The Fixed Trilogy: Fixed on You, Found in You, Forever With You (2 page)

“It shows.”

Hot, rich, and in tune with me. He was precisely the kind of man that I could obsess over, and not in the healthy way.

“Laynie!” The shout of the Regular from earlier drew me away from the intense gray eyes of the stranger. “I’m out of here. Wanted to say congrats again and good luck. And, hey, here’s my number. Give me a call sometime. I can help you occupy your week off.”

“Thanks, uh,” I read the name he’d written on the napkin he’d handed me, “Matt.” I waited until he’d walked away before tossing it in the trash under the counter, catching the suit’s eye as I did so.

“Do you do that with every number you receive?”

I paused. It wasn’t like I hadn’t hooked up with customers before, but never with regulars. That was a rule. I didn’t want to see them again. Too much temptation to go crazy over them.

But I had no interest in having that conversation with the suit. And with his eyes constantly on me, I finally believed that my attraction to him wasn’t one-sided. Not when he’d tipped me so generously. “Are you trying to figure out if I’d throw away your number?”

He laughed. “Maybe.”

His reaction made me smile and made the moisture between my thighs thicken. He was fun to flirt with. Too bad I had to end it. I placed my hands on the counter and leaned toward him so he could hear me better over the music, trying not to delight in the searing look he gave my bosom as I did so. “I wouldn’t throw yours away. I wouldn’t take yours at all.”

His eyes narrowed, but the laughter from earlier still danced in them. “Not your type?”

“Not necessarily.” Pretending I wasn’t attracted to him was futile. He had to be aware of my reaction to him.

“Why then?”

“Because you’re looking for something temporary. Something fun to play with.” I leaned even closer to deliver my punch line—the one that would deter even the horniest of men. “And I get attached.” I stood back up to my full height so I could take in his reaction. “Now doesn’t that just scare you shitless?”

I’d expected to see panic flash through his face. Instead, I saw a flicker of amusement. “You, Alayna Withers, do anything but scare me.” But despite his words, he stood, buttoning his suit coat as he did. “Congratulations again. Quite an accomplishment.”

I watched him for far too long as he walked away, more crestfallen about his abrupt departure than I wanted to admit.

It took me a good five minutes after he left to realize I’d never given him my name.

Chapter Two

“Have you met the new owner yet?”

I glanced up from my clipboard at Liesl’s backside as she studied the contents of the small fridge behind the bar, her cascading purple hair dancing with her movements. My brow furrowed. I hadn’t forgotten about the new owner but had tried not to think about him, knowing I’d obsess.

Irritation at being reminded of him now filled my response. “When would I have met him?” I hadn’t been at the nightclub since my graduation more than a week before.

Liesl closed the door to the fridge and shrugged. “I don’t know. You could have stopped by or something.”

She knew me too well. I’d stopped myself several times that past week from wandering over. It had been a battle, but I’d stayed away. “Nope. Actually, I spent most of the week at a spa near Poughkeepsie.”

“Well, la de da!” Liesl raised a studded eyebrow. “Did you win the lotto when I wasn’t looking?”

“Hardly. It was a gift from Brian.” He hadn’t bothered with a card, just an envelope containing the train ticket and voucher for the resort delivered to me by my doorman the morning of my graduation. It was thoughtful. And so very unlike my brother. Maybe it had been his wife’s idea.

“How…nice.” Liesl detested Brian and never bothered to hide it. One of the few people in my life who knew my history, she was fiercely loyal and always on my side. My brother, not so much. That automatically put them at odds.

“Don’t sound so shitty. It
was
nice. I did a bunch of crap I’d never done before—horseback riding, rock climbing. Tons of spa treatments—feel my skin!” I held out my hand for her to feel. “My hands have never been this soft.”

“You’re not kidding. Baby smooth.”

“It was good for me. Really. Exactly what I needed. Relaxing but still kept me preoccupied.”

“Wow. Score one for Brian. Maybe he’s finally growing up.” Her voice lightened. “And how was your time not at the spa?”

Miserable. The five days at the spa had been perfect, but after the trip was over, I had to return to my real life, which meant an empty apartment and a mind that refused to stop working. “I’m glad to be back, if that’s what you’re asking. And I may have four or five files of new ideas for the club.”

She laughed. “Hey, at least that’s healthy obsessing.”

I smiled sheepishly. “Healthyish.” I searched for the Skyy Vodka that my report said should be on the shelf and marked its presence on my paper when I found it. There were benefits to an active mind. I always had perfect inventories and flawless presentations. It was in relating with people—men, to be precise—that obsessing had its disadvantage.

I leaned against the back counter and checked my watch. Fifteen minutes until opening. That meant fifteen more minutes before the lights went down and into club mode. The club with all the lights on made me vulnerable and bare and out-of-place. Even Liesl’s sassy gossipy personality was muted as if someone had turned down her volume. We’d never have this conversation in club mode.

