“Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me? That there’s a hooker in my office?” I’d have switched to Spanish if I were in my right mind. Judging by the way the woman is backing away, she can not only hear but see the anger in my tone. A small hand graces her mouth, covering it in shock.
“She’s not a hooker. A high-class escort is what she is. Don’t worry. Rachel assured me this one is primo pussy, untried and untouched just for you,” Alejandro states clear as day, so clearly that I’m pretty sure the woman in front of me can hear everything he’s had to say. It’s not up to me to judge if she’s a virgin or how she’s willing to let it go.
“Listen here, Alejandro Martinez, I’m done with your bullshit games, with you fucking and dicking people around. I’ve cleaned up your mess once already, and now you’re leaving me to do it again. I’m done with your pranks, your jokes, and your pawn’s in the women department. You’ve fucked up, big time. You think I need this kind of publicity?” It does no good to keep talking because my dumb fuck of a little brother chuckles right before I hear a click. If he thinks this is over, he's sadly mistaken. I know where to hit him where it hurts, and I know exactly when and how I’ll do it, starting with our father. Our family is well-known. There’s a reason I’ve made it to where I am today, my last name carrying some of that weight. Mom and Dad helped me with the start-up, and I paid them back completely with a ten percent interest rate. It set me up not to fail. Clearly, the same can’t be said for my younger brother. And while I know exactly where they went wrong with him, giving Alejandro everything to his heart’s content, it’s not helping. The baby brother is no longer that baby who had to stay in the ICU for three months, he’s no longer that five-year-old who had to have open-heart surgery, who’s been healthy since then. That hasn’t stopped them, Mom especially, from babying him. Well, that’s going to stop now, even if that means our relationship becomes irreparable.
EIGHT
Cadence
A hooker?An escort? I can’t be hearing these things correctly. It’s not what I signed up for and why I’m glued to where I’m currently standing. One hand on my mouth, the other on my chest trying to calm the erratic beating. This can’t be happening, right? I mean, I’m a date. Not that I’m going to shame any woman for what she willingly does with her body, but it’s not for me. And while his brother basically screamed about my virginity, which is not the case, I’m twenty-six years old, though I may appear younger. Thank you, family gene pool, for my youthful complexion. I’m also not a virgin, not since Tommy and I fooled around in the back of his mom’s Honda on prom night. Cliché, I know, but it is what it is. Even still, a healthy sex life isn’t a sin in my book.
I start to say something, but the anger is palpating, taking over the massive room which, by the way, has the most spectacular views one could ever dream of. Add in the gleaming wood, the plush leather couches that look like you could melt in them, big and massive, but it’s the man behind the desk who has me stunned into silence, afraid to make a noise let alone speak my piece. Dark eyes, dark hair with streaks of silver whispering throughout along at his temples, clean-shaven jaw, angular, and with the set of his mouth right now, it’s a dead giveaway as to what’s going on in his head. Skin that you would think was from the California sun until you’ve seen images splashed across magazines and news articles. That deep tan is definitely a part of his family heritage. The man wears a suit—it doesn’t wear him—luxurious in fabric and color, complimenting his dark complexion, shirt open at the throat, tie off. He’s still wearing his jacket over his deep blue buttoned shirt. Even annoyed like he is now, it still has me on the edge of my seat, wondering how he’d take out all the frustration, and that’s not something I should be thinking about. An image appears while we’re both locked in a stare-down, neither of us giving an inch, me contemplating what it’d be like to have him hovering above my body, thighs spread, feeling his thickness that I’m sure is between his legs. Yeah, I really have got to erase that image from my mind because that won’t ever happen, especially now that he believes I’m some high-end escort or hooker. This is notPretty Woman;I am not sitting on a bench on the streets of Beverly Hills. That’s not who I am or who I’ll ever be, and if that means working at the doctor’s office for another five years to accomplish my dreams, well, I’ll grin and bear it.
“Not that it matters, but your brother has it all wrong, on every facet, from what I could hear, seeing as how you had no idea when or how to turn down the dial on your volume. Let’s just say for the hell of it, I’m not a virgin or the person you think I am.” I barely get those words out when Santiago stands up to his full height. He’s tall, taller than me even in these ridiculous heels, not to mention he’s a good ten to fifteen feet away from me, and I know if I get any closer, I’ll be looking up towards his dark and stormy face.
I hold my breath, waiting for a response. Santiago doesn’t give it to me, so I stay where I am, firmly in place, worried if I were to move even an inch, he’d attack. Not that I’ve done a damn thing wrong. It’s his presence. He exudes masculinity, a take-charge personality, and his tongue is sharp in the way you do not want to even test its wrath.
“It’s a good thing I don’t care, then, isn’t it? What business is it of mine that you’ve strutted your ass in my office, knowingly doing so, and now you want to explain to me your reasoning? I give zero fucks whatsoever. See yourself out, or I’ll have you escorted off the premises and trespassed as well.” I’m not surprised in the least with Santiago Martinez’s outburst or how he’s reeling from what his brother said over the phone. What I don’t understand is how he thinks I represent what he’s perceived. Sure, my dress is tighter than what you’d usually find me in—scrubs for work at the doctor’s office, loungewear at home, and my creature comfort of shorts, joggers, and a shirt along with sneakers.
