Over a Barrel, page 8
Al was halfway up the never-ending escalators when her phone, already in her hand, vibrated. She glanced at the name on-screen and smiled. Exactly the person she wanted to talk to. She lifted the phone to her ear. “You hanging in there, Red?”
CC heaved a giant sigh. “Barely.” She barely got the word out when Wham!’s “Last Christmas” began blasting in the background. An impossibly heavier sigh echoed over the line. “Party’s still going.”
As if Al couldn’t hear that from the floor above. “Is there someplace quiet you can escape to?” Translation: Tell me exactly where to find you.
“Yeah, the terrace furthest away from the DJ.”
“Which view?” On the cab ride over, Al had distracted herself from the Drakkar Noir–soaked cab driver by looking this place up. On the top floor of a four-story building right on the water, it had amazing views from all angles—the river and bridge, the skyline, the Quarter. It was a perfect spot for MRM’s holiday party.
“Dauphin,” CC said.
“Grab a sweater. It’s finally cold out.” From when Al had entered the government building for the zoning hearing that afternoon to when she had finally escaped an hour ago, the temperature had dropped a good twenty degrees, finally making it feel like winter. Not NYC winter, but still on the colder end of what she’d experienced in New Orleans so far.
“I will take the cold over Whamageddon. Maybe no one else will be out there.” A prospect Al could get behind too. “Give me a minute to run the gauntlet.”
Al went on mute herself, finally reaching the top floor. The double doors in front of her were decorated with garlands and red ribbons, a sign next to them confirming the location of the MRM holiday party. She peeked inside. The period of the night where the lawyers who’d had too much to drink were dancing poorly was firmly in effect. Uninhibited attorneys aside, the setting was elegant from what she could see in the dim lighting. Garland wrapped candles on each white-clothed table; red, green, and gold balloons nestled in the coffered ceiling; a buffet table piled high with desserts in front of the half-moon windows that overlooked the river.
A bar immediately to her left with no line.
She cinched her coat tightly around her, severely undressed as she was among all the sparkly holiday finery, and quickly sneaked inside. She asked the bartender if there was a shortcut to the Dauphin terrace and slipped him a Benjamin for the half-full Sazerac bottle on his backbar. The shortcut put her on the green couch beneath the tinseled NOLA sign just in time to witness CC come through the terrace doors.
And fuck, what a sight she was.
She’d eschewed green and red for black, a figure-hugging, long-sleeved, off-the-shoulders leotard with a sheer black organza skirt that fell from a silk strip of fabric at her waist. A slit in the skirt swished open with each step she took, revealing a teasing glimpse of long legs and the sexiest pair of red snakeskin fuck-me heels Al had ever seen.
“Eyes up here,” CC said, and when Al lifted her gaze, she met CC’s amused grin. If the rocking body hadn’t been torture enough, her smoky eyes and blush lips, her hair was straightened and teased to max volume, were the cappers that pushed Al over the edge. She uncapped the Sazerac and took a healthy swig straight from the bottle. “I thought I said grab a coat.”
“I’m hot.”
“No shit.” She raked her gaze over the entire gorgeous woman again. “I cannot be the only person giving you looks tonight.”
CC continued to glide toward her. “You’re not.”
“You look amazing.”
“I know.” She stopped in front of her, plucked the bottle from her hand, and turned it up, taking an even healthier swig.
“That’s not helping, Red.”
“Neither is you sitting there all casual-like.” She handed back the bottle. “Hiding God only knows what under that trench.”
“A boring-ass suit.”
“You haven’t worn a boring-ass suit since the day you walked into Tchin Tchin.” She stepped closer and reached out a hand, a finger slipping beneath the gold scarf Al had paired with her suit today. “And these ties have been torturing me every day since.” She twirled it around her finger, and if Al hadn’t already been wet between her legs, she was now. “If there weren’t a room full of my work colleagues behind us . . .”
