Well Hung (4 page)

T
he Eiffel Tower is a dwarf
. The Ferris wheel spins like a miniature toy, and the rollercoaster of New York-New York wraps around that casino like an architect’s model. Up here, on the twenty-second floor of Lila’s husband’s new palace, we are kings and queens of a city of royals.

This building is one of the tallest in town. Surely it’ll be a home for billboards soon enough, as high as the entire tower, beckoning tourists to glittery extravaganzas for the senses. For now, it’s potentially the site of my next job.

I’m still not entirely sure why Lila wants me rather than someone local, so I ask her. I’ve built a reputation on honesty—no need to change that now. She’s next to me, her arms crossed, a look of pride in her eyes as she gazes at the expansive view of the city of sin from the floor-to-ceiling windows in her living room.

“Do you like it? The place is lovely but the kitchen is a mess, isn’t it?” Lila waves her arm toward the red stove, the black cabinetry, and the emerald green countertop. “Can you turn it around?”

“Absolutely. We’ll tie everything together, and make it the centerpiece of the home you want. But I’ve got to ask, Mrs. Mayweather—why not find someone local? Any contractor would be glad to work in this gorgeous space.”

She turns to me, meets my eyes, and laughs politely. “You’re sweet to say that. But do you know how hard it is to find someone you trust? To let them into your home? Especially in a new city?” Her pitch rises, and she fidgets with her strand of pearls. From her unsaid words, I get the feeling Lila has encountered some bad apples previously. “There are so many predatory contractors disguised as your friend.”

I almost want to knock fists in solidarity, because do I ever know bad apples. My college girlfriend, Roxy, was the rottenest one of all, but I’d have never known it at the time. After graduation, she encouraged me to start a handyman business, became my biggest cheerleader, and helped brainstorm a business plan. When she walked away for some dude on Wall Street making bigger bank, she did everything she possibly could on her way out the door to tear off a chunk of WH Carpentry & Construction
with her bare teeth and keep it for herself. She was like a koala bear who turned out to be an alligator.

I nod at Lila, since I don’t care for bad apples, alligators, or ex-girlfriends who hide their crazy far too well. “I hear ya. I appreciate you saying you can trust me, and I’m glad you feel that way. Means a lot.”

“Plus, you finished on time, and in Manhattan none of my friends have found a single contractor who does.” She slashes her hand through the air and raises her chin, as if she’s offended by the indignities her friends have suffered in this regard. “You’re a rare breed, Wyatt, and the thing I need most is to finish on time, since I want to have this place ready to host a gala for one of my favorite charities. A local philanthropist, Sophie Winston, is going to help me set it up. Will it be too hard to manage the work from afar?”

I turn around and drink in the layout once more. It’s an open floor plan with copious space, a sunken living room, and gorgeous bedrooms. The style is modern and clean. White walls, simple furniture, and light hardwood floors. The kitchen, by contrast, is a mismatched mess, like a drunk monkey designed it while noshing on a spiked banana.

Natalie strides out of the kitchen where she’s been taking measurements. She exits purposefully, her closed laptop in her hands, scribbling on a notepad on top of the computer.

“Hey, Natalie,” I call out. “Think we can manage this job? We’ll need an electrician, and we’ll need to find some local suppliers for parts.”

“Actually,” Lila says, holding up a finger to chime in, “you won’t even have to do that. You can use all your regular suppliers in New York and fly everything out on my plane.”

I rein in a grin. Jesus fucking Christ. She is a fairy godmother. She’s trying to make all my work dreams come true.

Natalie stands next to me. “And when it comes to an electrician, I already have one. I talked to a friend who runs Edge, a nightclub here. He’ll hook us up with his guy for the electrical, as well as anyone we need for other specialized jobs. You’d just need to be here to do the labor,” Natalie says to me, then she turns to Lila. “We can do it. I can manage it all remotely, and Wyatt can be on-site to do the work. We’ll make it happen.”

