Every Little Dream (Second Chances) (4 page)

“What do you think?” She slides her hand down my arm and traces each finger. The nerves under my skin pulse, spreading like fire through the rest of me. The slow seduction is the most erotic thing I’ve experienced. Slowly, she guides my hand to her mouth where she pulls each finger into her mouth and sucks on it. As she lets go of my hand she drags it down across her chest. I close my eyes, trying to get a handle on my breathing.
 

I lean up and pull her to me. Her skin flushes beneath my touch and she trembles. I’m more than ready. More turned on than I have been in ages. I’d better enjoy it because this is a one-night deal. I find the pulse on her neck with my mouth, playing with her skin. Her breathing is erratic, her heart beating against mine. I kiss her neck, heading lower, breathing in her scent of vanilla and honey. Memories flash.

In one movement, I push her off me. It can’t be. “Who are you?” I grab the shirt she’s taken off and shove it at her. I try not to look at her exposed chest but it’s hard not to. The swell of flesh above her lace bra, the creamy skin. I groan, wondering what the hell my problem is tonight.

Her cheeks turn pink. “Did I do something wrong?” Her voice catches, the hurt in her voice plain. “Am I not bad enough for you?”

I shake my head. “What’re you talking about?” I press my nose to her skin and breathe in just to make sure. I flash back to the accident and the angel with the blonde hair I almost killed. Then I yank the hat from her head. Long blonde waves tumble down. I lay back in my bed, emitting a groan. Frustration pulls at me.

She snuggles up next to me, her hair fanned across my chest, tickling my neck. Before I know it, her hand is on my stomach, playing with the skin at the edge of my jeans.

“Why?” I manage to get out, while pulling her hand away. “Why are you with me? Is this some kind of game?”

“No…” she whispers. “But I can’t really tell you.”

Her words trigger a reaction. Any arousal or attraction is doused like someone threw a bucket of cold water at me. I slide off the bed. “Let’s go. I’m taking you home.”

She can’t tell me? There’s only one reason then. My father is involved. She’s spying on me to report back to him. He’ll have evidence against me for our meeting tomorrow morning. I can’t see any other reason.
 

I storm out of my room toward the front door. It slams against the wall as I throw it open with a little too much force. I point to the outside darkness. “Get out!”
 

She walks past with her head down, her cheeks flaming.

“That’s right. You should be embarrassed you got caught!”

Outside, she turns, her eyes wide and pleading, her lips trembling. “How did you know?”
 

“You were pretty obvious. Tell him he’ll have to try a little harder next time.”

She scrunches up her face. “What?”
 

I won’t listen to her. With a firm grip on her arm, I drag her down the stairs to the bike. “Time for naughty little girls to go home.”

My father’s law offices stand before me, all gleaming doors and intimidating corners and angles. He knows what he’s doing. I feel powerless, stripped of any bravado, just standing outside the doors. That’s what he wants. As a big-time defense lawyer, when customers walk through the entrance they need to feel my father can get the job done.

And he can. I’ve seen him to do it over and over again.

He’s probably inside sitting behind his desk, stroking his ego with the fact that he holds my future in his hands. He’s warned me for months. Shape up. Be responsible. He’d heard rumors about my failed relationship last year. Don’t ask me how. He probably had someone following me. Since then, I’ve been commitment free.
 

I didn’t like who I became with Carly. Angry. Possessive. Ready to burst into a fight with anyone. That person was more like my father. Impulsive. Ready to strike out if the wind blew in the wrong direction.

That’s not me.

I don’t want to be him.
 

But every day I feel it, pulling me in, pushing me toward the power-hungry shark my father turned into after years of being in a cutthroat business. Now he wants me to be him. Step in and be his assistant. He’ll use anything he can to own me. With this last trip to jail, I handed him the ammunition. I know exactly what’ll happen once I walk through those doors.

My life will be his. He’ll make sure of it.

I take a deep breath and push against the heavy glass doors. For a second, I see my reflection as my father might. The rebellious son with hair that’s too long. One too many tattoos. Not exactly how I planned to turn out when I was twelve and thinking about my future.
 

