Restraining the Receptionist: ... the Receptionist, Book 2 (8 page)

After a long swallow of tomato juice, he perked up a bit. As soon as he started downing the French fries, he became considerably more lucid. “What are you doing here, Dana? Ethan send you?”

“No, Ethan didn’t send me.” I bristled, even though it was a perfectly logical conclusion for someone who didn’t know what I’d gone through in the past few hours. “I’m very angry with Ethan right now and I wanted to see you.”

He frowned and eyed the burger.

“No burger yet,” I ordered him. “Let the fries coat your stomach first. My theory is they neutralize the acid or something.”

“What?”

“Just trust me.”

Apparently he did, as he stuffed another fry in his mouth. “Told you not to mess with Ethan,” he mumbled.

“I didn’t. He messed with me. But I don’t want to talk about it yet. Why are you drunk?”

“Why not? Feels good.”

“It must feel better than it looks. You look like crap. Still hot, of course.” I had to be honest about that.

“Dana, my fiery Dana. There’s no one like you.” He mooned at me. “If you’d been there, we could have pulled off the pitch, I bet.”

“The Woodfield pitch?”

“Bunch of dickheads. Nothing but questions questions questions. Knew most of it. Not all. So much for that.” He slugged his tomato juice, cursing it for its lack of alcoholic content. “If you’d been there, you could have fed me some answers. But no, Ethan had to keep you for himself. At least we had our deal.”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah, well…”

“You broke the deal.” Simon suddenly didn’t look drunk any more.

I shrank back into the disgusting vinyl, trying not to think about how many desperate characters had inhabited this booth. “It wasn’t like that.”

“He always gets what he wants. Always.”

“Not this time. I’ll quit if I have to. I feel terrible. I only want to be with you. I’ll quit, actually I may already have, and we can be together outside of Cowell and Dirk. We don’t need Ethan.”

He didn’t answer, because he was too busy looking up at a group of four men who’d stopped by our booth.

“Simon. Fancy seeing you here.” The leader of the group gave an empty smile, his glance slithering across me.

“Hello, gentlemen.” Simon nodded at each in turn. I felt in my bones the effort it took for him to appear sober. “Top of the evening to you.”

“Likewise. We’ve been discussing our meeting. Some of us seem to think we need to revisit a few issues.” The men still wore their business suits and actually looked fairly cute. Mid-thirties to early forties, at the oldest. I tried to dredge up a memory of what business the Woodfield Group was in and failed. For all I knew, they sold fields of wood.

“Call me tomorrow. We’ll set up a time.”

“Well, we were thinking maybe a looser atmosphere would help. If you want to stop by our suite at the Tropicana, we’re going to be doing Jagermeister shots until we can’t stand it. We’ve got some burgers on the way too.”

It sounded dreadful, but I sensed Simon getting interested. If he went with them, would I have to go too?

Simon whispered in my ear. “I should probably do this. Ethan’ll have my ass if I let this one slip away.” I didn’t comment on his unfortunate phrasing.

“Go ahead, I don’t mind,” I told him.

He rose to his feet, only swaying a tiny bit.

The man in charge turned to me. “You’re more than welcome to join us, Miss…”

“Arthur. Dana Arthur. I’m Cowell and Dirk’s receptionist.” I told him that to prove I wasn’t just a random girl hitting on sexy Simon, but I should have kept quiet.

His gaze sharpened. “Even better. I’m sure you can help us through some of the hurdles we keep running into.”

“No,” said Simon, sharply. “She’s not at work right now. She’s on vacation. She quit.”

“I didn’t quit. Well, maybe I did. Or will. Anyway, I can attend the meeting if you want.”

“I don’t want.” Simon set his jaw in that familiar stubborn way. But even though I was uncertain about my continued employment at Cowell & Dirk, I wanted
him
to stay employed. I didn’t want Ethan to be mad at him for losing the contract. If there was some way I could help, I wanted to do my part. I shoved aside his hand and stood up.

“I’d love to join you all. Obviously, Simon’s the expert but if I can facilitate anything, I’m happy to do so.”

The man, who looked to be part Arab or South American or something, gave me a broad smile and gestured for me to precede them out of the bar. They crowded after me. I distinctly felt four sets of eyes on the back of my apricot Creamsicle sundress. Simon stayed close to me.

