Текст книги "Blind Date "

Автор книги: Emma Hart

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 10 страниц)

Chapter Two

I moan, and he covers my mouth with his hand, still moving the other against me. I ride the orgasm out against his hand, trembles of the aftershocks of it going through my body. “Holy shit,” I whisper, the words leaving me on a whoosh. The man hasn’t even kissed me. At least, not on my mouth.

I’ve never been turned on so easily in my life.

Carter pulls his fingers out of my pussy and grasps my hip. His grip is tight, and when he pulls me toward him, I move onto my side. I unclip the button of his jacket, and looking down at his stomach, flatten my hand against the toned surface of his body. Damn that crisp white shirt stopping me from touching his skin. Abs just aren’t the fucking same when they’ve got a damn row of buttons running down the middle of them.

Carter wraps one hand around the back of my neck and pulls my face into him. “God, Bee. You get wet so easily, don’t you? Is that how you keep your one-nighters going? With your wet pussy?” He leans in so his fingers dig into my pulse point. “How long do you last?” he asks quietly. “One?

Two? Three? Tell me, love. How many times can you come before it’s too much? Before you say enough is enough?”

“Once.” I rasp out the word, gripping his shirt tightly.

“You’re a liar,” he replies, just as breathily. He palms my ass cheek, his movements slow and calculated. I hold my breath in anticipation of the sting I know is coming.

It does.

Sharp and quick, Carter’s palm connects with my ass cheek, and I buck my hips against him.

“Fuck,” I moan, gripping his shirt tighter.

He laughs. Low and rich, each sound coasts over my skin until all I can hear is that deep rumble of his amusement.  “Sounds like a good fuck.” He does it again, and this time, I arch my back. “Damn. You’re so fuckin’ responsive, aren’t you?”

“You’ve barely touched me,” I point out. I reach up and grasp the top button of his shirt, my eyes on his the whole time. “See how responsive I am when you actually try.”

Once again, he laughs. His grip on my tender ass gets rough, and he seems to relish the way I grasp his shirt as if I want to rip it off. ‘Cause, fuck. I do. I want to rip off this goddamn useless piece of white fucking fabric until his obviously toned torso is clear to me and ready for me to explore with whichever part of my body I deem fit.

Ah, fuck it.

I undo the top button, then another, and another, and another. My fingers travel down nimbly until every one of the little white buttons are undone and only the very bottom of his shirt is tucked into his waistband. I run my teeth across my bottom lip, deliberately pulling tightly on the soft flesh. His grip does nothing but tighten, so I move, hooking one leg over his lap until I’m straddling him.

I can feel his rock-hard cock pushing against my already wet pussy, and fuck me. That’s one hell of a cock.

I rock my hips against him, and when a small groan leaves him, I smile. I’ll take it. I take whatever inch of pleasure I can, given that he just sucked it from me. No arguments here, but damn.

Maybe Carter Hughes needs a taste of his own medicine.

My lips quirk to one side at the prospect.

I’ve barely known him an hour, but I want to see what he can do with his cock when it’s compromised by a chick’s mouth.

I lean back, drop my hands to his belt, and pause when his hover against me.

“Server,” he murmurs, curling his arm around me and pulling me into him. I turn my face a fraction toward the curtains. The server is standing there, her eyes trained on the area above his head.

“Same again,” he replies, holding me where I am until the woman has left again. The second the curtains close, he twines my hair around his fingers and tugs me face toward his so tightly that my breath catches. “You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you? Baby, my cock is hard for you. Feel it.” He takes my hand and pushes it onto his erection. “If you’re gonna suck it, get your mouth the fuck down there and suck it before that bitch comes back with our drinks.”

Holy. Did he really just refer to a member of his staff as a bitch?

He did.

He did.

Oh my God.

I shouldn’t do this. I should run like fuck. But, damn. I wanna know what that sweet, hard cock tastes like, even if it’s only just one taste. I want to know what it’s like to have his pleasure pulsing against my tongue…. What it’s like to have this powerful man entirely at my mercy.