Al hooked her left leg around the back of CC’s right one, low enough hopefully not to be noticed, but tight enough to keep her close. “You’d do what, Red? Tell me.”
“I’d straddle your lap so you could feel how hot I was for you.” The little tug she gave the tie nearly made Al come on the spot.
She tipped the bottle up and took another swig to calm herself. “And if we didn’t have a deal to close first.”
CC’s pout was epic. “You’re mean.” She untangled their feet and sank onto the couch next to Al. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy and turned the fuck on to see you, but what are you doing here? Didn’t you have dinner with the Dotsons after the hearing?”
“They were a no-show.”
CC’s casual demeanor jumped off the building. She sat up straight, whirling in Al’s direction. “They what?”
“I handled it. We got the variance.”
“That’s not an answer.” Her dark brows were pinched, a deep V between them. “I thought it was important to them.” Her voice was as circumspect as her expression. She had every right to be. Al would be too if she were on CC’s side of the deal. But there was a more mundane explanation in this case.
“It is, but Mother Nature doesn’t give a flying fuck about our deal. Snow in DC grounded everything, including Bo’s plane on the runway at Dulles.”
Her features eased a measure. “Will that get here in time to sign Friday?”
“That’s the plan, as far as I know.” Loan docs had dropped today, as had the environmental report, and to spare everyone the headache of signing the week between Christmas and New Year’s, they were signing on Friday, ahead of the holiday week. “But CC, we don’t have to table close this if the weather continues to be a bitch.”
She relaxed back against the sofa. “I know. It’s just safer than shuttling the couple of wet ink docs we need. I had a colleague once whose closing docs were on a carrier plane that ran off the runway.”
“Oof, I’m sorry for them.” Al matched her posture, legs crossed her direction, their elbows brushing against the back of the couch. “And I get that you also want to make this special for Jen and Etienne.”
“E-signatures are so impersonal. Fine for the random office building or data center, but this is their dream they’re selling. They deserve more than a digital confirmation for what they built.”
Al wedged the bottle of rye between her hip and the back of the couch, then reached out a hand to brush back a flyaway strand of red. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
“I do.” She glanced up through her long, burnished lashes. “But the reminders don’t hurt.”
Al twirled the strand around her finger. “I really want to take you to bed tonight.” Not the first time, not by a long shot, but tonight the need was supercharged. Between the stars overhead, the warmth of the whiskey, and CC looking like the tastiest snack she’d ever seen—not to mention CC putting her heart out there like the decent human she was—her mood was like Colby’s doughnuts: sugary, tart, and full of the promise of goodness.
“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea.” CC shifted closer, the slit in her skirt opening, the organza falling behind her knee and giving Al more fantasies than she ever needed of those thighs stretched across her lap.
Fantasies only, for now, but that didn’t mean Al couldn’t share some of those wicked thoughts with CC. “Soon,” she said as she hitched her own crossed knees higher, blocking anyone from seeing her hand breach the space between them and land on CC’s lower thigh. “For now I’m gonna tell you what you’re gonna go home and do tonight.”
CC’s eyes cut to the ballroom doors she’d exited minutes ago.
“You liked it earlier,” Al said. “The thought of straddling my lap with a room full of people watching.” CC opened her mouth to voice the caveat, but Al beat her to it. “If they weren’t your colleagues.”
“But they are, and I can’t . . .”
“I know.”
Al moved to withdraw her hand, but CC clasped her wrist, keeping Al’s palm pressed to her thigh, then inched it higher so Al’s fingertips were brushing just inside the juncture of her thighs, right above her clit. “I can’t go any further than this, not here.”
Al could feel the damp material, could feel the trembles that rippled through CC, shivers that had nothing to do with the cool breeze whipping around them. “Can I continue?” she said, voice lowered, her middle finger drawing the lightest of circles, teasing CC through layers of material. She couldn’t reach her clit in this position, but stroking near it was having the intended effect, judging by the breathiness of CC’s reply.
