Distraction: An underground kings novel (3 page)

“Fine.”

“Now, let’s go. I have shit to do,” I tell her, standing and putting on my suit jacket.

“What?” she asks, backing up.

“I’m taking you to your car,” I tell her, walking past her toward the door.

“I can walk myself,” she says as her brows pull inward.

“Yeah, and I know you are your own brand of chaos, so I can’t leave you alone in the club until we build up the trust between us.”

“That is so…so stupid,” she mutters looking adorable.

“Now,” I tell her, swinging the door open and motioning her out ahead of me.

“Lint-licker,” she murmurs under her breath as she passes and then stomps down the stairs in front of me, giving me a view of her ass and legs that will be burned into my brain for years. Once we reach the club floor, I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, gaining a glare from her that I ignore as I lead her through the crowd.

Passing Teo, who is manning the front door, I give him a chin lift, watching his eyes dart between Maggie and me.

“You good?” I hear him ask, thinking he’s talking to me. I look at him like,
Why the fuck are you asking that?
Then I see his eyes are on Maggie.

“Yeah, thanks, Teo. Have a good night,” she says softly, smiling at him, which pisses me off.

“Where’s your car?” Her eyes fly to me, losing the softness instantly and she try’s to pull away.

“Down two blocks. I can walk myself. We’re outside, so you don’t have to worry about me causing any problems.”

“Come on.” I ignore her and take her hand, feeling the softness of it against my palm, and then tighten my fingers when she tries to pull away again.

Walking the two blocks, I try to understand what’s going on in my head. I have never let a woman effect me, but this woman has done just that without even realizing it, and I have no idea what the hell I’m going to do about it.

“This is my car,” she tells me, forcefully tugging her hand free of mine.

Looking at the car, my anger comes back tenfold. The thing looks like I could pick it up and toss it with one hand tied behind my back. It sure as hell doesn’t look safe for anyone to drive, especially in this town.

“What the hell is this?” I ask, watching her pull a key out of her bra—where I’m thinking she must keep everything, since the last time I was with her, that’s where her phone was.

“It’s a car.” She rolls her eyes.

“This is a death trap, Mags. One little bump in this piece of shit and you’re done,” I say, running a hand through my hair.

“It’s Maggie, M-A-G-G-I-E, Sven, and it’s safe. Plus, it’s good for the environment.”

“Yeah, because it kills people off, so there is one less person on Earth to fuck it up.”

“You’re very dramatic and you curse a lot,” she says, pushing me back a step, getting in behind the wheel, and slamming the door. Once the car is on, she rolls down the window. “See you tomorrow, Boss.”

“Drive carefully, and call the club when you get home,” I tell her, knowing she doesn’t have my cell number, which I’m going to have to fix tomorrow. Plus, I’ll get her a phone that isn’t from the dark ages and tell her it’s for work, because I know she won’t take it any other way.

“Yeah, I’m not calling you, but I’ll see you tomorrow,” she retorts and then pulls out of the small space, narrowly missing a car that’s passing by. Letting out an annoyed sigh, I turn and walk back to the club, mumbling under my breath the whole way, asking myself what the fuck am I doing?

Maggie

Show Me the Money

L
ooking at myself
in my full-length mirror, I turn to the side and make sure I look okay. Since I’m working with Sven, who I’ve seen wear nothing but suits, I chose to wear my sheer black sleeveless dress shirt with a high collar that ties with a bow at my neck. My cream-colored high-waisted skirt fits snuggly against my curves leaving my legs bare, showcasing one of my favorite pairs of leopard-print heels that have a pointy toe and a thin, spiked heel.

I left my long hair down except for my bangs, which I swept to the side and pinned back away from my face. I kept my makeup minimal, with just mascara and a little blush, not really in the mood to do a full face of makeup. Picking up my bag from my bed, I head into the living room where I find my sister, Morgan, sitting on the couch, watching TV. She has healed a lot over the last couple weeks, but she’s still carrying bruises that remind me of what could have happened, that I could have lost her.

“Are you going to work?” she asks, pressing pause on the show she’s watching.