“Don’t trust these guys,” he hissed in my ear. “They’ve been pulling all kinds of crap on me. And I don’t like the way they’re looking at you. What’s with this dress, anyway?”

He looked at me as if he’d just noticed I was dressed like a lost little debutante.

“Ethan gave it to me.”

His eyebrows drew together. “I don’t like it.”

“Well, I’m not taking it off now.”

“Don’t you dare.” Pleasure shivered through me. My own pirate Simon, acting like he was the boss of me, just the way I liked it. Maybe later I’d be able to coax him into bed back at the Trump Plaza.

The Woodfield Group had a sweet conference-room-type suite at the Tropicana with a fully furnished rust-red living room, a messy kitchenette, and a huge bouquet of fake tiger lilies on the coffee table. It had a lived-in look, with a couple suit jackets tossed over the backs of chairs and a five-pound hand weight rolling around on the carpet.

Soon I had a margarita in one hand and had kicked up my feet to listen in on the meeting. Boring stuff, if you asked me. I sipped my drink and flipped through someone’s
Men’s Fitness
and tuned out the talk about “termination protocol” and “management structure”. I was reading an article about the new craze in indoor rock climbing when the words started wandering in weird circles across the page. The word “equipment” separated itself into three words, with “quip” turning a back flip over “ment”, while “e” tagged along behind like a balloon on a string. I watched the words with fascination until they all faded away.

Little gray dots appeared first, then rust-red droplets that slowly formed themselves into fabric, which then built itself into a couch. Right, I remembered. The suite with the fabulous furniture and the wonderfully kind Woodfield Group. Simon and I had followed them up here, and I’d dozed off while reading a magazine. I smiled at the pure joy of being in the same room with those handsome men from that glamorous bar. Happiness shimmered through me.

Things in the room were not quite how I remembered, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that I was alive and here with these beautiful people. They’d gathered around the living room. One sat with his ankle over his knee, a notepad on his thigh. Another rested his stocking feet on the coffee table. The other two hunched over, elbows on knees, staring at me.

“I think she’s awake,” said one.

The man in charge looked up. “Ms. Arthur? Are you with us?”

“Mmmm.” The sound vibrated across my lips and created a pleasant hum that traveled like honey through my body. I was highly aroused. With one part of my mind, I knew they must have given me something. The rest of me didn’t care what had caused this high. “Simon?”

“He’s taking a snooze. I think we wore him out today.” I followed his glance. Simon sprawled face down on the bed. A flutter of concern made me frown. “Don’t worry about him. He’s fine.”

Immediately my smile reappeared. Maybe I was in a dream. Everything looked hazy. Light pulsed around the men. I’d thought they were cute before, but now they looked positively angelic. I hadn’t bothered to distinguish one from another, but now I did. One man looked Asian, another had gorgeous soulful chocolaty eyes, and a third had hair that was just starting to turn gray around the edges.

“We’ve heard rumors about Cowell and Dirk,” said the leader, a devastatingly handsome man with piercing black eyes and lots of dark stubble. You know how sometimes you see photos of suspected terrorists and think, if he weren’t a brutal killer, if he shaved a bit more and lost the red checkered bandanna, he’d be kind of hot… Okay, maybe it’s just me, but this guy was that kind of sexy. Bad boy, time bomb, powder keg, potential terrorist sexy. “We decided to find out for ourselves.”

“Rumors?” The word rolled off my tongue like notes in a song.

“We hear they have some unconventional uses for their support staff.”

A couple of the men snickered. “Support staff,” echoed one.

I agreed that it was utterly hilarious, and lost myself in a laughing fit. The leader of the pack waited me out, then finally said, “That’s enough,” in a way that made me swallow my last giggle without question.

“Just what do you do for Simon and Ethan?” One of the younger men spoke.

“A receptionist answers phones and greets clients. She represents the company to visitors. She takes on other duties as required by her employers.” I sounded like a training manual.

“It’s those other duties I’m curious about,” asked the leader. “Are you usually clothed when you perform them?”

I wanted to tell him it was none of his business, but that’s not what came out of my mouth. “I wear whatever they want me to wear.”

Electricity seared around the room. I found myself the sole focus of their undivided attention. “What might they want you to wear?”

What was this, an interrogation? My happiness began to fray at the edges. I spotted my margarita on the coffee table and leaned forward to pick it up. I took a long sip then sat back with a sigh. Much better. I gathered my high around me like a baby’s blankie. But I couldn’t remember the question. “What?” I frowned at my questioner, except it came out more as a beaming grin.

