Stripped Down (7 page)

“Don’t think you have to get dressed on my account, even if the glitter bra isn’t to my taste.”

I shot him a dark look and rolled the waistband of my hotpants down to pull the money out. I threw the bills on his desk. “So? Did you talk to your lawyer?”

My question instantly sucked the air out of the room.

Beckett sighed, shrugging his jacket off. He threw it over the back of his desk chair. “I did. And, Blondie, you’re not gonna like what he said.”

My stomach dropped. That’s what I had been afraid of. “Go on,” I muttered, throwing the last few bills onto my pile. “Rip it off in one go. Like a Band-Aid.”

“We can’t get an annulment. We were drunk, but we both agreed to it, and we consummated the marriage.”

“Yeah, no, that last part I’m aware of.”

“It’s a blessing and a curse.” He flashed me his sexy grin. “We have to go through divorce proceedings. The good news—”

“Oh, there’s good news? Awesome.” I put my hands on my hips.

“The good news,” he repeated, his eyes flashing with amusement, “is that we can get it done quickly.”

“How quick is quickly?”

“Around two weeks.”

“Two weeks? That’s not quick. I’ve had relationships go south quicker than that.” Not many, granted, and the most recent being the schmuck of a sperm donor who decided parenting wasn’t for him, but that wasn’t the point.

Well, unless you counted Mr. Two Dates who fucked me then ran when he realized I had a kid. I didn’t count him. The douchebag.

Beckett chuckled and undid the top button of his shirt. “Sorry. That’s about the quickest we can get it done if we file on Monday.”

“Great.” I sat down and ran my hand through my hair. “Now, what do we do? Do we just pretend it never happened? Forget everything except our professional relationship?”

“We can try, but it isn’t gonna change the fact that I can still remember how loud you screamed my name when you came.”

I licked my lips and met his gaze. “That’s inappropriate.”

“Cassie, baby. Nothing about this is situation is appropriate.” He flattened his hands on the desk and stared at me through hooded eyes. His long, dark lashes added to the heaviness of his look, and my heart skipped a beat at the heat I saw reflecting back at me. “Not the way I can’t get you screaming my name out of my head. Not the way I can’t forget what you looked like when you came all over my tongue. Not the way I can’t stop thinking about bending you over this desk and fucking your tight, little pussy again. Nothing.”

I froze, my mouth going dry. I couldn’t believe he’d just said that. Worse? I couldn’t believe that my pussy was throbbing at the thought of it.

“Point taken,” I squeaked out. I tried to swallow, but the dryness of my throat made it impossible, so I coughed instead. “How do we move forward?

I had to get this conversation back on track.

“As best we can,” he said, standing up straight. He didn’t take his eyes from mine. “We can avoid each other at work, but we’ll have to speak about everything outside of it.”

Beckett Cruz in my personal time? That sounded like a recipe for disaster.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” I asked. “Because I’m not afraid to tell you that I don’t. In fact, I can’t think of anything worse.”

“You can’t have it both ways. We can’t keep our relationship professional at work and ignore this mistake otherwise.”

A mistake it was, but ouch. Still kinda stung though.

“Really?” I asked. “Because that sounds like it’d be perfect.”

His eyes glittered with laughter. He raised his hand to his mouth and rubbed his thumb across his lower lip, drawing my eyes there. For some reason, the simple action was tantalizingly addictive, and I couldn’t take my eyes off his mouth.

Maybe it was because, despite the wedding hole in my memory, I knew exactly what it felt like to have his mouth on me, and that was something I knew I wouldn’t forget. Maybe ever.

“I mean it, Beckett,” I said, finally dragging my gaze back up to his. “I have no idea how it happened last night. I can’t remember, but I know that any interaction we have needs to be kept to a minimum.”

“Worried someone will find out?”

“Yes,” I answered honestly and pressed my hands against my stomach. “The girls have heard rumors that you’re married and one saw you wearing the ring.”

“I forgot to take it off. When I took you home, I came straight to work.”