So I do it.

I push the table away from us the smallest amount and grab his undone pants. My fingers curl around each side and I tug them down until he lifts his ass and his sharp, black pants slide down his muscular thighs easily.

“Bee…” he warns, his hands both sliding up my back to the back of my head.

“Carter,” I murmur, grabbing the waistband of his boxer briefs, taking the barest moment to appreciate the way his hardened cock is pushing against the thin fabric of his underwear. It’s like a fucking oil painting, worthy of being hung in any art museum.

He tenses as I tug down his boxers and his cock springs free, long, hard, and thick, with a vein pulsing along its side.

I grin.

Time to play.

I close my mouth around the head of his cock, touching the tip of my tongue to it. He groans and twines his hand in my hair, tugging lightly. His restraint is obvious. Wrapping my fingers around the bottom of his cock, I give him a gentle squeeze as I take him in my mouth fully.

His grip on my hair tightens as I work him with both my mouth and my hand. He grows even harder in my mouth, and as I run my tongue over that one vein, I can feel it pulsing.

God, he really does have a wonderful cock.

My pussy is throbbing at the thought of having it inside me. It’s almost tempting to stop this and climb on top of him.

“Your drinks, sir.”

Carter holds my head still, his cock buried in my mouth. “On the table,” he demands.

I massage the very tip of it with my tongue, and his hips jerk into me.

“Today,” he grinds out as I reach down to cup his balls. I lightly drag my nails over them. “Don’t disturb us again.”

Two beats pass with the swish of a curtain before he grasps my hair so tightly that my scalp stings. He yanks my head up and meets my eyes. His gaze is dark and stormy, and it sends thrills of desire through me.

“You.” It’s a growl—deep, rich, primitive.

It’s all he says as he grabs me and throws me back onto the chair, thankfully releasing my hair. Without another word, he undoes his tie and whips it off before leaning over me, the satin strip crunched into a ball in his fist.

Only now does he speak. “Your hands. Above your head.” When I don’t move, he leans down. “Now, Bee.”

I raise an eyebrow and stare at him in defiance. You want ‘em there, you put ‘em there.

“My way it is then,” he murmurs, taking my wrists in each hand and slamming them against the seat over my head. He holds them in place with one hand while he unravels his tie.

I inhale sharply as he wraps it around my wrists and secures it, the silky knot tight and unmovable. I know because I try to free my hands. Carter stops my effort with a simple yet hard squeeze.

“Keep them there,” he breathes, running his eyes over my face. “Yes?”

“Yes.” I part my lips in an effort to steady my breathing.

My body is on fire. My legs are trembling with the anticipation of what he’s planning to do to me, and although this feels so right, I have to admit that I’m wondering what the hell I’m doing here. This is a new one, even for me.

Clearly the universe has decided that my one night stands need spicing up. Methinks the universe has been reading too many erotic novels.

Carter holds my gaze for a moment longer. He sits up, moving his hands to his shirt buttons. My chest heaves as I watch him undo each button and pull the fabric apart, revealing a toned torso from his pecs right down to the ‘v’ that leads to his erect cock. I run my eyes over the fine male form before me, and my fingers twitch with the urge to touch him. To trail my fingertips over every pack of muscle and inside each shadowed furrow.

He keeps his shirt on, just open, his eyes back on me, as he slides back a couple of inches. “Feet on the chair. Legs open. Let me see that pussy.”

Blunt. To the point. I like it.

I do as he says, my clit aching at his words. Gladly, Mr. Hughes. I open my legs a little wider than necessary, and he reaches forward and grabs my ankle. He lifts it and rests it on the back of the seat, and I shift so it’s more comfortable, making sure to keep my hands above my head like I promised.

Like he ordered, rather.