“Wonderful! I’m so thrilled,” Lila says, her grin as wide as the Strip. “This benefit is so important to me, and I want my home to shine. Do you have a sense if you can meet the budget?” she asks, then tells me what she’s willing to spend. The number has many zeros and nearly unhinges my jaw.

“I don’t think that should be a problem. Why don’t we go work on an estimate, send it to you, and then—”

Lila jumps in. “And then I can sign off on it tonight!”

Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo indeed.

Once inside the elevator, it’s just Natalie and me while Lila stays behind. The doors close with a soft
whoosh,
and I turn to my assistant. “Can I just say it now?”

“The part where you’re giving me a twenty percent raise?” she asks playfully.

I laugh. “Pretty sure I said ten percent.”

“Ten percent. Twenty percent. What’s the difference?”

The car descends softly. “Seriously, though. I will need to pay you extra for this. It’s a ton of work.”

“Twist my arm,” she says and hands me her arm.

I pretend to torque it into a corkscrew.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch,” she says, contorting her face.

I let go. “But officially, the answer is yes. The raise starts today. Thanks to Lila.”

“Even though she hasn’t officially signed off?”

I wave a hand in the air. “It’s as good as a done deal.”

I offer her a hand to shake, and instead she throws her arms around me. “Thank you so much,” she says in the most heartfelt tone, her lips near my neck, her breasts snug to my chest, her fingers close to my hair.

“You’re worth it,” I say.

And you smell fucking amazing. And you feel spectacular. And I am a motherfucking master of self-control because all I want to do is hit the stop button, hitch your leg around my hip, and screw you hard.

“I can do my videos now.” She pumps her fist in victory as we separate.

“Videos?”

Her entire face is animated. Her eyes are lit like sparklers. “I just started working on a series of self-defense videos. Like the kind you see on YouTube. I want them to be well-produced, and I think if they are, I can attract new students to my classes.”

I smile. “Never knew that. That’s fantastic. Are you shooting them yet, or still in the planning process?”

“I’ve made a few, but I need them to be a better quality. They’re missing a certain something. I think I know what it is, but I didn’t have the funds to keep making them at the level I need,” she says quickly, then her tone switches, as if she’s apologizing for her hopefulness. “It probably sounds silly—my self-defense dreams.” She gives a dismissive wave.

I grab her arm. “No. It doesn’t sound silly in the least. Dreams never are. Now you can go after them the way you want.”

She shoots me that smile that always disarms me, that hooks into my heart and threatens to wreak havoc with my life. It’s such an honest smile; it says she’s this totally straightforward person who lays it all out up front. Who doles out compliments, who shares in excitement, who doesn’t hide who she is or what she wants. All of that from the curve of her lips, the way her blue eyes light up, how her entire face glows . . . Fuck, I’m getting lost in this one part of her, and I’ve got to get it together. To remember the alligators . . . the crazy alligators, even though I can’t possibly put Natalie in that reptilian category.

Still, once bitten, twice shy, so it’s time to let these thoughts of her go. I start by releasing her arm.

As we reach the ground floor and exit into the lobby, she says, “I have to admit, I’ll kind of miss seeing you around the office when you’re out here for a few weeks working on Lila’s home.”

And hell, if that comment doesn’t hook into me even more. Before I can show off my mastery of self-control, the unfiltered portion of my brain wrests control. “And you know what? I’ll miss you, too,” I say, and it’s not the horny aliens. It’s just me.

We reach the revolving door and head into the Vegas afternoon sun for the quick walk to the Bellagio.

Natalie points in the direction we came. “I think I cut you off earlier. When we first stepped into the elevator and you said
can I just say it
?”

I laugh as she rewinds us back to what I’d been thinking as we left the penthouse. “Just . . .
holy shit
. Lila is the most generous person I’ve ever met.”

“She is generous. But you heard what she said. You’ve earned the right to her generosity.” There’s no teasing now in Natalie’s tone, and her compliment reminds me what matters—being a good guy. At work. In life. With women.

