Hooked: Club Decadence Book 7, page 2
“An engagement,” he repeated as his brows drew together, forming three small vertical lines between them.
“Yes, sir. I took an abbreviated lunch so I could leave early today.”
Despite her lustful thoughts about the man standing tall and delicious not three feet away, her tone remained even, which was the hallmark of her imperturbable professionalism, her patience being legendary among the legal secretaries in the six-partner group.
After ten years with the firm, the last three working for their top criminal defense attorney, who was reputed to be the most demanding taskmaster of the bunch, she was used to his penchant for timeliness.
“I mentioned this to you on Monday, remember?”
After another brief pause, where he considered her closely, he nodded. “It slipped my mind, but I recall now. Are you traveling?” He glanced at the window. “The forecast is for severe storms and heavy rain this evening.”
Turning, she followed his gaze to her window, seeing nothing but sunshine beaming in. “I have about an hour’s drive.”
“Unless it is urgent, the weather service advises everyone to stay close to home tonight. Besides, I worry about you in that car—”
“I just had it in the shop for a tune-up, sir. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
The frown lines deepened then his lips parted on an indrawn breath, making Livia believe he would object further. Instead, he suddenly let it go, whatever it was.
“Run along, then, Olivia, but use extreme caution on the roads tonight. I’d like to have you here in one piece tomorrow.”
“I’ll be cautious, sir. Thank you.”
Thinking she’d been dismissed, she moved to the credenza against the far wall and bent to retrieve her purse from the bottom drawer. When she stood and turned, he had moved a few steps farther into her office. He stood closer now, his pensive gaze aimed downward. If she didn’t know better, she would have said he was checking out her upturned bottom. She laughed in her head, scolding herself for hopelessly pining for something that would never come true.
He said nothing further, though he didn’t leave. Livia inhaled, about to ask if something was wrong, but she caught a hint of his cologne, Ralph Lauren’s Red Polo. She’d recognize it anywhere. Her favorite male scent—probably because Joseph wore it. At the mall, she often went by the men’s counter at Dillard’s for a sample card, even if it was out of the way. Then, like a lovesick fool, she’d wander through the stores, sniffing it and thinking of him.
Her phone alarm went off, a welcome diversion from her very distracting boss. “I should go, or I’ll be late. Was there anything else?”
Wordlessly, he scanned her face. Livia returned his scrutiny, noting that in the afternoon sun filtering in through her window, they appeared nearly blue, which was a change from their usual brilliant green. Over the years, she noticed they changed subtly with the color of his shirt or tie but more so with extreme emotions, which he rarely revealed. She’d seen them a greenish-brown when he focused on a tough defense, and once, when angry, they’d turned a deep forest green. Like the man himself, his eyes were enigmatic.
She always wondered how they would appear at the height of passion.
Realizing she was staring, she averted her gaze and tried to collect herself. But he suddenly cleared his throat, shifting as though uncomfortable, which was unlike the confident man she knew then strode back inside his office.
She heard him say, “Have a pleasant night, Olivia,” before the latch on the door clicked softly behind him.
With him out of sight, she didn’t have to quell the tremor of excitement that ran through her. He’d shown concern for her safety, but that wasn’t unusual. He’d always been considerate, holding the door for her or helping her with her coat. If they went out to meet with clients or for depositions, he walked beside her with a guiding hand on the small of her back or beneath her elbow.
That was as far as it went, much to her regret.
He was a gentleman and a throwback to a courtlier time. His mannerly ways were part of his appeal. So rarely did men hold a chair or open a car door for their dates anymore. Women’s strides for independence had backfired on the social niceties they once enjoyed, which Livia, who was rather old-fashioned, sorely missed.
He also had an air of authority, which in other men she found off-putting, but from Joseph, it was different, more of an innate sense of confidence. He ruled his domain with a quiet authority rather than an iron fist, which she also found very attractive.