My eyes traveled across the bar, lingering on the spot the suit had sat in the last time I’d worked. It wasn’t the first time I’d thought of him since that night. He’d known my name. Had he overheard it? Not my last name. He must have asked someone, although I hadn’t seen him talking to anyone else. But maybe before I’d taken his order…I hadn’t been paying attention to him. Maybe someone had told him then.

“Whatcha thinking?” Liesl cut through my thoughts, mimicking my lean against the counter.

I shrugged. She’d freak if I told her some random guy knew my name, assume that my safety was at risk. I, on the other hand, had distinct empathy for people who had the need to gather more information than they should. And I didn’t want a lecture on would-be stalkers. I knew all about stalking.

But I could tell her other things about the mysterious stranger. “Last time I worked, this guy—” I paused, remembering how magnetically attractive the suit had been. “This incredibly hot guy, actually—gave me a hundred dollars for three fingers of Macallan. Told me to keep the change.”

“And did he expect you to blow him after your shift?”

“No. I thought that was what he was about, but…” What had he wanted? He’d seemed so into me, or had I imagined that, swayed by my own intense desire for him? “I don’t know. He left without trying anything.” I’d meant to scare him off, but that hadn’t seemed to be the reason he left. “It was…odd.”

“Midnight masturbation material?”

“I’ll never tell.”

“Your face says it all.”

Over the past week, he
had
entered my thoughts, wearing decidedly less than he had when I’d seen him at the bar. And while sexual fantasies were innocent enough for most people, thinking too much about any guy was never good for me and Liesl knew it. But I didn’t need her lecture. As long as I didn’t see him again—and chances were slim that I would—I’d be fine.

I moved to straightening things on the counter that didn’t need to be straightened and changed the subject. “So the new owner…you’ve met him? What’s he like?”

Liesl shrugged. “He’s all right. Younger than you’d imagine. Like, twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Fucking rich. He’s insane about clean-up, though. We’ve been calling him the Bar Nazi. He inspects everything, wiping his finger on the counters to make sure they’re clean, like he’s got OCD or something. Oh, and talk about masturbation material, he’s psychotically hot.”

Liesl thought any guy with a fat wallet who still had his hair was hot, so her statement didn’t say much. But the Bar Nazi remark made me smile. The staff had been lax on cleaning standards for some time and could do with some tough love. At least, that’s what I’d say if I were a manager. It gave me hope that the new owner and I might get along just fine.

I wondered about the man who finally ponied up the unreasonable asking price for the club. Not that The Sky Launch couldn’t be worth it, but it needed some serious overhaul to stand out in the sea of New York City clubs. Would the new owner see the place’s potential? How hands-on would he be? Would he leave the business under David’s control?

“You’ll meet him tonight.” Liesl ran her barbell across her lower lip. “I guess he’s a big deal in the business world. You’ve probably heard of him—Houston Piers or something like that.”

My jaw dropped. “Do you mean Hudson Pierce?” I waited while she nodded. “Liesl, Hudson Pierce is only the most successful business man under thirty in America. He’s like a god in that world.” Hudson had been born into wealth with modern day Rockefellers for parents. The eldest son, he’d expanded the Pierce wealth tenfold. As a business student I’d been intrigued with a number of his dealings.

“You know I’m not into all that Who’s Who bullshit.” Liesl straightened to her full five-foot-ten plus three-inch heels height. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on the Top Ten of, like, every Hottest-slash-Sexiest-slash-Most-Beautiful list in the world.”

I bit my lip trying to conjure up an image of him in my head. I’d probably seen a picture of him somewhere, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember what he looked like. I generally didn’t pay attention to those things. But something tugged at the edges of my brain, something I couldn’t quite grasp. A connection my mind was failing to make.

“Anyway,” Liesl said, leaning back against the counter, “I think he’s around. I saw him go into the offices earlier when you were grabbing napkins from storage.”

I nodded, not sure if I was thrilled to meet Hudson Pierce or not. Part of me wanted to fan girl all over one or two of his more famous corporate decisions. And bouncing ideas off of him could be thrilling.

Or terrifying. What if I had nothing to suggest that he hadn’t already thought of? Hudson Pierce didn’t need my lame ideas to help him make the club thrive.

Unless he wasn’t planning to be involved with the business.

But why would he buy the club if he didn’t intend on being involved? In which case…

Crap. Before my visions of the future I desired went poof in my overactive imagination, I needed to meet Pierce and feel him out, whether I was intimidated or not.

I took several inconspicuous calming breaths then returned my focus to stocking the bar. Concentrating on my task, I pulsed absentmindedly to the techno strains that streamed over the sound system and let go of all my worries.

