2. Reese

CHAPTER 2

Reese

The Rolex was the cheapest thing about Cory, of that I was certain. From the monogrammed initials on his shirt pocket down to the cufflinks on his wrist, there wasn’t a single inexpensive thing about the man, unless you considered the things I wanted to do to him. It had been far too long since I’d taken a rich man to bed, even longer since I’d gotten one on his knees, but if the way Cory watched me move behind the bar was any indication of his motives, my streak was about to end.

He downed the first two drinks in record time, then nursed a third until the ice started to melt.

“You’re ruining the whiskey,” I told him, flipping a white towel over my shoulder.

“The whiskey’s shit,” he countered, raising the glass to his lips. “The less I can taste it, the better.”

“I told you as much.” I shrugged, glancing at the clock beside the register. It was almost two and that meant it was time to shoot my shot. “I’ve got better stuff at my place.”

Cory licked his lips, eyeing me like a predator. “Is that an invitation?”

“Depends.” I leaned over the bar so I could whisper. “Did you want it to be?”

“My assistant booked me a hotel room by the airport,” he said. “I could get better whiskey on my way there than anything you have at your place.”

God , I wanted to shove my cock down his throat and shut him up.

“You’re an arrogant prick, aren’t you?”

“I just know what I like, Reese. Don’t you?”

Someone hollered at me from the other end of the bar, and I had to leave Cory and his arrogance to simmer while I closed out the tab for a group of women who’d drank nothing but daiquiris all night. They tipped me decently enough, but by the time I made it back to the stool where I’d last seen Cory, he was gone. He’d already given me two fifties, and he’d tucked a third beneath his half-finished whiskey and Coke. I pulled it out from underneath the glass, a white business card wrapped up between the crisp, green folds of the money.

“Cory Callahan. Architectural Consultant,” I read his name and job out loud, flipping it over to read the rest. “Los Angeles Gateway Hotel, room #1409.”

I cursed him under my breath and tucked the card into the back pocket of my jeans. I could think about Cory Callahan later, after the bar was cleaned and closed.

An hour later, I locked up the back door and stepped into the alley. The business card scrawled with Cory’s elegant cursive burned a hole in my pocket, but so did my cell phone. On the walk to my car, I called my best friend, Morgan, and she answered on the first ring.

“What trouble are you in, Reese Steeler?” she asked in lieu of a hello.

“What makes you think I’m in trouble? I’ve been at work all night.”

“You are a texter, my good sir. You never call unless you need to be talked out of something—and fast. So what trouble are you in?”

“None yet,” I grumbled, unlocking my car and sliding down into the driver’s seat. I fished the business card out of my pocket and flattened it out against the emblem in the middle of my steering wheel.

“What’s her name?” Morgan prompted.

I huffed out an unamused laugh. “His.”

“You swore you were done with men.”

“I know, but he ticks the boxes,” I said, closing my eyes and picturing the way Cory’s cufflinks flashed so bright against the dingy surface of the bar top.

“What boxes?” Morgan laughed at me. “Tall, dark, and out of your league?”

“I’m insulted.”

“You’re a catch, baby. You know it. But you’re a slippery one.”

“Then they just need a strong grip,” I countered.

“You fight the hardest when they hold on.”

I swallowed, unwanted memories surging into my chest. I let my head drop back against the headrest and I closed my eyes. “You know why.”

Morgan sighed, and I could imagine her amber eyes crinkling at the corner as her mouth tugged down into an apologetic little frown. “I didn’t mean to poke at the scar.”

“I don’t want anyone to catch me, Morgan. Not anymore.”

“Then why are you calling me?” she asked.

“Because I don’t think he’s tall, but he’s definitely out of my league.”

“Clearly not if you’re calling to hear reason.”

“He’s staying at a hotel by the airport. Gave me a business card with his room number on the back,” I said.

“What else?” she asked.

“He wears a Rolex and cufflinks.” I left out the bit about his monogrammed shirt. I didn’t think Morgan could overlook something that ostentatious, not even in the name of a one-night stand.

“Maybe ask him to keep the watch on, then.”

I snorted a laugh, scrubbing a hand down my face and finally turning the car on. Some EDM playlist blared to life through the radio before the Bluetooth connected and Morgan’s voice filled the car.

“If he’s at a hotel by the airport that means he’s on his way out of town,” she said gently. “There can’t be any harm in getting your rocks off with a rich out-of-towner.”

Biting at my lower lip, I tried to convince myself of what a night with a man like Cory would—or could—entail. He was perfectly put together, and it would be so much fun to take him apart, to pick and pull at him until he was crying on his knees, begging…pleading.

“I called you to talk me out of it,” I said to Morgan, backing out of the parking spot and heading out of the lot. “Not into it.”

“You’d already made up your mind before you called,” she said, and she wasn’t wrong. “Call me when you get home so I know he didn’t steal your kidneys.”

“I told you he’s rich. He’s not going to slice me open and put me in an ice bath.”

An ice bath.

Now there was a sensory idea I hadn’t entertained in a very long time. Maybe not an ice bath, but an ice bucket full of cubes to use to torture and tease? That sounded like a fun start to a long night.

“I know.” She laughed at me as I headed north toward the airport, wishing he’d agreed to come back to my place where I had more tools and toys to play with.

“Those organs are expensive as fuck on the black market, Reese. Guard yours with your life.”

“I’ll talk to you later, Morg.”

I disconnected the call and mentally designed my game plan.