve already been with, and I don’t do repeats.

Well then, let’s make this trip an easy in and out, just like I like it. This time when I glance around, I look for the quickest opportunities to achieve the “make a good impression” edict that Hudson has given me. I make a plan. Mingle with the execs from my father’s country club, say hello to Warren Werner who I’ve just spotted by the fondue station, and then put in a bid at the auction in the adjoining room to make sure the Pierce presence is duly noticed.

But first, I need a drink.

A waitress passes by with a tray of caviar. “Excuse me. Is there a bar somewhere?”

She tilts her lip into a flirtatious grin as she checks me out. Now this woman might be an option…

But she’s working, and I’ll have to stick around until she gets off before I’ll have any chance of getting off myself, and I can already tell this thing is going to be a snooze-fest.

Especially when she answers. “There’s champagne floating around. And some punch that should be spiked if it hasn’t been already.”

“Well, shit. I should have brought my flask.” Though, if I had, it would have been filled with a single-malt Scotch and not something I’d ever mix, let alone with fruit punch. I wink. “But thanks for the heads-up.”

I can tell she wouldn’t mind more cozy conversation, but I slip away before she gets any ideas, and after a quick chat with some men I’ve done business with in the past, I run smack into Warren.

“Chandler! I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. Where’s Hudson?” The man is practically a father to me, or rather, he was around while I was growing up about as much as my own dad was, which is to say, not much. In other words, I have to talk to him, but it’s going to be boring as hell.

I put on my friendliest grin. “Alayna had her babies early. He’s taking some time ‘off.’” I use air quotes around the word
off
because Warren and I both know my brother works in his sleep.

“Oh, yes. I recall hearing that.” He goes on to deliver heartfelt congratulations and the like before moving to the obligatory inquiries about the rest of my family, which I give, dutifully.

This kind of small talk is the worst. I’m dying inside with every polite word. I only manage to tolerate it by dreaming about the real drink I’ll get later at The Sky Launch or another one of the nightclubs where hooking up is practically an item on the drink menu.

Eventually, after Warren’s told me all about his upcoming plans to retire, I courteously ask about his daughter, Celia—Hudson’s childhood peer/possible lover/almost-baby-mama/part-of-a-complicated-friendship-that-I’ve-never-understood.

Though Warren’s expression remains warm, his eyes harden, and I sense he’d prefer not to talk about her with me. While I was too young to be privy to the rift that happened between our once-close families, I have a feeling most of the bad blood has to do with Hudson not marrying Warren’s daughter.

“Celia’s good,” he says curtly. “She’s in town at the moment. In fact, she was supposed to be here tonight but ended up canceling because of a headache.”
Or because she was afraid she’d run into Hudson.
“You know she’s married now to—”

His sentence is cut off by a younger gentleman tapping on his shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Fasbender is looking for you.”

Fasbender
. I recognize that name. He’s the owner of Accelecom and probably one of the people that Hudson would most prefer I be seen with tonight.

Which is why I decide not to bother. I’ve done a fair bit of schmoozing already. If Hudson wanted more from me, he could have been more specific when he asked. Besides, he needs to learn to deal with disappointment, and who better to teach him but me.

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