"Did you two have a secret love affair?" she asks.
"No, nothing like that. It was a once only thing," I tell her.
I expect her to ask me more, and I'm slightly disappointed when she doesn't. That might mean she doesn't really have any interest in me other than a nice fuck, but that's one of the things that intrigues me about Macy--you just don't know what's going on inside that beautiful head of hers.
"Well, you'll always be a saint to me," she says in a voice that sounds an awful lot like deep appreciation, then she clears her throat and sounds embarrassed when she says, "you know... for helping me with this case."
"I'm glad to help," I tell her truthfully because even though when Mac approached me about this case a week ago and I didn't want a damn thing to do with it... I'm finding that I very much want to help Macy now.
Want to help her, get to know her, fuck her.
I want it all now that I've gotten a little taste.
A little preview.
With another short cough, Macy puts on her professional voice and says, "I actually called because I have some information about the case."
I'm silent, because she's switched tracks on me, and my brain is still slightly stuck on the purple dildo.
"Is it okay that I called you on your cell?" she asks quickly.
"What?" I ask dumbly, and then my mind processes... catches up. Gets back into the game. "Yeah... yeah, it's totally fine. So what information do you have?"
I hear her let out a sigh. Is that relief? "Well, I called One Night Only today--"
And my guts immediately cramp thinking of Macy making a date.
"--to cancel my membership--"
And my guts immediately relax, and my chest swells a tiny bit. She's fucking doing it. She's actually going to go celibate for me. For a guy that refuses to have sex with her until after her case is concluded. I'm frankly... amazed.
"--and the owner of One Night Only had some interesting information for me. I told him about the lawsuit and reminded him it was the same guy that had taken the photos of me. He told me that another woman had complaints about a man taking photos of her too."
"Was it Brian Merrill?" I ask, suddenly getting excited about the prospect of incriminating evidence.
"No, his name was Samuel Crane," she says, which is completely disappointing. But the tone of Macy's voice sounds almost... triumphant.
"I don't get it," I tell her flatly.
"He pulled up Samuel Crane's membership, and guess what...? It's the same guy. Brian Merrill. Same exact photo. Except this guy has his home address listed in Miami."
"What the fuck?" I say in astonishment. "Brian Merrill's an alias?"
"Or Samuel Crane is," she supplies.
I snort. "I'm betting neither one of those are his real name."
"He's a scammer," Macy says confidently.
"A grifter," I mutter. "That's the only thing that makes sense."
"So, Mr. Carson," she murmurs in a low, husky voice. "What are you going to do with this information? Because if you can hurry up and make this case go away, I can put Saint Cal back under the bathroom sink and amuse myself with the real thing."
I give a slight chuckle, but my brain is already in overdrive on how to best use this information. But I need more details first. I need to get this investigator to turn up every bit of information on this guy that he can, and then I need to figure out the best way to not only make this case go away, but how to slap him silly with it.
"I'll talk to you later, Macy," I say, and then I hang up on her. This is for the best, because I know if we continue to talk, we'll eventually get back around to sexual innuendo, and that will just drive me nuts. I'm far better served right now with getting online and doing some legal research on how to use this information against this douchebag who thinks he can get one over on my girl.
And... did I really just call her my girl?
Fuck.
Chapter 6
Janis buzzes my intercom to tell me that Mr. Russell Stokes, Esquire from Ogden, Utah is on the line. I'm expecting his call, especially after the message I left for him this morning. I timed the call so that his offices wouldn't be open, Utah being two hours behind us here in New York. I wanted to leave a very craftily constructed message for him that would practically have him begging to jump on my hook.
I simply said, "This is Cal Carson and I represent Macy Carrington in the lawsuit your client, Belinda Merrill, filed against her. Listen... my client really doesn't need this case hanging over her head, and she's authorized me to put some substantial money on the table right now if we can just make this go away. Give me a call back so we can discuss it."
I knew he'd call me back as soon as he got the message.
