Holiday Naughty: My Alpha Bad Boy Client (4 page)

“How much money are we talking?”

“We're waiting for word. The facility manager
said it looks like a couple thousand dollars at the most.”

“Well two things. It isn't my facility. It
belonged to my parents. They owned it and they made the money from
it. Second, it's too bad they didn't get more. My parents had an
obscene amount of money.”

“I know how active they were in charities,”
the detective responded. “They gave a lot away too.”

“And they made sure you knew about it every
time they did,” I snarled.

“Sorry sir. Are you ok?”

“I am having a hard time sleeping lately is
all,” I said, cooling my tone back to normal. “I didn't mean to
take it out on you.”

“Well since you seem to know nothing, I'll
leave you to your day,” he said. “Peculiar case. Looked like a
daring heist. The individual came through the skylight. Cut it open
with a razor blade or something. There wasn't anywhere on the roof
to attach a rope or safety harness.

“Hats off to him, or her,” I said. “Whomever
earned it by taking that much risk. And my family won't miss a
couple thousand dollars.”

The detective turned and quickly exited the
house with just a nod.

I couldn't hold back my smile thinking of the
precious fortune of Randolph West being chipped away at by a modern
day Robin Hood.

Anton Smith was the bulldog know-it-all
paralegal that kept Andrew's billing and trial preparation machine
humming along.

He was also gay and a total prick. He
delighted in displaying to young lawyers his superior knowledge of
just about everything pertaining to the practice of law. He hated
young lawyers particularly because he felt like he knew more, but
they started out at the firm making more than him.

Every conversation with the guy was laced
with his venom. My goal with him was to get business done and get
as far away as possible. The problem was he was Andrew's
unquestioned work horse and right-hand man. So he wasn't going
anywhere.

His greatest delight was tugging my chains
about my personal life and the my choice in married lovers.

“I am looking for Mr. Kinkaid, Anton.”

“Pretty formal considering everything aren't
we Beth?” He said in his most annoying, smart-ass feminine guy
voice.

Even all the way up in Philadelphia, I could
see the little bald prick with his five hundred dollar skinny
slacks sitting at his desk acting like he ran the place.

“Well this is work and I have a lot of it to
do,” I said, trying to keep him from further needling into my
business.

“Ah yeah, the West file,” he said. “I know
why you were put on that one. But I am sworn to secrecy.”

“Look Anton, it's getting late. I am tired
from all the travel and going through the three boxes of shit on
this file. Can I speak with Andrew? I need some direction on a
couple things.”

“Well sister love, I hate to burst your
bubble but you aren't first in line on the protege pecking order,”
he said with obvious glee.

He loved to make other people feel
small.

“Can I just leave him a message?”

“Why not call him on his cell phone?”

“What makes you think I have his cell phone
number?”

“Maybe it's the poorly concealed moaning
from your office?”

He couldn't have heard that? But I was sure
he knew. He knew everything. Andrew paid him handsomely to keep his
secrets.

“He's actually in trial. Fort Myers. Young
lusty Gabrielle is his second chair. And I am sure his sleepover
buddy every night.”

It was like a punch in the gut. My eyes
began to fill with watery tears. I felt like a worthless whore. I
knew he wasn't lying to me. He didn't need to. Anton always had the
information on everybody and wielded it around like a magical
hurtful sword.

“That's none of my business. This is a
business call. Let him know I need to talk to him,” I said, faking
it with a voice of composure, masking deep emotional hurt and loss.
She meant something to him and I was clearly in a competition.

After I hung up, it hit me that she was
likely one of many. I was clueless because I'd never considered it
before. I truly thought I was special.

I closed my eyes and tried to refocus.

“
You're a pig. A sick pig.”

Was the text I banged out to him when I
opened my eyes.

I shut the phone off, not wanting to read
any reply.

I knew my only option was to finish what I
started and hoped he'd take care of me at that partner meeting.

*

Candice was my only actual friend from what I
always told myself was my “fun life”.

We had been in the same sorority at FSU.

When I wanted to talk anything but law, as
rare as that was, she was my best and only option.

We were different but she never judged
me.

Where I had convinced myself that those
preppy fraternity boys were beneath me, she met a special one right
away our freshman year. They were together our whole time at
school. While I partied and sampled from many suitors, she stuck
with Jack. When I was running around, having all those hot guys
eating out of my hand, I used to laugh at her. To me, Jack was a
schlump.

She gave up parties and all these other hot
guys.

She was the responsible one and I thought
the party would go on forever.

But work and adult reality had set in.

I had the phone on speaker and I was
attacking the mini vodka and rums. There was so damn Diet Coke in
the fridge so down the hall to a vending machine I went multiple
times. I was wearing a little tank top, boy shorts that hugged my
ass, and some flip flips.

On the second trip I drew the attention of
an older distinguished looking guy heading to his room carrying a
brief case.

I was this close. This close to asking him
in,” I said, taking another gulp of Diet Coke to chase my vodka.
“If he knocked on the door right now, I'd ask him in and jump his
bones.”

“My you are wasted,” Candice said, laughing
like were back at the Delta House having a nail and hair party.

“This is one shit assignment. A fucking
spoiled trust fund dick,” I said changing the subject away from my
obvious drunkenness. “Listen to this report from Anton, the gay
prick: “Excentric. A real ass hole No one likes him. Cold and to
himself.”