His green eyes drop from my face to my exposed pussy, and he bends forward. One of his fingers trails up the inside of my thigh, his touch feather-light, and I shiver.

Then he drops right down, splays his hands on the insides of my upper thighs, holds my legs firmly open, and closes his mouth over my pussy. He puts extra pressure on my clit, and I arch my back as a bolt of pleasure shoots through me. Good fucking God. His tongue is rough as it rubs over my most sensitive spot, and I cry out as the hint of an orgasm quivers through me.

Carter gets up and leans over me, and his cock teases the opening of my pussy before it settles over my clit. It only makes me squirm more. “Hush,” he admonishes me. “No one here will know that you’re coming except me. Your pleasure is mine and only mine. Understood?”

I suck my lower lip into my mouth and nod my response. How do you have an orgasm without screaming to the high heavens?

“Good girl,” he murmurs, finally touching his lips to mine.

I can taste myself on his tongue. Tangy and vile, the taste of my pussy coats my lips from his. It’s a brief touch, but it’s deep. I rock my hips so his cock ghosts over my clit again and again, and I could totally get myself off by doing this. But it’s tempting to lift my hips and—

His palm connects with the side of my ass in a sharp slap that makes me gasp. “I’ll fuck you when I’m ready. By the time I do, you’ll be begging me.” He runs his lips down my neck. “How greedy is your pussy, Bee?” His hand slips between us. He grasps his cock and rubs it against my clit in slow, teasing circles. “How badly does it want my cock? What if I just slid it down like this and let it have a tiny bit? Would that make you happy?”

He does exactly what he said. The tip of his cock pushes inside my pussy, and I throw my head back. My arms bend as my whole body arches into him, desperate for the rest of him.

“Please,” I breathe.

“Like this?” He pushes into me fully and I swear angels fucking sing.

“Oh god,” I whisper, clenching around him.

I feel so full right now, and I swear, if he doesn’t move and fuck me properly, I’m going to drop to my knees and plead. Or get up out of here and finish myself off with my vibrator at home.

Carter chuckles, and it’s dark, but my skin tingles at the sound anyway. He withdraws from me in one smooth, swift movement, and immediately drops back to the position he was in just moments ago. Once again, he forces my legs open and covers my pussy with his mouth. His tongue attacks my clitoris. His moves are quick and harsh, each touch purposeful and meant to punish as well as pleasure.

I writhe on the seat, my legs trembling, as he licks the small bundle of throbbing nerves. Each bolt of happy desire that floods right through me, pounding through my bloodstream, is a teasing reminder of the pleasure that awaits me if he follows through on this orgasm.

And, hell. I hope he does.

He licks me unashamedly, devouring every inch of my aching core. My pussy muscles tense and relax as if he’s still inside me, and if it weren’t for the way he slides his fingers into me, I’d be able to imagine that he is. Instead, it’s real. So fucking real.

Sparks erupt across my body as he lifts my legs high and opens them wider until it’s almost painful for me. Fortunately, the pleasure he’s creating with just the tip of his tongue and two of his fingers pumping inside of me far outweighs it. My arms ache with the desire to reach down and twine my fingers into his hair, to hold his face against me until I’ve come again and again and again, but the tie that strains when I try reminds me that I can’t.

That I agreed to this. To be partially bound and therefore much more vulnerable to him than I would be otherwise.

And I agreed. God, why did I agree?

The orgasm hits me blindingly, and I shiver, arching my back, clenching my legs, fisting my hands, biting the inside of my cheek to keep the moan inside. I want to cry out, I want to scream. I want to tell the world that a thousand fireworks just erupted inside me.

But I can’t. So I don’t. I just lie here, biting my tongue, my lip, my cheek, breathing harshly until the initial wave of pleasure has passed and I’m nothing more than a puddle of person on the chair.

So. That’s why I agreed.

Carter stands, slaps my legs together with a squeeze of my ass, and moves over me. Not his body, though. No—he moves his pelvis over me until his cock is brushing against my lips. Unconsciously, my mouth opens, and he pushes it into my mouth.

