Velvet Kisses by Addison Moore
An elated applause breaks out with mine being the loudest. God—ten thousand dollars! I wouldn’t care if I had to split it ten ways! I would cheer on my feet for ten dollars at this point.
She forces a smile to come and go. “If you have any questions feel free to see me.”
“So you in?” Will nods at me with his eyes slightly squinted, his grin hanging loose as though ready to explode.
This is how he used to get me, how we’d make up and fall into each other’s arms so many times before, but we’ve never had such a huge barrier to cross as another girl’s body, let alone a whole river of them.
According to Cat Alice, my old best friend slash almost cousin who I haven’t spoken to in months—correction, she’s not speaking to me no thanks to a stupid argument where she accused me of stealing her father’s war pin from off his dresser and hawking it. Me. Stealing someone’s honorary war pin? None of it made sense. Her entire family is so screwed up I bet her father hawked it himself and swore up and down he saw me do it. Nevertheless, prior to the ridiculous argument, Cat dutifully reported that Will had slept with entire football stadiums of women. Of course then she turned around and reported to Will that I was a bitch-skank (a term I’m sure she coined in my honor). Rumors briefly flew that I myself was trolling my way through campus frat houses on my knees, but even Will found that laughable. Anyway, I couldn’t care less that Cat Alice told Will I was a slut. She’s the one who slept with half the metal heads in our senior class. During prom she was too busy busting a move in the bathroom letting the boys take turns jockeying her that it was hard to pinpoint the fact she was actually there. Slut. I shake my head. My aunt married her father thus the almost familial connection, but at this point they’re separated and I say good riddance to the entire lot of them.
“So where’s the old man?” Will nods my way as if he were serious.
By old man I assume he means Wyatt.
“Busy.” I turn toward Baya, and he pulls me back by the elbow.
Will has soft, brown eyes that I used to think were beautiful. I used to think I was the only girl he could see, but apparently he’s an expert at seeing other women both in and out of their clothes.
“I’m trying out for the basketball team. Walk on. The coach might let me play tomorrow night. I want you to come. As a friend.” His eyes beckon desperately, and, for one weak moment, I’m tempted to say yes.
“If you wanted me as a friend, you should have had the decency to break up with me before you made a habit of sticking your dick in places it didn’t belong.”
A pained expression takes over his face as he nods into me, agreeing. I want him to say something caustic, to throw a barbed comment my way, anything but make me feel sympathy for him.
“You’re right, Marley. I should have.” Will makes his way to the front of the class and is instantly mobbed by a small group of Alpha Chi ho’s. This is the part where I should be feeling a pinch of jealousy, having some visceral response to seeing him with an entire gaggle of blondes falling over his shoulders, but, strangely, I don’t feel a thing.
Huh. Maybe what Will and I had wasn’t true love after all.
“What are we going to do?” Baya looks perplexed by the assignment at hand.
“What are you good at?”
Her face goes from panic to pride in less than three seconds. “Oh, honey, it’s illegal to list the things I do well. Besides, my man likes to keep me to himself, sort of like a private reserve.”
A smile comes and goes on my lips. “Not that. Outside the bedroom.”
“Most of the time it is outside the bedroom.”
“Okay, you’re hilarious.” And apparently horny as hell. “Um, how about something to do with my article, ‘Sex and the Coed?’”
“I love that. Each time you put in a new tip, Bryson and I get right to it.” She dazes off a moment. “It’s sort of like you’re an invisible ring leader in our bedroom.”
“Nice?” I’m not quite sure what to say. I sort of wish I were a ringleader in my own bedroom. I scowl down at Will while a redhead with a low-cut top engages him in a breasty conversation.
Wyatt James pops into my mind uninvited, and just as I’m about to shoo him right back out, I melt into a puddle of swoon and let his dark-haired, sexy self linger.
“Oh, I know!” Baya takes up a fist full of my skirt and examines it. “We can do this. We’ll make our own crazy brand of clothes and sell them on Etsy and eBay and wherever the hell they’ll let us! We can even open our own website! We’ll make a fortune by finals. How did you do this?” She pets my thigh as she smooths out the patches of fabric to admire them.
“Simple. I just hit the thrift store and chose things I like with appealing fabric and pieced them together. I kept the first ten inches of the skirt and sewed on the rest. The patches are sort of easy and therapeutic for me to make since it’s just connecting rows of squares. We didn’t have much growing up, so I was sort of relegated to the thrift store out of need more than fashion. Funny I’ve never thought of selling what I make. It’s sort of a one-off deal.”
“Even better. We can brand it as unique, one-of-a-kind clothes. People love things that aren’t mass-produced. But first we’ll need a name.”
“Thrift Shop Chic?”
Her lips contort like she might be sick. “Those three words just sound wrong in the same sentence.”
“Agreed. How about The Dime Store Dames?”
“There are two of us… But dames makes us sound about a thousand years old.” She tucks her thumbnail between her teeth and starts to chew. “Oh, I know! How about the Rag Dolls?”