“Sounds like he was writing his own
autobiography. Ass hole.”

“Potty mouth,” Candice said laughing again.
“So how is Philadelphia? You run into Rocky?”

“Who?”

“Forget it,” she said, sounding slightly
disgusted. “I forgot. You were out on the party scene all those
times and I was at the house watching movies.”

“Well you look like the smart one now,” I
said. “You have a great guy who loves you and takes care of
you.”

“It's kind of like that but not really
Beth,” she said in her serious tone. Which meant it was time for me
to get off the phone. “We take care of each other. I think you went
wrong with Andrew because you always deep down thought the perfect
man should take care of you. Well let me tell you something: men
can sense that. A real man who really wants to take care of a
woman, feels like a pawn in a chess game when he meets a woman who
thinks that way. They feel disposable. Andrew manipulates that need
inside you. He'll never really choose you.”

I didn't know what to say. That was more
honest and blunt then I'd ever heard Candice. Frankly it pissed me
off. But I fought the truth.

I didn't want to admit I had been wasting my
time and feelings on Andrew. And I had real feelings for him. I
loved the way he felt when he was inside me. I love the power I
felt being with him.

It wasn't just about becoming partner at the
firm.

Philadelphia. Fucking cold and fucking
dirty. I stared out the window and suddenly felt lost.

“When you get back, why don't we all have
dinner. I can invite Jerry,” Candice said. “He thinks you are so
hot Beth.”

Jerry was Jack's brother. Big guy, but not
the greatest looking. Not ugly just not great. But he was like a
construction worker. Barely finished high school from from what I
gathered. I wasn't up for being the most educated person in a
relationship.

My phone alert went off and I checked it. It
snapped me to sudden urgency.

“Holy shit. I gotta go Candice. We'll talk
about Jerry and all that some other time. It's my colleague up
here. I didn't fucking know, but apparently I was supposed to meet
the trust fund prince an hour ago.”

I was in a foreign city and I needed to
track this guy down at some workout place. And I was drunk.

The entire file was at risk. This Tyler West
could have pulled our business at the drop of a hat. I had to go
immediately and just hope he wouldn't be able to tell I was messed
up.

The only thing I could think of us was
kicking ass, making partner, and stealing Andrew back from that
silly little slut Gabrielle.

*

The Broad Street Gym was not the kind of
place I'd expect to ever see a soon to be a billionaire.

I got myself done up ultra fast. I read in
Anton's report that the guy was a closet lady's man. I wore my
tightest above the knee “business” skirt. It was black with a white
blouse. Some pumps gave my ass just the right lift to hopefully
make him forget I was late.

When I talked to David while I rushed out of
the hotel, he told me he didn't want any of us out to his house. So
that was why the meeting at the gym.

All this continued to build the image I had
in my mind of the guy being total wackerdoodle. But that was
pampered rich guys on the whole. They didn't have to follow normal
rules.

The gym was no ordinary workout place like
LA Fitness. First, it was in a rat ass area of town. There was
boarded up everything around there and no working street lights.
The door wasn't in front on the main street but in the back,
through an alley.

I had my attache case with a slimmed down
version of the file. I looked down at it. I reaffirmed that I was
going to guard it with my life as I entered the side alley and
pitch dark blackness.

I had tried to pay the cab driver to stay
but he laughed at me as he drove off

As I stepped into the dark, I imagined large
black men wearing hoodies on either side of me ready to jump me at
any moment. I was a southern white girl and we had a long way to go
in understanding other races.

I reached the door at the end of the alley.
There was a plate on it that said “gym”. It looked like it had been
mounted there in the eighties it was so rusted. I peered back down
the alley and realized I was alone the whole time. Perhaps my eyes
adjusted but the alley seemed brighter and less forbidding.

When I walked in the place, my jaw
dropped.

There were large perfectly fit guys
everywhere sweating and grinding through workouts all centered
around boxing. But it wasn't just boxing. No one was wearing any
protective padded gloves.

The lean, but ripped muscular light brown
haired guy in the center of the ring was Tyler West. I hadn't
bothered to look for a picture or jump online to watch any videos.
I knew. He stood out even as he clearly was trying to blend in.

The visual of him and another guy driving
their fists into each others' faces while shirtless ignited me. I
was so taken the sight, it immediately cured my emerging
hangover.

West glanced my way right before he took a
glancing blow to the chin.

His hair was buzzed but not down to the
bone. It swept back soaked in sweat. He looked like a little boy
who had been out playing in the rain.

But his body. Oh my his body. It was
impossible not to imagine him twisted up with me in every
conceivable passionate love making position. There were muscles
everywhere, but they were ripped tight and devoid of fat. Every
time he connected with his massive opponent, veins popped
everywhere in his shoulders and the inside of his forearms.

I had to find a chair and refocus. I was
afraid I was too wobbly to stand when he looked at me the second
time right after a bell went off.

“Trust fund, pretty boy, playing tough
guy.”

I repeated it under my breath again and
again as I shuffled through papers in a manila file folders I
wasn't actually looking at.

I cross my legs and felt a slight
stickiness. My wanton sex wasn't listening to my weak attempt at
logic. I became immediately concerned I might smell just enough to
overcome the intoxicating raw musk scent of gladiators sharpening
their bodies, dripping with perspiration all around me.