Page 38 of West Bound

“The guy’s an asshole.”

“HA!” I bark. “Says the dickhead. Why do you care anyway?” Anais walks closer but Phoenix’s grip on me doesn’t loosen.

“Don’t go out with him.”

Wha–” I blink and shake my head, totally confused over this man.

One minute he’s rude and condescending, the next he’s shoving his tongue down my throat and telling me who not to go out with. The independent woman in me wants to hurl insults and tell him I don’t need a man to tell me what to do. But there’s this small piece that lives inside of me that is waiting for him to order me to get on my knees and tell me what a good girl I am.

Stop it, stop it, stop it!

“Let go of me. And quit telling me what to do. I’m not yours to boss around.”

“We could certainly change that, Peaches.” His voice is a low timber and it rattles my core, making my nipples taut.

“In your dreams, asshole.” This time I use all my strength and yank my arm from his grip.

His niece ambles up to us with a bright smile. “Are we going?” she asks.

“I’m kinda tired. I think I’m going to call it a night and drink my dinner. It was nice meeting you, Anais. I’m sure I’ll see you again before you leave.” I don’t wait for either of them to answer and walk quickly to my car.

That night I do exactly as I said and drink my dinner in a very large glass that is refilled over and over again while soaking in a tub full of bubbles. And I don’t dream about Phoenix running those rough fingers over my body or across my sensitive nipples. Nope. Nuh uh. It doesn’t happen.

Sure, Red. Keep telling yourself that.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

VIVIAN

It was Monday mid-morning and I was at my desk, still recovering from the fun weekend I spent with my girls. Dancing, drinking, laughing. It was just what I needed after those confusing signals Phoenix was sending me after last week.

I want more than anything to continue to hate the stupid jerk, but when he says things like, “You have a smart mouth, little girl. Maybe we should find a better use for it” and “If you don’t want me touching you, then tell that sweet pussy to quit weeping for me”, my body buzzes and I just want to hear more of what that bossy asshole has to say. I want to know if that alpha-tough guy exterior extends to the bedroom, or if it’s all a show and he’s really a cinnamon roll.

In all honesty, I wouldn’t mind either. But it’s attached to a man that I despise and is the last creature on earth I should be thinking about getting busy with. I mean…I think an ape is a much more suitable alternative if I needed to repopulate the earth. I guarantee an ape would be more intelligent. Or at the very least less of a jerk.

“Kelley,” someone barks at me, and I look up to see my station manager staring at me.

I should’ve known that since he’s the only one who calls me by my last name. He calls everyone by their last name, so I guess I would be offended if he didn’t.

“Yes, Mr. Harvey?” I shoot up out of my seat, a little guiltily, like I’ve been caught making out with a boy in my room.

“My office.” His words are clipped and he doesn’t wait to see if I follow him. Just spins and stomps back, leaving me to scurry behind him.

My boss, Jarvis Harvey, is a strange character. On the outside he’s a portly looking old crank, whose shirt buttons look like they’re trying to hold the world together by a frayed string with how they strain against his round belly. His hair is thick and coarse and if you didn’t know any better, one might think it was a wig. It’s not…I tugged on it once. I was drunk and the staff dared me to. You can’t walk away from a double-dog dare. It’s the law.

To add insult to injury, Mr. Harvey is short. That coming from a woman whose friends call her a People McNugget. So when I say he looks like the grumpy dad of Victoria from The Corpse Bride, I am not exaggerating. Luckily for him, his wife is not tall and waif like the mother which would make them look like an unfortunate number ten. But that’s mainly because he does not have a wife. Mr. Harvey has a husband who is far too young to be sane. Rumors swirl around the newsroom as to what old Mr. Harvey has to hold over his young lover's head. I say it’s a sordid affair with some type of celebrity or well-known official that he’s using as blackmail. It’s been years that they’ve been together so at this point, I’m pretty sure the young Mr. Harvey–yes, he took his name–is simply now suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.

So in contrast to the hard, grumpy shell that Mr. Harvey shows the world is his mushy inside. The man is literally a teddy bear. Very few people know this. Out in the office, everyone is barked at with equal disdain and authority. But behind his office doors where prying eyes can’t see, the man is a squishy, kind soul who has hearts in his eyes for his young hubby.

We cross the threshold into his office and I shut the door with a quiet snick.

“How are things goin’, kiddo,” he asks the moment my butt sinks into a chair.

“Pretty good, Harv. How’re things with you?”

He gives me a tight smile and says, “I mean with work, you airhead.”

His little pet name for me. We all have one.

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