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Chapter Nineteen:
Ambitious Buttfucks
Once I was in my pajamasand my face was washed, I went back to where Sterling was having a drink and grabbed a glass for myself. “Me first, or you?”
“I’ll start. It’s not all that complicated,” he said, curling one leg up under him. “When my mom died, I was a fucking mess. Ollie was nowhere to be found at work, so I was working eighteen hours some days. Investment banking doesn’t exactly follow a nine-to-five, in case you haven’t noticed. Back in those days, we worked a lot of midnights. We’d just lost another one of our employees to a competitor too, so things were bad. I was trying to keep the damn place from going under, trying to do it all myself, and I made a fucking mistake with the books. Someone I thought I could trust found that mistake, but instead of coming to me about it, they turned me in to Caffrey for fucking money laundering. Problem was, I was so fucked in the head at that point that I couldn’t remember where the money actually went, so Caffrey went ahead with the trial.”
“Jesus.” I took a long sip of his whiskey and lifted my feet up on the couch. “I can see why there are hard feelings. I’m sorry you went through that, Sterling. I imagine that was such a shit time.”
He stared at the liquid in his glass and nodded once. “He wouldn’t fucking let it go. He was so convinced I was crooked that it didn’t occur to him I was human enough to make a mistake like that. He was vying for the district attorney’s job back then and thought taking me down was his ticket in. I can’t exactly blame the guy for being ambitious, but fuck.”
I snorted inappropriately and almost felt bad about it, but deep down I was a child. “You said buttfuck. He was an ambitious buttfuck.”
Sterling blinked, looking startled as hell, then laughed as he reached over and smacked my leg. “I was trying to be serious.”
It made me scoot forward to put my legs over his lap like they belonged there. “Sorry, I know you were. So the buttfuck wouldn’t let up because he was worried about how he’d look if he admitted he was wrong.”
“I don’t know. Probably?” He trailed his fingertips over my calf. “Anyway, I finally got through to the person who turned me in and we found the money, which blew his whole case up.”
I focused on his words and not his touch, because if I didn’t I’d straddle him right then and there. “Sounds like that person was a bag of dicks though. I’m sorry you were betrayed.”
“Yeah, it certainly wasn’t the highlight of my life. But that’s at least a watered-down version of why I want to strangle him, so it’s your turn. Why won’t there be a second date?”
I polished off my drink and chuckled lightly. “The day I met him, I accused him of roofies. The second time I met him, I told him I wanted to have meaningless sex, but I was so drunk I just passed out on him. When I thanked him for not taking advantage of me, he took it wrong again. Probably because of the original roofie accusations. We ran into each other the third time and thought we should try a real date and see what happened, and there was just ... nothing. I mean, I think he’s a good guy and he’s obviously very handsome, but it takes more than that to have a relationship. There’s a connection that isn’t there, and it’s one of those things that just can’t be forced. Some things just click, and we weren’t one of those things. I’m just glad we were mature enough to see it on the first date instead of later. Plus, he seemed to prefer if my job here was short-term and I told him it’s very much long-term for me. I’m not going anywhere until Charlie sends me away.”
“I’d say that I’m sorry it didn’t work out, but I’m not,” he admitted. “Drove me fucking nuts thinking about it.”
“Did it?” Is that more about him or me? But I knew I wasn’t ready for that conversation, especially if it would be denial. “Well you’re stuck with me on weekends now so, better get more of this.” I shook my glass at him and poked his stomach with my big toe.
“I think I can live with that. Sure you want to hang out with a suspected criminal?”
“I mean, I’m definitely scared for my life now, but y’know. I like living on the edge,” I joked. Fucking hell, I want to kiss him. Kiss me, you criminal.
He smiled, all infectious and light and beautiful. “Good. But live your life on the edge tomorrow; it’s late as hell, and I have a meeting in the morning. Fucking hate Saturday meetings.”
“I bet.” I slowly pulled my feet off of him to stand, then gathered our glasses to go rinse them before I headed to bed. “Sleep good, Silver. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I didn’t even hear the ghostly motherfucker step up behind me, but I sure as hell felt him squeeze my hip as he leaned in to whisper, “And I need to actually sleep, so no snoring tonight. Understood, Miss Bryce?”
“Yes, Sir,” I said breathlessly, baring my neck slightly and shivering when I felt his breath on my skin. “I’ll go straight to sleep.”
“Thank you. I’d tell you you’re a good girl, but that would be inappropriate.” His lips barely grazed my skin as he pulled back, but he was gone by the time I got my shit together enough to turn around.
Goddamnit. I was so wet, so desperate for him to touch and kiss every inch of me. But he didn’t, and maybe that was for the best ... for now.
––––––––
Sterling
MEETINGS WERE BORING, but Saturday meetings were insufferable. My suit felt too tight, my tie too suffocating, the room too warm. The dull drone of voices around me was lulling me to sleep, but I needed to be here for this — especially since my fuckwit brother was down in New Mexico with his latest little number.
Still, I couldn’t focus on pitchbooks or the endless fucking cycle of revisions, comments, and corrections. All I could think about was Zeppelin.
The way she smelled, the way she had looked in that red dress. The flush that had spread across her skin when I’d touched her. The way her breath caught in her throat before I’d walked away. The ways I’d take her apart if I didn’t need her to stick around so badly.
It occurred to me then in my daydreaming stupor that I could see her if I wanted. I’d installed a nanny cam and completely forgotten about it since I hadn’t wanted to intrude, but it was there, perched in the living room inside a little fake ficus. I imagined she’d have my father in the living room this time of day, so it didn’t take much to convince myself to pull up the feed on my laptop and lower the volume just in case.
Immediately, I got what I wanted. She was there, in those fuck-me short pajama shorts and a white tank top with spaghetti straps. Her blonde hair was up in a messy, chaotic bun, and for once ... there were no Crocs to be found. My chest ached with how beautiful she looked like that, all undone and comfortable and at home. But when she pulled my father in and laughed as she carefully twirled him in a circle, I thought my heart was going to explode.