“Tell me, what am I gonna do when I get home?” CC retrieved the whiskey bottle with her hand not resting on Al’s wrist and tipped it back for a sip, keeping up the ruse of two colleagues sharing a drink.
“You got a dildo?” Al asked.
“I do.”
“A pillow to hold it?”
“I do.”
“I knew you were naughty.” Al grinned as the scene came the rest of the way together in her head, the mental picture causing her own clit to throb. “If we were somewhere I could slide my hand down and palm your cunt, would I find snaps on your leotard?”
She nodded.
“And if I unsnapped the gusset?”
“Nothing.”
Al whistled low and shifted, the pressure between her own legs riding her hard. “Fuck, Red.”
CC’s fingers around her wrist tightened, nails digging near her pulse point. “Tell me how.”
Al reined herself back in and increased the speed and pressure of her strokes. “You’re gonna go home, you’re gonna leave all this on, including those heels, and you’re gonna set the pillow and dildo up on your bed facing the window. Lights off, blinds open.”
CC’s eyes fluttered closed, her chest heaving, the curves of her breasts fighting the neckline of the leotard. “Okay,” she panted. “Now what?”
Al kept going, painting the erotic picture for her. “You’re gonna climb on the bed, unsnap the leotard, then sink down on that dildo.”
CC groaned and parted her legs enough for Al to rub lower, closer to her clit. “Fuck yeah.”
“You’re going to ride it like you’re putting on a show for me. Like it’s me under you, my strap-on you’re grinding down on, my fingers stroking your clit.” She increased the pressure again and, with her other hand dangling from the back of the couch, flirted with the side of CC’s breast. “And I want you to pull these amazing tits out of your bra, over this tempting fucking neckline, and hold them in your hands, squeeze and pinch them until you’re right on the edge.”
Sweat dappled CC’s forehead, her breaths coming fast and short. “And then?”
“And then you’re gonna fall forward and put your hands in the mattress above my head, your tits in my face. And I’m going to suck so hard you scream loud enough for the neighbors to hear when you come.”
Her body stiffened, jerked, and then heat and wetness intensified against Al’s fingertips. “Fuck me.”
“I intend to, Red.” She leaned closer, as if whispering something to anyone watching, and chanced a lick of the sweat that dappled CC’s hairline. CC gave another jerk, and Al grinned. “You’re so responsive, so good for me.”
A devastating whimper.
“We close this deal, and I’m gonna fuck you good, CC. I’ll give you everything you need, just the way you like it.”
CC’s eyes fluttered open, the warm brown molten. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
Chapter Fifteen
CC checked each of the folders in the accordion file sorters on the conference table. Everything was in order. Only two empty slots left.
“I’ve got ’em.” Brynn entered the room, two folders in hand. “Final docs for wet sigs tomorrow.” She dropped them into their slots. “When you said you were going to make me do the wet docs like this, I didn’t actually believe you.”
CC chuckled. “Al and I agreed.” Along with several other less professional agreements CC was hoping to make reality this weekend. Sure, closing technically wasn’t until next week, but once the documents were signed and at the title company, all that was left was for money to flow and documents to record. This torture was almost over, unbelievably ahead of schedule for a change.
“It’s important for Jen and Etienne,” CC explained. “And yes, ninety percent of closings are digital now, but”—she tapped the accordion of documents on the left—“deeds and recordables still require wet ink in most jurisdictions.” Then tapped the accordion on the right. “And Dotson’s lender is insisting on at least one set of wet signed documents too. A pain, yes, but you’ve done great work getting this all set up.”
“There is something cathartic about seeing it ready to go like this.”
“For my first big solo closing, I had two rows of accordions and folders stretched down a table twice this long.”
“See, now, that’s not catharsis, that’s just madness.”
They were both still laughing when Deena leaned her head into the conference room. “I’m sending a call through to you.”
“Who is it?” CC asked.
