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I sent a text to Mum, letting her know I was out for another night, and one to Jack, asking him to mind Samson until I showed up after my stupid meeting with the sperm donor, and then I settled down for the evening, kicking back between Carl and Rick on the sofa, listening to Rick’s soul compilation and drinking posh tea. And then they’d stripped naked, and I had, too, and we’d jumped into their massive white bed with me snug in the middle, and their arms had held me tight.
But they hadn’t fucked me.
And even though my battered cervix was relieved, I can’t say I wasn’t a little disappointed.
It appeared Carl and Rick were gentlemen. Gentlemen who’d been super keen to point out I wasn’ton duty. That I could take it easy. That they weren’t expecting anything.
So they’d kissed me and held me, without even a hint of anything more.
I’d have taken both. I’d have even tried to take it like a trooper and open my legs for another cervix bashing. But how can you say that? I mean,shouldI have said that? What’s the etiquette on that kind of shit?
Theywere payingme.And part of me wished they weren’t, that this was just me and them, just because.
But that was crazy fucking thinking. Crazy. And thoughts like those weren’t going to get me my little riding yard or bail Jack out of trouble.
Thoughts like those could get stuffed.
I’m an early riser, but Carl beat me on Monday morning. He was already up when I opened my eyes to find myself sprawled happily on his empty side of the bed. The bathroom was still steamy when I took a pee andbrushed my teeth, and I found him downstairs, listening to the early morning news on the radio while he spooned up muesli. I sat myself down at the island and gave him a smile.
Carl was scary hot again this morning. Intimidating. Hewore a jet-black suit with angles that were killer. He was clean-shaven and bright-eyed and his jaw lookedmade of steel.
“Breakfast?” he said, and nudged the muesli box in my direction. “We have toast, eggs, bacon. Rick probably has one of those breakfast nut bars or some other trendy squirrel food in the cupboard.” He pointed behind me. “Bowls and plates are in the top. Cutlery in the drawer underneath. You’ll soon learn your way around.”
“Busy day?” I asked, and it sounded so lame.
“Always.” He stared at me for a long time and I couldn’t read him. His business face was on, and it was impenetrable. Cold. Matter of fact. Then it softened into a smile. “New recruits,” he said. “Always a pain in the ass, invariably worth it in the end. And meetings. I have meetings. Always so many fucking meetings.”
I wanted to ask what he did. Where he went. What made a guy like Carl Brooks tick the way Carl Brooks clearly ticked about business. But I couldn’t. I didn’t know quite where to start with the chit-chat.
I’d checked him out on Business Connect — sales director for some swanky agency — but Business Connect just gives you the words, it doesn’t give you the picture. Not really.
He finished up his muesli, swilled the bowl in the sink, and then he was gathering up his things, with just enough crossover to catch Rick as he ambled his way across the kitchen and propped himself on a stool alongside me. Rick didn’t look like a morning person, not at all. He was still yawning, stretching in his seat. His hair was ruffled and his eyes were sleepy.
Rick was gorgeous when he was sleepy.
Carl leaned over to kiss Rick’s hair, and then he kissed mine. He smelled fresh, and hot, and his lips were firm. He squeezed my shoulder and his fingers were forceful, and I wanted him. I really wanted him.
“Play nice, kids,” he said, and then he was gone, a briefcase in his hand and his phone already pressed to his ear.
“He’s a hot sonofabitch,” Rick laughed. “And thus begins another sixty hour working week, minimum. The guy doesn’t stop. Ever. I swear he works in his sleep, too.”
“What about you?” I said.
“Twenty-five max. It’s all about the creativity.” He grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. “So, pretty girl, what’s your plan for the day? Do I get to keep you?”
I wished. I liked the thought of being kept by Rick.
But urgh, no,sperm donor.
“I have to head out for one o’clock. Stupid piece of shit thing I can’t get out of.”
“Work?”
It didn’t occur to me to lie. I shook my head. “Just, some shitty thing. A meeting.”
He raised an eyebrow and didn’t look away, waiting for more, and I thought about spilling the truth, but every time I did people never let me hear the end of it.
David Faverley’s daughter?! You’re David Faverley’s daughter?TheDavid Faverley? Of Favcom? Wow!