The lobby reeks of professionalism, a light scent of mint and lemon cleaner. A slight breeze from the fans overhead creates a chill so no one feels too comfortable.
 

I stride across the room and let his secretary know I’m here. She points to the armchairs covered with brown leather. I sink into one and know I’m in for a wait. Just one more intimidation tactic.

The seconds pass.

The minutes tick by.

With each quarter hour my rage builds. He said 8 a.m. sharp. I grip the armrests, trying to get rid of the frustration. I’m playing into his hands. He wants me mad and off my game when I step into his inner chambers.
 

“Chadwick.” Finally, the secretary calls my name. I glance at her high cheekbones, the way her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, stretching her skin tight. Probably at his request.

I push open the door and step inside. Even though I’ve been here before, the effect is always the same. The plush carpet under my feet that I used to roll around on. The heavy cherry wood desk with plaques and his name in gold lettering. He used to tell me that someday I’d have a plaque with my name on it right next to his. The frames on the wall glorify his achievements. In this office, in front of my dad, I feel like the little boy who got caught sneaking cookies.

I’m twenty-three. I’m a man. I’m not that boy. My father is not my boss. I keep telling myself that, hoping one of these times that I’ll believe it. His eyes don’t veer from the computer screen in front of him, but he does offer a wave of his hand. Telling me I can sit down. I stay standing.

“Really Chadwick.” He speaks for the first time, his deep vibrato resonating through the room. “No need for the show. Sit down.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather stand.” It’s the least I can do. I know once I sit and have to look up at him, I’ll completely lose my nerve.

He closes his laptop and puts his full attention on me. The few times he does are when I’m in trouble. His eyebrows draw together and the lines deepen on his forehead. His blue eyes, just like mine, pierce through me. I glare back.

“We’ve had enough of the games, don’t you think?” he asks, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.

I say nothing, waiting for his explanation.

“You’re no longer a teenager sowing his wild oats. You can’t live off your trust fund forever. Clearly, you weren’t ready for that way of life. You need to learn the hard lessons of life to appreciate what you have.”

What? His words throw me. I expected a lecture and then pressure to come work with him. But he’s talking money. My trust fund. It feels like he’s reached out and placed his hands around my balls, squeezing gently at first. Then getting tighter. I fight the sheen of sweat that wants to break out on my face. I can’t let him know he’s getting to me. That I care.

“I realize this isn’t what you expected. You probably thought I’d slap your wrist, ask you again to work for me, then send you on your way.”

Fuck. How’d he know? Can he read me that well? The sweat breaks out. Double fuck.

“I’ll get right to it. You have two choices. One, I cut off your trust fund. You can go off find a job doing whatever it is you truly want to do. Break away. If that’s what you truly want.”

I swallow. Okay, this might not be bad. I could walk away from his reign of power in my life. I can see a glimpse of freedom on the horizon, the scent of fresh air, the wind against my face.

“But, if you choose that option, there’s no coming back. In a year, when you’re so dirt poor you can’t find one fucking decent apartment, never mind a classy girl to settle down with, don’t come crawling back to me for work.” He pauses, to let that information settle in.

I struggle to keep my breathing even and my expression neutral, but my pulse is raging to the point I can’t even hide the fact that I’m pissed.

He stands, walks around the front of his desk and sits at the edge of it. Right in front of me. I notice the perfect things about him, the perfect crease in his dress pants, the perfect shine to his shoes, and the perfect way his tie sits at his neck, strangling him. “If you choose that option, the money’s gone forever.”
 

There’s a certain smugness in his voice that sends me over the edge. This is lower than he’s ever sank before, using money to manipulate me. I’m surprised he hasn’t tried this approach before. “Fuck off, Dad.” I use that endearment as a weapon, because he hasn’t been a dad in years.
 

He chuckles, the fake pathetic kind that an evil villain lets out when he has the hero’s balls on the chopping block. “I thought this might be your reaction. I have a second option.”

I grit my teeth. I restrain my shaking arms and every instinct that wants to knock his teeth out.

“You work as an intern for me, small jobs, still with freedom. No ninety-hour workweeks, and you’ll have limited access to your trust fund. Once you prove yourself responsible, you can choose to stay here and work part time for me while you work toward your law degree. Some day in the future, you can go anywhere in the country and set up your own law practice. Away from me.”