Here, I’m totally helpless, unable to do anything as he moves his hips and fucks my mouth until he’s done. I flick my tongue and close my eyes when a tiny spurt of his semen coats my tongue with saltiness. I want to reach forward and…

It’s amazing how much you rely on your hands until you can’t use them anymore.

I’m totally at his mercy. The realization hits me hard. Although I could, in theory, stand and push him away from me, I don’t want to. I know the magic he can work with his mouth and his fingers, and how amazing his cock feels buried deep inside me—and now I want to know what it feels like to have his cock fucking me until I can’t breathe.

I don’t even care how he does it.

I graze my teeth along his hard length, barely scratching his skin, and he groans. He reaches forward and grabs my hair again, and damn, I love it when he does that. I shouldn’t love anything a one night stand does, but then again, I’ve never had this before. I’ve never had someone dominate me so fully.

“Fuck,” he hisses when I hollow my cheeks to suck particularly hard.

The word, the tone, the breathy exhalation, the withdrawal from my mouth, it all gives me a powerful thrill.

I relish in it. The gasping undercurrent of his tone threads through my body like lightning. It gives me courage. It breeds my attitude, giving me a power I just assumed lost to him.

“Thought you were gonna fuck me, Carter? What was it you said about how many orgasms you could give me before you do? I don’t see me coming from sucking your cock.”

He pulls me up from the back of my head, and my arms drop forward, resting over his. There’s a predatory, pissed off look in his eye, and he brings me so far toward him that our lips are almost touching. “Enough of your mouth,” he growls, releasing my hair and grabbing me.

With one hand, he knocks our glasses off the table onto the chair. One falls off and smashes on the ground, and I gasp when he flips me over onto the table and spanks my ass. I arch my back, the front of my dress removing the chill from the table.

My arms hit the hard surface in front of me, and foil tears behind me. I’ve barely had time to take a breath than Carter’s hands are on my ass, spreading it, and his cock is roughly pushing its way into my pussy.

It hurts but it doesn’t, and I cry out, resulting in a slap to my other ass cheek.

Fuck me, I love a spanker.

I moan again. Deliberately.

This time, though, he doesn’t spank me. Once again, he winds my hair around his hand and tugs. It’s harsher than before, and I’m all but looking at the ceiling. My back is totally curved, and he slams himself into me in a show of pure strength that hits all my right buttons. I get his point, to make me shut up, but all it does is drive another pleasured moan from my lips.

I lift my hips and push back into him so his cock gets deeper and his thrusts get longer, and fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. His cock is so long and hard, his thrusts so powerful. His ability to fuck me until I lose my breath is unreal.

I can’t breathe. Not right now. All I can do is ridiculous little sharp bursts of air that I doubt even make it to my lungs. He’s there right behind me. He’s driving into me relentlessly. My heart is thundering louder than before and my lungs are burning and my bloodstream is full of nothing but endorphins and pleasure and adrenaline and promises of a blinding orgasm that has the potential to knock me out.

“Not so sassy now, huh, Bee?” Raspy and broken, he speaks. “Not so fucking sassy now my cock is buried deep in your sweet pussy and you’re at its mercy.”

Another spank, and lust swamps me in a swath of heat.

Carter slaps his hands down onto the table either side of my body and continues his domination, thrusting harder and harder until my eyes water and I really can’t breathe because there’s nothing but pleasure, and stars, and blackness, and pleasure all over again.

I tremble everywhere. My stomach clenches. My legs are tight. My fingers are curled so far into my palms that my fists must be iron-like. It’s bolt after bolt of desire and lust and everything else that goes into the making of an orgasm.

And, yeah. My scalp is stinging from his grip and my back aches from its permanent arch, but his cock pounding into me and his balls swinging and slapping against my clit has me edging closer and closer.

I hold my breath.

There.

