Stuck-Up Suit Read online

  After work, I made an extra effort to look nice hoping it would change my mood. I slipped into some tight jeans and a bright purple shirt that showed off my abundance of cleavage. Adding a sexy pair of strappy, black-studded sandals, I looked in the mirror. I looked damn good. Screw you, Graham Morgan who didn’t think I was worth a second glance.

  Living in Brooklyn, I usually met my dates wherever we were going. Public transportation wasn’t exactly conducive to picking people up, which worked for me since I wasn’t particularly fond of giving virtual strangers my address. But Aspen planned to take me somewhere out on Long Island, so he had picked me up.

  “I hope you don’t mind. I just need to make a quick stop.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  Unlike when we had met at the party, the car ride was filled with awkward conversation. I had to ask questions to keep the conversation going.

  “So where are we headed? You mentioned a club.”

  “It’s a comedy club. I don’t go on until nine.”

  “You’re performing?”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “Figured two birds, one stone.”

  Something about his response bothered me. It implied our date was a task. But I tried to make the best of it. It had been a long time since I went to a comedy club, and maybe he was trying to show off to me. When my phone buzzed in my bag, I peeked to see who it was. I hated to admit it, but part of me wanted it to be Graham.

  Aspen pulled into the lot and parked. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  He was leaving me in the car? “Where are we?” I looked around in the darkness. There was a 7-Eleven to the left and White’s Funeral Home to the right.

  “I have to stop in at White’s. My aunt died.”

  “Your aunt died?”

  “Yeah. I’ll just be ten minutes.” He started to get out. “Unless you want to come in with me?”

  “Umm…I’ll just wait here.”

  What the hell?

  I sat there dumbfounded in the parking lot. He was essentially taking me to his aunt’s funeral then to work. When my phone buzzed again, I figured I could use the distraction.

  Graham: How’s your tongue?

  Soraya: Better. The swelling has gone down.

  Graham: I’ve been worried about it all day.

  Soraya: Is that so?

  I smiled. My conversation with the gorgeous perv might be the highlight of my date with Aspen.

  Graham: What are you doing right now, Soraya?

  I heard his sexy voice rasp the question in my ear as I read his text. The hair on my arms stood up. My body had it bad for this man, regardless of what my brain said.

  Soraya: I’m on a date, actually.

  My phone went quiet for a long time. I started to think that was that. But then it vibrated again.

  Graham: Is it safe to assume it isn’t going well since you’re texting during it?

  Soraya: That would be a safe assumption.

  Graham: What’s his name?

  Soraya: Why do you want to know?

  Graham: So I have a name to put with the man I suddenly dislike.

  Again I was smiling at the damn phone.

  Soraya: Aspen.

  Graham: He’s an idiot.

  Soraya: And you know that because of his name?

  Graham: No. I know that because you’re texting another man during his date.

  Soraya: I suppose if I were with you, I wouldn’t be texting.

  Graham: If you were with me, you wouldn’t care where your cell phone was.

  Soraya: Is that so?

  Graham: It most certainly is.

  Oddly, I tended to agree with him. I sighed and decided to share the details of my pitiful date.

  Soraya: He took me to a funeral.

  Graham: For your date?

  Soraya: Yep.

  Graham: I hope you’re texting me as you walk to the closest train.

  Soraya: The funeral is out on Long Island. I’m kind of stuck with him for the rest of the date.

  Graham: There’s more than just a funeral?

  Soraya: Yes. He’s taking me to work next.

  Graham: Come again?

  Soraya: LOL

  Graham: Where are you? I’ll come get you.

  Was that…nice from Mr. Big Prick?

  Soraya: Thanks. But I’m good.

  He stopped texting after that. Worse, Aspen returned to the car. Things got progressively worse from there. Upon arriving at the comedy club, my date proceeded to down two vodka tonics. When I mentioned he was driving us home, he told me he knew his limit. Apparently, he didn’t know mine. Three minutes after he got on stage and told his first few bad jokes, I took a trip to the ladies room, then slipped out the back door. Eleven dollars in cab fare later, I was waiting for the first of what would be three trains to get back home. Maybe I needed to take a hiatus from dating for a while.

  CHAPTER 6

  GRAHAM

  I WAS IN A PISS POOR MOOD all morning. Come to think of it, my anger started to surface sometime last night. Right about the time the woman with the body of the devil and face of an angel told me she would rather be on a date with some asshole who took her to a funeral for a date, than have me pick her up.

  If I didn’t have an early meeting again this morning, I would have gotten on that train and told her exactly who I was. Staring at the image of her luscious tits on my phone again, I realized exactly who I was…pretty much a stalker lately. And that pissed me off even more. Screw her and her date.

  “Rebecca!” I pressed the intercom and waited for my secretary to respond.

  Nothing.

  “Rebecca!” The second time, I roared so loud, the intercom wasn’t necessary. The whole fucking office had to have heard me.

  Still nothing.

  Throwing a file on my desk, I stomped out to my secretary. A redhead was sitting at her desk.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Lynn. Your secretary for the last two days.” She furrowed her brow as if I should know what the hell she was talking about.

