Текст книги "Sexy"

Автор книги: J. A. Huss

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Chapter Four

 

I toss and turn in bed as I imagine how tomorrow might go. Cole’s reservations are playing on my mind. I fluff up my pillow and close my eyes for the millionth time.

But the only thing I see is that stupid Fletcher Novak. I know I’m right about him. And asking him to come inside my room wasn’t a proposition. He was the one propositioning me.

I fling the white cotton sheet off me and pad out to the living room in my bare feet and nightclothes to find my laptop. He’s up to something here, I just know it. So I’m going to do what I should’ve done straight away. Google him.

I settle down at the bar with my laptop and put in his name. And oh, yeah, baby, he’s there. Pages of results for Fletcher Novak. And all of them seem to have something to do with the Mountain Men Male Revue Show.

I scroll down and make a face. This asshole has a Wikipedia entry. How can he be that big? He’s a stripper, for Pete’s sake. I click on it anyway. Who wouldn’t? And up comes his face.

Fletcher Novak, no middle name. Hmmm. He’s two years older than me and grew up here in Lake Tahoe, on the North Shore—in Incline Village—and his parents worked at one of the resorts while he was growing up. Mother and father both died when he was eighteen. Brother, unnamed, three years later.

I almost feel sorry for him.

Almost.

Went to Berkley. Really? He does not look smart enough to go to Berkley. Majored in psychology. Dropped out senior year.

I do a quick date check, and yup, that’s the year his brother died.

The next thing on his biography is the Mountain Men show here in Tahoe. But the years between are missing. Another red flag. He was probably in prison. I wonder if we did a background check on him before he was hired? You’d think the Wiki geek who wrote this up would’ve found a little more info.

But maybe no one is that interested in him?

I’m certainly not. I just need to know what I’m up against. Because there is no way Fletcher Novak will still be part of this show after I get done with him.

I grab a glass and some ice and then pour myself a little bit of Scotch. Maybe a drink will calm my nerves and let me sleep. Get this asshole off my mind.

I sit back down on the barstool and click out of Wikipedia, going back to my search results.

He even has videos and all of them seem to be of the strip show.

My finger hovers over the pad of my laptop. Don’t click those, Tiffy. You do not need to see him in action to get the info you need.

Truth. But I can’t help myself.

I click and the video opens up. The music is loud, so I scramble to turn it down and look over my shoulder, hoping I didn’t wake up Claudio. He would never let me live this down if he caught me.

The MC of the show, Chandler something, calls out the names of each Mountain Man, and they appear on stage one by one, lining up along the back curtain as the women in the crowd start screaming. Then the music thumps, the dancers do some fist-bumps, and they start walking slowly forward on the stage, each one unfastening buttons down their dress shirt.

Wow. That’s sorta sexy. Not Fletcher, per se, but the whole act. There’s smoke and lights. The film quality is good too, like this might be a paid promotion. And the guys seem focused and serious.

When they get to the edge of the stage, the shirts come off and are thrown aside. Then they all reach down, grab their pants, and pull them off in unison.

The crowd of crazy lust-filled women goes wild.

My eyes go big.

Jesus. Every one of them is in metallic silver briefs. And their… yeah, it’s all packaged up into one nice neat little—maybe not so little—ball.

Oh my God, I said ball. I giggle and take a long sip of my Scotch.

Then each of the guys is featured one by one. Fletcher is last. The star of the show, it seems. How does a guy do all this in only nine months? It’s like he’s got his own PR campaign going.

But that speedy intro is not enough for me. There’s something about him. Something that says he’s hiding something. And that gap in his Wiki profile was the first clue.

Yes, Fletcher Novak is not what he seems. That might not even be his real name.

So I go looking for more videos. And there are plenty. Some professional ones just like the last one. But lots of them are from women who went to the show. Fletcher has more than all the other guys put together. And in all of them he has the same charming smile, the same wandering hands, and the same raunchy hips in a strange girl’s face as he had for me.

It was an act. No, I correct myself. That is his act.

I go back to all the other guys and watch their routines in various clips. They have their own style. And in most of the acts you can tell they are singling out women to make them feel good. Some who look reserved and nerdy. Some who are heavier than the rest of their companions. Some who are older. Some who are even very old. That makes me smile. It’s sweet to give a grandma a thrill, I think.

But Fletcher picks the sluts. They are all sexy, just like him. They have confidence and big tits. They scream his name and paw his body when he approaches.

I know why he picks them. Because he wants to fuck them afterward.

So why did he pick you, Tiffy?

I fill my glass again and gulp it down.