The edge.

He stands.

Reaches round.

Presses his thumb.

To my clit.

I explode.

I scream.

He moves faster.

It’s quick.

Harsh.

Rough.

Brutal.

Everything.

He releases my hair and I relax, collapsing onto the table. He leans forward, his chest against my back. Fucking hell. Fuck, shit, damn. There isn’t an inch of me not feeling the waves of heat and trembles of oblivion he just gave me.

He slides his hands down my arms and lifts his head to undo his tie. I flex my wrists the second they’re free and bend my arms to dive my fingers into my hair.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I have no words that don’t start with ‘fuck.’

Carter stands and with his hands planted on my ass once again, pulls out of me. He hooks his finger through my thong and repositions it over my pussy.

What a gentleman.

“It’s a shame one night is all the time I have to offer a woman,” he muses, pulling me up and spinning me into him. His arms wrap my body tightly, and I muster all my remaining strength so I don’t fall into him. “Because you’re a fucking delight, Bee.”

“A delight. That’s exactly what every woman wants to be called after sex,” I breathe, my blood still thundering through my body almost deafeningly.

He smirks, the amusement in it reaching his eyes. He cups my chin and lifts my face, looking into my eyes. “I’d fuck you all night long if I could, baby. But I have business to attend to. There’ll be a car waiting for you to take you home. Take the door to your left instead of going through the restaurant.” He presses his lips against my cheek in a touch that feels warm but lacks any real heat, then releases me.

I grab the table to steady myself and watch as he does up his pants, rebuttons his shirt, replaces his tie and jacket, and walks out of the booth without another word, perfectly composed.

And even though I still have aftershocks shuddering through me, I straighten. I pull my dress down to cover my ass and grab my purse from the floor. Digging it in, I pull out twenty bucks, throw it on the table, then walk out of the booth myself.

There’s a car waiting indeed. I doubt my twenty dollars even touched the price of the wine, but I can pay my way.

I pass the doorman, step outside the restaurant, flag a cab, and climb in.

And that’s how you do a blind date—the blind isn’t in not knowing who you’re meeting.

It’s in fucking them and knowing you’ll never see them again.

Chapter Three

I hate Mondays.

My heels click against the linoleum floor of my office and echo around the spacious room. Mind you, it would be much more spacious if I didn’t have whiteboards and corkboards and fabric swatches all over the place.

Hey—I never said it was fucking tidy.

I don’t do tidy. I do organized chaos. I know where everything is, because it has its place—even if that place is the last spot you’d expect to find it. Like… a pile of color charts stuffed into the vase on my windowsill, or the flowers meant for that vase now dead and dry, resting on top of a pile of books about various middle-Eastern methods of organizing your house and the like.

I’m not sure I’ve ever read them, but whatever. It is what it is.

I sit at my desk and move a file from it so I can put my laptop down. A few more things shift, and it briefly crosses my mind that maybe I should tidy it…

Nah. Thought came and went before I could finish it.

I click on the Gmail shortcut on my desktop and flick open my diary. My morning is clear, so I do what I do best. I open a new tab on the browser and head straight for the Victoria’s Secret website.

What? I got a coupon in the mail this morning and I didn’t have time to look before I came here. I’m simply being a responsible adult and saving money. You know… When I should be earning it.

Good thing I work with my mom.

“Come in,” I say when two sharp knocks echo through my office.

The door squeaks open, and my mom steps in. Her softly curled mahogany hair bounces off her shoulders as her heels click against the linoleum. With her hands on her hips, she peruses my less-than-tidy office with her blood red lips pursed tightly. “You really need to tidy this space.”

“I know, I know.” I shoot her my sweetest smile. “What’s up?”

“Carlos double booked me,” she says, absently collecting sheets together from one of my armchairs.

“Again?”

“Hmmm.” Her dark eyes cut to me, and one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows quirks up in displeasure. “I think he was supposed to book this consultation with you, given your empty schedule this morning.”