“Jen. Doesn’t sound good.”
The worry ripples from early in the deal resurfaced, tossing CC’s mostly coffee stomach with them. The same anxiety had briefly reared its head on Tuesday night when Al had told her about the Dotsons being no-shows at the hearing, but there’d been a perfectly good explanation for that. Had there been more to it? Was that why Jen was calling? Or was there a different hiccup? There honestly hadn’t been enough of them yet for this to feel real.
The call rang through to the conference table phone, and Brynn pressed the Speaker button to answer. “Hey Jen, this is Brynn. I’ve got CC with me. We’re just getting ready for tom—”
“There’s a fucking surveyor at Tchin Tchin,” she said, voice practically a growl.
“We already have a survey,” CC said.
“They fucking did it, CC. I knew it. I knew they were going to. Bo had to have known yesterday when I called to confirm dinner tomorrow and he still said we were a go. That fucking liar.”
“Jen, calm down a second and keep your voice down.” She didn’t know how close said surveyor was, but CC guessed close from the whispered volume of Jen’s voice initially. “Tell me what’s going on.”
She took a deep breath, and started over, volume lowered again. “There’s a surveyor here who was hired by the Mosley Group.”
“The same Mosleys that own the office building across the street?”
“The very same,” Jen said. “According to the surveyor, he just needs to mark the corners of the lot since the structure will be torn down for a parking deck.”
CC’s stomach hit the floor, a tidal wave threatening to take her knees out next. She leaned a hip against the table. “They can’t. It’s historical.”
“It’s not technically on the register,” Brynn said. Something they’d been grateful for—less paperwork and approvals—up until this point.
“Call,” she told Brynn. “Find out if we can make it happen.”
“It’s the Thursday before a holiday weekend,” Jen said.
“We have to try.”
Brynn scurried out the door while CC leaned over the phone, both hands on the table. “Sit tight, Jen, and let’s see what we can find out.”
“I’m not selling only for this place to be bulldozed.”
“I wouldn’t let you.” Technically, she couldn’t stop them, but she could strongly advise against it. She knew Jen and Etienne well enough to know they would regret selling out to see their dream handled so carelessly.
Including by Al.
Disappointment settled heavy in CC’s gut, taking up residency with the swirling coffee. She was disappointed for Jen and Etienne and for herself. But she couldn’t let the latter show; her client had to be her top priority right now. “You haven’t signed anything yet, no funds are in motion, there’s no deal.”
“I thought you said we could trust them.”
“I thought we could too.”
Chapter Sixteen
One look at CC barreling through Dram’s door, and Al figured the Vieux Carré she’d ordered as a peace offering was more likely to end up in her face. She drew the drink closer instead and took a fortifying gulp. At least it was still midafternoon, before Dram opened to customers. Only the staff would bear witness to their argument; without other patrons crowding the space, CC reached her side in mere seconds.
Eyes hard and color high on her cheeks, she shoved the barstool beside Al out of the way and crowded close. “Did you know?” she demanded, the normal huskiness of her voice morphing into a rumbling anger.
“CC—”
“You know that property means something to Jen and Etienne—and to me—and you’re just going to let Dotson sell it off for a parking garage?”
“You know as well as I do that I don’t let my clients do anything. They let me work for them.”
CC slammed her palm on the bar. “That’s bullshit! You’re practically in-house counsel.”
“But I’m not.”
A third voice entered the fray. “Whoa,” Colby said, sliding in next to her sister. “What’s going on here?”
“Professional disagreement,” Al replied quickly. She was sure CC could give a more colorful explanation that would forever damn her in Colby’s eyes, and Colby’s opinion mattered. If Al ever wanted a shot with CC, she’d need Colby’s approval.
“Well, Amos is in the kitchen with Greg and Tony”—Colby lowered her voice—“and now he wants to know what bullshit means.”
“Fuck,” CC muttered as she dragged a hand down her weary face.