“What do they want you to wear?”

“Oh, lingerie they pick out. Corsets, vinyl teddies, beaded underwear, lots of lacy stuff that doesn’t hide anything. You know.”

“Yes, we do.” All the men nodded. “We like those things too.”

I smiled at the common ground we’d found.

“Are you wearing anything like that now?”

“Oh no. I’m not wearing any underwear right now.”

Another charge ramped up the excitement in the room. One man ran his finger under his collar to loosen his tie. Another leaned even further forward and adjusted his glasses.

“Would you like to show us? Take down your dress, open your legs?”

I pondered. Did I want to? I kind of did. The men were watching me with such eagerness and the hum inside me made me itch. Besides, the room was hot. Fewer clothes would be much more comfortable. Then I remembered something.

“Simon’s supposed to be present. That’s the rule.”

“That’s the rule, is it?” The time bomb guy smiled tightly. “Well, Simon is present.”

I glanced over at his unconscious body. I couldn’t deny the man’s logic. Simon was indeed present, although less than fully functional. I had a vague feeling that this could be trouble, but the thought wasn’t strong enough to stick around.

My sundress had two shoulder straps that buttoned at the edge of the bodice. I unbuttoned one strap, then the other, then drew the bodice away from my breasts. A breath of release swept across the room. They must have been waiting to see if I’d obey. I felt the weight of four pairs of lust-filled eyes on my nipples. They puckered.

“Ahh,” said the feral-eyed leader. “I like how quickly you become aroused. I can see why they chose you. Would you like to pinch your nipples?”

Why did he have to phrase it that way? I couldn’t seem to tell a lie. And my nipples tingled and begged for a touch. I gave a little nod.

“Go ahead. Don’t forget, Simon’s right here.”

I brought a thumb and forefinger to each nipple and pinched. Hard little kernels of heat answered back. My eyes drifted shut as I lost myself in the delicious feeling. I rotated my nipples, finding the exact amount of pressure to send a wake-up call to my pussy. I squirmed against the nubby fabric of the couch.

“Are you uncomfortable? Would you like to take that off?” His genuine concern touched me.

“I’m fine,” I said, dropping my hands to my sides. My nipples throbbed against the hot air of the room.

“May we cool you off? Luke, take her an ice cube. Rub it all over her nipples.”

One of the younger guys, the one with the soulful eyes, jumped to his feet. He grabbed an ice bucket and sat next to me. I smiled at him as he reached in for a handful of ice. He was super-cute, really, with a sandy cowlick and dimples. Then I forgot to care about his face as an icy jolt made my body arch. He swirled the ice over my hot nipples until I moaned for him to stop.

As soon as I did, he stopped.

“You see, that’s how this works,” said the leader. “You tell us to do something, we do it. You tell us to stop, we stop. We wouldn’t want to get on Cowell’s bad side, for God’s sake.”

“Ethan’s not the boss of me,” I mumbled through clenched teeth. “I already quit.”

“Would you like to come work for us? Whatever you were making there, we’ll double it.”

“Wow, really?”

“Well, there are four of us, after all. You should be compensated accordingly.”

It made perfect sense. But… “I love Simon and Ethan.”

“You love them?”

“Well, I love Simon. And Ethan, well, I kind of love him too. Yeah.” I couldn’t lie, damn it. “I love them both.”

“Interesting. But you said you’d quit. Would you like to show us your pussy? Even if you won’t come work for us, we’d love to see it.”

I shrugged. I didn’t mind, I found, as long as they knew where things stood with me, Simon and Ethan. I widened my legs.

After a jerk of the head from the leader, Luke bent next to me and drew the sundress up to expose my lower half.

“Would you like to touch yourself?”

Would I? My sex ached for contact. I reached my hand down among my folds and fingered my clit. The prickling scent of my arousal filled the air. I stroked myself and my hand became drenched. Someone groaned, and a zipper lowered. The more I rubbed, the higher my fever grew, until I was rotating my hips against my hand in greedy circles.

But of course, after being spoiled by the attentions of Simon and Ethan, my own hand couldn’t possibly compare. No matter how much I rubbed and pressed, I hungered for something more. The stimulation of all those male eyes helped, no doubt. But not enough.