“Mrs. Cortez cancelled again. Something about having to get her bunions removed.” Having an empty morning is a rarity, and she knows it. We didn’t build this interior design company overnight. While I worked my ass off in college for my degree, Mom was working to build a clientele with one of the most prestigious interior design firms in New York City.

The day Donnelly Designs Inc. became a registered company with the state of New York, she brought the clientele with her—and with the clientele came rave reviews and solid recommendations.

This is the first empty morning I’ve had in weeks.

Mom tuts and puts a book back on my bookshelf. With her slim figure and almost wrinkleless skin, you wouldn’t believe she’s fifty. Of course, I’m certain her skin has had a little help from Botox, but she’ll never admit to it. Unfortunately for me and my theories, she has Grandpa on her side insisting that Nanna was the same.

“Sienna Cortez has more bunions than anyone I’ve ever met in my life. If she does it for a fourth time, you politely tell her that she’ll have to find another designer to… What does she want doing now?”

“Her kitchen.”

“Tell her to hire a builder.” Mom sniffs and turns. “Anyway, as I was saying, Carlos double booked me. Since one of my appointments is a home visit with Louis, I need you to take over the other.”

“Sure.” I reach for a notepad and eventually find one in my desk drawer. And a pen… Ho hum.

Mom rolls her eyes and hands me a pen from a pot on my windowsill.

Aha. That’s where I put the fuckers.

“Thanks. So, where do you need me to go?” I ask, looking up, pen poised and ready to write down the address.

“A restaurant on 58th street.” She wipes a fingertip across one of my shelves, and I barely hold back my own eye-roll when she wrinkles her face up and wipes the dust from her finger. She focuses her dark eyes on me, then glances pointedly at my notepad. “Two eighty E, 58th street. Carter’s.”

I freeze, horror washing over me in a chilling shiver. “Wh-where?”

“Good Lord, Bee, don’t make me repeat myself.” She sighs. “I’ve called ahead and said you’re going. The owner, Carter Hughes, will be waiting for you at eleven a.m. You have plenty of time to wipe a wet cloth over your shelves and perhaps have Carlos order you some form of filing system. Then again, he’d probably purchase you a dressing table instead.”

Carter Hughes. A consultation.

Right.

Because we didn’t have enough of a consultation not forty-eight hours ago.

“Bee?” Mom says my name for what I’m assuming isn’t the first time. “Can you do it?”

“I…” Damn you and your bunions, Mrs. Cortez. “Sure, Mom.”

“Excellent.” She claps her hands together, and for the first time she entered my office, her face breaks into a wide smile. “I’m lead to believe that he’s meeting with several companies throughout the day, including Parker Interiors.” Her smile drops and her lip curls in disgust.

Ah. That’ll be her old employer who tried to sue her when she left, taking half their client portfolio with her.

Excellent. So this consultation is personal. In more fucking ways than I’d like it to be.

“Make sure we get this contract,” Mom orders me, stalking back toward my door. “I’m counting on you for this, Bee. Carter Hughes is incredibly influential and if he hires us and is happy with us, it opens even more doors for us.” The door clicks shut with an echo that’s all too final.

Believe me, Mom. I know exactly how influential Carter Hughes is—he’s also real convincing. After it, it took him all of ten minutes to get his hand inside my panties.

I shudder at the memory. God, what are the chances? I’m certain Karma is royally fucking with me right now. I’m not sure what I did to the temperamental little bitchtit, but maybe it’s as simple as she thinks it’s about time I came face to face with one of my conquests.

The barista at Starbucks doesn’t count. I mean, I totally knew he worked there when I slipped him my card. He had just handed me a caramel hot chocolate, after all. I just didn’t expect him to call me.

I sigh and rest my cheek on my hand. I probably should have guessed that my carefree personal life would catch up to my professional one in the end. Just, for the love of fucking God, why does it have to be with Carter Hughes?

