Degradation(62)

She had been so upset. Maybe, just maybe, there was the tiniest  possibility that he had been wrong about her. Wrong about her  relationship with the baseball player. He hadn't wanted to wait till the  end of the night to find out; he sought Tate out the minute he shook  Pet loose.

Jameson hadn't seen how it had started, just how it had ended. When he  had walked into Sanders' room, saw a man in a suit bent over Tatum, he  had thought it was Sanders, at first. Talk about upsetting. Sanders was  like a son to Jameson, he didn't want to have to kill him.         

     



 

But it wasn't Sanders. It was Dunn, Jameson's business partner there in  Boston. A man Jameson had gone to school with, a man he had known for a  long time. Dunn knew that Tate was off limits. Tate knew that Jameson  didn't want her to sleep with any of his friends or colleagues. Breaking  rules was apparently par for the course, that night. Jameson had wanted  to murder them both, but he had settled for kicking the shit out of  Dunn, and then kicking Tatum out of the house. He hadn't bothered to  look in the bathroom. He never bothered to look at anything, ever. He  didn't have to  –  he didn't care. Right? Right?

She had bled. How could I not notice that she was bleeding? Even I never made her bleed.

Jameson pressed his back against the door and then slid into a sitting  position. Put his head in his hands. He was a Yale graduate. He owned  multiple businesses, in multiple countries. He played the stock market  like he had invented it, and owned real estate so pricey, even Donald  Trump was interested. He was considered by many to be a very smart,  calculating man.

But suddenly he felt very stupid. Brought down by a woman with black  hair and dark eyes. A sexy wit and a sexier body. A bartender, coupon  clipper, temp worker. A college drop out turned party girl, with loose  morals, and legs that rarely closed.

So much better than him, in every way, shape, and form.

Her only downside was thinking she could use sex as a weapon. She'd  always been too naive to realize that sometimes, weapons could backfire.

It had certainly backfired on him.





COMING SOON


Pen vs. Sword



Marcus Carmello stared at the clock that sat over his office door.

Fifteen minutes.

He had been staring off in to space for fifteen minutes.

Unacceptable. He usually had exceptional work ethic - first one in the  door, last one to leave, never stopping in between. Just go, go, go;  work, work, work.

But he kept staring. He hadn't been able to concentrate ever since a  short, sexy, brunette cheerleader had nearly run him over a couple days  ago. He didn't know if she was actually a cheerleader, but her perky  attitude and frighteningly cheery smile made him think of one. And last  night he'd had a very vivid dream involving her in a cheerleading  outfit. It had left a lasting image on his brain, so that was how he  thought of her. As a cheerleader.

He had only been living in Seattle for about two years. He had gone on a  couple dates, but nothing had stuck. He was too involved in his career.  At first his life had been all about getting his business up and  running, and now it was all about making it the best it could be, the  best in the business. He didn't have time for women, at least not  outside of the bedroom.

He shook his head and looked down at his desk calendar. He had to find  something to do or he was gonna start replaying last night's dream in  his head. Again. There was a big event coming up that weekend that he  needed to concentrate on; he had been specifically requested to head the  event, so he wanted to double check that everything was up to his  personal standards. He was finally starting to get back in to the groove  of things when his intercom buzzed.

"Mark?" his secretary's voice rasped over the speaker.

"Yeah, Deb?" he asked, flipping through a contract to make sure everything was signed.

"A Ms. Carrington is here to see you."

He furrowed his brow, trying to think.

"Does she have an appointment?" he asked, pulling his calendar up on his computer.

"No, but she has your shirt in a garment bag and some coffee for you,"  his secretary replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

Holy hell, the cheerleader is in my office.

Mark stood up and walked around his desk, peering out in to the front  room. His door was glass and the front of his office was all windows  that went from the middle of the wall to the ceiling. His secretary,  Deborah, sat at her desk with her back to him. Across from her stood a  woman who also had her back to his office.

