Riske and Revenge: A Second Chance, Enemies Romance (Revenge series Book 1) Page 10

  Brendon:

  Hello?

  I wrote back faster than I intended.

  Katarina:

  Hi.

  I followed up quickly.

  Sorry. That was meant for someone else.

  Brendon Foxx:

  I see. Laney the “cocks-pert.” Seems as if I intercepted her invitation. If it’s all the same to you… I’ll pass on the #DesperateforDick party.

  Katarina:

  Suits me just fine.

  I decided to be blunt.

  What do you want, Mr. Foxx?

  His response came quick.

  Brendon:

  A meeting. Face-to-face. I might not have been as responsive as before. Scratch that. I know I haven’t… But some time has opened up on my schedule. I’d like to sit down, talk to you in person…

  I said nothing and he continued.

  That is…if you’re still interested. I know I am.

  Katarina:

  Change of heart?

  Brendon:

  Something like that.

  There seemed to be more to that statement, but I refused to delve further. In fact, I refused to have anything more to do with Brendon Foxx, his letters or his death-trap of a building. Let Greg Sears sing like a bird, share whatever he wanted. I was done with trying to keep control of the situation. Brendon Foxx could run his business as he saw fit… and I’d be fit to sue if he stepped out of line and into mine. I was doing my best to move on from him, my stupid ex, and the sexy stranger that had saved me several nights ago.

  I typed as humble of a reply as I could manage. I placed my fingers on the keys.

  Katarina:

  Look, I have to admit that I was out of line. My dealings with a former employee are mine… and not yours. I can’t stop you from doing business with Greg Sears. Nor do I want to anymore. I heard about the accident at your offices. Maybe you’ve heard about mine. So why don’t we just take our licks and keep it moving…? Maybe one day, down the line, we’ll find ourselves collaborating on some project. Stranger things have happened…

  I removed my hands from the keyboard. That was as good of an apology as he was going to get. And if I could end our chat quickly, I might be able to do what Laney suggested I do before bed tonight. I grabbed my testy Mr. Two-Strokes, giving him a smack. I was going to need extra battery power tonight if I was going to get all of the tension out of my body… and the crazy thoughts about Brendon Foxx out of my head.

  I waited for a “Good Night” message that never came. Instead, something else showed up.

  Brendon Foxx:

  No.

  The words “Brendon Foxx is typing” appeared below to show that he was writing. One tiny spaghetti strap falling from my shoulders, I leaned closer to the screen, not believing what the TravelTalk CEO was actually saying.

  This isn’t done. I can help you…if you need it. Strong, small businesses like yours are always more like chum for the sharks. I can give you our backing—the support of Foxxhole. We can make sure you’re not acquired. We can help you become as successful as you’d ever hope to be…

  I read his message to myself again, mouthing the words out loud to myself so I didn’t get them wrong. The tips of my fingers were trembling by the time I put them back on the buttons of my laptop. Though my nightie was small, my skin felt feverish, and I couldn’t stop myself from typing back the words that were bubbling around on the edge of my teeth.

  My raps on the keyboard built a frenzied rhythm.

  Katarina:

  Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Foxx. But I don’t NEED your help. I know what you and your “team” are like… You pounce on the vulnerable, prey on the weak. I’ve seen your father offer a helping hand that was little more than a stab in the back, and no offense… but the apple doesn’t seem to have fallen far from the tree. So, pardon me for saying this, as it comes with a healthy dose of skepticism… but kindly crumble your condescension into a ball and shove it up your rectum.

  I don’t need your pity. Even less than that, I don’t need you pretending to want to “help” while harboring my worst enemy. I’m sorry, but it is, in fact, true. Let’s just call it what it is—a cessation of hostilities. For now, at least…

  I sat backwards. Waiting for his response was killing me. I don’t know why I was so curious about what it would be, why I was even talking to him in the first place. His patronizing tone about “helping me” had somehow set me off, and I shouldn’t have cared what he thought about my business or me, for that matter… but somehow I did.

  And I didn’t want to be that quintessential cheerleader I hated—waiting on the sidelines, hoping for the star quarterback’s nod of approval. I spent a lifetime trying to be anything other than her. And then Brendon responded.

  Brendon:

  Do you know who I am?

  In that moment, he had confirmed every fear I’d had about the Foxxes. I had a few choice thoughts about what the bastard was, but I kept them to myself. Picture or not, he had to have been just like his father… and the father before him. Serious-eyed. Beautiful. And imminently brutal.

  How was it possible to respect and dislike someone at the same time? And so much?

  “Brendon Foxx is typing” appeared again.

  Brendon:

  Let me give you a hint…

  He was starting out on a scathing foot.

  I am Brendon Foxx… and I was BUILT for business. See, you may have been at this for a while, KATARINA, but I’ve been breathing this shit all my life. I was born to be this way… and any offer of help I make is all the way genuine because I don’t make these offers often… if ever.