Why did he choose me? I’m not any of those things he looks for. I was frowning, buttoned up in my work suit, and out to get him—but not in a sexual way.

Hmmmm.

It wasn’t innocent, I know that much. He wanted to fuck me. And if I wasn’t Tiffy Preston, and if I wasn’t sent here to check the place out, and if I wasn’t—such an uptight prude—so serious, I might be in bed with him right now.

Warmth floods between my legs and I blush, even though no one is here to see me, let alone read my thoughts.

He is sexy, that’s for sure. But he’s a liar too. I just know it.

I pour some more Scotch and go back to my search results, paging through videos until I get one that has different lighting and style from the ones with the show and there’s a girl on the still image.

Now we’re talking.

I click it and she whirls around, slapping Novak in the face with a crack. “Asshole,” she screams at him.

“Haha,” the girl behind the camera laughs. .

It cuts away to another scene, which plays out the same way. An angry girl, a slap across the face for Fletcher, a laugh from the cameraman, and a fuck you from Fletcher.

He seems to have a pattern.

And let me guess who these girls are. The one-night stands after they realize he’s a bullshitter.

Oh, fuck, yes. I have this asshole now. All I have to do is walk in to that meeting today and show this to Cole. Then he’ll be on my side and Novak will be history.

I gulp the rest of my drink and go back to the videos. There might be more evidence, after all. And I need to watch every single one.

Chapter Five

 

“You whore!”

“What?” Oh my God. My head. It’s spinning.

“You stinky whore! You stayed up all night getting drunk and watching videos of that dreamboat? I should slap you.”

“Why are you yelling? My head.”

“Tiffy,” Claudio says, pulling me up off the bar. I stumble trying to step down off my stool and fall into his chest and knock us both down. “You’re gonna pay for this, toots. I swear. You’ve got a meeting in one hour and you’re still drunk! What the hell happened last night after I went to bed?”

“I don’t know.”

“Get up off me, you ungrateful—”

“Stop insulting me!”

Claudio manages to push me aside so he can scramble out from under me, then stands there, tapping his slippered toe in front of my face. “You’re going to blow this, Tiffy. And you’re the one who dragged me up here in these godforsaken mountains to help you fix this hotel. I could be on vacation right now. I could be sucking down margaritas with Raul in the Bahamas.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Help me up.” I reach for him, but no help comes. Claudio is a grudge-holder. And he’s right. I did drag him away from that trip with Raul. But Raul is an asshole. He can do better. I feel justified. “Fine, don’t help me up. I can get up myself.”

I brace my hands on the floor and manage to make it to my knees. But then my head starts spinning and I have to take a break. I’m not sure how long I kneel there looking like I’m waiting for someone to take me doggie-style, but in the end, Claudio gives me a hand before I make it to my feet.

“Thank you,” I squeak. My stomach is a mess and it starts to rumble loudly.

“Your meeting is in forty-five minutes, Tiffy. Now what?”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Fletcher Novak’s final hour is upon him and I’m not even coherent. “Call Cole and tell him he should take care of it.”

“No can do, girlfriend. He’s been texting you all morning. In fact, he called just before you woke up and said he might be a few minutes late to the meeting. You need to handle this. And if I was a betting man, I’d predict that Novak has something up his sleeve. He’s not going down without a fight.”

“He uses audience members for sex after each show, Claudio. We both know that’s happening.”

“But it didn’t happen last night, Tiffy. He asked you to dinner and you invited him in. So you’re the one who looks like you’re out to seduce him.”

“Ridiculous.”

“I agree.” Claudio laughs. “He’s ridiculously handsome. And these videos!” He takes my seat at the bar and starts clicking on the videos of the Mountain Men I was watching last night. “They are all delicious.”

My phone rings and I stumble over to the coffee table to grab it before flopping back on the couch. “Tiffy Preston,” I say, not even looking at the screen.

“Thank God, Tiff. I’ve been trying to call you all morning.”

“Sorry, Cole, I was sleeping pretty hard.”

“I guess,” he says. “You feeling OK?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” I say. “I’m perfect.”

“Good, because I’ve got my hands full with a problem in Reno hotel. I have to drive down there and take care of a personnel issue this morning so I’m not just going to be late for the meeting, I’m gonna miss the whole thing. But I’ll be back soon. Can we have a late lunch today?”

Lunch. Yes! Finally, after all these years of waiting, Cole is asking me out. It might only be a day date, but that’s—

“Tiffy? You still there?”

“Yes! I mean, yes to both. Yes for lunch and yes, I’m still here.” I chuckle. “Obviously.”