"Put the call through, Janis," I tell her, and then take a quick sip of my coffee.
The line rings and I answer it on the third tone, acting as if I don't know who's on the other end. "Cal Carson."
"Yes, Mr. Carson... this is Russell Stokes. I got your message about the Merrill v. Carrington case."
He sounds pompous and aloof, but he can't hide the underlying tinge of excitement I hear in his voice.
"Right," I say in an exuberant voice, and then I go an octave lower as if I'm letting him in on a big secret. "We need to put this case to rest. Miss Carrington is ready to deal if you're interested in some early money talks before we go any further."
And of course... he puts on a good bluster. "Well, I'm not sure my client would be interested. I mean... she's really hurt and devastated by your client's callous actions. She lost the love of her life over this nefarious affair. I think she might want to take this one all the way, and I know the press would have a field day with this."
I try to stifle my yawn because this clod is starting to bore me. But still, I play along. "We are well aware of the implications if this were to be drawn out in the court of public opinion. I think your client will be satisfied with the amount of zeroes that will be tacked on to the end of the offer."
Through the phone line, I swear I almost hear the sound of a cash register going ca-ching in his head. "Well, I'd be happy to entertain an offer of course. What would your client be willing to pay?"
"Sorry," I say bluntly. "But Miss Carrington wants to do this face to face. She doesn't want to have this drawn out. We're willing to fly to Utah to meet with you and your client. Just tell us when to be there."
He starts fumbling, and I can hear him rustling papers, then he screams at someone, "Jenny... get my damn calendar in here so I can set up an appointment."
I wait... he covers the mouthpiece on the phone and yells some more at his secretary, then he's back and says, "I'm free tomorrow. Will that work?"
Stifling my laugh, because come on... don't sound so desperate, I put him off just a bit. Just to make him sweat and hunger. "I'm slammed the rest of the week, but I can be there next Monday. Will that work?"
"Sure," he says hastily. "Nine AM?"
"Perfect," I tell him. "Please make sure Mrs. Merrill will be there, and of course, Miss Carrington will be there as well. I want to get full releases signed once we get this settled. I want everything handled before we leave."
And again... I almost hear him adding up the money in his head.
He's going to be in for a sad surprise when I get there though.
We iron out a few more details for the meeting before I hang up with him. I send a quick text to Macy. Can you meet me for dinner? News on case.
Yes, I know it's stupid to arrange a dinner meeting to bring her up to date on the case. I could easily just call her up right now and tell her everything the investigator has found so far, and that we are definitely going to put this case away once and for all next week, but I can't help myself.
I want to see her.
Even if I can't fuck her, I still want to see her.
See if she still has the same interest in me.
See if her celibacy is hurting.
See if I can poke further under her
shroud of secrets.
Her response is quick. Your place? 7PM?
Mine is quicker. More definitive. I don't trust us to be alone. Let's meet at Onion Pie instead.
She sends me a sad face emoticon but confirms the time and place.
With that taken care of, I shoot off a quick email to Keith Marlow, the investigator who was able to find a shit-pot full of stuff on the Merrills in just a mere forty-eight hours. I want him to go to Utah with us because I have something very particular I need him to do.
I arrived at the restaurant early because I wanted to have a drink first to help me relax. I can't believe just the prospect of sitting at the same table with Macy has me wired and twitchy. I'm only half way through my rye Manhattan when I see her following the maitre'd toward our table. She reeks of cool sophistication in a silk, long-sleeve dress in bold, geometric patterns of kelly-green, white, and black. It's sexy because it hangs off one shoulder but demure that it comes below her knee, with a chunky, gold belt made of interlocking loops hanging low on her waist. Strappy, black high-heeled sandals that she totally rocks as if she were on the catwalk, and almost every man in the restaurant has his eyes on her as she saunters toward me.
I stand from the table and pull the chair next to me out for her sit. Her hair is done in a loose, wavy braid that hangs over her shoulder, and I get an amazing whiff of her shampoo as she steps in front of the chair and lowers herself while I slide it inward.
