Hurting To Feel (Carpool Dolls)

This
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of
the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed
as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Hurting
To Feel

1st
Digital release: Copyright© 2013 Abby Wood

Cover
Artist: DNRCovers

All
rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically
or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in reviews.

www.authorabbywood.com

Dedication

To my husband - The first time you
touched me, I knew I was loved.

Chapter
One

Five
o'clock on a Thursday night and Nate Rafferty sat stuck in traffic on Sixth Avenue
with the deal of the year ready to slip out of his hands. He laid on the horn.
In forty minutes, he'd watch his rival, Pierce Lowes, walk away with the
Montgomery contract if traffic continued to stall.

"Come
on." He slammed his fist on the steering wheel.

Up
ahead, hundreds of brake lights going south lit up the I-5 Bridge. No way would
he be able to make it into downtown Portland in time. He cussed, flipping off
the driver of a beat-up Dodge that cruised by in the carpool lane.

A
pang of guilt over losing his patience had him closing his eyes and counting to
ten backward. Despite being thirty-five years old, one of the wealthiest men in
the Pacific Northwest, he could almost imagine the calm reassuring words from his
mentor, Professor Frank.

He
pushed away the desire to inflict his frustrations on someone else. An innocent
someone else.

Professor
was the one person who kept him grounded. Not only had Professor Frank saved
him from a life of crime and helped set him on an alternative path during the
worst years of his life, he helped protect Nate from destroying himself when
the darkness became too much to handle.

He'd
stayed away three months, not on purpose but out of necessity, and was due for
a visit with his friend. Three months, and his control was slipping more every
day. He wanted to hurt someone.

His
cell phone rang. He touched his earpiece while clearing his throat.
"What?"

"Mr.
Rafferty, it's three minutes after five," Janice, his longtime secretary,
said.

He
growled. "I hope you're going to tell me there's a helicopter ready to
pick me up, and you're not just calling to let me know I'm running out of
fucking time."

"Oh,
dear. You're cursing." Janice sighed. "Traffic's that bad, huh?"

His
head hit the back of the headrest and he blew out his breath. "Yes,
Janice. It's that bad."

"Hang
on, sir. I think I can help you." Some damn symphony music blared in his
ear.

Horns
continued blasting the air outside. He rolled his head and looked out the side
window. The woman in the minivan painted her nails while talking on the phone.

Movement
caught his eye. He sat straighter and hit the button lowering the window. Two
lanes over, traffic moved smoothly. He ground his teeth together.

The
carpool lane.
Lucky bastards.

"Mr.
Rafferty?" Janice said.

He
closed the window. "Yeah."

"Give
me your exact location. I'll have someone there in five minutes."

He
peered at the closest building. "I'm on Sixth and Washington, outside the
Kinkaid Theater, but how is that going to help—"

"Hang
on, please," Janice said.

The
music returned and he shook his head. He needed a new secretary. Janice was
losing her mind. Ten years on the job, working for him, and she'd obviously
started drinking before quitting time.

The
music ended. "Mr. Rafferty?"

He
inhaled deeply, and replied on an exhale, "Yes, Janice."

"I
need to know what you like a woman to wear…"

He
stared straight ahead, blinded by all the red taillights. "I'm hanging up,
Janice."

"Wait.
She'll be there in—"

He
threw his earpiece between the front seats. Numbness settled over him. What was
the big deal about getting the contract anyway?

Rafferty
Enterprise made him millions of dollars a year. He had a gorgeous home in the
West Hills overlooking Portland, kept a hundred and forty eight employees on
his payroll, and there would be more three billion dollar deals in his future.

He
imagined Pierce's smug face when the declaration came that he'd won.
Fuck.

Every Monday
when he played one on one basketball with Pierce at the gym would be hell. The
Montgomery deal was the pièce de résistance between them. He'd hear about
losing until the next deal came up that caught both his and Pierce's attention.

Knock,
knock.

He
turned his head toward the passenger door. He frowned, swiveling in his seat to
look behind him. Parked against the curb, he wasn't blocking anyone from
joining the flow of traffic. He pushed the button and rolled down the window.

He
leaned over the gearshift. "Yes?"