“OK, good. I’ll see you around two then. Sound OK?”

“Sounds great, Cole. Looking forward to it.” I end the call and smile up at a waiting Claudio. He’s got his hands on his hips and he’s tapping that toe again. “We have a date!” I smile so big, my cheeks hurt. “A real date. Late lunch, you whore. So there. I told you he was interested in me.”

“Hmmph,” Claudio pouts. “And why wouldn’t he be? You’re hot, Tiffy. A little bit of a prude for my tastes. But you’re damn fine in the beauty department. And you’re the daughter of a bazillionaire. What’s not to like? You are ten steps up for boring, pudgy Cole.”

“He’s not pudgy! He’s just a big guy.”

“Whatever. I think you had the right idea last night. Dreamboat Novak is where I’d put all my efforts.”

“He’s a stripper, Claudio. Gross. And we both know he’s fucking strangers after each show. That’s two one-night stands a week. Just gross.”

“Well, that’s easily dismissed. If one clean bill of health is all that’s standing between you and the most delectable slab of abs I’ve ever seen, I’ll make him a doctor’s appointment today.”

“You,” I say, pointing my finger up at him, “will stay out of this. You understand me? I don’t need your help in the relationship department. Remember the last guy you set me up with? Mr. Hot Buns?”

Claudio snickers. “He was a fireman. I hate firemen, said no one ever. You’re a freak.”

“He was an arsonist, Claudio. He started fires just to put them out.”

“Same difference. I’m just saying, a man with a giant water hose in his hands is hot.”

“He was hot, all right. And so was that car he drove.”

“So I misjudged one guy. Give me a break. You’ve misjudged plenty on your own.”

I shoot him a dirty look for bringing that up. “No. I’m going after Cole and now that I finally have his attention, I do not want you to mess it up. You hear me?”

“Fine, fine.” Claudio throws his hands up and sighs. “But he’s a mistake. I’d just like to go on record that Cole Cookie-dough Lancaster is a mistake.”

“And stop calling him fat! He’s just a—”

“Big guy. Got it.” Claudio rolls his eyes at me. “You better get in the shower, you’ve got thirty minutes now.”

Shit.

Chapter Six

 

I’m taking deep breaths to hide the fact that I just ran the entire length of the casino in order to make it to the admin buildings when I arrive at Amy’s front vestibule. “Hi, I’m Tiffy Preston. I have a meeting with Amy at nine,” I tell the secretary behind the desk.

“Oh, yes,” she says, pushing her glasses up her nose. “She’s just finishing up with her eight o’clock, so go into the conference room and it will just be a moment.”

“Thank you,” I say sweetly. People expect me to be a bitch since I’m the CEO’s daughter, so I try not to meet their expectations even if I’m in the mood to tear someone’s hair out. Sure, I’m a spoiled rich girl. But I’m not a raging control freak. If there’s one thing my father taught me, it was to delegate to people who knew more than you in areas you were weak in. And since Amy is the expert here at the Landslide Hotel and Casino, I’m happy to delegate as much as possible to her and remain an observer. Especially since I have a helluva hangover.

Whew. I let out one last long breath as I open the conference room door and step inside, thankful I have a few more minutes to gather my thoughts about—

“Hey, there, Tiff,” Fletcher says with a smug grin as he turns from the view at the huge picture window. He checks his phone. “You’re late.”

I check my watch. “Two minutes.”

“Two minutes is two minutes, right? Didn’t you say something to me last night about being late?”

“You are an actor on stage. Things are timed, Mr. Novak.” I set my bag down on the table and begin pulling out my laptop. “You can’t afford to be two minutes late.”

“And I wasn’t. I was two seconds late. So don’t you find it unreasonable to be angry over two seconds?”

“Again, Mr. Novak, you are in showbusiness. Two seconds is too long.”

“I agree.”

“What?”

“I said, I agree. It won’t happen again. I’ve been giving this a lot of thought, and you’re right. Two seconds is too many. I’m going to be early from now on.”

I give him a sidelong glare. What’s he up to? “Well, good. Then once Amy gets here, we can drop that issue and start discussing your breach of contract regarding these girls you… date.”

“What breach?” he asks with a smile, taking a seat across from me at the table. “Did I breach, Miss Preston?”

Grrr. I have not read his contract. I was, after all, watching him strip online while getting drunk.

“Because I know for a fact that my contract has no stipulation that I don’t date show patrons. That would be ridiculous considering more than a thousand people come to watch me every week. It would severely limit my dating pool.”

