Table of Contents
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Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
OTHER CONTEMPORARY NOVELS BY SAMANTHA TOWLE
Wardrobe Malfunction
Unsuitable
Sacking the Quarterback (BookShots Flames/James Patterson)
The Ending I Want
When I Was Yours
Trouble
REVVED SERIES
Revved
Revived
THE STORM SERIES
The Mighty Storm
Wethering the Storm
Taming the Storm
The Storm
PARANORMAL ROMANCES
BY SAMANTHA TOWLE
The Bringer
THE ALEXANDRA JONES SERIES
First Bitten
Original Sin
Copyright © 2017 by Samantha Towle
All rights reserved.
Visit my website at http://samanthatowle.co.uk
Cover Designer: Najla Qamber Designs
Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN-13: 987-1974499052
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Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
“Good morning, Mr. Cross.”
Leah, our new receptionist’s, singsong voice dances across the lobby from her spot at the sleek reception desk. I can see her legs under the desk. Her skirt has run up her thighs, and she’s wearing stockings.
I know this little show is for my benefit. Like it has been every day since she started. A different seduction technique, but it’s not escaped my radar that Leah wants to fuck me.
Of course she does. I’m hot and rich as fuck. And I’m also the boss. And the soon-to-be CEO of my family’s company, Under Her Lingerie, when my parents retire and hand the reins over to me.
That’s right. I sell underwear. Sexy-as-fuck underwear. The very thing that I love to peel off a woman’s body right before I screw her senseless.
I have the best job in the world.
“Good morning, Leah.” I give her a brief, pleasant smile. Not the smile I know can get women into bed or on their knees for me in minutes.
No flirting back with Leah because she works for me.
Rule number one: Never fuck the staff.
I don’t want or need the complications that sleeping with an employee would bring.
Aside from leaving myself wide open for a lawsuit and that my mother would kill me for dipping my pen in the company ink, I can’t deal with the drama and tears when she clues in to the fact that all I wanted from her was sex.
Even though I would have repeatedly told her that it was a one-time thing.
That’s rule number two: Always make it clear that hook-ups are just that.
Rule number three: Never let them know where you live, work, or what your phone number is just in case rule number two doesn’t stick.
I press the call button for the elevator, and the door opens immediately. I get on and hit the button for the fourteenth floor where my office is.
I fucking love this building. It’s home to me. Everyone here is like family. My parents like to run a happy ship, and they treat their employees very well. My folks are well loved. They are the best. I know everyone here is sad to see them retire. There were a lot of tears the day it was announced.
Honestly, it will be weird for me, being here and running this place without them.
But I’m excited, too. This is what I’ve been working toward my whole life.
The elevator arrives on my floor, and I step out when the door opens. I walk through the lobby and toward the executive offices, and then I push open the door to my office area.
My PA, Chrissy, is already at her desk.
She lifts her head from her screen. “Morning, Wilder.” She picks up my takeout coffee from her desk, which she brings in for me every day, and holds it out.
She’s the best PA ever. I’m lucky to have her.
“Thanks.” I take the coffee and have a sip. I love my coffee hot, to the point of almost burning. How the hell people can drink lukewarm coffee is beyond me. The hotter, the better. Just how I like my women.
“Good weekend?” she asks me.
“Of course.” I grin.
Don’t get me wrong. I fucking love my job, but weekends are reserved solely for playtime, and I love playing.
Friday night was spent between the legs of Ida, a Swedish supermodel I’d met at a show a few weeks ago. Saturday night was boys’ night out with my buddies, Cooper and Dominic. The three of us go out every Saturday night, and we end it with each of us in a different chick’s bed.
I am in no way ready to settle down with just one woman. I don’t have anything against relationships per se. I just don’t want one.
Well, not at the moment anyway. I like—no, I fucking love my life.
I love my job. And I love having a different woman in bed with me every weekend. I get to have regular sex without the demands and complications of a relationship, as there are always plenty of women willing to service my needs. But I’m not a selfish bastard. I like to make sure that the woman I’m screwing is having a good time. I can’t get off if she doesn’t.
I’m a total boss at oral sex. I’ve had a lot of practice. I fucking love going down on a woman. There’s nothing better to get me going than that first taste of a woman’s pussy.
I have a perfect setup.
Sex is reserved for weekends because the week is for work.