“Yeah, there are leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry. I’m not sure what time I’ll be home, but if you need me, I have my cell on me,” I tell her as I pick up my car keys from the counter in the kitchen.

“I can take care of myself,” she grumbles, picking up a bag of Cheetos from the coffee table.

“I know,” I agree, not wanting to point out that she’s done a horrible job of taking care of herself so far.

“I may go out tonight,” she says casually as she un-pauses the show she’s watching.

“Where?” I ask while my tightly controlled facade slips.

“I don’t know. Amy called and said I needed to get out of the house, and I agreed with her.”

I hate my sister’s best friend. I’ve never trusted her, and anytime Morgan has gotten in trouble, Amy has been involved in one way or another. “You still have bruises from the last time you went out with her,” I point out hoping she will see for herself the kind of friend Amy really is.

“It’s not fair for you to make what happened seem like Amy’s fault.”

“Will you call and tell me where you’re going?” I ask, knowing it’s completely pointless to argue with her about her relationship with Amy. I don’t think she will ever see how being friends with her is affecting her.

“I’ll call,” she says absently while shoving her hand into the bag of Cheetos on her lap and looking at the TV.

“Love you,” I tell her, getting a nod in return before heading out the front door and down the stairs to my car.

Walking into Sven’s office, I fight the instinct to turn around and run right back out when I see he’s on the phone. I have no idea what I was thinking agreeing to come work for him, but then again, my life has been a series of events just like this one.

“Hold on, Mags,” he says, startling me.

Pulling his phone away from his ear, he motions for me to take a seat in one of the two dark blue, velvet high-back chairs in front of his large oak desk. Rolling my eyes at him, I take a seat, watching the corner of his mouth lift before he covers it with his hand. I hate that he calls me Mags—or that’s what I’m telling myself, anyway. But then again, it’s better than the nickname my parents gave me at my spirit ceremony, when they called down the moon goddess while standing naked in the middle of a field on my tenth birthday. I think I’m still traumatized by that experience.

Crossing one leg over the other I pull in a breath while I study him. Sven is gorgeous in a way that is completely unfair to the rest of the men on Earth. He’s tall enough that I could wear my six-inch heels and he would still tower over me. His body is lean, with just the right amount of muscle. His dark blond hair is overgrown on top and little shorter on the sides, giving him an unkempt, sexy look. His eyes are a startling blue that look green when he’s angry, and the long, dark lashes that surround them make them appear that much more enticing.

His nose is straight, his cheekbones are high, and his lips are full and are surrounded by a five o’clock shadow that takes his hotness up a few notches. He looks like he could be on the cover of GQ—hell, for all I know, he
has
been on the cover. The few nights I sat down at the bar, I heard women talk about him, and from what I gathered most of the female population of Vegas knows who he is. I swear every single leggy blonde, redhead, and brunette knew exactly who he was by name, and judging by the way they spoke about him, they probably screamed it a few times.

“Nice of you to show up, Mags,” he says, pulling me out of my perusal and setting his phone on top of the desk. Sitting up a little taller, I narrow my eyes and watch as he walks around the desk toward me, unbuttoning his suit jacket and taking a seat on top of the wooden surface, leaning a little closer than necessary.

“You said be here at five it’s five.” I hold up my hand when it looks like he’s going to say something else. “And we need to discuss my salary,” I state, uncrossing my legs then re-crossing them in the other direction, ignoring the way his eyes watch the movement and change color.

“Salary?” He frowns, and I can’t help the smile that forms on my lips at the confusion on his face.

“Yes, my salary. I mean, you didn’t actually think I was going to come work for you for free, did you?” I ask, raising my brow.

“Of course not. I’ll start you off at thirty-five thousand—”

“Yeah, that’s not going to work for me. At my old job, the one I just quit to come work for you, I made one hundred and seventy-five thousand a year, with four weeks paid vacation and one week sick pay,” I say, cutting him off. I actually make much more than that modeling, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Where the hell did you work?” he growls, making my girly parts tingle.