“Maybe so, Mr. Novak. But I’m positive that you are not allowed to act in a manner that embarrasses the hotel. And the way you take home—”

“Who do I take home, Miss Preston? Who?” He stares hard at me for several seconds and his jaw muscles tighten, telling me that this is something he takes serious issue with.

“Do you take them home?” I play it safe.

“I do not.”

“Do you go to their rooms?”

“Yes.”

“Do you…”

“Fuck them?” he asks, with another one of those sly grins. He averts his eyes for a moment, looking down as his smile grows. He flashes me a glance from underneath his dirty-blond hair that tumbles over his forehead. “If I want, Miss Preston. There’s nothing in my contract that says I have to be celibate.”

Then he winks. And laughs, not in a mocking way, but more like a chuckle, making his smile grow and a dimple appear in his chin. Jesus, he’s really handsome.

The door bursts open and Amy rushes in with an armful of folders. “Sorry, Miss Preston. I was on a call with the accounting department. I wanted to make sure we had our numbers straight before we decided on any disciplinary action.”

“I’ve been keeping track as well,” Fletcher says, reaching down under the table and pulling out a laptop. “I’ve got the total number of ticket sales since the first month I started.” He flips his screen around so I can see it and then points to the graph. “As you can see, when I started the show we were barely half-full on both Wednesday and Saturdays. And once I took over as the central dancer and made changes to the lineup, fired the poor performers—”

“Wait. You fired? I thought that other dancer was in charge. What’s his name? Chandler?”

“He is,” Amy says. “Technically. But Fletcher is in charge of the dancers.”

“I am, and have been since the first day I started performing in this nearly defunct show,” Fletcher says with another one of those sly grins masquerading as shy. “When I come on board, I come to win. I did my research and found out what each dancer brought to the table and coached them on how to play it up. I know people, Miss Preston. I understand people. And I use it to my advantage.”

Oh, please.

“I pulled the Mountain Men up from obscurity and placed this show on the map. In fact, I’ve been working on a plan to franchise the show. You know, hire more dancers to go on tour. Keep a troupe here in Tahoe, and then get an elite troupe for a hotel in Vegas. Your father owns casinos in Vegas, I presume?”

“Um…” Fuck a duck. He’s smart. “Yes. We have four, actually.”

“Right. And two have stage shows. We could technically…”

I drift off after that. Because he never stops talking. The full hour of our meeting is all about the genius expansion plan of the Mountain Men Male Revue Show. There is no more mention of Fletcher Novak’s sexual escapades, disciplinary actions, or tardiness. Even Amy, who was clearly not on his side the last time we chatted before I came to the hotel to see for myself, is smitten with his plan.

“So what do you think?” he finally asks, turning his attention to me. “I’ve put together a business plan”—he rattles away on his keyboard for a moment—“and have just emailed it to Cole and your father for consideration.”

That two-timing swine! He went over my head! But I will be damned if I will give him the satisfaction of knowing how much that pisses me off. “Great.” I fake a look at my watch. “Well, I have another meeting at ten, so I’m going to move along. Thanks for your time, Amy.” I shake her hand as I try for a quick escape. “And I’ll be in touch, Mr. Novak.”

I cannot get out of that room fast enough. I smile brightly at the secretary, and then pull the outer door open and practically run down the hall to get away from that vile man with the sexy grin.

I hate him. I mean, I hated what he represented when I walked into that meeting. But now I just hate him in every way possible. He did all that to make me look bad. Make himself look so smart. Make me feel—

“Hey, Tiffy!”

Oh, no, he doesn’t. He does not get to embarrass me like that and then expect me to be civil in the fucking hallway. I make a beeline for the elevators and press the button. God loves me, because the doors open and there is no one inside. I rush in, hit the button for my floor, and then stand back against the mirrored walls.

But just as the doors are about to clang shut, a hand is there to ruin my escape.

“Hey,” Fletcher says, getting in with me. “Didn’t you hear me call your name?”

“I heard.”

“So you ignored me.”

“What do you want, Mr. Novak?”

“Well… I just… wanted to see if you liked that plan, that’s all. I really have been working on it in my spare time.”

“So you aspire to bigger things than taking your clothes off?” I wince, immediately regretting opening my mouth. Expect the unexpected, Tiffy. Isn’t that your motto? So why are you so pissed off that Fletcher Novak pulled the same stunt on you?

I just am. That’s all.

“Hmm,” is Fletcher’s only response to my outburst.

“I’m sorry,” I say, taking a deep breath. “That was not… appropriate.”

He’s silent for a moment. “That’s all right. At least you were honest.”

I roll my eyes before I can stop them.

“I try to be honest too.”