  Running a company, to me, is like riding a bike… or making love to a gorgeous woman. And I happen to be fucking phenomenal at all three. If you gave me the chance, maybe I could show you what I can do…

  My fingers froze. I held my breath. A thunderous pounding beat within my chest, and I was sure it was because I didn’t know which of these he wanted to show me: the business, the bike, the love-making… or all three. I knew Brendon was bringing up the “love-making” just to get under my skin, but he had succeeded.

  The silk of my skimpy nightgown felt indescribably cool. I rubbed my legs together, feeling the friction of the fabric against my skin… and the beginnings of a dampness that was forming between my thighs. I placed my hands back on the computer, tapping away.

  Katarina:

  Your father may have proved himself in the publishing world, but you haven’t… yet. Seems to me you’ve been nothing but talk… and not particularly interesting talk at that. You’re already boring me. And until you show me what you can do, I’m not particularly interested in listening.

  Fuck. I stopped typing. What exactly had I given Brendon Foxx permission to show me? He pounced on my ineptitude.

  Brendon Foxx:

  A skeptic, I see, KATARINA.

  He liked to capitalize my name.

  I should have known… I’m equally as mistrustful. But until you’ve been in my shoes… until you’ve crunched the numbers, gotten your hands dirty in every deal and played in a contract pool of millions, you won’t quite understand what I’m capable of working.

  I could do what you’ve done with your company at the age of ten.

  You have to bend the business. Make it submit to your will.

  It’s all foreplay, really…

  You have to approach it as you would a beautiful woman. You give her your full concentration—your undying focus. You make her the object of your world until you can’t see anything else. But you can’t rush it with her, no…

  You have to take your time…

  I swallowed thickly as I read.

  It’s more sophisticated than sweet-talk, more complicated than pretty words. You have to SEDUCE her, make her know that she’s yours. You mold her—shape her. You familiarize yourself with her body, become acquainted with all of her moving parts to the point where you can memorize the shape of her with your fingers.

 
You have to delve deep. So deep.

  Highlight her flaws and spend time loving each one. Understand her in and out, so that you can carefully master each position, fine-tune every nuance in her—work within her walls.

  My fingers fluttered between my legs and I didn’t stop them.

  It isn’t about making her perfect. That would be impossible. It’s about LEARNING her imperfections, using them to climb to the top and stay there. It won’t be a quick ride. Won’t be easy. Nothing great ever is…

  But you’ll enjoy it.

  The hard work makes it worth it. And as you tweak, as you poke, prod, push and feel your way around, the climb becomes a drug—an addiction. How far can I get…? How long until I reach her peak…?

  You’d want to know…

  The breath I expelled was harsh. My fingers rubbed around the center of the lips between my legs until they were almost aching, and I slid them across my clit as slowly as I could handle. As I did, a small moan escaped my mouth, making me even wetter, drawing a dampness out on my fingers that felt addictive. I slide an inch deeper and sighed, imagining that my touch came from hands that weren’t my own.

  I thought of the imaginary face of Brendon Foxx and bit back a groan. He never stopped typing.

  You put in the hard work to enjoy the slow, steady, ecstasy-driven rise. Along the way, you tweak whatever you have to. You push and pull. You bend her until you feel you both might break and all the while, you drive forward until you feel like you almost can’t drive anymore, letting the sweat and tears propel you further than you ever thought you could go—beyond anything you could imagine…

  You don’t stop. YOU CAN’T.

  You sink your teeth into it. Rage, cry, claw your way to that nirvana if you have to… but DON’T STOP.

  And when you hit that sweet spot, when you experience that incredible, undeniable breakthrough… you revel in the pure elation—the knowledge that you have thrust her to her peak, to the crest and maybe even further…

  THAT is what I’m capable of, Miss KHVOSTOVA. My lessons are, for the time being, free… as soon as you take your head out of your ass and try to learn.

  I gasped. My fingertips had slipped all the way inside my quivering core, and with Brendon Foxx’s final word, I came, my wetness spreading to the palm of my hand, tremors traveling down my body as I unsuccessfully tried to slow my breathing—taking huge gulps of air that did nothing to quench my sudden desire.

  I couldn’t move if I wanted to. But I’d be damned if I didn’t try…

  I slumped forward, my shoulders slipping out of my soft pajamas as I bent over the lower half of my laptop, making myself put words on the screen. I spelled them out slowly.

  Katarina:

  Very nice work you tried to do here. Really. Phenomenal. But trying to sexually intimidate a woman you’ve never met is the true trademark of a spoiled, entitled coward.

  My business is just as good as yours. Maybe even better. Because I never had help… But you know what? You have earned something. An invitation to the #DesperateforDick channel. You see… I may be the one with the vagina. But you’re the one without any real balls. I’ll send you your summons to #DesperateforDick in the morning.

  Have a nice night, Mr. Foxx.

  With a final tap, I closed my laptop, doing my best to avoid checking the message I knew he would leave—the message I wouldn’t help but read and respond to. I was like a mouse in his trap, trying desperately to get out. I couldn’t explain it.

  I was becoming obsessed with the man. And it was bad when I’d done it professionally, but now there was a personal note to it, a distinctive rapport that sickly made me look forward to his next letter, his next message—his next chat.