Before her, rumor had it he’d gone through secretaries like water through a sieve. Some girls still with the firm accused him of having a stick up his ass, although not to his face. Livia realized how his demand for order and exactness might be viewed as perfectionism and, as a boss, make him hard to get along with, if not impossible, to please. She was okay with it, though, preferring knowing what to expect rather than the other partners’ chaos and unpredictability.
Having survived three years in his employ, she was the longest in the position in his twelve-year tenure with the firm. Sadly, in all that time, he’d never shown the slightest interest in her other than as a valued employee. Self-consciously smoothing down her skirt, she asked herself, for the millionth time, why.
Was she too tall, too short, too soft and curvy? Was it her perfume or that he didn’t like blondes? She’d often wondered if it was her clothing. She went with a conservative style at the office but not dowdy. It was Ann Taylor after all. Consignment shop Ann Taylor because of her meager budget, meaning it was a few years behind current fashion, but it was her usual pencil skirt and blouse. Did those ever go out of style?
It was also snug enough on her five-foot-seven, one hundred fifty-pound frame to show off her curves, which she had plenty of, but not be tastelessly tight. Today, she’d topped the winter-white skirt with a floral shell in blues and corals, a coral jacket, and matching heels—double strap, four-inch heels—which were playful but not over the top for work.
She’d been in and out of his office a dozen times today, but he never seemed to notice, unlike the other partners who she often caught staring at her legs or her ass, and most especially her D-cup breasts. She often rationalized that he might prefer men, but that was sour grapes on her part because he never lacked female company.
As the saying went, he just wasn’t into her. Still, what had his odd look just now been about?
She pushed away the silly notion, admonishing herself silently for seeing something that wasn’t there. For years she’d subtly flirted, hinting and hoping, but walked away disappointed time and again. She’d finally given up, conceding it was unlikely he’d ever return her feelings, that her love was unrequited and further efforts were futile. At least that’s what her rational mind said, but she had no control over her irrational heart and ungovernable libido.
With a deep, disappointed sigh, she switched off her desk lamp. He clearly didn’t see her as more than a loyal employee. She smiled to herself. If he saw her in the outfit she planned to wear at the club tonight, maybe she’d earn a second glance.
As she walked to the door, the painting on the wall across from her desk caught her eye. It was a reproduction of Bierstadt’s Emerald Sea. In it, the blues and greens of a turbulent sea contrasted with the blues and grays of a stormy sky. As she stared at the choppy white caps, she realized they weren’t so much emerald as aquamarine, the same color as Joseph’s eyes, before he abruptly vanished inside his office. Although she’d looked at the print every day, five days a week, fifty-two weeks a year, and noted the beautiful blue-green hue, she’d never seen it on him and had to wonder what crossed his mind that caused the sudden change.
Chapter 2
OLIVIA DIDN’T MAKE it out the door, stopped again by a familiar voice. “Hey, girl! Tonight’s the big night. You ready to get your spank on?”
Horrified, she glanced at the office door. Seeing it still closed—thank goodness—she rushed out to meet her friend Emma before she said something else outrageous.
Livia motioned for her to be quiet. “Shh. Keep your voice down. Someone will hear you.”
“Someone like your bow-tie-wearing, tall drink of water, you mean?” she asked with a grin.
“He isn’t mine, but yes, he might, and anyone else who’s around. I’d rather not have my social calendar become fodder for the firm’s gossip mill, if you don’t mind.”
“What social calendar? The last time you went out, other than with David and me, was six months ago.”
“That’s no one’s business, either,” she hissed, speaking low and hoping her friend would follow suit.
“Chill, hon. No one’s going to hear. It’s ten after five. Anyone still around at closing time hauled ass out of here nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds ago.”
“Oh no. Is it that late?” Livia pulled out her phone to check. Sure enough. 5:11. The batteries in the wall clock must need changing. Either that or her daydreams about Joseph had sucked up more time than she thought. “I have to get a move on, or the club will be closed by the time I make it to San Antonio.”