Damn it. Damn it all to hell and back again.

This truly is karma at her finest. I can still feel the sweet burn of pleasure from his skillful touch. I can still remember the way he played my body as though I were a piano.

I think I’m still having the goddamn orgasm.

Seeing him is not going to work out.

Shit.

***

I wring my sweaty hands together as I sit in the back of the cab.

This is such a bad idea. Me going to this restaurant and seeing this man is exactly what nightmares are made of. What was I going to tell Mom though? Let’s be real. I could hardly tell her that I couldn’t complete this consultation because I screwed the man on Saturday night.

Shit. Charley’s gonna have a fucking field day with this.

“Ma’am? We’re here,” my cab driver says.

I take a deep breath and hand him the fare before stepping out on the New York sidewalk. The sun is glimmering its way through the skyscrapers, its warmth unbothered by the tall, glass buildings in its way. I revel the in the sensation on the sunshine on my skin and turn my face into it.

For a moment, I can pretend I’m not here. I imagine I’m on a beach in the Bahamas, sipping on a fruity cocktail. I’m stepping out onto the balcony of my hotel in the Jamaican morning sun. I’m dancing in the afternoon Mexican heat.

The illusions are broken by the tooting of horns and distant whirr of a siren.

Ugh. New York can’t even give me two minutes, can it?

My stomach coils in apprehension as I study the outside of the restaurant. With its clean lines and black mirrored walls that are broken by perfectly polished windows, not to mention the thick, block letters proclaiming it to be Carter’s, it’s a wonder I never noticed its striking look at the weekend.

Then again, I never have paid much attention to my surroundings. Ironic, considering my job. Or perhaps it’s because of.

Who knows?

Not to mention that this place apparently has two doors in, because this is the door I came out of.

I glance at the dainty watch circling my wrist. Five to eleven. I should really make my presence known or risk being fired from the company I own thirty-three percent of.

Mom would too, just to teach me a lesson.

I approach the heavy wooden black door just to the left of the restaurant, per the email instructions Carlos finally emailed to me five minutes ago. Apparently the man has never mastered the art of preparation and his organizational skills resemble a toddler’s far more than mine ever could.

With a deep breath filling my lungs to the brim with oxygen, I clasp the thick sample book to my chest and rap my knuckles against the door. Two seconds later, I notice the bell, black too, and press it.

More horns beep as the traffic merges at the end of the block.

Slowly, the door opens. A young woman who can be no older than my own twenty-six years fills the space in front of me. Her blouse is perfectly pressed and well fitted, and her black pencil skirt leads down to skyscraper heels. Blue eyes peruse me as slick blonde bangs graze her eyebrows. “Can I help you?”

I force a smile. “My name is Bee Donnelly. I’m here on behalf of Donnelly Designs.”

Blondie purses her lips and grasps an iPad seemingly out of nowhere. “We have a Carla Donnelly on the schedule.”

“My mother,” I confirm. “Something came up for her. She said she’d called ahead and informed you I’d be coming.”

She rolls her eyes and sets the iPad down. Who the fuck knows where? Seems like any area behind her is made solely of darkness and possibly bitch-pill-fed demons. She produces an iPhone from the same blackness and scrolls. “Oh yes. I have a missed call from her. Two seconds please.”

I take a deep, calming breath as she turns away, the phone to her ear.

“For fuck sake, Joanna. Let her in. She’s hardly a terrorist.”

I’d know that voice anywhere.

Mostly because the last words I heard it say were that I’m a ‘fucking delight.’

“Sir, I’m simply confir—”

“Joanna. Escort her into the bar. Thank you.” A shadowy figure strolls behind her.

Blondie—apparently named Joanna, although I will assume her parents missed a damn good trick on the Barbie front—looks to the ceiling. Her cheeks flush as she takes a step back and opens the door wider. “My apologies, Ms. Donnelly. Please come in and forgive my rudeness.”