  I lay my head back against the headboard, wondering how I had gotten to this point, why Brendon Foxx affected me so… And why I hoped in my heart of hearts that this night wouldn’t be the last time I spoke to him. Call me fucking crazy, but I was intrigued. I couldn’t care less about the poor bastard, but the curiosity surrounding everything about him was slowly killing me.

  Maybe I’d take him up on his offer to meet. Maybe not.

  Either way, I had screwed myself… Literally. Because Brendon Foxx was now getting what he wanted—my attention. And I was so very fucked…

  Her

  Time is

  Too Slow for those who Wait,

  Too Swift for those who Fear,

  Too Long for those who Grieve,

  Too Short for those who Rejoice;

  But for those who Love,

  Time is not.

  - Henry Van Dyke

  RISKE

  The conference was crowded, swarming with soul-suckers.

  The Literature Today Summit was off to a rocky start and from the looks of things, I wasn’t going to make it through the night. One massive brown-nosing session after another, editors, publishing magnates and writers fawned all over each other, making promises they couldn’t keep, engaging in more ass-kissing than you’d find at a foreign sex club.

  I was not in the fucking mood.

  Tailored tux or not, if Griff and Chris hadn’t been there to crack jokes with or take shots, I would have left the summit a long time ago. I didn’t want to think about the other reason I wouldn’t leave… the certain someone I was waiting to appear any second now…

  My instincts told me that she’d show up… but I’d been wrong before. I couldn’t confess how wrong I’d been before—back when I was young and infinitely dumb. Griff nudged my elbow.

  “You see her?”

  I looked around, my head on a swivel. “See who?”

  “Marjorie Peters. She’s looking better since the last time I saw her. Better dye-job. Bigger tits. I wonder who she’s leaving with by the end of the night…”

  I glanced over. “By the look of her, nothing but empty deals and a local Botox doc recommendation. She’s dressed like she’s ready to hit the street.”

  “Exactly,” Griff hissed in my ear. “She came to find new leads… and fuck. You don’t just wear that type of dress for nothing. She’s got a slit in her dress high enough for me to see the color of her pussy. Means she’s showing it off… and luckily for her, I’m in the mood for some nightly entertainment.”

  “And that’s different from every other night for you how…?”

  Griff grimaced. “Fuck. I guess it isn’t. But if they keep serving us this beautifully aged Scotch, I might be too out of it to stick it to her.” He swirled his glass. “Might have to pass her to the prodigal virgin.”

  “Who?” Chris walked up.

  Griff tapped him. “You, Steve Carrell. Step up to the plate. The pickings are massive. There’s a marketing piece of pussy named Sandy on the other side with your name on it. And my pick of the night, Marjorie, if I need a pinch-hitter.”

  Chris frowned in Griff’s over-eager face, and the two started to go at it, arguing in the corner of the room while I stalked off, staring down every stairwell, every hidden crevice in the massive event room where the summit was hosted—hoping, praying, really… for even a glimpse of that grin.

  Still, no sign of her.

  Growing impatient, I went back to the bar at the far side of the room for another glass of their strongest brand of Bourbon. I was on my way to tipping the bartender when I felt a touch from behind me—a light feather across my back that felt warm and familiar… but uninviting. I turned and stared down…right into the face of my unforgettable past.

  I blinked, not believing my own eyes.

  “Christy?”

  “Surprise,” she smiled, long and bright. “Bet you thought you’d never see me again. It’s been a long time, Ethan… or should I say, Brendon? From what I hear, you’ve done alright for yourself.” Her blue eyes flashed. “From what I hear you’d done well enough for a lot of selves. Wealth does become you…”

  “And time becomes you,” I returned. Though, it didn’t.

  In the ten years since I’d seen her, Christy Nicolson’s eyes had dev
eloped a bitterness that you couldn’t shield with Ray Bans. Lines had formed around her mouth and forehead, and with the furrowed look she was giving me, I was sure that more would form. She had lost some of the softness from her face since I’d last seen her—that youthful glow. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five years old—twenty-six, at the most, and somehow it seemed that life had taken a beating to her, replacing her wide-eyed look of ignorance and faux innocence with something darker, something stonier—and definitely more serious.

  Ten seconds of reconnecting, and I already felt bad for her. She’d set a record. I switched the Bourbon in my hands, trying to keep my glare from bearing into hers. I couldn’t help but stare at how much she had changed.

  She blinked suddenly and smiled… a feat she’d clearly practiced as a teen and perfected as an adult. Her entire face seemed to light up.

  “Oh, come on now. I’m just joshing around. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other. You’re a new CEO. I’m now a journalist. I’m actually working on my first novel. I came to Tampa for the Summit and to hopefully pitch my new premise.” She beamed. “I’m very excited.”

  I raised my glass. “As you should be.” My eyes wandered, searching for the nearest exit. Until Christy stepped into my line of sight. Under a semi-sheer silver number, she jutted her breasts out and almost into my face. She pouted her red-painted lips, and I knew that if this were nine (and a half) years ago, I might have taken the bait.