For at least the twentieth time that morning, Kip found himself reliving the previous night with Victoria in vivid, filthy detail.
Impossibly, each and every time they were together was better than the last. And, last night had been so good.
Victoria was the best lover he’d ever had. Him. A gigolo who made a living via sex.
Beside him, his phone chirped. He flicked a glance its way and caught sight of a calendar notification.
New client: Natalie. Tomorrow night at 9:00. Requests: tuxedo, sweet lovemaking, no cuddling after.
The grin he’d been sporting faded slowly.
Shit.
Unlocking his phone, he double-checked the dates, and, yep, sure enough, tonight was the last night of his and Victoria’s contract together.
The breakfast he’d finished an hour or so ago began to rise and lodged in an apple-sized lump somewhere between his heart and his throat. Pushing up from the couch, he headed toward the bathroom cabinet. Maybe he had a bottle of antacids in there somewhere.
Seconds later, he slammed the medicine cabinet closed, the mirrored front rattling for long moments after.
No antacids. He wandered into the kitchen, rubbing a closed fist over that insistent lump, and peered into the fridge. Fuck, he didn’t even have milk. He’d just have to muscle through.
So, tonight was his last night with Victoria. Big deal. This arrangement had always had an expiration date.
I’m going to miss her.
He slammed the fridge door closed even harder than he had the medicine cabinet and scrubbed a hand over his face.
He peeked through his fingers over at the clock on his microwave and saw that it was approaching lunchtime. Right this second, Victoria was at work. Was she thinking about the mere hours they had left together?
Nah. Not Victoria. She would be working hard. Last night, she’d told him about a new idea she’d had for a line of commercials, her eyes lighting from within as they’d tossed ideas back and forth.
She’ll forget to eat again. She was always doing that, which meant he was always prepared with some sort of meal when they met up each night. Often, it was the only meal she ate during the day.
He drummed his fingers on the countertop, and immediately, he recognized it as an affectation of Victoria’s. An adorable one. Whenever she was deep in thought, those fingers were tapping against something.
Seeing her only once more is not going to be enough.
He grabbed his car keys and was out the door before his smarter side could convince him otherwise. He was probably making a gigantic mistake.
But maybe I’m not.
He drove off the beaten path to pick up something from Sally’s. Just enough for one person. He wouldn’t be eating with her in the middle of the day. That would just be crazy, and also a complete violation of their soon-to-be-over agreement to keep things impersonal.
As he parked in the Precision Media Services’s lot, he felt a renewed trickle of unease. This could definitely be a mistake.
He glanced at the take-out bag resting in the passenger seat. The greasy meal he’d gotten for Victoria had already tainted his Mercedes in a way it was never going to recover from, no matter how many air fresheners he loaded on his rearview mirror. Even that thought made the corners of his lips tug up.
What the actual fuck is wrong with me?
Okay. Maybe he could just drop the meal off at a front desk and get out here without seeing her. Maybe he should just throw it the hell away in the nearest trashcan.
She’s hungry. You know this.
With a groan, he got out of the car. The damn bag was in his hand as he walked past two trashcans and through the front door.
Like a lighthouse in a storm, a gleaming front desk sat immediately inside the door with a rather competent looking man sitting behind it. Kip’s footsteps were a little less heavy as he made a beeline that direction.
In and out.
He cleared his throat, and the man’s head snapped up, a welcoming smile on his lips. Kip dove right in, not waiting for any sort of greeting. “I have lunch for Victoria H-Hastings.” He stuttered over her last name as his mind had to scramble through his memory to even remember it.
They’d done unmentionable things together while naked; he had trouble remembering her last name.
What am I doing here again?
Kip lifted the grease-saturated bag onto the front desk and rocked back on his heels, ready to flee as soon as he got the slightest indication he could.
“Certainly, sir.” The man behind the desk pointed to the left. “Take the elevators up to the top floor and turn right.”
Kip rubbed the back of his neck. “You don’t just . . . ah . . . deliver it to her?”
The man’s smile faltered for a moment but was quickly back in place. He spread his hands wide. “Not a delivery man.”
“Right.” Kip grabbed the bag. He looked around but saw no trashcans in the lobby, which seemed like poor building planning to him. So, look like an idiot and walk back out with Victoria’s lunch after having announced that it was hers, or suck it up and deliver it. Get in and out.
“Top floor?”
