Magnificent Bastard (3 page)

“Fine,” he says, with a sigh. “Hook me up with Penny and I’ll give it some serious thought. I’m not going to raise the money to open another Ink Addicts location working twelve hour days in the West Village.”

“Smart man.” I pull my phone from my pocket, refreshing my e-mail, frowning when I see there’s nothing new from Penny. She usually checks in at least once by ten a.m. and I haven’t heard from her since last night.

Concerned, I shoot her a quick text—

What’s up buttercup?

Just finished with Caro and am a free man. Heading to Highland Fling in Midtown with Aidan.

Let me know if you want to join. Drinks before noon are always on the boss and Aidan wants to pick your business brain before he agrees to join the fun.

As I slide my phone back into my pocket, my fingertips tingle.

Will today be the day Penny finally decides to take me up on my offer to meet in the outside world?

For the past two years, we’ve averaged ten e-mails and numerous texts every day and several epic phone conversations each week. But despite the fact that she only lives across the river in Brooklyn, we’ve never met in person. Like any good Manhattanite, I loathe leaving my preferred stomping grounds, but I would hop an L train for her.

Aside from Aidan, the woman is my best friend. She’s been with me from day one when people were still telling me I was insane to abandon a successful career to take up shop as a detective/male gigolo—minus the fun parts of being a gigolo.

When I’m with a client, things never go further than a kiss.

It’s the first of the ground rules Penny helped me put together in the early days. She’s been invaluable at making Magnificent Bastard Consulting, and my life post-corporate America, a success.

I would very much like to buy her a whiskey before I go on my soul-searching vacation. Or a coffee. Or an ice cream—we both have a weakness for any brand made with whole milk and containing obscene amounts of fat.

I know that and a hundred other things about her, but I’ve never seen so much as a selfie of the woman who vets my clients.

I don’t know when it started to bother me so much that I don’t have a face to put with Penny’s unexpectedly sweet voice or the snarky e-mails that litter my inbox, but recently I’ve started to wonder if there’s something wrong with me.

What kind of man puts implicit trust in someone he’s only interacted with over the Internet and the phone? Penny could be a fifty-five-year-old man with a weirdly high-pitched voice and a porn addiction for all I know. Or a cat lady whose entire apartment has turned into one gigantic litter box.

The thought makes my stomach turn.

Penny has strong hermit tendencies and probably a greater chance of becoming a cat lady than anyone else I know, but I don’t want that to be true. I don’t like the thought of my friend drowning in kitty litter.

As if summoned by my thoughts, my cell vibrates. I slide it from my pocket just as a series of Penny texts—they tend to come in clusters of six to twelve—begin to chime in, filling the screen.

Actually, I was hoping to run into you before then.

I’m waiting at the corner of Central Park West and 73
rd
street and I’m pretty sure you’re walking straight toward me. I mean, assuming you look like the picture we send out to clients, then that’s definitely you.

And Aidan. He does kind of look like a lumberjack, doesn’t he?

Ha!

Okay, I know this is kind of weird, but don’t freak out. I’m not stalking you. I mean, I
am
stalking you, but that’s only because you told me where you would be this morning.

Shit, that looks a lot creepier on the screen than it did in my head.

I’m going to stop texting now because you’re totally close enough to hear my voice.

I force a smile as I glance up to scan the sidewalk in front of me, but I’m feeling anything but calm. My pulse is pounding and my stomach is snarling and scotch isn’t sounding nearly as good as it did a few minutes ago.

Fuck, I don’t know why I’m so nervous.

Okay, fine, I know exactly why I’m nervous.

I’m afraid meeting Penny will be a letdown. I’ve had it happen before—you make an online connection with someone who seems amazing, only to find out later that they have a donkey laugh and smell like industrial cleaner. Or there was the girl who gave great phone chat but was a dead-eyed sociopath when we met up for drinks. Not to mention the woman with the amazing textual flirting skills who was incapable of making eye contact or the husky-voiced real estate broker who turned out to be a man.

Fuck it.

If Penny is weird or smells funny or has a dick, you’ll deal with it.

You have to deal with it. You know damned well you can’t manage without her.

The thought has scarcely tripped through my mind when my gaze lands on a petite woman with big brown eyes and silky brown hair pulled into a knot on the top of her head. Her hair is messy, her face is make-up free, and she’s wearing a baggy off the shoulder tee shirt and leggings like half the other women walking the park this morning, but even looking like she just rolled out of bed, she’s fucking stunning.

I’m talking take your breath away beautiful, with an angel face and melted chocolate eyes and curves for miles. Curves for days. Curves that not even that baggy tee shirt can conceal and you can bet the Incredible Bulk sits up and takes notice. He’s not ripping through my boxers, insisting you’re going to love him when he’s angry, but things are definitely getting tighter below my waistband.

I can’t help myself.

This woman is exactly my type, from the tip of her turned up nose, to her way-more-than-a-handful breasts, to the curve of her phenomenal ass.

I’m already scheming a way to get her number—I don’t leave for the Hamptons until Tuesday, the city will still be here when I get back, and my manwhore ways can wait to be mended until after I’ve shown this gorgeous creature a very good time—when our eyes meet and my throat locks up. I curse beneath my breath as my palms begin to sweat.

“What’s wrong?” Aidan asks, but I only shake my head.

There’s no time to explain. We’re barely a foot away from the bona fide sex kitten, and she’s already thrusting out an arm and saying in a way too familiar voice, “Surprise! Happy meet your assistant in person day.”