Yeah. He liked dangling that fucking carrot in front of me. “Is that all, Sir?”

He nods and steps back behind his fortress, the walls high and dangerous at this point. I choose not to respond, showing restraint, and head out.

“Son, my offer is on the table for twenty four hours, and then I’ll be making the call to the bank.”

I shut his office door behind me, storm through the lobby and burst into the fucking sunshine. I need my bike. I need to feel the power between my legs.

I need to fly.

Chapter 3

Katie

I spent hours last night washing the pink from my hair. Every last trace of my ultimate humiliation scrubbed from my face and hair. With my blonde hair it took multiple washings. Only if someone looked real close would they see the evidence.

As I take orders, stack plates and pour coffee all I can think about is last night and Chad shoving me off him. I groan, my face flushing even though it’s a day later. Waitressing is hard when I can’t focus. When I bring the ketchup out instead of more salt. Or when I serve the bacon and eggs to the customer who ordered blueberry pancakes. By mid-morning I want to break down and cry.

Justine brushes up alongside me. “When do I get to hear about last night?”

I set my jaw while wiping the counter of any crumbs. “Trust me. You don’t want to know.” Just thinking about the look of disgust on Chad’s face makes me cringe. He totally saw through my act. He knew I was using him for some excitement. And he threw me out. My total legit bad boy, the kind who would never turn anyone away, didn’t want me. If he didn’t, who would?

“We’re going to hit the slump before lunch any second. As soon as it dies down meet me behind the counter. You can spill everything while we refill the ketchup bottles.”

“Fine.” I rush to make change, collect tips and pour more coffee to the few dwindling customers. Maybe it’ll be good to talk about it. Justine is safe. She won’t laugh or scold. Another wave of customers comes in for brunch, so the slump falls a little bit later than usual. Finally we meet behind the counter.

Justine pulls out the large ketchup bottle, while I collect the empty ones. She pumps ketchup into the bottles and I screw the caps back on. We have the system down pat.

“Okay, talk. I want to know everything.”

Saying the words is harder than I thought. “Well, it started the other night. I witnessed a motorcycle accident. The guy was…dangerous but beautiful.” A sigh escapes.

Justine continues to pump but with a frown on her face. “He doesn’t exactly sound like your type.”

I pound my fist against the counter. “Exactly! I’m sick of my kind. The good boy. They don’t exist. At least not in my world.” Suddenly it all spills, my worst fears and hidden thoughts. “I don’t want to meet the perfect guy who I marry and settle down happily forever with kids. I don’t want that. I don’t want to be bored the rest of my life. Maybe I want excitement. I want to feel the thrill in my chest when the right guy sweeps me into his arms.” I drop my voice. “He was perfect. Or so I thought.”

“Hmm.” Justine looks over my shoulder at the door. “Dangerous but beautiful, huh.”
 

“You should’ve seen him,” I say dreamily but can’t escape reality. “He kicked me out on my good girl ass. Saw right through my act.”

“I hope it’s not the guy who just entered.” She put the ketchup away. “If it is then you’re better off without him. I know him through friends.”

I whirl around. “Shit.” The door shuts behind him, and Chad slides into a booth. He hasn’t seen me yet and maybe if I’m lucky and pray hard enough, he won’t recognize me. He won’t remember the girl with the pink hair. He won’t remember that I was the same girl.

Hiding behind Justine, I study him. The way he slumps in his seat, his head resting on his hands with his fingers spread throughout his hair. He doesn’t look so tough right now. In fact, he looks like he could use a friend.

Justine nudges me with her elbow. “Don’t even think about it. In fact, run as far away as you can. He’s bad news.”

She meant her words to strike fear in my heart, so I’ll turn away. I’ll lose my boredom and suddenly be happy with my life, but they do the complete opposite. He’s a verified bad boy, reputation and all. Yet, as he sits there, emotion rolling off him, all I can see is a guy who needs a friend. A guy who can offer me a little excitement. Maybe last night he just didn’t like the pink hair… Yes, that must be it. Where would the unsinkable Molly Brown be today if she’d let something like rejection get her down?