Work always comes first, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. Especially not now that I’ll be taking over the running of the company from my parents.
Maybe, in the distant future—like ten or fifteen years—I’ll meet
some girl I want to have a relationship with, but if I’m being totally honest, I just can’t see it happening.
And, really, it would be grossly unfair to the women of Chicago if I took myself off the market. My dick is just too awesome to keep to one woman.
Sundays are brunch with the boys, so we can talk about the escapades from the night before, and then I usually spend the rest of Sunday working from home, getting ready for Monday morning.
“How was yours?” I know she was going to Milwaukee to spend the weekend with her fiancée’s parents.
Yes, fiancée, as in another woman. Chrissy is gay, and she’s getting married to a woman called Wendy. And, no, she’s not your stereotypical butch or porno-hot lesbian.
She’s just a normal, good-looking woman. And she runs my life like a champ.
“Yeah, it was okay, but Wendy and her mom were talking wedding stuff nonstop all weekend.”
She rolls her eyes, and I laugh.
“Anyway, I’ve got this morning’s schedule ready for you, but first, your mom and dad are waiting for you in your office.”
“They are?” I move my eyes in the direction of my office door.
“Yep.”
“How long have they been waiting?”
“Only five minutes or so.”
“And they didn’t say what they wanted to see me for?”
“Nope.”
A mild unease settles in my gut.
Of course, it’s not unusual for my parents to turn up in my office unannounced, but first thing in the morning is unusual.
The last time they were waiting in my office for me this early in the morning was seven years ago when I was in a much smaller, much shittier office, working in the sales department, and I’d just screwed up the Renshaw deal. The big deal that they’d trusted me with.
And, by screwed up, I mean, I’d screwed Mr. Renshaw’s daughter, Amber, a few months prior.
In my defense, I hadn’t known who she was then, and the deal was in its infancy at that point.
But the problem was, Amber had wanted more than one ride on my dick, and when I’d told her—as I’d told her before we boned down—that it was a one-off, she hadn’t been so happy at all.
Like took-her-high-heeled-shoe-off-and-threw-it-at-my-head not happy. I was lucky I hadn’t lost an eye.
Seriously, why is it that some women will agree to no-strings sex, and then once the sex is over, they completely forget the prior conversation?
I know my dick is awesome, but he doesn’t have mind-erasing skills.
I don’t have time for relationships. And I like my life the way it is. Sex with no strings.
But Amber had been at the dinner meeting with Mr. Renshaw, and she had taken one look at me, whispered something in her father’s ear, and that was the end of that. Renshaw had decided he no longer was interested in considering stocking our products in his department stores. Well, he hadn’t exactly put it that politely, but you can imagine what he’d said.
I get that she’s his daughter, but it’s not my fault that she’s batshit crazy. And, seriously, if the guy can’t detach business from personal, then we shouldn’t want to work with him anyway.
But my parents didn’t exactly see it that way.
I got reamed out for losing the deal and also a lecture from my mom about how I should be treating women with respect and not trying to sleep my way through Chicago.
But that was seven years ago, and even though it still bugs me that it was the one deal I fucked up, I have to allow myself the fact that I was wet behind the ears in business. Everyone is allowed one screwup in business.
But I didn’t let the Renshaw fiasco put me off. I like fucking way too much to stop having it on the regular.
I just had to learn to be a lot smarter about who I climbed into bed with, which means that I make sure to keep my weekend activities far, far away from anything associated with the office. One sniff of a business connection with a potential screw, and I’m out of there and on to the next.
Maybe my parents just want to talk about the takeover. My parents will be retiring in a few weeks, and I’ll be taking over as CEO.
I know what you’re thinking. I’m their son, and that’s why they are giving me the job.
Wrong.
My parents are hard-asses. We might have money, but they’ve made me work for everything. My parents came from nothing and built this business together, and they want me to understand that you have to work hard in this life if you want anything. Nothing is just handed to you.
I had part-time jobs throughout high school, so long as they didn’t interfere with my studies. The only time I didn’t work was when I was in college, as my parents wanted me to focus fully on my studies. But every summer was spent here, in the office, working for them—whether it was in the mailroom or on reception. I’ve worked my ass off to learn this business inside out.
I did four years at Northwestern, earning a business degree. And then I went off to Columbia where I got my MBA in management. When I graduated from Columbia, I came back home to Chicago and started working here in sales. I have worked in every department in the company so that I will understand the running of the business for when it is my time to take over.