  “What happened to Rebecca?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Morgan. Would you like me to find out?”

  “No. I’d like you to get me some lunch. Turkey on lightly toasted whole wheat with one slice of Alpine Lace Swiss. Not two. One. Coffee. black.”

  “Okay.”

  “The receptionist at the front desk controls petty cash. Talk to her.”

  She smiled at me but didn’t budge.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Go.”

  “Oh. You wanted me to go now?”

  I grumbled and headed back into my office.

  It was early afternoon when my phone vibrated and flashed a new picture of Soraya’s legs. She had never initiated our texts before.

  Fuck me.

  This woman was going to be the death of me. I needed to get her to agree to see me.

  Graham: Show me more.

  Soraya: That’s all you’re getting.

  Graham: You’re such a tease. Open them for me.

  Soraya: No way.

  Graham: Suddenly you have morals?

  Soraya: I have my limits, and showing you between my legs is definitely a hard limit.

  Graham: And there is definitely no limit as to how HARD that would make me. In fact, just imagining it is giving me a hard on right now.

  Soraya: Perv. Aren’t you at work?

  Graham: You know I’m at work. Why did you text me your legs then? You’re trying to rile me up.

  Soraya: It doesn’t take much.

  Graham: You won’t show me your pussy. At least let me hear your voice.

  Soraya: You’ve already heard my voice before.

  Graham: Yeah, but you were being belligerent. I want to hear how you sound when you’re wet and horny.

  Soraya: And how do you know I’m wet and horny?

  Graham: I can just sense it.

  Soraya: Really…

  Graham: Yeah.

  My phone started
to vibrate. Soraya.

  My voice was intentionally low and seductive. “Hello, baby.”

  “Don’t baby me.”

  Just the sound of her voice made my body buzz with excitement.

  My voice sounded strained. “I want to see you. I need to know what you look like.”

  God, I need to touch you.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t think we’re right for each other. I’m not your type.”

  Raising my brow, I asked, “And what exactly is my type?”

  “I don’t know…a snobby, rich bitch? Someone who compliments a stuck-up suit such as yourself.”

  A deep laughter rolled through me. “A stuck-up suit, huh?

  “Yes. You’re pompous, and you think you can walk all over people.”

  “Well, there’s only one person I want to be all over right now, Soraya. All. Over. You.”

  “How did you get to be such a prick anyway?”

  “Why is anyone the way they are? We’re not born that way. It’s learned.”

  “So, being a jerk is an art you’ve mastered?”

  “I’m a jerk because…” I hesitated. “Because I don’t want to deal with the bullshit that inevitably comes when I let my guard down.”

  “What happened to make you want to put your guard up?”

  “What’s with the deep questions, Soraya? I don’t open up to women I haven’t even fucked.”

  “If I let you screw me, you’ll tell me all your secrets?”

  My dick twitched just thinking about being with her.

  “I’ll tell you whatever the fuck you want to hear if sex with you is on the table right now.”

  “Exactly. My point exactly!”

  Even though we were arguing slightly, I could sense the humor in her tone. I somehow knew she was smiling along with me and enjoying our little exchange.

  Clearing my throat, I said, “Alright…let’s turn the tables on you. How did you become such a snarky little pistol?”

  “I’ve always been this way.”

  I chuckled to myself. Somehow, I believed that. She seemed to be naturally spunky, not putting on a show. This was who she really was.

  “What do you for a living anyway, Soraya?”

  “What do you think I do?”

  “That’s a loaded question.” I scratched my chin and put my legs up on my desk. “Based on the little I know about you…an amazing set of tits and legs…I’d say maybe you’re a go-go dancer in some dark, smoky club.”

  “Well, you got the dark and smoky part right. My office is dreary, and my boss likes to sneak butts.”

  “It better not be your butt he’s sneaking.”

  Jesus. Pipe down before she thinks you’re a jealous lunatic.

  “He is a she…and they’re cigarette butts she sneaks behind closed doors in her office. I work for an advice column. It’s a lame job, just pays the bills.”

  “I actually think that sounds very intriguing. What column is it?”

  “I’m not sure I should tell you. You might try to stalk me at work.”

  “Wouldn’t that be ironic? Are you not remembering how I was first introduced to you?”

  “It’s Ask Ida.”

  “I feel like I know that name.”

  “She’s been around for years.”

  That’s right. Mom used to read it.

  “My mother used to read that column. What do you do there?”

  “I weed through and answer some of the submissions that come in through the website, and I assist Ida.”

  I laughed. “So, you give advice to people?”

  “What’s so hard to believe about that?”

  “I need some advice.”

  “Okay…”

  “How do I get you to agree to see me?”

  “Trust me. Sometimes, it’s better to keep things a mystery. I don’t think anything good can come of us getting together.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You’d just be using me for sex.”