Ignoring my body’s reaction to him, I wave my hand around in front of me and continue, “That doesn’t matter now, so since I’m just starting out here, I’ll take one hundred and fifty thousand, but I want the same for paid days off, including sick days.”

“
No
.”

“Yes.”

“Jesus, what the fuck was I thinking?” he asks, tilting his head back and looking toward the ceiling for an answer to his question.

“You’re thinking you just got yourself the best assistant money can buy,” I retort then press my lips together to keep from smiling at the look of gloom on his face when his eyes meet mine.

Running his hand through his hair, his eyes scan me over and he shakes his head. “Fine, but you’re at my beck and call. That means twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, if I call, you come running.”

“I don’t work weekends.” I smirk then wonder why the hell I love fighting with him so much.

His eyes study me for a long time, so long that I fight the urge to squirm in my seat. “Fine, but five days a week, you’re mine twenty-four seven.”

“Sure.” I shrug, knowing he has no idea what he’s in for. “So what do you want me to do today?” I ask looking around his office, noticing it’s tidy. The top of his desk is clean with his top of the line computer and a neat stack of papers. The upper and lower cabinets to the right of his desk with a counter between are bare, only a crystal decanter that is half full of dark liquid and two glasses sitting on top. The leather couch behind me with the round, rustic wooden coffee table is clean with a stack of books on top, which I’m certain no one has ever read and is there just for show.

Everything seems to have a specific spot, but there is nothing overly personal in the space. Not a single picture of family or friends, no mementos of places he’s gone. It looks like a magazine ad for a man’s office. The little devil, who has taken up a place on my shoulder since meeting Sven, is begging me to move stuff around just to see what will happen if I do, while the angel on the other side is shaking her head in disapproval.

Frowning, he looks at me then glances around as well before bringing his gaze back to mine. “There are some orders that need to be filled. You can watch me do that, and then I’ll take you down, show you around the club, and introduce you to everyone.”

“It’s your show, Boss.” I smile and watch him take off his suit jacket and lay it neatly over the edge of the desk, and then I scoot back in my chair as he walks toward me so he can pick up the chair next to mine. Carrying the chair around the desk, he sets it down next to his on the opposite side.

“You can sit here…unless you want to sit on my lap?” He smirks while nodding to the chair he placed next to his.

“Does shizzle like that actually work for you?” I ask him, standing from the chair I’m currently sitting in and walking around to take the seat.

“Do you ever curse?” he counters, ignoring my question, and I feel his knee lean against my thigh.

“Yes.” I shrug. I may not curse with the same words he does, but the meaning is the same.

“Say ‘fuck,’” he challenges me with a raise of his brow.

“Frick.” I smile, pulling my leg away from his when it seems he’s not going to move.

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Says who? Everyday, words are added to the English language. Who’s to say that ‘frick’ won’t mean the word you said in a few years?”

“You’re something else,” he mutters under his breath while his eyes stay locked on mine.

“Are you going to show me what I need to know, or stare at me all day?” I question, pointing to the screen, needing him to look away, because him looking at me is causing a range of emotions I’m not comfortable with to run through me.

“I’m definitely going to show you something,” he grunts, pulling his eyes from mine. Sitting back, I ignore the warm feeling in my lower belly and watch for an hour as he shows me how to use the computer system to place orders for the club. Then, I follow him down to the club floor, where he introduces me to everyone and shows me around.

“I’m going to order in some food. Would you like something?” I ask Sven, standing from the couch, where he told me to sit three hours ago after handing me one of the most boring books in the world about Vegas night club codes and policies.

Stretching, I look at him and frown, noticing he hasn’t moved. “Sven,” I repeat, walking toward his desk. “Hey.” I snap my fingers close to his ear, making him jump.

“Are you okay?” he asks, running his hands through his hair.

“I need food. Would you like anything?” I repeat, looking at the clock on the wall and seeing it’s a little after eleven.

“Sure,” he mutters, reaching into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet, and holding it out toward me.

“Do you have any preference?” I ask, ignoring his outstretched hand.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he says, taking a hundred dollar bill from his wallet, attempting to hand it to me instead.