When he had met Penelope Carrington the day before, she had been wearing  an unflattering pair of khaki trousers and a burgundy polo shirt with  some logo on the chest. It had screamed uniform, but she had still  looked cute in it. Now, seeing her in normal clothing, he felt his blood  pressure rise a little.

She was wearing a pair of white shorts that hugged her hips and a black  sleeveless blouse. Her luxurious brown hair fell down her back, past her  shoulder blades. She bent over to examine an item that was under glass,  and he almost groaned. She had an amazing ass  –  she was  disproportionately bigger on her bottom half, but in the best possible  way. She filled out her shorts in a way that made his body ache. Before  he could do something stupid like start drooling, he adjusted himself  and walked out of his office.

His secretary smirked at him, but he ignored her and walked up behind  Pen. She didn't notice that he was behind her and she stayed bent over.  She was looking at a medal that had been given to him by the mayor of  Seattle. She flung some of her hair over her shoulder and he smiled,  remembering that same gesture from the day before. Her hair seemed to  have a mind of its own. The strands promptly slid back over her  shoulder.         

     



 

"I told you I could have someone pick it up," he said abruptly and she  jumped, jerking upright and spinning around. He stepped back, watching  to see if she had any coffee.

"You startled me!" she laughed, pressing a hand to her chest. He kept his eyes trained on hers.

"Sorry. Glad you didn't have any coffee," he joked, but his voice came  out flat. She kept her smile, but it looked strained, like she was  working to keep it there.

"Nope, not armed today. I notice you're without your trusty firearm,"  she said, gesturing to his side. He looked down at where his gun would  normally be resting.

"Don't worry, it's in my office. Never too far away," he assured her. She nodded.

"So. Mall cop, huh? Do you like making innocent ladies feel stupid?" she  asked, plunking a hand on her hip. He raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?" he asked and she laughed again. He held himself very still.  If he wasn't careful, he could grow to live to hear her laugh. He  didn't even know her, but her laugh had stuck with him since the first  time he had ever heard it.

"Yesterday. I asked if your job was like being a mall cop and you said  yes. This is clearly not mall cop territory!" Pen laughed, gesturing to  the expansive office. He glanced around. The room stretched off to his  right and was filled with cubicles. He also rented the two other spaces  on the floor and the whole floor underneath them.

"Well, I specialize in security. If a mall called me and asked for a  special security team for some event, I could provide it. So, kind of a  mall cop," Mark offered. She narrowed her eyes playfully at him.

"Nice try, but I don't think so. What exactly is it you do?" she asked,  walking past him and turning towards the cubicles. He turned with her,  but then caught sight of his secretary. The smirk had turned in to a  knowing grin. He frowned.

"Let's move this in to my office," he suggested, and placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her towards the door.

Warmth spread over his hand where he touched her. Her waist was sharp  and tiny in contrast to her hips. He looked down at the top of her head  while they walked forward, noticing how much shorter she was than him.  He almost smiled, but then he noticed his secretary staring at them.

"Don't forget your coffee," Deb said in a syrupy sweet voice. Pen stopped moving abruptly and Mark bumped in to her.

"Oh! I brought you a coffee. To kinda pay you back. But I didn't know  what you liked, so I just got what I normally drink," Pen laughed,  leaning to the side to grab the coffee cup. Mark stepped away before her  backside could make contact with him.

"Convenient for you," he said sarcastically, finally ushering her in to  his office and shutting the door. His secretary managed to give him  shit-eating grin before turning back to her work. He grumbled to himself  as he made his way behind his desk and sat down.

"It's a mocha. Everyone likes mochas," Pen told him, sitting the cup on his desk.

There was an awkward silence for a moment. Pen stayed standing,  fidgeting with her hands, his shirt hanging over her arm. Mark sat there  and looked up at her, wondering what he should say. He was still a  little shocked that she had just shown up. He had honestly just expected  a delivery service to turn up with his shirt, or at the most, he would  go pick it up at wherever she worked.