Chapter 2

It was a remarkably wonderful morning, and I had my EarPods in as I swayed down the hall, looking at the latest figures from accounting. They were good. Mrs. Hutchins would be ecstatic and I did a little hip sway to the tune as I whipped into the elevator.

My chest slammed against a forearm

That forearm held an apparently full cup of coffee.

That coffee fountained upwards onto the reeling man behind it.

That man was Ryan Duncan and my happy day disintegrated into a slow motion comedy but tragedy skit. At his cry, I tried and failed to grab at the coffee, knocking his hand once more while he howled when more of the brownish, if exquisitely flavored, fluid splashed across his chest.

“What the fuck!” he cried out as coffee streamed downward. He shook out the empty cup, spraying droplets on the elevator floor, and stared at me. Those lasers—he had the most piercing gray eyes ... And they were tight on me as he hissed through his teeth.

As my heart restarted and then raced, his finger slammed the button and the doors slipped shut behind me. I was so fired. Good thing my old roommates both had found decent jobs with openings. I’d have to move, but...

“Did you used to work for me?” His scowl deepened as he flung the crumpled cup to the floor.

Noting the past tense, yep, fired, I nodded.

He stared down at his dripping jacket, tie, shirt and then all the way from his brown soaked trousers to his spotted shoes. It had been a nice suit. An expensive suit. In my lifetime, I might be able to afford to replace one just like it.

“Do you have any idea how much this cost?” He held out his jacket and shook droplets from it while I staggered back, but was stopped by the closed doors. Though it shook around me, the elevator wasn’t moving. Oh, I was shaking.

When I noticed he was still staring at me, I shook my head.

“No, of course you don’t. Goddamit to hell. You’re gonna pay for these.” He shrugged the jacket from his ... Wow, he had broad shoulders and his muscles rippled under the soaked shirt, now brown and white. He caught my gaze and smirked.

“You know what?” He nodded. He wasn’t waiting for me to reply. “You’re not fired...? Who are you?”

After gulping, I replied. “Naomi ... Uh, Naomi Duncan, sir. I work for...”

“You work for me, Naomi Duncan. If I fire your clumsy ass, then I get to keep a filthy suit and shirt.” His eyes glinted at me as his brow furrowed. “So, no. You still work for me, Naomi Duncan.”

The look he gave me and my rapid heartbeat told me that may not be a good thing.

“Tonight. Give your address to one of my receptionists. Seven pm sharp. You’re coming with me to a dinner party.”

As I pointed to my chest, frozen as I quivered under his gaze, I murmured. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Naomi Duncan. I need a date and you owe me. So dress...” he scanned my frame, hidden beneath the bulky, loose clothing, then looked into my face. “ ... better.”

And with that, he tapped the button for the top floor, shoved past me when it opened after seventeen thousand years of not staring at him while he glared at me, and disappeared. When, after several tries, my shaking finger made it to the right button, I headed down to my floor. Yippee, I didn’t have to eat another healthy frozen meal tonight. Fuck, it was going to be a long night. When I told Mrs. Hutchins, she didn’t know whether to laugh or scold me for being an imbecile. Instead, she kept silent, which was worse than either. The longest afternoon of my young and quite possibly short life dragged on. Would he murder me after dinner? He could. He was rich. They did that all the time. It was an accident, poor thing. Suicide, more like. Had no future.

After cursing at myself, the world, the universe, the smelly bus, and the ache in my feet as I clambered up the stairs to my dingy apartment, I slammed the door and collapsed against it. I had one hour and sixteen minutes. With a grunt, I shoved myself from the door, stripped and dashed into the shower. One hour and fourteen minutes later, I stood in the foyer downstairs, smiling at passersby atop five inch black t-back stilettos. Not having the time to do anything fancy, I pinned my hair up, but not as tight as work, letting sexy dangling strands frame my face. Sexy? Well, some people thought so. Though I didn’t think Mr. Ryan Duncan ... oh, shit. That’s my last name. No, no, Ryan Carlton. Yes, I doubted he would consider me sexy compared to all the others he had swarming around him.

Nonetheless, I never knew who I might meet. Mr. Marvelous could be anywhere and a Richie Rich dinner party sounded like a neat place to at least keep myself distracted while Ryan not-Duncan did whatever he usually did. Hence the ... What did my sister call it? Oh, yeh. My “fuck me” makeup; smoky eyes, glistening red lips and enough rouge so that if and when they found my body, I would still appear quite healthy. While gliding my hands down the tiny cocktail dress I still had from way back when I used to wear tiny cocktail dresses, I grinned. It was thin, and backless, and there was absolutely no hiding my jugs, which, thank you mom, rest in peace, stood proudly, with little need for support. Add in the slits along my thighs and I would make somebody drool. In college, I used to, and that was before another two years of gym time.

“Not bad,” I whispered to myself, just before the longest white limousine slid to a halt before my building. Yep, uh, that would be my ride, unless some other resident had a ride-sharing upgrade. It had been a while and in the tight skirt, I had to totter sideways downstairs to the open door being held by a rather good-looking older man. After flashing him a smile and then inadvertently a full thigh, I slid inside and came to face with ... Mr. Carlton’s forehead. The door shut as I sat in the seat across from him; he was focused on his tablet. Well, this was going to be fun. Not.

You know what? Fuck it. So, I pulled out my phone and played a game. The ride was shorter that way at least and by the time the limo glided to a halt ... I mean; it glided ... Like was it even on wheels? Anyway, when it stopped, Mr. Carlton flicked his eyes to me, jerked back in surprise, then swallowed and shoved himself from the car before me. Chivalry was dead. As I held my skirt down, I followed his rather muscular behind outside and up a set of broad marble stairs into a—mansion? Palace? National capital building of some nation owned by an uber-rich despot? It was huge, and I spun around, taking it all in, forgetting I was supposed to be Mr. not-Duncan’s dinner date.

After rushing up the stairs, tiny skirt hiked even higher, I pressed it back into place under the watchful gaze of several men and not a few women. As heat raced up my chest, neck and sprouted under my fuck me makeup, I staggered in after him.

I needn’t have bothered. He stood in the midst of a cluster of his demographic, all gorgeous, all dressed ... Well like me, and all laughing and tugging on him. At that point, I snatched a champagne flute from a passing tray and gazed across the crowd. Why the fuck did he bring me here, anyway? He certainly didn’t need a date. With a long sigh, I looked over at him. Fuck, he had six. And that was just now. God knows how many he would be drilling tonight. After a long gulp of champagne, I scouted out the buffet and sauntered towards it, keeping my eyes peeled for Mr. Marvelous. But all the ones I saw had Mrs. Marvelous or Miss Rented for the Night nearby.

After a lengthy sigh, I stabbed at a meatball with a toothpick. I missed. Squinting, I stabbed it again. Success. Just as I lifted it, a blonde goddess in an embroidered, deep blue sequined gown that swept the floor behind glided, yes glided up next to me. As my eyes reached her face, she grinned and nodded.

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