She takes the menu from the maitre'd with a soft smile of acceptance.
After I take my seat, I tell her, "You look beautiful tonight."
Her eyes twinkle with surprise over my compliment, and she leans toward me conspiratorially "And I even put on a pair of panties under this dress."
I don't even bother to try to stifle the low groan that bubbles in my chest. "Why must you torture me so?"
The laugh she gives me is tinkling, her face loose and relaxed. It's a fantastic look on her, and it makes me smile.
"Do you find it odd we didn't start this conversation by hurling insults at each other?" she asks me with an impish grin before opening her menu to glance at it.
"I'm thinking Matt had it right," I say thoughtfully before taking a sip of my Manhattan.
Macy glances up at me from the menu and tilts her head, eyes quizzically probing.
"He said we should just fuck each other at Aaron's party," I remind her.
She nods in understanding, her lips curved up as her eyes slide back to her menu. "He had it right."
We lapse into silence while she studies the choices. The waiter comes up and takes her drink order, a pinot grigio, and after he's gone, she turns to me. "So what did you want to meet about?"
I can't help grinning at her. "I've got some really great news about your case."
Her eyes light up, and she puts an elbow on the edge of the table to lean closer to me. "Oh, happy days. Tell me."
"You and I are flying to Utah on Sunday. We have a settlement meeting with her attorney on Monday, and we're going to make this case go away."
Macy jaw drops in astonishment. "You want me to offer money?"
"We're not offering those fuck-wads a dime," I say with a jovial grin. "But the case will be disposed of before we fly back out on Tuesday."
I'm rewarded with a blinding grin and eyes filled with gratitude, and Christ... I find I like it very much to have Macy indebted to me for some reason.
"You found some dirt, didn't you?" she asks excitedly.
I nod. "The investigator I hired found some filthy dirt. Belinda and Brian Merrill are really Pam Styles and Jason Penner. They're not married but have apparently been together a long time, running various grifts and scams. They have several aliases, and this isn't the first time they've tried an alienation-of-affection scam."
Macy is actually stunned. "You're kidding. I mean... I thought that was what was going on, but really? They do this professionally?"
I nod and then drain my glass, signaling to the waiter that I'd like another. It's a celebration after all. "I can't wait to see the attorney's face when I spring this on him."
"Why not just tell him on the phone?" she asks.
"Now where's the fun in that?" I ask with censure. "Besides, I've booked a great hotel and as soon as we get this shit settled, I'm taking you there and not letting you out of bed until our flight leaves the next day."
Macy visibly shudders, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When she opens them up, they are pinned to me hot and heavy. "Why do we have to wait if this is such a slam dunk?"
She's right, of course. This case is resolved but for the ink on the dismissal paperwork I'm going to get from them. But I decided to draw this out because I like the anticipation of it. More than that... I want Macy to anticipate it. I want her ready to explode the minute I touch her.
But all I tell her is, "Have patience. It will be worth it."
Another slight shudder, and then we're interrupted by the waiter, who takes our food orders. We chitchat some more about the details the investigator had managed to dig up, as well as my plan to get the photos that were taken of her by Brian Merrill aka Jason Penner. I get rewarded with another smile of gratitude, and a sizzle of lust slams through me when she whispers, "I can't wait to give you another blow job just to thank you for that."
By the time our meals arrive, both of us have had a few drinks, and it doesn't even seem odd anymore for me to be sitting at this table, having mature and intelligent conversation with a woman who has been a thorn in my side the last two years. It's amazing how relaxed you can become with a woman once you've pounded your cock inside of her.
I decide to throw caution to the wind and see how far she'll let me delve. "Can I ask you a serious question?"
"Sure," she responds with a smile as she delicately cuts a small piece of scallop.
"What's the deal with you? How come you used One Night Only and why did you never do repeats?"