“How about the Rag Doll’s Closet?”
“I like it.” She nods, still drinking down the idea. “How about Rags to Riches? Upscale, up-cycled clothing for the uniquest you?”
“I love it!” We jump and high five and garner all kinds of dirty looks from our competitors slash classmates who still seem to be scratching their heads over where to begin.
My phone buzzes in my hand. It’s a text from Laney.
Great news! Ryder says the secretarial position is yours if you want it. Is there any way you can swing by today to fill out some paperwork in HR? If so, you can start as early as tomorrow!
“Look at this!” I show Baya the text. “I have a job! Maybe I won’t have to live off dehydrated noodles for the next three years after all.” I text back letting her know I’ll stop by in a few hours.
“I’m really happy for you, Marley.” Baya pulls me in. “And I think Rags to Riches is a brilliant idea. I’m thrilled to be on your team.”
I glance down at Will in time to see the redhead laughing obnoxiously at whatever just spewed from his mouth. He probably just informed her of how he fooled the idiot girl in the back into thinking he would love her forever. The redhead leans in and relaxes her arm over his shoulder as if it always belonged there, as if that were its new home.
“Boy, he’s not wasting any time.” Baya clicks her tongue.
“He doesn’t have to. We’re not together anymore. He can bed his way through the entire lecture hall, and it wouldn’t faze me.” Okay, it might faze me a little. My jealousy monitor has thumped once or twice just watching them interact as if a blossoming romance were happening right before me. Will glances up a second, and our eyes lock. Then he does the unthinkable, he glides his arm right over her shoulder as well.
I take in a breath at the sight.
“Ignore him.” Baya ushers us right out the door. “Forget he ever existed. He’s just a bad memory, hon. He’ll never be anything more than that.”
I ponder this as we head out of the building and into the fresh air. Can Will ever be just a bad memory? I think he’s holding pretty strong to the one who promised me forever then murdered my virginity. I think, in the end, he murdered the idea of love in general.
Wyatt
Capwell Enterprises consists of three major components, advertising, real estate, and over all world domination. The old coot who
I nod across the table at Ryder as the last meeting of the day wraps up. Another boring-as-shit war session that ends in nominal threats that single out anyone looking to break one of the Capwell commandments, the most important of which is thou shalt not covet working for any other Forbes 500 conglomerate. Although, it’s pretty clear the corporate gods are about to roll heads. Everyone has been on pins and needles just waiting for the ax to fall. Shares have tumbled, investors have trotted off toward higher ground, and, according to my salary, there is indeed a glass ceiling for men, and I’ve somehow managed to slam against it.
I glance around at the bevy of gray suits lining the table, not one happens to be sporting the double X chromosome, and about three look ready to drop dead from fatigue. Is this what I want to be doing for the rest of my days? Living on a moderate salary, wearing my suit like an armor against the rest of the world while I try not to take a permanent nap in my oatmeal? There has to be a better way.
The meeting disbands with bodies flying out of the boardroom faster than you can say bomb threat. Ryder walks alongside me in the hall keeping up with my brisk pace as I head to my office—corner suite, uninterrupted windows that span east to west. Seventeenth floor, nothing but God and mountaintops to greet me. That’s the one perk I’m not so anxious to lose.
Ryder leans in. “Laney told me about your brother and Annie. Did you know one of her brothers is an intern here? Bryson. I’d describe him but if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them both.”
“Right, twins.” Fraternal. I remember the slight difference in their features that first night they stood side by side looking as if they were about to storm the stage and kill Blake. A huff of a laugh dispels from me.
Ryder sticks his head into a nearby cubicle. “Bry, get your ass out here.”
A moment later, there he is. There’s something in his eyes that reminds me of his sister. Sweet girl. I’m shocked as hell Blake managed to land himself someone who seems both kind and beautiful—a feat I’ve been trying to master for years.
“Bryson, this is Wyatt James, Blake’s brother.”
“I’ve seen you. Think we met.” He gives my hand a quick shake.
“We may have. Everything seems a little fuzzy at the Black Bear. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“Wyatt, here, is thinking about jumping ship.” Ryder slaps me on the back, and I pause just steps from my office.
“Says who?” Unless he’s become a mind reader, says no one. He’s right though.
“Says me.” Ryder’s chin moves up and down like a bobble head. “You’re smart, and you have potential that can shoot right past the barriers my father and his motley crew have set in place. You like advertising, but you see the bigger picture, technology, social media beyond a few popular apps. Face it, this is 1950s thinking in a 21st century world. And”—he bears his serious-as-shit gaze into mine—“if you haven’t thought of jumping ship—you should. With me.”
I glance to Bryson a moment then back to Ryder.
“What is this? Let me guess. Bryson, you’d like a job. Ryder, you need an employment opportunity to crop up, and what better way to achieve this than giving me the rope to hang myself with. Or, better yet, a boat to float me off to unemployment seas.” Not that I needed the shove. He’s right. I’m one foot out the door already.