The music wasn’t on normal business volume—we could talk comfortably without raising our voices—but it was loud enough that I didn’t hear the office door open to the left of the bar. That’s why I didn’t notice Hudson at first. My back was to him and my gaze fixed above me as I reached for the Tequila Gold on the upper bar shelf. Even after I’d retrieved the bottle and turned around, my eyes first found David’s. He scanned me from head to toe and I smiled, pleased that my tightly fitted corset hadn’t gone unnoticed. He was the reason I’d worn the damn thing. I could barely breathe under its vice-like grip. But for the searing look he gave me, it was worth it, heating me to low simmer in the arousal department.

Then I met Hudson’s stare and two things happened simultaneously. First, my arousal went full boil. Second, my brain finally made the connection it had missed before. Hudson Pierce was the suit.

Without meaning to, I scanned his body. The full view of him was even hotter, especially in the better lighting. Again he wore a suit, two-piece this time, a light gray that I’d almost call silver. It fit his lean body in such a sexual way that it felt obscene to look at him.

When my eyes made it to his face—his strong jaw, even more pronounced than I’d remembered, begging to be licked and kissed and nibbled—I found he was checking me out as well. The knowledge of this made my already warm face flush deeper. Though his gaze wasn’t as intense as it had been when I’d first met him, his pull was just as strong, and I knew—absolutely unequivocally
knew
—that he desired me as much as I desired him.

David spoke first, his words coming at me through a haze, barely registering. “This is Laynie.” I suspected his eyes hadn’t left my bosom. “Um, Alayna Withers, I mean.” Normally I’d be ecstatic that I had him so mixed-up and that his pants were visibly straining, but I was thrown by the new owner. More precisely, by how insanely he affected me.

“Hudson Pierce.” Hudson’s smooth, low murmur had me clenching my thighs together, my panties pooling with moisture. And if I thought he’d claimed me with his eyes the night we’d met, the surge that ran through me as he shook my hand deepened his possession. Almost like an invisible handcuff reaching out to bind me to him permanently. “Good to meet you properly, Ms. Withers.”

“Alayna,” I corrected, surprised at the low ache in my voice. “Or Laynie.”

He dropped my hand, but his touch lingered on my skin, in my veins.

Pieces began to fit together. That was how he’d known my name. He’d probably come that night to check out his would-be staff. But that didn’t explain his possessive staring. Maybe he was the type to think of women as objects. Maybe he took the definition of
owner
to a whole other level. The thought made my skin pebble in goose bumps.

And underneath that, panic crept into my gut.

I could not be this twisted up over my boss, the head honcho, the guy who would determine my fate at the club. Freaking out over him would end in serious consequences.

I placed a hand loosely over my belly, encouraging a deep diaphragmatic breath to calm my growing anxiety.

Hudson tilted his head and studied me. “I’ve heard many things about you. And witnessed your work.” He paused, moving his gaze up and down my body once more, scorching my skin as he did. “But none of what I heard or saw prepared me to find you wearing this ensemble.”

The color drained from my face. I wasn’t sure where he was going with his statement, but from his tone, I felt chided. “Excuse me?”

“I would think a graduate of Stern looking for a career in management would be more appropriately dressed.”

As quickly as I paled before, now I flushed, equal parts embarrassed and enraged. Sure my top was revealing, but he hadn’t seemed to mind when he ogled me only a moment before.

Or maybe his ogling had merely been wishful thinking.

Shit. I’d imagined it all, hadn’t I? That whole knowing he desired me—god, how had I so completely misread him?

Even in my error, I couldn’t take his criticism without responding. Whether Hudson owned other nightclubs or not, I had no clue, but he was certainly wrong about what acceptable attire was. Eye candy was expected at a club. Hot girls drove in customers. “What I’m wearing is quite appropriate for a club staff.”

“Not for someone working toward manager.”

“Yes, even managers. Sex sells, Mr. Pierce.”

“Not at an elite club. Not at the kind of club I intend to run.” His authoritative tone resonated through my head, but then he lowered his volume and the words resonated through my bones. “You must know that women have a difficult time in the business world. You need to work to be taken seriously, Alayna. Dress sexy, not like a floozy.”

I clenched my jaw shut. Normally I’m the type to argue well past the point of winning or losing—I’d had several heated debates in more than one of my graduate classes—but now I found myself flustered and at a loss for words. Hudson was right. I had ideas for the club—ideas that required people to trust my business savvy. I’d learned at Stern what it took to impress people and, to my credit, I’d hesitated when I’d purchased the corset, wondering if the open middle that revealed my midriff from the insides of my breasts to my belly button was too revealing. His words validated that fear.

Worse, I realized that what I’d thought was desire was something so much different. He wasn’t claiming me, he was judging me.

My stomach dropped. There went any chance at promotion. How could I have been so stupid? Dressing for a guy instead of my career?
Stupid, stupid, stupid!

I looked to David and discovered he was equally petrified at the transaction. “Um, yeah, Laynie,” he said, attempting to recover. “Is that new?”

It didn’t matter what David said. The glimmer in his eyes told me he appreciated my outfit. But he was with his new boss. He had to keep it professional.