CHAPTER FOUR

From the e-mail archives of Sebastian “Bash” Prince and Penny Pickett

From: MagnificentBastard1

To: Penny4YourLobsterPot

Re: Internet Dating

Penny,

The next time I decide to log on to my LetsGoLove account, please arrange for a hairy Italian man to come beat the shit out of me, steal my wallet, and piss on my semi-conscious body.

The experience will probably be equally enjoyable to the date I had tonight and I won’t have to bother replying to half a dozen e-mails, graduating to text messages, and upgrading to an awkward phone call before meeting Ms. Shifty Eyes Who Is Probably An Ax Murderer In Her Spare Time for drinks halfway across town.

Please nail down the next client ASAP so I have an excuse to stop dating.

Dating is dumb and then you die,

Bash

From: Penny4YourLobsterPot

To: MagnificentBastard1

Re: Internet Dating

Bash,

10-4 on the hairy Italian. There are a few wandering my neighborhood. Will get their contact info so I’m ready next time you fall off the dating wagon.

Details on your next client attached. Your orientation meeting is on Monday.

Penny

p.s. I agree that getting pissed on is preferable to making small talk with strangers. This is why I am committed to full-time hermitting and solo ice cream eating.

CHAPTER FIVE

Without my conscious permission, my hand reaches out to enfold Penny’s.

Penny, who is a stone cold fucking fox. Whose palm is warm and soft and whose skin feels way too good against mine for someone who is off limits.

Because she is. Off fucking limits.

Verboten. Forbidden. Completely out of bounds.

That’s been decided even before she laughs nervously and says, “And now’s the part where I tell you I’m a liar and beg you to forgive me.” Her eyes dart to Aidan as I force myself to release her hand. “Hi, Aidan. You
must
be Aidan. He’s told me all about you. I’m Penny, his assistant.” Her fingers flutter to her chest as she adds in a shakier voice, “Or maybe his former assistant. If I get fired today.”

“Hi, Penny. Nice to meet you.” Aidan clears his throat and arches a brow in my direction. “So should I hit it? Give you two some time alone?”

“No,” I insist, just as Penny says—

“Yes, please. That would be great.”

I turn back to her, wondering what the hell she’s lied about and how I’m supposed to go back to thinking of her as my work friend who writes me goofy e-mails when she looks like
this.

Jesus, even the way she fidgets, causing her breasts to bounce lightly beneath her shirt, would be enough to get me hard if I let it.

But I won’t. Not now, not ever again.

“I’m sorry, I’ve just got a lot to tell you,” she says. “Some of it’s private and all of it’s embarrassing. And if there’s even a chance Aidan and I will be working together in the future, I would prefer not to spill my dirty laundry during our first meeting.”

She nibbles her lip, drawing my attention to her beautiful mouth. It really is perfect. I can almost imagine the way her plush bottom lip would feel trapped between my teeth while I’m kissing her breathless.

Fuck, this is ridiculous.

Aidan can’t leave. I need him here for cock-blocking support.

But Aidan, the traitor, is already backing away. “Of course. No problem.” He thumps me twice on the back in the universal sign for “glad it’s you and not me, brother” and lifts a hand. “Catch you later, Bash. Take care, Penny.”

And then suddenly I’m alone with my no longer virtual assistant.

Alone with Penny, who is not a cat lady or in possession of a secret penis. Penny, who is a beautiful, irresistible liar, just like the last woman who ripped my heart from my chest, shredded it, salted it, and ate it raw and bleeding with a nice Chianti.

“I need you to start talking.” My voice is cool and distant, one of the many side effects of thinking about Rachael. “And if I don’t like what you have to say, you can consider your vacation time the start of your two weeks’ notice.”

Her throat works as she swallows, but she nods. “I understand. And I won’t blame you if you decide I’ve broken the cone of trust. But is there any chance we can get that drink you mentioned before we talk? I never drink before noon, but I’ve never told anyone this story before, either, and I’m not sure how I’m going to manage it sober.”

“I’ll call a car.” I tap the Uber app on my phone, suddenly not in the mood for a long, leisurely walk to Midtown. I’m in the mood to discover exactly what Penny has been hiding and to decide whether or not I can forgive her ASAP.

When it comes to forgiveness, I don’t fuck around.

I either grant it immediately—we all make mistakes and I’ve screwed up enough in my life to understand the importance of second chances—or I cut the offender off without a second thought. I learned the hard way how much it hurts to be betrayed again and again, to think you’ve finally gotten through to the person who’s fucking your heart up the ass, only to have them bend you over and go at it a third time.

But never again. These days,
I
do the bending over.

I don’t take shit from anyone, not even someone I depend on and care about as much as I do Penny.

CHAPTER SIX

From the e-mail archives of Sebastian “Bash” Prince and Penny Pickett

From: Penny4YourLobsterPot

To: MagnificentBastard1

Re: Your assumption that I am not enjoying a robust and varied nightlife

Dear Bash,

Pursuant to your last e-mail, insisting that I am a sad clown living in the lame circus because I happen to enjoy staying in on Saturday nights, I draw your attention to the attached article on the dangers of NYC nightlife. Including bed bugs in lounge cushions, assault with a deadly stiletto, and packs of wild and possibly rabid/werewolf dogs prowling lower Chelsea.

Enjoy your life on the edge. I’ll be safe at home with Netflix and leftover quinoa salad, the dinner of champions.

Sincerely,

Penny

From: MagnificentBastard1

To: Penny4YourLobsterPot

Re: Your assumption that I am not enjoying a robust and varied nightlife

But if you don’t get out and about, how are you ever going to be bitten by your werewolf mate and live happily ever after?

And don’t even try to pretend you weren’t all over that series.

I bet you read those books until the pages were in tatters.