“Decadence is a sex club, babe. I’m pretty sure they stay open past nine.”
She frantically surveyed the area for who may have heard before giving her best friend an irritated glance. “Will you please stop!”
“Sorry,” she replied, her grin saying she wasn’t sorry in the least. Emma looped her arm through hers. “Come on. I’ll walk out with you.”
Emma was her best friend since high school. Now a paralegal at the firm, she’d told her about the opening and put in a good word for her with the hiring manager in HR. She had three interviews, the final one with Joseph, who had the final say, of course.
Needing to tell someone she was in lust with her boss, Emma was the only one she could trust. They were close, like sisters, and like an older sister, she didn’t let an opportunity to tease her about it pass by.
“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt for Joe to know you’re in the market for a dom. It might open his eyes to the smoking-hot submissive parked outside his door who has been going unnoticed, un-spanked, and un-fucked for too damn long. Then, if he still doesn’t get his head out of his ass and stake his claim, you can finally move on.”
“Emma Jean Briscoe, if you dare utter a single word to him, you’ll have to find a new best friend because I will be on my way to Vancouver, having packed my belongings and skulked out of town in the wee hours, never to be seen at this firm again. Is that what you want?”
“You don’t mean that. And may I point out, you’re making more noise than I did.”
“I’m dead serious. Besides, you said the S-word. That tends to get folk’s attention pretty darn quick.”
“Submissive?”
“Shh!” Grabbing her arm, she pulled her down the hall, through the lobby, past the empty reception desk, and out the front door. On the sidewalk out front, with the traffic noise giving the relative privacy, Livia set her straight. “Not S as in sub. S as in spanked.”
“Ah.” Emma’s pretty blue eyes sparkled with humor. “You’ve got a point there. A good old-fashioned hiding, especially in Texas, makes people stand up and take notice. Or should I say bend over?”
“I don’t have time for your nonsense today,” she muttered as she took off down the sidewalk to the employee parking lot.
Still laughing at her own joke, Emma hurried after her. When her much shorter legs caught up, she was out of breath. “Why not let David and me take you to the Pit tomorrow night? We can be your wingmen and help you scope out a nice local dom.”
She shot a frowning glance at her friend. “Sorry, but a club called the Pleasure Pit doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. Besides, you said that place was a meat market full of posers and wannabes.”
She blinked as if she didn’t recall. “I did?”
“Yes, you called it that several times, as a matter of fact.”
“Mm,” Em grunted. “I guess I did. We haven’t been in a while.”
Tilting her head, Livia’s brows arched as she challenged, “And why is that?”
A blush crept into her friend’s cheeks as she sheepishly admitted, “Because it’s a meat market full of posers and wannabes.”
“I rest my case.” Having arrived at her car, she plunked her purse down on the hood and went fishing for her car keys.
“It might be different now,” Emma said then went on, her voice filled with concern, “I worry about you going to a club you’ve never been to before, by yourself, two hours from home.”
Livia stopped digging and glanced her way. “I know you have reservations, but I’m a big girl. I promise if don’t feel comfortable, I’ll leave.” She reached for Em’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “You both said this is the best club in the Southwest and I don’t think David would have gone to the trouble of getting me this invitation if he didn’t think I’d be safe.”
“He arranged for an escort,” she reminded her.
“Even better. I’ll have a friend of a friend looking out for me.”
“I’m afraid it might be more than you can handle. From what I hear, this club is the real deal. The owners are ex-Special Forces—Green Berets—who don’t take shit from anyone, especially their subs.”
“And your point is?”
“Liv...”
“I’m not stupid, Em. Nor am I inexperienced, just a tad rusty.”
“That’s what I’m saying. You haven’t had a dom since Vaughn. How long has that been? Three years?”
“So?”
She didn’t want to think about Vaughn, not tonight or ever.