I need to stop thinking of banging Natalie in elevators, and, on that same note, of missing her. That’s girlfriend-level stuff. Natalie is just an employee. Nothing more.

I look at my watch. “It’s nearly four. Think there’s any chance we can find a watering hole willing to serve us at this early hour?” I joke, since it’s Vegas and round-the-clock drinking is not only possible but encouraged.

“Absolutely. Let’s grab something at the Bellagio.”

“Sounds good. How about an early dinner, some drinks, and an estimate?” See? I’m all work.

“And then maybe we can celebrate later and ride the rollercoaster?”

I say yes, because all work and no play makes Wyatt a dull boy.

F
ive hours later
, Natalie shows me exactly where she wants to land a knifehand strike to my throat.

“And then just to make sure you’re down, I’d spin around like this,” she says quickly, and executes a fast, low kick in the vicinity of my knee. “But, I’d totally kick you harder, and you’d crash to the ground.” She winks. “That was just my bar kick.”

I shudder. “I’d hate to run into you in a dark alley, Sensei Natalie, whether you’re bringing your bar kick or your karate chop to my neck.”

We’re at a noisy bar with rock music at the New York-New York hotel, since the rollercoaster is here. Natalie is already two drinks in—mojitos are her choice tonight. She’s been detailing exactly what she wants to do in her self-defense videos. Most of the time, she demonstrates the moves on me. Well, not like full demo where I’m flat on my ass, but she’s been pretending to punch me.

Maybe I’m a masochist, but I love it. Or maybe I’m simply an attention hog for this woman. Whatever the reason, the outcome is all good in my book—her hands on me. But then, everything is good right now, because the job is a big green go, and we are celebrating.

We worked up an estimate when we returned to the Bellagio. Natalie emailed it to Lila. Thirty minutes later, Lila wrote back with: “
Wonderful! The first check will be deposited on Monday.
”

Which means a raise for Natalie, and the path to expansion for me. It also means Natalie’s racing along the highway to buzzed, and I’m not too far behind her. She’s changed from her work clothes. She wears a red skirt with some kind of surreal flower pattern, black heels, and a silky black top. The heels are hot, but flip-flops would have fit the bill, too.

See, I’m an everything guy. I don’t have a particular type when it comes to women. Some gentlemen prefer blondes, some dig redheads, and some go bananas for women with exotic looks. Me? I’m an omnivore when it comes to the ladies, and I have a big, hearty appetite.

Right now, though, with Natalie radiating energy and excitement, I’m thinking blonde with a side of spanking is my favorite. Maybe an appetizer of hot hungry kisses, a main dish of hardcore fucking, and for dessert, we’d go for doubles.

Shit.

I went there again.

I blink away the not-safe-for-work thoughts and try to come up with a generic topic to riff on to get my mind back into the good-guy zone. Something that won’t set my fantasies on fire. Maybe what invoices we need to file. Or new tools to order. Possibly even what’s next on the schedule after this new Vegas job.

But I’m not in the mood to discuss work, so I flash onto something I read earlier in the week. As I’m about to tell her my favorite weird fact I learned recently—cats don’t have collarbones like we do, which explains why they can squeeze into tiny openings the size of their heads—she moves in close to me as Bon Jovi plays on the sound system.

“Look over there,” she says in a bare whisper. “She’s telling him all her furry fantasies.”

I follow her gaze to a couple across the bar. The dude is Brooks Brothers all the way from the navy suit to the loosened red tie. The woman appears to be a colleague, judging from the crisp white blouse, or maybe she’s someone he just closed a business deal with. But with his arm draped over her shoulder, it sure looks as if he’s going to close some other kind of deal.

“His raccoon suit is up in his room,” I say, since Natalie’s game sounds like more fun than cat facts. I tip my forehead to a Goth-looking woman with earplugs and the tattooed guy next to her, knocking back shots. “She dresses up like Little Bo Peep so he can spank her with a . . . fuck, what are they called?”

