Distraction (Underground Kings 3)

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Jesus, what the fuck was I thinking?” he asks, tilting his head back and looking toward the ceiling for an answer to his question.

“You’re thinking you just got yourself the best assistant money can buy,” I retort then press my lips together to keep from smiling at the look of gloom on his face when his eyes meet mine.

Running his hand through his hair, his eyes scan me over and he shakes his head. “Fine, but you’re at my beck and call. That means twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, if I call, you come running.”

“I don’t work weekends.” I smirk then wonder why the hell I love fighting with him so much.

His eyes study me for a long time, so long that I fight the urge to squirm in my seat. “Fine, but five days a week, you’re mine twenty-four seven.”

“Sure.” I shrug, knowing he has no idea what he’s in for. “So what do you want me to do today?” I ask looking around his office, noticing it’s tidy. The top of his desk is clean with his top of the line computer and a neat stack of papers. The upper and lower cabinets to the right of his desk with a counter between are bare, only a crystal decanter that is half full of dark liquid and two glasses sitting on top. The leather couch behind me with the round, rustic wooden coffee table is clean with a stack of books on top, which I’m certain no one has ever read and is there just for show.

Everything seems to have a specific spot, but there is nothing overly personal in the space. Not a single picture of family or friends, no mementos of places he’s gone. It looks like a magazine ad for a man’s office. The little devil, who has taken up a place on my shoulder since meeting Sven, is begging me to move stuff around just to see what will happen if I do, while the angel on the other side is shaking her head in disapproval.

Frowning, he looks at me then glances around as well before bringing his gaze back to mine. “There are some orders that need to be filled. You can watch me do that, and then I’ll take you down, show you around the club, and introduce you to everyone.”

“It’s your show, Boss.” I smile and watch him take off his suit jacket and lay it neatly over the edge of the desk, and then I scoot back in my chair as he walks toward me so he can pick up the chair next to mine. Carrying the chair around the desk, he sets it down next to his on the opposite side.

“You can sit here…unless you want to sit on my lap?” He smirks while nodding to the chair he placed next to his.

“Does shizzle like that actually work for you?” I ask him, standing from the chair I’m currently sitting in and walking around to take the seat.

“Do you ever curse?” he counters, ignoring my question, and I feel his knee lean against my thigh.

“Yes.” I shrug. I may not curse with the same words he does, but the meaning is the same.

“Say ‘fuck,’” he challenges me with a raise of his brow.

“Frick.” I smile, pulling my leg away from his when it seems he’s not going to move.

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Says who? Everyday, words are added to the English language. Who’s to say that ‘frick’ won’t mean the word you said in a few years?”

“You’re something else,” he mutters under his breath while his eyes stay locked on mine.

“Are you going to show me what I need to know, or stare at me all day?” I question, pointing to the screen, needing him to look away, because him looking at me is causing a range of emotions I’m not comfortable with to run through me.

“I’m definitely going to show you something,” he grunts, pulling his eyes from mine. Sitting back, I ignore the warm feeling in my lower belly and watch for an hour as he shows me how to use the computer system to place orders for the club. Then, I follow him down to the club floor, where he introduces me to everyone and shows me around.

“I’m going to order in some food. Would you like something?” I ask Sven, standing from the couch, where he told me to sit three hours ago after handing me one of the most boring books in the world about Vegas night club codes and policies.

Stretching, I look at him and frown, noticing he hasn’t moved. “Sven,” I repeat, walking toward his desk. “Hey.” I snap my fingers close to his ear, making him jump.

“Are you okay?” he asks, running his hands through his hair.

“I need food. Would you like anything?” I repeat, looking at the clock on the wall and seeing it’s a little after eleven.

“Sure,” he mutters, reaching into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet, and holding it out toward me.

“Do you have any preference?” I ask, ignoring his outstretched hand.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he says, taking a hundred dollar bill from his wallet, attempting to hand it to me instead.

“Are you sure you want to eat what I’m eating?” I inquire as he frowns, studying me then the money in his hand.

Shaking his hand, he shoves the money toward me again. “I’m sure, now take the money.”

“I can buy my own food.” I grab my cell phone from the top of his desk, where I plugged it in to charge.

“You’re not paying,” he states, standing.

Ignoring him, I turn on my heel and leave the office, hearing his curse as I head to the bottom of the stairs, where I make a call to one of my favorite Indian restaurants before heading through the club to wait outside for the delivery.

