Delivering the Virgin(23)

"Where does Tucker live? Oooh, is his apartment fancy?"

"Does Tucker have any rich male friends? Do you think he could set me up with someone? I'd really appreciate it."

And the questions just made me angry. Because the fact is, I wasn't sure  of anything anymore. Was the apartment in Tribeca some fake, just a  prop he used to seduce women? And who were Tucker's friends? The people  in the Mediterranean had never shown up, never called as far as I knew,  maybe they didn't even exist.

Fuck, I felt so stupid, so dumb. I'd been so trusting, just a naïve girl  who'd been taken by a handsome man again, a master who fed me whatever I  wanted to hear. Most likely Tucker had been spinning a web of lies and  I'd believed it all, eating it up, no questions asked, living in my own  personal La-La Land.

Why hadn't I learned? The terrible experience with Gary had been so  recent, burned me so deep, and yet here I was, making all the same  mistakes just months later. Suddenly, I hated myself, loathing  everything that made me me, filled with disgust for my body, my mind, my  behavior.

Sitting at my desk seething, I trembled, shuddered and jerked, trying to  keep my emotions subdued. But there was a tidal wave welling up inside,  the bile rising bitter and venomous in my throat, my stomach churning  and heaving uncontrollably. I couldn't take it anymore and jumped up,  shaking, almost coming apart with rage. I was going to confront Tucker  right now, this was a fucking emergency, and there was nothing more  important. So grabbing my purse, I rushed out of the building without a  second glance, if I got fired, then so be it, there were other jobs out  there.

With my brows drawn, face set, I strode to the subway with purposeful  strides. Because I was headed to the offices of NYC Concierge, goddamn  if I waited until getting home to confront the big man. And if the  blow-up was in front of his unsuspecting co-workers, then so be it,  they'd be getting an eyeful and an earful up the wazoo because things  were volcanic now, and I didn't care who knew.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


Tucker




My feet up on my desk, I chewed on a pencil thoughtfully as I read  through a four hundred page report. This white paper about the market  for elite delivery services was so fucking off that it made my eyes  bleed. The supposed "consultants" we'd hired for the study didn't  understand the sector at all and had put together a four hundred page  pile of shit, a tome that I'd skimmed the first ten pages of and then  put down, disgusted.

I wiped a hand over my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. Fuck, I was  so tired. I worked like a dog during the day and then beat feet to get  home to see my best girl. But it wasn't like I got a ton of rest and  relaxation once the sun set. Fuck no, I was fucking Laurie all night,  two, three times before dawn, sometimes even four.

And it was good, real good. I couldn't get enough of her, couldn't shoot  enough sperm into that tiny pussy, couldn't bobble those breasts enough  times, lick her asshole and make her scream, it was that amazing. And  fuck, but even the impossible had come to pass. Walking home one day,  I'd passed by a fine jewelry store, its goods gleaming in glass cases  and something made my feet turn as if magnetized, my hand opening the  door and stepping in.

I wasn't sure what I was doing, a man in a trance. But when the  saleslady came up, my mouth opened automatically and I said the words  "engagement ring." Can you believe it? Tucker McGrath, confirmed  bachelor and complete asshole, was shopping to get married. And when the  sales associate brought out a velvet tray with a couple different  selections, there was a feeling of rightness in my gut. Because Laurie  and I belonged together, she was the white to my black, the yin to my  yang, the soft to my hard. And the best thing I could do, probably the  smartest thing I'd ever do in my life was to put a ring on it, make her  mine in every way possible, mark her before the world.         

     



 

So the ring sat in my desk drawer even now, locked up, buried among a  ton of useless crap. It was a beauty, I'd spent seven figures on a seven  carat heart-shaped diamond, it'd probably weigh her hand down, it was  that big. But that's how serious I was about making her mine. I wanted  every fucking male in the City to see that diamond and know that Laurie  belonged to me.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn't hear our receptionist Nora tiptoe over.

"Mr. McGrath," she said quietly, standing next to me. "There's a young lady here to see you."