“You won’t be unemployed.” Ryder nods toward my office, and I follow him in. Or, if I’m even remotely right, we’ve just stepped into Bryson’s new office. “I’m the one bailing. I’ve been meaning to for a while now.”
“Branching out on your own?” I take a seat behind my desk, intrigued by the shift of events. I’m liking this plot twist a hell of a lot better than the one in which I pack my desk up in a box. “What gives?”
“Same thing that has the masses headed for the exit. I think I can build a better boat. So are you two in?”
“Me?” Bryson raises a brow.
“Yeah, you. I know you’ve got the bars, but I also know you want to extend your reach. And”—he looks to me—“you’ve got the ranch, but it was never your baby to begin with. What better time to get into a new startup than now? I think if the three of us put our heads together, we can expand past branding services and offer something more comprehensive to the technology savvy consumer. I’m not talking mom and pop type stuff. I’m talking the heavy hitters. Those old school companies need someone to step in and hold their hand while ushering them into the new millennium.”
“People are already doing that.” I don’t want to pop his bubble, but, if my time and money are involved, I don’t mind holding the needle.
“We’ll do it better.”
“Excuse me.” The afternoon temp leans in just enough to look like a floating head. “There’s a woman out here to see you, Mr. James.”
Bryson and Ryder both growl in approval before heading out the door.
“We’ll get together and work out the kinks.” Ryder flashes a devious smile my way as if I’ve already signed my soul to the devil. He wishes. I’m a numbers man. I need it all given to me in black and white—and, if we’re lucky, it will equal lots and lots of green.
The door swings open, and, for a brief moment, I’m hoping it’s Marley.
“Monica.” I stand trying to hold back the dull laugh in my chest. Of course, it’s not Marley. What the hell would Marley be doing paying me an office visit? I have to admit I’ve had her on the brain for the last few days. Okay, hell, since the moment she left. I made note of that article she mentioned and read each and every addition of “Sex and the Coed” over coffee, Sunday morning. Not exactly a Bible companion. It wasn’t porn either. The tips in and of themselves were rather to the point, but I’m shocked she’d want her name linked to that. What about future employers? I wonder if she’s thought that through. I wonder if it matters. “What can I do for you?” I force a smile and freeze it for a moment.
Monica and I dated for years. She was the one. Or at least I wanted to believe it. Monica wanted a wedding band and kids, and I soon found out we weren’t as compatible as we thought. She married someone else, and we remained friends. And, after her divorce last fall, she’s been coming around a little more, here and there, which leaves me to wonder if she’s open for an act two.
“I’ve missed you.” She swoops over in her practical teacher heels. Her low bun hangs off her neck like a stumped tail. Monica is pretty in an unsettling way. She comes across harsh and needle sharp, caustic, for lack of a better word. You just have to get used to her barbs and grow a little alligator skin to be around her. I’m usually drawn to the bitter and the betrayed so that alone helps put the Monica years into perspective.
“You missed me?” I motion for her to take a seat, and she slinks over my desk instead. I’m standing just a head away from her lips, and the way she keeps gunning for a kiss, I’d venture to guess that was the entire purpose of the trip. “How was the first day of class?” Monica just started her first semester teaching business classes over at Whitney Briggs.
Marley pops to the forefront of my mind, and a trace of a smile comes without warning.
“Are you kidding? I forgot what college students looked like. From afar you might mistake them as adults, but up close they look like a bunch of ninth graders.”
A dull laugh rattles from me. I get it. After logging hours at the Black Bear in support of Blake, I’ve found myself thinking the very same thing. Marley flashes through my brain again with her creamy thighs riding up high. She’s no kid. Marley is all woman.
“So how about it?” Monica turns her face up toward mine expectantly.
“How about what?” I swear each time Marley comes to mind, I take a nice long mental vacation that only seems to expand.
“How about catching an early dinner? I’ve got Garrett and Wally with a sitter until seven. She’s salary, so I w
“Excuse me?” The disembodied head floats into the doorway once again. “Human resources called. Your new secretary is on her way up to meet you. Should I ask her to wait or send her right in?”
“Secretary.” I haven’t had one in so long I’ve forgotten the luxury. The temps have worked out okay, but they change shoes every other day so there was never really a point in training them beyond how I like my coffee.
Monica presses her leg up against mine and cocks her head up seductively. Monica has a lady-boner, and she’s picked me to contend with it.
“Send her right in.” I step around my desk and take a seat.
“I guess that’s my cue. Dinner at Saxons? I’ll meet you at six-ish? I can get the booth near the fountain. That was our favorite.”
I don’t recall favoring any particular booth. Saxons was a regular haunt of ours that also regularly took a hit on my credit card because apparently truffles are the gold standard of food.
“Yes, that’d be great. See you then.” I nod, pretending to bury my nose in paperwork as she shuttles herself out the door.
One dinner won’t hurt. Hell, it might even get my mind off Ms. Jackson for five solid minutes. It turns out I’ve got a boner to contend with myself, and there isn’t any way that Monica is going to alleviate what’s panning out to be one very young, very damn beautiful craving.