Incentive (Infidelity Universe)

“I need a keycard to leave?” I ask.

“Yes, Sir.” He pulls one out of his pocket and swipes it over the reader.

“How many bodyguards are with her on this trip?”

“I’m not authorized—”

“Ten,” Reese says behind me just as the elevator opens.

“Jesus.” I follow him inside the lift. “Why so many?”

“She’s famous.” His tone is casual, but there’s more to it.

Before I can ask, he presses the button for the private garage—exactly where I don’t want to go.

“We’re taking the subway.” I reach for the button labeled Lobby.

“No way.” He blocks me from pressing it. “I’m not usually recognized, but it’s better to err on the side of discreet.”

“A limo isn’t discreet.”

“We’re taking her car.”

I follow him into the garage, where a black SUV waits a few feet away. The driver—an older woman wearing a navy pants suit—opens the rear door. I give her the address of a Greenwich Village restaurant and slide into the backseat after Reese.

“Why am I coming with you?” He latches his seatbelt and watches me do the same.

“Three reasons.” I rest an elbow on the window ledge as the SUV exits the garage.

“Those are?”

I point my chin at the driver sitting within earshot and raise a brow at Reese.

“She’s one of our trusted employees,” he says. “Rachel, meet Decker. Decker, Rachel.”

She raises a hand in greeting and navigates the SUV into the cluster of traffic.

“I brought you along as an insurance policy.” I cast him a pointed look. “Laynee won’t leave without you.”

“Okay.” He draws out the word. “But she can’t exactly skip town in a couple hours. It takes time to prep the plane and assemble her entourage.”

“I think she can do anything she wants when she’s pissed.”

“She’s pretty pissed.” He nods thoughtfully. “What’s the second reason?”

“Crisis prevention. I have no idea how to handle a reporter. If my association with her was leaked while I was in the hotel, I’m not prepared to deal with that. Screwing up her public image is the last thing I want.”

“That’s cool of you.” He taps his fingers on his leg. “Really cool actually. I’m impressed.”

He stares at me with more admiration than I’m comfortable with, especially after he just tried to go down on me.

“The third reason you’re tagging along…” I shift to face him. “We need to have a conversation.”

“I figured.”

“You’re bi-sexual.”

He gapes at me like he can’t believe I said that.

“Don’t fuck with me.” A scowl twists my lips. “You went after my dick.”

“I know. I was there,” he deadpans. “It’s just…most guys assume I’m gay.”

I blow out a sharp breath. “I saw the way you look at her. Do you love her?”

“Yes. But it’s not what you think.”

“Then explain it.” My jaw flexes with impatience.

“We tried to be…exclusive.”

“You fucked her?” My voice whips through the confined space.

“We didn’t get that far. Look, it’s hard to explain. Just know that she and I… We’re not compatible in that way.”

“I need more than that.”

“It’s better if you figure it out yourself.”

Fucking games. I despise them.

From what I gathered during my brief introduction to Laynee Somerset, she has intimacy issues. She restrains men but doesn’t fuck them. She has some kind of sexual arrangement with Reese, but they’re not compatible in bed. She wants me, but it’s clear she’s trying to talk herself into hating me. Why? Because I wouldn’t let Reese suck my dick? I think it goes way deeper than that, and I intend to find out.

The SUV motors down Seventh Avenue, filling the windows with the bright lights of commercial signs and passing cars. I’ve never traveled outside of the New York-New Jersey area and can’t wrap my mind around living somewhere else. Especially not Savannah. What the hell will I do there?

Laynee. That’s what I’ll do.

“You know,” Reese says, “she probably called Karen Flores the instant you left.”

“Yep.”

“You don’t seem concerned.”

“The only way out of this agreement is physical abuse.”

He rubs his throat, and I shake my head. Putting him in a chokehold was self-defense, not assault. But even if I physically harmed him, it wouldn’t void the agreement. Laynee’s the client, not him.

“Word of advice.” I harden my eyes. “Don’t touch me, and I won’t touch you.”

“Got it.”

“Do you? Because I feel like this is going to be an issue.”

“No, it’s—”

“You’re attracted to me.”

He clears his throat and stares out the side window, hiding his expression. “Yes.”

I try to keep the irritation out of my tone. “You want to fuck me?”

“I…um…”

“We’re going to have this conversation while you’re looking at me.”

A few seconds pass before he shifts his eyes to mine and says quietly, “I prefer…”

“Speak up.”

“I prefer it the other way around. You fucking me.”

My stomach clenches. “Is that how it works with the others you bring to her?”

“I fuck them.” He slides his palms over his jean-clad thighs and holds my gaze. “She likes to watch.”