She rolls her eyes. “Wyatt,” she says, in a faux admonishing tone, “they’re called crooks.”

I snap my fingers. “That’s it. He smacks her ass with a crook.”

For a flash of a second, Natalie’s breath seems to rush from her lips. “Kinda sounds like fun,” she says in a saucy tone, like maybe she’d want to play that sort of game. “What if I lost my sheep?
”

And evidently, she does.

“Want me to help you find them?”

The look in her eyes is inviting. “Yes. But to find them I need another drink. I want a vodka tonic this time,” she says, and since the bartender is circling, I order two.

As he sets to work pouring, she parks her chin in her hand, looking straight at me. “I love vodka tonic. Want to know why?”

“You bet I do.”

But before she can reveal the root of her love for this liquor, the phone dings from her purse, bleating loudly enough to get our attention. She fishes around for it and clutches it close to her chest like a precious thing. “It’s Lila. At this rate, she’s probably calling to say she wants to pay us even more.”

“Fuck, yeah. And I’ll give
you
all the extra.” I puff out my chest. “Because I’m a generous guy.”

See? I can treat her well, and I’m not even thinking of nailing her.

This second, that is. Ten seconds ago I totally was.

“I think I might love you,” she says, and blows me a kiss as the bartender delivers our round.

She slides open the screen, and her expression transforms. Her lips curve down, and she lets out a long, never-ending “oh fuck.”

Her eyes slip shut, and she swallows then takes a breath. “Fuck a duck,” she says, but it doesn’t sound cute or playful. She sounds frustrated.

My heart pounds against my rib cage, and worry takes root. “What is it, Natalie?” I ask, reaching for her arm.

She opens her eyes and speaks in a monotone. “The job is cancelled.”

All the buzz leaks out of me. “For real?”

That just doesn’t compute.

She nods.

“Are you kidding me?” I ask again, because this makes zero sense.

“I wish,” she says flatly, then reads the screen aloud. “
Dear Natalie: I’m so sorry to be sending this, but Mr. Mayweather had a deal on another property that just went south. Sadly, I have to put the Vegas remodel on hold. I’m hopeful to return to it soon, and please know I can’t wait to work with WH Carpentry & Construction on it.

P.S. I’m taking the jet home right now to comfort him. I know it’s not nearly the same, but I’ve arranged for first-class tickets on a commercial airline for you and Wyatt, leaving tomorrow afternoon. The tickets are in your email. I hope the service is sufficient. My best, and we will regroup soon.”

Natalie drops the phone on the bar with a dejected clang, the sound resonating in my bones.

Because . . .

Fuck a motherfucking flock of ducks. This stings.

I grab the vodka tonic and down half in one big gulp. She does the same with hers.

“I’m sad, Wyatt,” she says, as those pretty lips droop once more.

And that does it for me. I can’t stand the thought of this girl being sad. I want that smile back on her face, and I’m going to find a way to do it. I don’t care about how this job loss makes
me
feel. I need to make Natalie happy again, and that will also take my mind off this shitty news. “Hey,” I say, gripping her shoulder. “We’re in Vegas. Let’s make the best of it. Okay?”

She sighs dejectedly.

I park my hands on both her shoulders. “Seriously. We’ll figure this out. We’ll make this work. I’ll give you the raise regardless. But right now, right here, we have fun. Got it?”

She shakes her head. “You’re sweet to say that, but you don’t have to give me the raise. I know it was conditional on the Mayweather job.”

“No,” I say, correcting her, holding her gaze. “It was conditional on you being amazing at what you do. And that hasn’t changed. We’re not going to let one setback get us down. You’ve never been to Vegas before, and I promised to show you the sights. You name it. This town is yours, and we’re doing whatever you want tonight.”