“Does Boss Man know you’re out here?” Teo asks me as I step through the doors and to the side, smiling at a group of men who say hi as they pass me on their way inside the club.

“He knows I’m getting food,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around myself as the night air moves across my exposed skin, sending a chill through me. I met Teo the first night I showed up here after my sister was attacked. He took a hundred dollars from me and let me into the club. The second time I came back, he took another hundred from me, but on the third he gave me all my money back.

“Didn’t jump anyone on your way out?” he questions with a grin before taking money from a couple in line.

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” I mutter, but feel my cheeks burn at the thought of what happened yesterday when I was here.

“Just asking.” He laughs as I lean back against the wall, cringing when three women step to the front of the line wearing what looks like skimpy lingerie. This is Vegas, so their choice of attire doesn’t really surprise me, but as a woman, I will never understand the need to wear clothes that leave nothing to the imagination.

“Did that guy get arrested?” I ask quietly as the women head into the club.

“He got arrested and is still waiting bond.”

“That’s good,” I say, letting out a relieved breath that at least one creep is off the streets for now.

“How’s your sister?” he asks, folding his large body in half as he sits on a small metal stool that looks ready to give out under his weight.

“She’s doing better,” I respond softly, leaning my head back to look up at the night sky.

“Here.”

I look down at his extended hand and the card he’s holding out to me. “What’s this?” I ask, taking the card from him. The front is blank, and the back only has a phone number.

“If your sister wants help, I know some people who can give it to her,” he says quietly, and I study him for a long-time, wondering how he knows. Tears fill my eyes as I nod holding the card tightly in my hand, wishing it were as easy as making a phone call.

“Sometimes, you don’t have a choice and you have to let go,” he mutters, but lucky for me, I don’t have to respond because the delivery driver for the food I ordered pulls up just in time. Paying for the food with a fifty, I tell the driver to keep the change then walk past Teo, giving him a short wave as I head back into the building and around the packed club floor. Spotting Zack, Sven’s head of security, at the bottom of the stairs that lead to his office, I feel a smile form on my lips as his eyes lock on mine.

&nbs

p; “Hey, Maggie,” he greets softly, leaning in to press a light kiss to my cheek. Zack is a beautiful black man, with large, bulky muscles, dark, creamy skin, a bald head, and soft, soulful eyes. He is the kind of man I normally find myself dating, and is the opposite of my current boyfriend of seven months, Wyatt.

I met Wyatt on a photo shoot we did together when I was working on an ad campaign for one of my favorite plus-size brands. Wyatt is the boy-next-door type, with sun kissed skin, dark blond hair, and blue eyes. He’s not much taller than me, and I can never wear heels when we go out, but his smile and gentle manner make being with him easy.

“You okay?”

“Great.”

I smile then feel my spine stiffen when a woman asks in a squeaky voice, “Is Sven upstairs?” Looking at her I notice she’s one of the women from outside wearing lingerie. Grinning, her friends come to stand on either side of her.

“Sorry, doll. He’s not accepting company at this time,” Zack says, and something in my chest pinches.

“Well, I brought my friends this time. Can’t you call and ask him to look down here? Maybe he’ll change his mind when he sees us,” she says with a pout.

“I’m gonna head up,” I say softly, getting a soft look and a nod from Zack as I head up the stairs as quickly as my heels will take me. Getting to the door at the top, I take a deep breath push it open and step inside.

“Is it safe to walk barefoot in here?” I ask Sven, who stands from behind his desk as I turn to shut the door behind me.

“Why are you asking that?” he questions, walking toward me.

“I don’t know how much DNA is on the floor, and my heels are killing me,” I tell him as he takes the bags from my hands.

“DNA?” He frowns, placing the bags on the coffee table, then turns toward me crossing his arms over his chest. I notice that while I was gone, he lost his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, exposing his tan neck.

“Well, a group of women—who obviously don’t understand that it’s called Victoria’s Secret for a reason—are downstairs. They’re asking to come up to play with you, because their friend was up here a couple weeks ago, and now they want to see if it’s all hype.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, rubbing his jaw and looking toward the door like he expects them to break it down.

“Don’t worry, Zack is down there standing guard. But can I take my shoes off, or should I leave them on?”

“Take off your damn shoes, Mags,” he prowls past me to the door, slamming it behind him as he leaves.