I huff out a laugh. “Right. You? Honest?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You, Fletcher Novak, are a player. You’re a bullshitter. You came into my meeting with your proposal when you knew damn well we were there to discuss you.”

“We did discuss me.”

“We were supposed to be discussing disciplinary actions! Not your dreams and aspirations.”

“What do you know about my dreams and aspirations?”

“You just laid them all out for me.”

“Now it’s my turn to laugh. I gave you a gift. A way to move this dinky little show forward.”

“And save your ass in the process,” I sneer.

“An entire business plan for exponential growth.”

“And I suppose you’d like to be one of the dancers who make it to Vegas? Right? You see your name in lights? You see money, and more slutty girls and one-night stands than you can count. That’s your dream, and I’ll tell you right now, my father might like your plan, but he will not like you.”

“Why not? What’ve I ever done to him?”

“You’re shady, and dishonest, and a cheat. He’s into integrity, Mr. Novak.” The doors open on my floor and I rush out, but Fletcher follows me. “What are you doing?” I say, whirling around to meet him face on.

“What’s your problem? Was it the kiss last night? Did you like it? Was it the fact that you grabbed my cock and realized you wanted it? And then you saw that I could have anyone and you felt insecure?”

“Ha! You wish. I’m so much better than you. Believe me, that kiss meant nothing. And your… your…”

“Cock,” he says with a smile and a wink.

“Was nothing…” And I run out of words because my mind is actually caught up in the size of his considerable… cock.

He laughs as the elevator doors close, leaving us in the hallway in front of my penthouse. He walks towards me, making me back up until my back is pressed against the door. “You liked it, Tiffy. You think I’m adorable.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I think you’re a player. I think you lie to women, tell them what they want to hear to get your way. And it’s not going to work with me.”

“Lie to them? No. I don’t lie. I tell them nice things, sure. I make them feel special, yes. And you know why I do these things, Tiffy?”

“To get laid!”

“To make them feel special. To wipe away all the bullshit some other man has already put into their heads. To make them smile. What’s wrong with making them smile?”

“You lie. You say things you don’t mean as a means to an end.”

“I do not. I say things that are true. I just refrain from saying the things that will hurt them. That’s all. I tell them they’re pretty because they are. I tell them they make me feel good, because they do. I tell them things that make them happy. Every bit of it’s true.”

“I don’t believe you. What woman wants to be used for a night and thrown to the curb the next day?”

“The women who come to a strip show and then go home with a stripper.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“You like it though, don’t you.” He takes a few steps closer to me, making me feel trapped by his glare and his words. “Did someone hurt you, Tiffy? Did some big, bad man hurt your feelings? Tell you you’re fat? Tell you you’re stupid? Tell you you aren’t good enough?”

“Stay away from me, Fletcher, I’m warning you.”

“I’m not even touching you, Tiffy. But you want me to, don’t you?” He takes one final step until we are barely an inch apart. “If I took you home I’d wipe all that shit out of your mind. I’ll say you’re pretty because you are. I’d say you’re smart because you are. I’d say you’re better than me because no man worth anything would want anything else. And that’s all true, Tiffy. I’d leave out every negative thing about you. Is that telling you what you want to hear? Fine, maybe it is. But I like being nice. Sue me.”

“You like getting what you want.” He’s so close to me, I can see little flecks of green in his blue eyes.

“True,” he whispers. “I do. But I’m not out to hurt anyone in the process.”

“Tell that to the discarded women you leave behind.”

“They all know. Because I tell them. One night only. Take it or leave it.” He smirks at me, and then places his hands on either side of my head, boxing me in. He leans forward so far that his hair dangles down and flashes against my cheek, making me shiver. “They always take it.”

“They take it because they want you. No one wants a one-night stand.”

“Fuck,” he laughs, stepping back from me. The heat from his body disappears with him, and I have to take a deep breath to calm my heart. “I can’t win with you, can I?” His eyes are bright and his grin is real. He’s having fun right now.

I just stare at him.

And then his mouth is on mine. His hands are behind my head, pulling me towards him. His tongue does a little dance against my lips, begging me to open for him. I feel a rush of heat and a wave of dizziness as the moment captures me and holds me tight.

“Open your mouth,” he whispers. “I want to feel your tongue.”

“Stop,” I say weakly.

He does stop. But I’m sorry I said it, because I want more, not less.

It’s too late though. He bows his head and steps back. He gives me one more look before he turns and walks down the hall to the stairs.

“Fletcher?” I call softly, just as he disappears through the door.

I don’t know what to do, so I do the only thing I can think of.

I go after him.