  I had to ponder whether she was right. The sexual attraction was off the charts. But deep down, I knew this connection with her was far deeper than that. I just couldn’t figure out where it was coming from or what it meant. Soraya had lit some kind of fire in me that I couldn’t extinguish. Getting her naked beneath me was definitely a goal, but it wasn’t just that. I needed to figure it out.

  “Not to be a dick, but I can get ass anytime I want from almost anyone. That’s not what this is about.”

  “Then, what is it?”

  “I don’t exactly know,” I said, truthfully. “But I want to find out.”

  She was silent for a few seconds then seemed to withdraw. “I think I should go.”

  “Is it something I said?”

  “I just need to go.”

  “Alright then. When will we talk again?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Then, she just hung up.

  Soraya Venedetta fucking hung up on me. An urge to chase her down overtook me.

  Calm your dick, Graham.

  My stomach growled, making me realize that incompetent Lynn never returned with my sandwich and coffee.

  Approaching the front desk, I asked, “Where the hell is my secretary? She was supposed to be back with my lunch.”

  “I’m afraid she notified the agency that she’s not coming back.”

  Fucking great.

  My head ached from caffeine withdrawal. I returned to my office and grabbed my jacket before heading out to the deli down the street.

  Opening my laptop at the table, a brilliant idea came to me. I looked up Ask Ida’s website and decided to submit a question in the hopes that it would reach Soraya. I began to type.

  Dear Ida,

  There’s this woman I can’t seem to get out of my mind. She texted me pictures of her tits, legs, and ass, but won’t let me see her in person. The only reason I can think of is that she’s really ugly and afraid to show me her face. How can I get her to agree to see me and to understand that not all men are as shallow as she seems to think? –Stuck-Up Suit, Manhattan

  Laughing to myself, I closed the laptop and finished my Pastrami on Rye. This woman was even making me eat like shit. I made a few business calls and checked in on Meme at the nursing home before opening my laptop once again. A response from Ask Ida was sitting in my inbox.

  Dear Stuck-Up Suit,

  It’s quite possible you are drawing the wrong conclusion. There is no evidence to suggest that this woman is ugly. Perhaps, she is just not that into you. You may also want to look in the mirror and consider the fact that an ugly personality is a far greater deterrent than an ugly face ever could be.

  Bending my head back in laughter, I marveled at this woman’s wit. That mouth on her…I couldn’t wait to fuck it. Aside from the fact that she was funny, honest, beautiful, sexy, and unlike anyone I’d ever been with, there was a part of her that seemed vulnerable and guarded. I wanted to know more about why she was so afraid of me. This kind of curiosity was not characteristic of me at all. While that was unsettling, my need to get to know her superseded everything else.

  ***

  SITTING ACROSS FROM HER on the train without blatantly ogling her was truly an art form. Much like a ventriloquist who operates a dummy without moving his lips, I had to somehow stare at her without her knowing.

  This particular morning, it was really a challenge to keep it subtle, not only because she looked so goddamn hot, but because she wasn’t alone. A heavily tattooed man who looked way more her type than I was, sat next to her. They were talking and laughing, and I wanted to basically snap his pencil neck.

  My blood really started pumping when he leaned over and kissed her. I couldn’t tell if it was on her face or her lips because of my only being able to sneak glances. He then got up and exited the train, leaving her behind.

  The jealousy within me that previously had been lingering under the surface had now become blin
ding. It was so blinding, in fact, that I wasn’t even thinking when I suddenly typed out a text.

  Who the fuck is he?

  She seemed to freeze before slowly looking over at me. Her already pale skin turned nearly white. Her head had lifted and met my gaze instantaneously. She knew it was me.

  Had she always known we took the same train?

  I thought about it some more. Without any hesitation, her eyes had landed straight on mine as if she knew exactly where to look.

  She’d been pretending not to know who I was all this time.

  She must have looked up my picture online. I couldn’t figure out how else she knew it was me, but that really didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was that I was now face to face with the woman who had infiltrated my mind, body, and soul from the moment she opened her big mouth on that intercom.

  My stop was next, but I wasn’t going to get off. Well, truthfully, I was getting off on something else: this highly tense staring contest. It dawned on me that she was also absorbing the fact that I, too, knew her identity.

  She suddenly got up. Her stop must have been coming up next. I followed suit, walking over to the exit and standing right behind her. She was staring at my reflection in the glass of the doors. My mouth curved into a smug smile. I was like a Cheshire cat who’d finally caught his little mouse. A hint of amusement shone through her expression.

  When the doors opened, I followed her out, walking quietly by her side. We were both moving very slowly, unsure of where to go or what to do. When the rush of people seemed to all disappear up the escalator to the second level, we were nearly alone on the subway platform. I suddenly gripped her waist, forcing her to turn around and look at me.

  Soraya’s chest was heaving, and I could feel her body trembling. My own heart was racing. To know that I was having that kind of an effect on her was surprising—arousing. So fucking arousing.

  The smell of her powdery skin was practically making me high. That, in combination with the warmth of her body so close to mine, had given me a raging hard on. I was like a teenager about to cream my pants in a three-thousand-dollar suit.