That was weird. Usually Nora emailed if we had a visitor, there was no  need to make the announcement in person. And if you're wondering about  our office space, yes, it's an open plan. We don't have separate  offices, just long rows of desks, the set-up modern, roomy, eco-friendly  with both a foosball table and a ping-pong table. Yeah, we're that  start-up, the one with all the free food and games, impossibly hip, all  our employees young and brainy.

And even I, as CEO, worked out in the open, there was nothing to  distinguish me from anyone else except the fact that I had two monitors,  one right next to the other. But hey, even that wasn't a dead giveaway.  After all, this was a progressive workplace where people had standing  desks or sat on yoga balls, so my double monitors didn't stick out that  much.

But as I looked up, I saw why Nora had made the announcement in person,  practically whispering next to me. Because Laurie was here, and she  looked fine. My girl was like a dream materializing in our offices,  curvy, jiggly, that curly brown hair tied behind her head, everything  accentuated with a pencil skirt and turtleneck sweater. I'd begged  Laurie to buy more form-fitting stuff, I loved seeing her breasts and  ass outlined in tight clothes, couldn't wait to rip them off when we  were home.

But the brunette had seen me now and was shooting daggers across the  open work space, her brown eyes darkening to black, furious in their  glare. Oh shit. What had happened? Had she gotten fired? Had that bitch  Tanya at work been snooping in our business? I'd heard enough about this  person Tanya to hate her, I bet she'd been spreading some poison  somehow or other.

And I wasn't wrong. Laurie came marching over, not caring that my  employees were staring from the corners of their eyes and came to stand  by my desk, hands on her hips.

"Tucker," she said. "What is this?" she demanded, holding out the Palladium card.

I grabbed her hand.

"Honey, let's go to a conference room, we can have some privacy," I rumbled, exerting some pressure. "Come on."

But she resisted, shaking her head furiously, those brown curls bouncing.

"No," she said flatly. "I want some answers. What the fuck is this?"

I took a long look at her, then another long look at the card.

"It's my credit card," I said slowly. "Remember, I gave it to you? To buy yourself some clothes."

"I know that," she spat. "But why, on Wiki, does it say that only  millionaires can get this card? That it's for ultra high net-worth  clients of the bank, who on average are worth one hundred million  dollars?" she demanded, hands on hips, chin jutting out. "Are you even  Tucker McGrath?" she demanded again hotly, shooting sparks. "Who the  fuck are you?"

Now I knew I had to get her into a conference room, my employees were  openly staring now, not even bothering to pretend to work. So instead of  trying to persuade her nicely, I took things into my own hands. With  one fell swoop, I picked her up in my arms and strode over the  conference room, kicking the door shut behind us and pulling down all  the shades.

"What the fuck?" the brunette sputtered, struggling to get down. "Let go of me, fucker!"

I growled then.

"That's right, I'm a fucker because I'm the man who fucks you," I said  threateningly. "Every day, every night, I fuck that pussy so go ahead  and call me fucker," I rasped.

That made Laurie pull back a bit, still hissing. I'd put her down and  she was a glorious sight to see. Her hair had fallen down and curls  trailed around her face, framing it, highlighting the flush, her lips  rosy and parted, breathing hard.         

     



 

Plus her breasts were magnificent. In the tight sweater they were like a  ship's prow, jutting out, bold, beautiful, heaving as she stared at me  with accusatory eyes. Plus, that ass. Fuck, she'd taken my advice,  wearing tight clothes and the effect it had on me was electric, my cock  jutting like a hammer ready to slam.

Except there was the problem of my identity.

"Laurie, I can explain," I began, hands up, a conciliatory look on my face.

"You better!" she shrieked, this time hurling the Visa at me. I ducked  in time, the rectangle bouncing off the wall with a chink, falling to  the floor. But I didn't care, the Palladium Visa meant nothing to me,  was nothing but an accoutrement to my massive wealth.

"Are you even the delivery man?" the brunette shrieked again, staring at  me with accusing eyes. "Or is this, is all this, a lie?" she said,  gesturing to the conference room, the office beyond.