“Please,” I respond, trying to talk to him, but he sits down in his chair again, returning to his work and ignoring me. I blow out a breath of air. Life sucks. I can feel the walls closing in on me, panic setting in, completely thrown for a loop that he doesn’t even want to hear what I have to say. Hendrix was right to be leery. I’m the idiot in this circumstance while I’m trying to breathe through the attack that’s consuming my mind. I don’t think it’s doing any good, though, not with the tunnel vision that’s happening, and I know that leaving on my own won’t be happening anytime soon.
NINE
Santiago
Try as I might,ignoring the woman in my office isn’t easy. In fact, if the woman weren’t being paid by my brother or some kind of fucked-up service, I may have given her the time of day. I don’t have to lift my eyes to the stunning beauty before me to know she hasn’t left even after the plea that left her lips, wishing like fuck it were her moaning please while my head was buried between her spread thighs.
My head lifts when I hear the soft footsteps, watching to see if she’s doing as I stated and leaves or has some grand idea to stay. I’m unprepared for the sight before my eyes. The woman with no name has her eyes downward, attempting to turn around, but her ankles turn in an awkward angle, arm going out to catch her fall. My seat is shoved out from underneath me as I try to reach her before she hits the floor. Ten or so steps, that’s how close she is, yet so fucking far away. There’s no way I’m going to get there in time, not with the way her heel is snagging on the stupid fucking area rug the decorator insisted on using on top of the gleaming hardwood floors. Damn tassels that after having one conversation, it was easier to let it go than deal with talking to the bossy lady.
“Oh shit,” I hear murmured in a whisper just as she hits the corner of the bookcase. My own hands reach out to grasp her around the waist, but I’m too far away. And let me tell you, watching someone falling, unable to brace their own fall, head cracking against wood, unknowing what the outcome is going to be, is absolutely not how I envisioned spending my Saturday night. Truth be told, I’d rather be at the Christmas charity event than having to deal with what I’m sure is going to be an incident report, calling an ambulance, and hoping like hell we don’t get sued.
“I should have stayed home today, gone on vacation, done anything besides step foot in my own office,” I say as I make my way towards the woman. I don’t know this woman, know where she came from, or how to handle this situation when I’m the man in charge and can handle anything that goes my way, but an escort that screams naive is not one of them.
I go down to my knees. She’s lying on her stomach, ankle swollen to double its size from the twist of her fall, leg shifted in a position that reveals her upper thigh and laced-covered cheeks of her ass. I’ll give Alejandro one thing: the woman is a fucking knockout. She’s skin that’s untouchable in her state, and if she came from any other place, I’d be much more amenable than where I’m at now. This has got to be one of my brother’s worst ideas, involving an escort only for her to become injured.
“Miss, can you hear me?” I ask as I crouch down. If she’s got a head injury, that’s a whole other issue. The good news is, from this angle, I at least can tell there’s no blood. Thank God for small favors. Though there are other worries, like a concussion, a bleed inside her brain, and not to mention there could be a broken ankle as well.
“Mhhhm,” a strangled murmur comes from her chest, yet she doesn’t move.
“Fuck.” I reach for my phone that’s always in my pocket but a, not feeling its presence, hating like hell I’m going to have to leave this damsel in distress when I have no idea about her the injuries or who she is. “I’m going to strangle Alejandro.” I stand up and hurry to my desk, snatching the desk phone so it’s on the edge and keeping my eye on the woman while I punch the numbers to my brother’s phone.
“Mi hermano, I’m pretty sure you should be busy with the pretty lady instead of calling me,” Alejandro answers the phone. I can hear the holiday music in the background because, of course, with me not there, someone from the Martinez family had to attend. Our parents couldn’t make it, having their thing to attend for our father’s company.
“Dumb fuck, she fell in my office. I have no idea who the hell she is. I have an unknown woman on my hands who’s practically unconscious, and before I call an ambulance, I need to know who she is, where she’s from, so at least I can prepare for a damn scandal and have our PR firm on dial.”
“All I know is she’s hired by Rachel. I got the number from a friend of a friend. Her name is Cadence, and you know the rest. Take her home, wake her up, and fuck her brains out,” Alejandro responds, giving me more information than he did before at least.
“You do realize the next time I see you, you’ll need a plastic surgeon because your nose will be the least of your fucking worries.” I slam the phone down on the receiver, staring at the woman who I now know is named Cadence, watching as she flips over to her back, a groan rumbling in the back of her throat. I take a deep breath as my eyes move from the woman to the phone on my table, seeing that it’s crushed under the weight of my hand. Another one bites the dust. I’ll deal with that later. Right now, I need to make sure Cadence is okay, figure out what to do and how to do it.
TEN
Santiago
“Cadence,can you open your eyes for me?” I move back to her, crouching yet again, hands on my knees in a squatting position, afraid to move or jostle her.
“Hmmm?” she questions in a dream-like state, eyes never opening. When she goes to rub her temple, my hand grasps hers, not wanting her to put any pressure on the bruise that’s forming.
“Alright, if you can’t open your eyes or talk to me, I’m calling an ambulance.” It didn’t go unnoticed how her breath quickened when I used an authoritative voice.