She shrugs then waves a hand dismissively. “I should have known better. It was a ridiculous, overpaying, crazy job. It was too good to be true. There’s no such thing as calorie-free chocolate, or a guy who’s funny, well hung, and sweet.” I want to protest, but she’s right, since no way am I sweet, “And the same is true for a client willing to pay twenty percent more for this job. They’re all unicorns.”

“Natalie, it’s not ridiculous. It’s reasonable. You said it earlier. We’re good at what we do. Lila knows that. This is just a snag. Deals fall apart. I’ve seen this happen time and time again in this business. Hell, Nick goes through this with his job. I’m sure your sister would say the same. I bet she and Spencer have had deals from suppliers that fell through—it’s just the way it goes. We wanted it, it didn’t happen, we move on.” Since she hasn’t agreed to my make-the-most-of-the-night proposition yet, I keep going, the determined mofo in me steering the ship. “And no matter what, you still get a raise, so you can make your videos. And tonight? We’re having the time of our life. Deal?”

Her lips twitch, and that’s the hint I need to press on more. I won’t give her a chance to be bummed. I search the bar quickly, and my eyes land on a middle-aged man in a turquoise tropical shirt, and a woman wearing a matching one. I drop my hand from Natalie’s shoulder, but lean in close and whisper, “Handcuffs for the Hawaiian shirt duo. Tonight, he’s cuffing her. And he’s giving it to her good and hard against a bedpost in the Flamingo.”

“Yes,” she whispers conspiratorially, picking up the thread, like she can’t resist this game. “They’ve been married for twenty years, and they still do it every night.”

That’s an interesting addition. I arch an eyebrow. “That sound like something you’d like, sweetheart?”

She nods. “Someday. Especially since my last boyfriend wasn’t like—” She cuts herself off. “I shouldn’t say it.”

My curiosity is piqued. “No, you
should
say it. I want to know.”

She grabs her glass and takes another sip.

“Tell me, Natalie. He wasn’t
like what
?”

She runs her fingertip along the rim of the glass, avoiding answering.

I give her a pointed look. “Fess up. He didn’t want to cuff you? Spank you with a crook? Do it every night?”

Because I’d cuff her. I’d tie her up. I’d spank her. I’d fuck her on all fours. In a car. On a plane. Anywhere and everywhere and every night. No hang-ups for this guy.

“Fine. He wasn’t very . . .
interesting
in bed.”

And I’m hard. Just like that. Not because of her ex, but because of what this implies—that she is
interesting
in bed, and I’m very interested in interesting things happening between the sheets with her.

“And you prefer interesting, I take it?”

“Strange, that I,” she says with a wiggle of her eyebrows, “at the least, prefer regular nookie. And I think handcuffs, doggie style, public sex, and spanking are just fine and dandy.” She clasps a hand to her mouth and cringes. “Shit. I didn’t say that out loud, did I?”

“Every single delicious word.” I smirk. “So, we have a deal? No more sad Natalie tonight?”

She exhales, nibbles on the corner of her lips, then grins playfully. “As long as I can ride the rollercoaster, it’s a deal.”

“You’ll get your rollercoaster, and you’ll get the full Vegas experience. Nothing less,” I say, holding out my hand.

She takes it and we shake. “Full Vegas experience.”

“One night. We’re going to fit it all in.”

“We’ll go all out.” She sweeps her arm grandly.

“Let loose.”

“Throw caution to the wind,” she says with a full-wattage grin. She reaches for her vodka tonic, her elbow knocking her phone closer to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her text messages. The one from Lila is the most recent. But beneath it is one to Charlotte she must have opened after closing the Lila one, and the words flash temptation at me, like a line I shouldn’t cross but will anyway.

I want him so badly.

And that’s all I need to know. The words embolden me, and I return to what I’m pretty sure she was hinting at before Lila’s message landed. I tap her glass. “Tell me, why do you like vodka tonics?”

“Guess,” she says, inching close, her command a flirty invitation.

“Because of how it tastes on your lips when I kiss you?” I ask, trying that on for size.

She says one word.
Yes.

And before I know it, I’m kissing Natalie.