Mister O

“Like when a woman wears a red teddy under a trench coat? That kind of surprise?” I deadpan.

He clasps a hand to his belly and laughs as the car slows at his floor. “And that’s what we pay you the big bucks for.” He steps out, wraps his hand over the door, and pokes his head in. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah. For red teddy jokes,” I mutter as he walks off.

As soon as I reach the lobby, I dial Tyler and give him the down low. “What surprise is he talking about?”

“I’m meeting him a week from today,” my lawyer says in a reassuring tone. “I have no doubt he’s just posturing as we head to negotiations. This is his style. He’s like a cat who likes to play with his food before he eats it.”

I cringe. “Did you just compare me to cat food?”

Tyler laughs. “That came out wrong. But listen, man, we’ve got your back. Just go to the cocktail party in a few days, keep smiling, and we’ll take care of the show when I see him in a week.”

Easier said than done.

Because the show takes care of me. The show has given me this life in New York, the home that I own, even the shirt I’m wearing. It’s given me everything, and I don’t want to fuck it up.

It’s who I am. It’s a part of me.

But when Harper sends me the location for our date, the last thing on my mind is the show. It’s why the fuck are we meeting a block away from Spencer and Charlotte’s home?





23





Harper waits for me on the corner of Christopher Street and Seventh Avenue South, wearing black heels, a light-pink jacket cinched tightly at the waist, a gray skirt, and black stockings. Immediately, I decide they have bows where the garters attach. Because of course she’s wearing garters. Of course I’m going to be aroused the entire night. And of course I don’t want to go to Spencer’s apartment on our date.

I march up to her and park a hand on her shoulder. “Remember that time I said I liked everything? I’m going to amend that. The one kink I don’t like is messing around at your brother’s place.”

She scoffs. “Relax. I just have to feed Fido. Spencer’s house is right near where I’ve planned our date, so I figured we could do it on the way.”

She spins around and starts walking to his house. I join her, covering the familiar block to my best friend’s abode with growing unease as we pass the hip coffee shop, the shoe store, and the neighboring brick brownstone.

At his front door, that latent kernel of guilt shoves its way to the front of the line. As we enter the elevator, it lodges in my chest. “Harper, I feel like shit going into your brother’s home like this.”

“Like what?”

“You know. Since we’re doing this thing.” I gesture from her to me.

“He’s gone for the week on his honeymoon, and we’re not doing anything wrong.”

“I know, but you’re his sister. And I’m his friend. And I’m crossing lines.”

She cocks her head to the side. “Do you want to stop?” she asks, worry in her voice.

“No more than I want to pound a five-inch nail into my head.”

She winces as the elevator slows at his floor and the doors open. “Ouch. That hurts just thinking about it. But I’m curious—would a four-inch nail make a difference?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“Then why are we discussing it?”

She makes a good point. A great point, actually. Besides, this is a temporary arrangement. One week only. Still, as we walk down the hall I picture myself as a man heading into a courtroom, ready to be judged. “Because you know how he is. He’s protective of you.”

She nods and shoots me a small smile as she reaches his door and grabs the key from her purse. “I do know, and I love him. But he’s not the boss of my body. I’m in charge of who gets to touch me. Not him. Not anyone. Besides, you and I agreed this was just between us way back at Speakeasy,” she says, reminding me of the nature of this relationship—to help her learn the ins and outs of sex and dating, and to never tell a soul.

“But more than that,” she adds, running her hand down her chest to the top button of her jacket and undoing it to reveal a sliver of creamy skin. “I’m a grown woman, and I feel completely confident that I can make my own decisions about who I want to wear black stockings and a new lacy lingerie set for.”

Just like that, I’m hypnotized. I’m under her spell, a cartoon character with glassy eyes, following the piece of steak he finds at the end of a string. No way can I resist her with that image planted in my head. I’ll follow her and her lingerie and her kick-ass attitude wherever she goes. She’s so fucking strong in her beliefs, in who she is, and it’s a huge part of the allure.

She unlocks the door to Spencer’s home, and we step inside. Fido scampers over to her.

“What kind of lingerie?”