“It doesn’t matter. Our lives are wildly different. You have no idea just how much. I have responsibilities you can’t even dream of. My father is dying, my mom is existing instead of living, and aside from them, the only person my daughter has is me. I’m her entire world, so you’re damn right this can’t get out.” My voice catches at the end.

I didn’t want him to feel bad. I wanted him to understand—wanted him to realize that he had all the time in the world to solve this, but I didn’t.

“Her dad isn’t around?” Beckett’s voice was soft, and emotion hinted in the depths of his gaze. “Just you?”

I swallowed. “Being a parent at seventeen wasn’t in his game plan. He’s never seen her, and he made it clear he never wants to. It’s just me and CiCi. Always has been.” Always will be, I didn’t say.

“I’m sorry. That must be hard.”

“Well, I’m not showing my tits to random guys on a regular basis for shits and giggles.”

He ran his fingers through his dark hair and perched on the corner of his desk. His eyes never left mine as he leaned back on one hand. “Let’s change it. Get you more bar shifts. Veronica’s leaving on maternity soon anyway, and she’s already told me she probably isn’t going to come back.”

“I don’t want them because you pity me, Beckett. I don’t care what I have to do to make sure CiCi has everything she needs. I’m her mom. It’s my job to make sure she’s taken care of, even if it means I hate myself every time I look in the mirror.”

Oh shit.

I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

I clapped my hand over my mouth and looked away from him. The tone of the room changed, getting tenser, and I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment.

“You hate yourself for doing this?” he asked softly. “Really?”

“No, not at all. I’m halfway to being a professional whore, and I’m so fucking proud of that fact. Can’t you tell?” My tone was dry and sarcastic, and I sighed heavily.

I stood up and rubbed the corner of my eye. That was why I wasn’t close to anyone. I could hear the pity in his voice—the poor Cassie that always crept through. I was so fucking sick of people giving me sympathy. I wasn’t in this situation by accident. I’d made the choice to be a single mom because the alternative had never even crossed my mind.

“Look, I don’t want your pity,” I said to him without looking at him. “I’d choose hating myself every day for the rest of my life if it meant she would be okay. Let’s just get this mess figured out, okay? File for the divorce on Monday. I won’t contest it. I don’t want anything you have. Just get it done.”

I just wanted it to disappear. I wanted to take an eraser to it . Get rid of it, even if the marks it’d leave behind would always be a problem.

“All right,” he replied gently. His eyes were fixed on mine, and he stood up straight and approached me. “Cassie, if you need help...” He reached for me.

I stepped back, holding my hands up, palms toward him. “I don’t need help. I don’t need anything, least of all from you, okay? I’ve done it alone for seven years. The rest of my life isn’t going to kill me. I’ve got balls of steel.”

“I believe it. But if you do need help at any time—”

“I don’t. Okay? I don’t.” I met his eyes and gestured between us. “This is bullshit. Don’t think you need to be nice to me because you like how I fuck.”

His jaw tightened. “You think that’s why I’m being nice to you? Because you’re real pretty when you’re on your back with your legs around my neck?”

I stared at him for a long moment before I said, “Yeah. That’s usually how it works.”

The air fizzed with tension. A vein throbbed in his neck as he stared me down, his eyes flashing with annoyance, his jaw clamped tight.

Then he stepped forward, quicker than I could step back, and grasped my chin firmly in his hand. His other hand gripped my hip so tight that I could feel his fingers burning into my skin as his breath washed over my parted lips.

“My reputation as a gentleman is questionable. I understand. I fuck too many women and I discard them quicker and harder than I screw them, but contrary to what you may think about me, Cassie, baby, I’m not a fucking asshole.” His eyes searched mine, tugging at my heart in a way I didn’t understand.

Maybe it was the glint in them that asked me to believe he was more than the person he was made out to be—more than the person he’d made himself out to be .

Maybe it was the flash that told me there were so many more layers to Beckett Cruz than anyone knew.