And now is my time.
“Wish me luck,” I say to Chrissy.
“You don’t need it, Mr. Soon-to-Be CEO.” She says the last part on a whisper even though no one is around to hear.
When my parents announced their retirement a month ago, it wasn’t formally announced that I’d be taking over. Everyone probably already knows though. I mean, it’s a given.
That must be why they’re in there, waiting—to talk about the big announcement.
I don’t get excited about much, but I’m excited about this.
With thoughts of my impending CEO status, I open the door to my office with a big fucking smile on my face.
“Mom, Dad,” I greet them both.
They’re sitting on my black leather sofa. I fucking love my office. It’s big with floor-to-ceiling windows, so the view of the city is immense. And I have my own private bathroom, which is always a bonus.
“Wilder.” My mom smiles warmly. “How are you doing?”
“I’m good. What can I do for you this morning?” I ask as I walk the distance over to my desk.
A brief silence hangs in the air. That silence makes my gut tighten.
Then, my dad says, “We need to have a chat.”
“Okay.” I lower my ass into my chair.
They turn in their seats to face me. I don’t like what I see on their faces—unease.
Fuck.
I take a drink of my coffee, needing the burn to steady me, before lowering it to the desk. “What’s up?” I ask, forcing my voice to remain steady.
“Well…” My dad clears his throat.
“We have news,” Mom imparts, a fake cheeriness to her voice.
They’re not retiring. They’ve changed their minds.
Double fuck.
And me wanting them to retire does not make me a bad son or selfish. My parents have worked hard their whole lives, building this business up and making it into what it is today. But they’re in their late sixties, and I want them to take it easy and enjoy their golden years.
“Good or bad news?” My eyes flicker between the pair of them, trying to catch anything in their expressions, but they’re giving away nothing.
“Good news.” Mom beams a smile. “Isn’t it, Frank?” She nudges my dad in the side with her elbow.
He grunts a sound that she gives a disapproving look to. And that sound does nothing to appease the sick feeling I have right now.
“Now, honey, even though this is good news, I have a feeling you might not think so off the bat, but I just want you to have an open mind and listen to what we have to say.”
“Okay…” I’m so not okay.
“Well, there’s no other way to say this than to just say it, so…we’ve hired another CEO to come work here w
ith you and help you run the company.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I’m pretty sure I’m having a stroke. I rub a hand over my frozen face and then stare over at my mom. “You’re gonna have to say that again because, for a second there…I thought you said that you’d hired another…CEO.”
“I did. And we have.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I stare at my mom’s steady face. My eyes move to my dad’s face. His expression is blank, giving me nothing.
“Is this a joke?”
“No,” my mother says softly. It’s the voice she used when I was younger and I was upset, and she was trying to soothe me.
The pacifying voice.
I used to love that voice. Now, I officially hate it.
“Why the fuck did you do that?”
“Language, Wilder,” my mom chastises.
Like now is the time to quibble over my use of the English language.
My wide eyes go to my dad. “Am I not getting the job?”
I see a flash of dismay in his eyes. “Of course you are,” my dad says, his tone resolute. “The job is yours, Wild. Without a doubt. Your mom just thought—”
“We both think”—my mom flashes a stern look at my dad—“that you could do with the support that having a co-CEO would offer. It’s a lot of work, running a business of this size.”
“I know. And I’m fully equipped and ready to do so. That’s what you’ve been training me to do for the past seven years. Jesus, I’ve been working toward this ever since I started coming in with you both when I was a kid. I know this business inside and out! No one knows the lingerie business better than I do.” I’m getting louder and louder, but I can’t help it.
A co-CEO. A motherfucking co-CEO!
“Wilder, we know how experienced and knowledgeable you are. It’s not about that. Your dad and I have successfully run this company together. Lots of companies nowadays have co-CEOs. There are a lot of benefits in having a partner to run the company with.”
I want to have an actual honest-to-God tantrum. Throw my toys out of my crib. Yell at them that they’re wrong. That I could run this company with one arm tied behind my back while blindfolded. I want to pull the how-could-you-do-this-to-your-own-kid card. It might work on my dad, but I know it wouldn’t work on my mom. She’s a tough cookie. My throwing a hissy fit would only reinforce to them that they made the right decision to hire this new person to come and work here with me.