Bossy - N.R. Walker Page 0,1
shoes. Or the difference between a Canali and a Charvet necktie.
It’s what made me good at my job. I could tell the serious buyers from the players by the way they walked.
Like the four guys he’d walked in with. They were just four more suits and egos, but this guy was different. And his T-shirt was cool, as was the way he wore it. But in a room full of Armani, Brioni, and Gucci, he wore a vintage The Clash tee, black skinny jeans, and— Wait . . . Those were Alexander McQueen boots.
I liked it.
I liked it a lot.
Maybe I stared one too many times for a touch too long while he drank his beer, because one of his friends nodded toward me and shoved his arm. He met my gaze and I held it until he smiled and looked away. One of his other friends laughed and said something, giving him another shove, and after replying something that made them laugh, he made his way through the crowd toward me.
I was leaning on the bar and he just walked right up, half-pressing against me, to put his empty beer bottle on the counter. He smelled so good. “Evening,” he said, his voice deep.
I smiled because that was kind of direct, and I was glad we were on the same page. “Evening,” I replied. “Love your shirt.”
His eyes never left mine; his lips pulled up on one side. “Thanks.”
“Can I get you a drink?” I asked.
“Sure.”
I signalled to the barkeep for another two. Two of what? I didn’t care. I turned back to him. “I’ve not seen you here before.”
He smirked. “I’ve not been here before.”
Mmm. Playful, then.
“Can I be frank?”
“You can be whoever you want.”
The server put two vodkas and lime on the bar, and I handed over a twenty before passing The Clash his drink. I didn’t know his name. I didn’t want to know his name. “Your friends are watching,” I said.
He didn’t turn around. “They’re taking bets to see how long it takes.”
“How long what takes?”
“For us to leave.”
Okay then.
He stepped in a little closer. His eyes smouldered. “Did you still want to be frank?” His voice was like velvet.
“Depends,” I replied.
“Depends on what?”
“On how much you have wagered on us leaving right now. I mean, how much will you win if we leave right now as opposed to twenty minutes from now? I’m all for enterprise bargaining and helping a guy out. I hope you backed yourself.”
He chuckled, warm and throaty. “That’s very considerate of you. And out of interest, when we do leave here, where do you envisage us going?” He glanced at his friends then, giving me a wonderful view of his jaw and neck before turning back to me. “Should I tell them to wait up for me?”
I sipped my drink, trying to hide my smile. “I live just two minutes from here, so the walk won’t take long. But, that being said,” I hedged, locking eyes with him, “I can’t see us being done until morning.”
His smile became a grin, he threw back his drink and again pushed me against the counter, closer this time, so he could put his empty glass down. With his strong body against mine, he grunted softly, and the sound sent a shiver through me. Warmth pooled low in my belly.
“I’m ready when you are,” he murmured.
Fucking hell, I was so ready.
“Then let’s go.”
His friends laughed as we walked out, and I couldn’t even be pissed about it. So what if he’d come out tonight to pick up. So had I. It was my one and only mission tonight, and it had taken all of five minutes. From locking gazes with him across the room to walking out.
Five minutes, tops.
I liked that there was no small talk. There was no ‘come here often’ bullshit. Hell, I still didn’t even know his name.
This was just the means to an end. And this was going to be a very good end. I knew it already. He was confident, gorgeous, and well-built.
The size of those boots better not be a disappointment . . .
Okay, you know what? Don’t judge me. I said from the very beginning that I wanted a dicking.
A very thorough dicking.
It was the entire reason I went out.
I was ready for it. And so help me God, I wanted it. So fucking bad.
I swiped my key to get us into my apartment building, thumped the elevator button with the anticipation kicking in. We hadn’t spoken