After two years with the rat bastard, out of the blue, he ended it. She’d been crushed, especially when she saw him less than a month later with her replacement on his arm. A petite blonde with blatantly obvious fake boobs, an extremely short skirt, and younger than her by a decade, at least. What stung worse than being replaced by a twenty-something was the collar around her neck, something Vaughn hadn’t given her until she “proved herself” six months in.
“Since you’re out of practice, maybe you should ease back into the game. Let me fix you up with Evan, David’s friend.”
“He’s a kid.”
“He’s thirty.”
“Compared to me, that’s a kid. He’s also inexperienced. You said David only started mentoring him last month. No thanks.”
“He’s a good-natured, sweet guy.”
“That’s just it. I don’t want good-natured and sweet. I want a badass Green Beret who oozes masculinity and dominance from his pores.”
“Don’t we all,” Emma muttered. “I think you’ve been reading too many BDSM romances because that’s not realistic. Especially if you expect to scoop up an owner. I heard the last one just recently went off the market.”
“You hear a lot about a club that’s supposedly ultra-exclusive where you’re not a member.”
“We’re not members because the annual fees are astronomical,” she admitted. “Please, reconsider Evan. David said he’s taking to it like a fish to water.”
Livia frowned at her well-meaning but persistent friend. “Is David good-natured and sweet?”
After a moment’s consideration, she replied with a hesitant, “Well...yeah... He’s sweet in his own good-natured kind of way.”
“You are so full of it. Or was it a different Emma who called me last weekend to cancel our shopping trip because you were having trouble walking?”
“A man can be well-endowed, high-octane between the sheets, and still be sweet.”
“True, but that wasn’t the problem, as I recall. He was trying to work, but you wouldn’t stop pestering him. According to your detailed play-by-play”—here she stopped and glanced around to make sure no one would hear—“he gagged you, tied you to the bed, plugged your ass, and attached or inserted battery-powered vibrating devices to your other parts while he finished his work in peace.”
“See what I mean,” she said with a sigh. “That was sweet.”
Livia rolled her eyes and then drove her point home. “Does he get your heart pumping with only a look? Does the tone of his voice when he goes alpha on your naughty ass make you tremble with excitement? When he tells you in no uncertain terms what to do in the bedroom, does he make your panties wet? If he lets you wear any, that is.”
“Liv!” Emma gasped, her face flaming scarlet.
“See? You have that. Why can’t I?” By verbalizing her own fantasies, she’d made herself even more determined to go. She resumed digging for her keys.
“You’ll find him, hon.”
She didn’t glance up, still searching. “I’m really starting to doubt that, and my clock is ticking.”
“Wait!”
Emma grabbed her arm just as she snagged her keys. When she jerked, spinning her a quarter turn to face her, they slipped from her grasp. Livia silently groaned, knowing they’d sink into the abyss of her purse where she couldn’t find them again. At this rate, she’d be in San Antonio by midnight if she was lucky.
“Did you just say you wanted a baby? Since when? Is that what this is about?”
Livia rolled her eyes. “Not that clock. My countdown to forty.” While she explained, she laid her wallet and all the other stuff from her purse on the hood of her car to make her search easier. “Once I hit the big 4-0, my odds of finding a husband and getting that white picket fence are a pathetic 2.6 percent. My pool of candidates is dwindling as we speak.”
She didn’t want a baby. She wanted two, a boy and a girl, a husband, the house in suburbia, a dog, and yes, the proverbial white picket fence. And when she married, she also wanted her husband to be her dom. Was that too much to ask?
At your age, probably.
The unfortunate truth rattled around in her brain, as it always did when she went down this path. She’d done the research and the math on this extensively. Statistically speaking, if she reached forty without finding her man, her chances were a dismal slim to none.
“Only 2.6 percent, Em,” she repeated in a whisper. “Can you believe that?”
Her friend wrapped her arm around her waist in a side hug and squeezed her tight. “Don’t give up hope, honey. You’re a yummy snack and a half. Besides, what do statisticians know about love and romance?”