A
black haired beauty with the widest green eyes leaned down and gave him a smile
that hit below the belt. "Mr. Rafferty?"

He
nodded.

"I'm
Addison from Carpool Dolls, your secretary called me. I understand you're late
for a meeting, so if you could unlock your door, I'll get in and you can be on
your way." Her voice, smooth and husky like a rich bourbon calmed him
better than any drink. "With me along, you'll be free to use the carpool
lane."

He
sat back, unlocked the door, and watched her legs enter the car. Long legs.
Firm lean legs. Legs that went clear up to a short black dress—his gaze
traveled higher—with a plunging neckline, cupping breasts the size of—

"Mr.
Rafferty." She buckled the seat belt. "I'd recommend using your turn
signal and cutting across traffic to enter the carpool lane."

He
jolted.
The deal.

Adrenaline
fueled him forward. He rolled down his window, hit the horn, and motioned for
traffic to back up. Several minutes later, he'd created a break in the line and
worked the BMW over to the far left lane.

He
pressed the accelerator, and kept glancing at the dashboard as the speedometer
cruised up to sixty-five miles per hour. "What time is it?"

"Your
clock says five twenty-three," Addison said.

He
slammed the car into third gear. "Damned if I'll miss the meeting and let
Pierce hold the Montgomery's account over me. Hold on, I think I can make it
before the deadline."

"Very
well played, sir," she said.

He
glanced at Addison, unsure of what to make of the woman sitting in his car,
supporting him, looking knockout gorgeous and dressed seductively sexy.
"Are you a friend of Janice's?"

She
crossed her legs. "I'm one of the Carpool Dolls. We supply our clients
with a passenger when they'd like to use the carpool lane…like yourself."

"And,
there's a need for…what did you call them? Dolls?" He checked the
speedometer, the clock, and took another look at Addison. "No offense, but
how many people think to call ahead and ask for someone to ride with them
through the ten, twelve, miles on the freeway where it benefits someone to have
a passenger?"

"You'd
be surprised," she murmured.

He
turned on his blinker, looked over his shoulder, and cut through the lanes of
traffic, barely making the exit. On the off-ramp, he checked the clock again.
Ten minutes.

The
next several minutes took all his concentration. He bordered breaking the speed
limit as he zipped down the one-way street, over to Broadway, and back around
toward Fifth Street. The lights of the Swanson Tower sat right in front of him.

He
paralleled parked. Four minutes.

He
opened the door. "I'll be right back."

"But,
sir—"

He
shut the door, slapped his hand on the hood as he jogged in front of the car.
"I'll take you back when I'm done—he jumped onto the sidewalk—give me a
half hour, an hour tops," he said loud enough to be heard inside the car.

Then
he hustled through the lobby, skipped the elevators, and instead took the
stairs three at a time. On the fourth floor, he burst out into the hallway and marched
to the last door on the left. He pushed his way into the room as the long hand
on his watch ticked straight up on twelve.

He
pulled up short, straightened his jacket sleeves and stabbed Pierce, who paced
by the floor to ceiling windows, with the winning look. "Evening,
gentlemen. Shall we get the bidding going?"

Harold
Montgomery stood up from the boardroom table. "Right on time, Nate. I was
about to call the meeting to order."

Nate
sat down and dipped his chin toward Pierce who took the seat opposite of him.
"Evening, Pierce."

Pierce
rubbed his hand acrossed his chin and leaned forward. "I thought you were
in Vancouver. How did you make it across the bridge?"

For
the first time that day, he relaxed. "A doll," he murmured.

For
the next thirty minutes, he spent all his attention signing the documents
Harold's secretary passed him. He hobnobbed with the CEO, shook hands with
Pierce, and called the meeting a success.

Pumped
high from closing on the much sought after Montgomery deal, he hurried out to
his car with an apology ready and intent on sharing the good news with Addison.

Except
the car was empty.

He
stood on the sidewalk, searching up and down the street. Where could she have
gone?

"You
lucky asshole…congratulations." Pierce joined him beside the car and
slapped him on the shoulder. "Hope the new deal doesn't make you go soft
Monday morning, because I'm taking you down on the court. Two hundred to the
winner sound good to you?"