“Today, tomorrow, next month, when this mistake is taken care of, my offer of help still stands. Whether you’re on your back with your legs around my neck or not.” His fingers twitched against my jaw, and he loosened his grip on my hip. “Because you’re a good person. I can see it when I look in your eyes. Don’t think I’m doing it just because I like the way you look when you come on my cock.”

I slapped his hand away and stepped back, forcing him to drop his hold on me. “If I could, I’d quit right now. I don’t want your help, Beckett. I don’t want it and I don’t need it. Do you understand that?”

“No,” he said slowly, holding my gaze in a way that was equal parts terrifying and hypnotizing. “Because I think you’re lying so hard you don’t even believe it yourself.”

I held the stare for a moment before I stalked toward the desk and grabbed my cash from the horny groom. A short series of knocks rattled the door, and I paused.

“Beck?” A woman’s voice sounded. “Are you in there? Why is the door locked?”

I turned with a raised eyebrow.

“Mia.” He sighed and walked toward the door. The lock clicked as he turned it. Then he yanked the door open. “What do you want?”

“Well, for one, a shower,” she said, shoving a box at him. “Here are your fliers for tomorrow. Roxy didn’t bring them all over. By the way, I think you’re breeding assholes out there. You really need to get some spray to keep them back or something. Like a sprinkler system with laser-precision.”

“Agreed,” I muttered. I still wanted to shower myself.

She flashed me a friendly grin and pushed past Beck. “Mia.” She held her hand out.

“Cassie.” I returned her smile. “Sorry. I need to get back to work.”

Beckett put the box on his desk. “We’re not done talking,” he said to me, a hard undercurrent in his tone.

I snapped my eyes to him and shoved my money in my bra. “Oh, we’re done.”

“Cassie,” he ground out.

“Sorry,” I said, glancing at Mia before I set my eyes on him. “I’ve got to go play with the devil I know. He’s nicer than the one I don’t.”

With that, I turned away, stalked down the hall, and let go of the breath I’d held as I left.

Fucking hell.

“O
kay. Lemon or orange?”

CiCi wrinkled her nose at the fruit selection I’d laid out while the cupcakes had been cooling. “Strawberries.”

I cracked a small smile. “That kind of defies the point of making Grandpa’s favorite cakes, don’t you think? He likes the skin when it’s been grated. You can’t grate strawberries.”

“Sure you can.” She jumped off her steps and ran to the fridge. She pulled out the punnet of strawberries and brought it back to the counter.

I shook my head as she pulled the lid off, pulled a huge strawberry out, and grabbed the grater. “It won’t work. And be careful of your fingers!”

She lifted the berry to show me she was holding the very end of it and then lightly ran it down the grater. She did it several times, furrowing her little brow, before she finally turned to me and said, “Mommy, you’re right. It’s just mushing up.”

“Of course I’m right.” I took what was left of it from her and put it to the side. Then I took the grater to the sink to rinse it off. “I can cut them up to put on top, but we can’t grate strawberries. They’re too squishy.”

“Hmm. Okay,” CiCi said and grabbed an orange. “Grandpa loves orange. Let’s put orange on some, but one has to have lemon for Nanny. That’s her favorite.”

“Okay. And chocolate chips?”

“Only if you don’t tell Nanny. She says Grandpa eats too much chocolate.” She frowned at me. “Is that real? Too much chocolate?”

“Yep, totally,” I said, slowly dragging the whole lemon down the side of the grater. Tiny rinds of skin fell off into the middle of it, perfect for topping on the cupcakes. “If you eat too much, you’ll get a tummy ache, and then you’ll be sad.” I tapped the grater against the chopping board to free the stuck rind gratings then pushed the board toward CiCi.

“Oh.” She pinched some of them and waited for me to swirl the buttercream out of the can. “Nanny said that too, but then Grandpa said he always has a tummy ache anyway.”

My heart clenched. “Well, Grandpa’s sick. You get tummy aches when you’re sick, right?”

She sighed dramatically, and I was pretty sure she rolled her eyes. “Oh, Mommy, all the time. It’s terrible.”