Macy pauses and stares at her plate a moment. She visibly swallows hard and I think she might ignore me, but instead, she puts her utensils down and turns to face me. With utter candor, she says, "I like sex. It feels good."
I think that's a truth coming from her, but I think it's not the real answer to my question. "So, it's a physical thing with you. You're only in it for the physical pleasure?"
"Is that wrong?" she counters with an arched eyebrow.
"No, not at all," I reassure her hastily. "It's just... that's not how most women operate."
"I understand that," she agrees, and then picks her utensils back up. While she slices into the buttery scallop, she divulges another piece of the puzzle to me. "Many women engage in intimacy because they're seeking a deeper connection on an emotional level. Sex for me isn't like that. I'm seeking something, but it's not a connection. It's more of a release."
"That's cryptic," I tell her honestly. "Going to enlighten me more?"
"No, I'm not," she says, not in a harsh way, but in a way that lets me know the subject is closed for now. I'll come back to it again though.
"Tell me about The Faith Mission." I completely change subjects, and I'm enchanted by the fondness in her gaze.
"It's a great organization," she practically gushes. "It does a lot of really important work in helping people get back on their feet."
"Mac told me a little about it, and I reviewed your trust assignment to make the recurring donation for her. Your work there is very admirable."
Macy's cheeks immediately blush a deep red. She averts her eyes and waves a dismissive hand at me.
I'm stunned. "Does that embarrass you?"
Her cheeks turn redder as she scoops up a forkful of spinach and mushroom risotto, and she refuses to answer me.
"Macy," I say to get her attention as I reach out and touch her forearm. "Why does that embarrass you?"
She goes very still for a moment, and then raises her eyes to mine. The cool blue of her irises are tinged with an uneasiness that causes my heart muscle to squeeze.
>
"I'm just not use to compliments like that and yes, it does embarrass me. I don't do work for The Faith Mission or donate to them for the acknowledgment. I'd rather people didn't know what I do there."
"You're not used to praise, are you?" I take a guess, which is a good one. From what little bit I gleaned about her emotionally absent parents, I'm guessing Macy's self-esteem was never massaged in a healthy way by them.
I actually see pain in her eyes. More than just a subtle flicker that I've seen in the past, but it's there. I see it clearly. And without even trying to hide it from me, she continues to stare at me. Then I'm amazed as I see that pain morph, then melt, and then turn into heated challenge. "I get plenty of praise in the bedroom," she says bluntly. "You're not the first guy I've almost brought to his knees by a blow job."
Her words thud off me harmlessly. She aimed a direct strike, but I can easily see what she's trying to do. Macy wants to deflect the attention away from her own weaknesses, and she's trying to gain the upper hand in the only way she knows how to.
As an unparalleled sexual dynamo.
It's not worth it for me to argue with her. I don't want to push her away or back her into a corner where she'll feel the need to strike out. I don't want to weaken what little bit of mutual trust we've worked up so far.
So I go with the safest bet, and turn the conversation back to the lawsuit, and what exactly will happen next Monday when we meet with the plaintiff and her attorney in Utah.
Chapter 7
From the Diary of Macy Carrington: Dear Diary, I find it weird of me to admit that celibacy doesn't suck the way I thought it would. I don't miss in the slightest my illicit meetings with nameless, anonymous men. I don't miss sex that is mediocre at best, provides me only a temporary balm, and doesn't give me the big bang I deserve.
The reason I don't miss it is because I know there's something better on the horizon.
I'm flying to Utah with Cal tomorrow, and then he'll be free of his obligation to represent me in this case.
That means there are no ethical barriers between us.
That means I get to feel again.
Love,
Macy
PS... Mac cornered me at my apartment yesterday and thinks I'm hiding something from her. Damn, I hated lying to my girl, and once I get a handle on what this thing is between Cal and me, I'm going to let her in on this secret. I just... I just need to make sure that he's cool with a casual relationship, because he's the type of guy that could get hurt and Mac would kick my ass if I ever did that. I'm treading carefully.