Chapter 7 Gavin

Gavin

“Another invitation,” Alyssa said, handing me a stack of mail. A thick black envelope was perched on top, its crisp edge having already been sliced open by her letter opener.

“That one’s for A Way Out?”

She nodded.

Slowly, I slipped the invitation from its black casing and ran my fingers over the raised silver lettering. I attended the gala each year, and the invitation always looked the same, complete with the feminine silhouette along the edge of the paper.

I fingered the RSVP slip and sighed at the little blank space meant for me to enter how many people would be in my party.

“They’ll be expecting me,” I said. It was more to myself than Alyssa, but from the corner of my eye, I saw her nod.

And, of course she did. Because she knew, like I did, that it wasn’t just a regular charity event, not just some chance to show off our girls and pique the interest of our fellow wealthy CEOs.

For me, A Way Out was personal in a way that had nothing to do with the job. Some people considered our company a short hop to prostitution, but that was far from true. We certainly didn’t condone it, especially not in the way that so many people viewed it—preying on young naive girls, getting them hooked on drugs and the like. Our girls were smart, driven, and knew exactly what they were doing. More importantly, though, none of them were expected to sleep with the client, and that wasn’t PR. That was a fact.

And when it came to human trafficking? We actively fought against it, just like this charity did. They embraced our patronage with open arms because they knew that our business was merely a glorified dating service—we hooked up CEOs, celebrities, and politicians with dates for high-profile functions.

I wasn’t naive enough to believe these liaisons never ended in sex. Of course they did, but the girls set a steep price outside of our regular fee and that money was theirs—we’d never take a cut. We were a registered business, paid our taxes, and donated time and money to a variety of good causes.

It was all very much on the up-and-up.

Those were the things I had to remind myself of late at night. When sleep wouldn’t come, and I lay there thinking of the times when things weren’t within my control. Back when it wasn’t always in my power to fix everything. Back when things had gone so horribly wrong. And in the darkness of my bedroom, a twinge of guilt, a sense that I needed to do more to end the nastiness that existed out there, would hang over me like a swarm of bees.

It didn’t trouble Quinn or Cooper. Prostitution was the oldest profession in history, and they thought we could make it safer for the girls if they chose to do it, but we couldn’t stop it. No matter how much we wanted to. They didn’t blame me for what had happened, but that didn’t absolve me of anything. I knew who’d been at fault.

“Will you be needing a date, sir?” Alyssa was still standing in front of my desk, no doubt waiting for me to dismiss her.

Sliding the invitation from its resting place, I glanced down and shook my head. “I’ve got it covered. Thanks, Alyssa. You may go.”

I watched her exit the room, thinking of last year’s event. She’d gone with me, as I’d felt it was important to showcase the female staff of the business, and had been by my side during the cocktail hour and auction.

With her encouragement, I’d bid on and won a weeklong vacation on a private island off the coast of South America, or was it Australia? I couldn’t remember. I still didn’t know what I was going to do with the damn thing. Quinn had been pressuring me to go for a while now, to get away from it all, but there was no way I could walk away from the job for more than a day or two at a time. There was too much to do, always too much, and this wasn’t a nine-to-five business. I was in the office six or seven days a week. And without me being here? I had no way of knowing everything was in control.

Fifteen minutes later, I’d answered a few emails and read over Cooper’s latest proposal, finishing just in time for my intercom to buzz.

Alyssa’s cool tones floated over the speaker. “Sir, Miss Bell is here to see you.”

I tapped my fingers restlessly on my desktop as I let that sink in. So, she had come back for more. Probably to tell us to go to hell, but still . . .

Despite the increase in my pulse rate, I kept my reply short and easy. “Send her in.”

Alyssa hesitated, the intercom system blinking at me. “Shall I notify Cooper as well?”

I glanced at the place where Emma had sat across from me yesterday, so prim and proper. Waiting for my instruction.

I should call him in. I could use the buffer. Instead, I said, “No. I’ll handle it myself.”

The intercom flickered off and, in the space of an instant, my heavy mahogany door swung open and Emma walked into the room, her pretty bow of a mouth set into a determined line.

She looked different today. It wasn’t her outward appearance—she was dressed similarly in pressed black pants, a cream silk top, ballet flats, and those little spectacles pushed high on her nose that completed the sexy-librarian vibe. The difference today was in her attitude. Her shoulders were thrust back, her chin lifted, and her eyes blazed with a soft confidence that I found . . . what was the word?

Captivating. “Close the door behind you,” I said, my tone more brusque than I’d intended.

Emma glanced at me as if on the brink of arguing but then obeyed, letting the door fall closed before approaching my desk.

“Thank you for coming in. Please, have a seat.” I gestured to the chair behind her.

“I’d rather stand. I won’t be here long.” A delicate hand came to rest on her hip, and I couldn’t help but smirk.

Was this her attempt at intimidation? If it was, I couldn’t help but wonder where she’d learned it. Or if it had ever, even once, been effective. Because from where I was sitting, it just made her look equally adorable and fuckable. I shifted in my chair in an attempt to alleviate the sudden pressure against my zipper.

“All right. Tell me what’s on your mind.” I clasped my hands in front of me on the heavy stainless-steel-and-glass desktop.

She glanced at my hands, and then her gaze met mine. The confidence, however faint, flickered for a moment, but then her nostrils flared. “I’ve given it more thought, and I’m sorry but I’m not interested in this . . . arrangement with you and your brother.”

Perfect. It was for the best across the board, really.

But that wasn’t what I said. I looked down and adjusted the dial on my wristwatch, taking a moment to pause before I replied. “I don’t believe you.”

For a guy who needed to be in control all the time, I seemed to have no control over my actions around her. I should take this out she’d given me. Step back before I got in too deep.

Her petulant mouth fell open into an O before she caught herself and pressed her full lips together. Drawing a steadying breath, she started again. “I’ve made up my mind, Mr. Kingsley, and I find your tone rude and derogatory. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going now.”

Honestly, I could have laughed. I knew something she didn’t. I knew this interaction ended with her unequivocal acceptance.

I waited until she turned, only because I wanted another glimpse of her sexy ass. It was a fine, ripe thing ready for my hands and my mouth. But that would have to wait. Just like last time, all rational thought had fled under the heat of the chemistry that sparked between us like a Fourth of July fireworks display, and suddenly, letting her walk out of here again seemed like a crime.

Which meant it was time to play dirty.