The man nodded. “And to the right.”
Kip offered a grimace of a smile. Bring Victoria lunch at work. This was the worst idea he’d had in recent memory. She was going to laugh him right back to his car.
Which wouldn’t matter to him at all. Not even a little. Because his emotions were not in any way embroiled in this business arrangement. And tomorrow he had a new client. Onward and upward.
He straightened his shoulders and jabbed at the elevator button several times. As he walked aboard the elevator, someone called out, “Hold the elevator!”
Kip eyed the buttons on the control panel, and his gaze lingered longingly on the one that would close the doors. With a heavy sigh, he pressed the other one instead.
A middle-aged man in an impeccable three-piece suit stepped into the elevator, his mouth open as if to say thanks. Until he seemed to recognize Kip as someone who did not belong in the building. His mouth snapped shut, and the elevator ride up to the top floor was filled with oppressive silence and several quick, sidelong glances at the bag Kip held in his fisted hand.
As they neared the top and it became apparent that Kip and the well-dressed stranger would be getting off on the same floor, those sidelong glances became a little more penetrating.
Kip gritted his teeth and stared resolutely at the changing numbers as they neared the end of this uncomfortable ride.
The elevator ding was one of the most welcome sounds he had ever heard. Both men burst from the doors as though the elevator’s fine, patterned carpet were on fire. Kip was objective enough to recognize how ridiculous they must look, and his lips twitched.
His faint smile disappeared, however, as he looked around. Which direction had the greeter said to go? His brow furrowed.
“Can I help you find someone?”
The voice came from his elbow, and though Kip hadn’t heard it in all the time they’d been enclosed, he immediately knew whom it belonged to. And the helpful question contained just enough judgment to push him over the line into being officially done.
He turned to the man, who apparently still subscribed to the red power-tie theory, and lifted his chin. “I have lunch for Ms. Hastings.”
The other man’s gaze grew shrewd, and he looked Kip over again without hiding his obvious perusal. “Are you a deliveryman?”
Now he understood why the greeter in the lobby had been so incensed. This was an insult if Kip had ever heard one. He glanced down at the button-down shirt and jeans he wore. Sure, he wasn’t wearing a three-piece suit, but he didn’t look so bad. Kip opened his mouth. What he was going to say, he didn’t know, but—
“Kip?”
Both men turned in the direction of that gorgeous, husky voice. There Victoria stood at the mouth of a hallway, a notepad clutched in one hand. Her other hand was pressed against the wall. Her eyebrows were drawn together, and her eyes were clearly confused as to what she was seeing.
“Kip, is it?” the man in the suit asked. He glanced at his watch as though Kip had already wasted too much of his time. “Sorry for the less-than-warm greeting. We have some highly confidential projects underway, you understand.”
Victoria walked toward them as though in a daze. She stopped several feet away and frowned. “What are you doing here?”
Making a mistake. Obviously. Kip shifted his weight and could find nothing to say. Was it too bad an idea to shove the take-out bag her direction and then sprint away?
“Why don’t you introduce us, Victoria?”
She snapped to attention; it was obvious this was her boss.
That she had reasons to request his discretion became suddenly clear. As did the fact that he was an ass. There was nothing he could say or do to salvage this. He’d fucked things up but good. Without a word, Kip extended the bag toward Victoria. “I’m just a friend.”
Her lips pursed, and as she accepted the bag from Sally’s, her boss turned his attention toward her. With her boss’s back turned, Kip mouthed, I’m sorry.
A muscle ticked in her jaw in response.
“A friend?” her boss asked.
“Yes.” Kip cleared his throat. “One who is currently late.” He glanced down at his own wristwatch but knew it lacked the power of when her boss had done it. “I have to run.”
And with his boss and her boss staring at Kip’s back, he retreated, cursing internally with every step.
Fucking had to see her one extra time. Brilliant. Now, he’d managed to ensure he’d never see her again whatsoever.
He stepped into the elevator still waiting for him as though it knew it would be needed, and he couldn’t resist drinking her in as the doors closed. Because he was certainly fired after such a stunt.
Maybe, if he were lucky, she would fire him in person.
If I am lucky? The elevator doors closed, and Kip covered his eyes with one hand as he sank back to the lobby. God, he had it bad. What kind of gigolo found himself hoping his current client would fire him face to face just so he could see her one more time?
One who has crossed all the lines.