One Bossy Date: Chapter 19

I am airborne.

Everything about the way his tongue moves in my mouth, the way he moves inside of me, the way my head rests perfectly on his shoulder, and the way he holds me tighter when it does is euphoria.

He finishes inside me for the third time tonight with a frenzied growl and crashes down next to me.

“Pi-per,” he whispers breathlessly.

I stroke his face.

He kisses me so tenderly.

“I—you’re—” He lets out another long sigh. “Goddammit. Just lie with me.”

“Someone’s a little flustered.” I giggle.

“Woman, I’m in my glory.” He pulls me closer and in just a few minutes, he’s out cold, snoring like the giant bear of a man he is.

I snicker at how fast he drifts off, kissing his cheek and running my fingers through his lush dark hair.

The way my heart drums scares me as I whisper, “Brock Winthrope, what am I going to do with you? You’re too freaking much.”

And he is.

Too much heart.

Too much muscle.

Too much hope.

Whatever this sweet insanity we’ve started is, it can’t possibly last.

I stare at his perfect silhouette in the darkness, wondering what he wants with me.

Those gorgeous looks are just icing on the Hercules man-cake.

I still can’t believe he sent my father off for an experimental treatment at his own expense. He even sent his freaking driver on a paid vacation just to babysit my little sister.

He cares about people, no matter how much he stomps around and snarls.

I’m so overwhelmed when I steal another kiss from this fallen angel in his sleep.

If this dream has to end, let me sleep.

Just a little while longer.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Bee? Phone?

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Damn phone.

I roll over with a groan, cracking one very tired eye open.

It’s probably mine and it could be important, even if my entire psyche rebels against getting out of this cozy nest of blankets and the warm beast at my side.

I reluctantly swing my legs over the bed and start shuffling through the pile of clothes on the floor, looking for my phone.

No dice.

Where is it if it’s not with my stuff—

Oh. Right.

Brock stole my phone earlier when we were storming the house in a flurry of kisses, teasing me about demanding all my attention.

His shorts move against the floor as my phone buzzes, which makes me laugh.

I reach into the large pocket that’s glowing and rescue my phone.

VANESSA appears on the screen.

Huh?

Oops. This isn’t my phone.

But before I can put it down, her message scrolls across the screen.

Brock, thank you so SO much. For everything. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Wish you were here in NY.

Leave it to a goddamn bazillionaire not to lock his screen, and who the hell is this Vanessa?

Before I can put it down and check my nosiness, another message pops up.

I hope you’re doing okay. Miss you. I promise to send more pics soon.

Pics?

Heart, meet hammer.

I’m seeing so much red I start to choke.

I’m tempted to respond, Hi, Vanessa. Piper here, the woman who just slept with him last night and holy hell it was good. Mind telling me what you want?

Yeah, no.

I know. I shouldn’t have read his messages.

I shouldn’t have created a self-fulfilling prophecy last night by dwelling on when this would end.

Of course it’s now.

And of course it’s with a massive screaming heartfuck.

I angrily scoop my clothes off the floor, stuff myself into them, and walk out of the mansion.

Because I’m pretty far up a private road, a half mile away is the closest my Uber can get.

At least the brisk walk burns off the fury knifing through me, texting Maisy as I go.

Checking in. I’m about to stop by the house. Any reason I haven’t heard from you in almost twenty-four hours?

That’s another worry.

She hasn’t replied by the time I’m climbing in the car, but it’s so early and barely much later in her time zone.

There’s no answer by the time my ride drops me off. Our little house doesn’t feel like home now that I’m alone.

Falling down alone in my childhood twin bed doesn’t make it any easier to sleep after curling up to Mr. Player Backstabberston for a week.

Does Vanessa curl up with him too?

What does she even look like? A supermodel?

How long have they been—

No.

I don’t want to know, and I still smell like Brock.

Maybe that’s why I push my face into my pillow and scream until my lungs hurt.

Sometime after the most restless sleep of my life, I wake up late, find clean clothes, run a hot shower, and try to wash all the billionaire stink off.

I can’t work like this, so I try to pop a couple melatonin and go back to sleep.

I tell myself I’ll feel better by noon.

Yeah, even I don’t believe it.

After an hour of struggling to sleep, I move to the living room and start watching Law and Order reruns until my eyes hurt.

At least thinking about murder cases makes me feel slightly better about having my heart hacked up by a serial bastard.

The next morning, I’m slightly more functional, but that doesn’t mean better.

I turn my phone back on and ignore what looks like at least seven messages from the man I left behind. No time to read them now.

I walk into Sweeter Grind five minutes after they open. It’s empty except for one lonely guy in the back corner.

I wonder what his story is.

Is Vanessa texting his boyfriend too?

Did some woman who lit up his entire sky smash the stars like cheap ornaments?

No one sits alone in a coffee shop this early on a windy grey Saturday morning without a story.

I order a dark roast with heavy cream and find a seat against the back wall. Maisy’s ringtone blares from my phone so loud it scares me.

“Hello?”

“Hi, sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. Fyodor took me to the beach yesterday and we went to this cool Aztec museum. Easy extra credit for international studies!” she says proudly.

“Well, I’m glad you’re having fun. But if you’re out sightseeing, who’s with Dad?” I ask.

“Oh. Um, he started physical therapy yesterday. We stayed until he started, but you know how touchy he gets about that. He wouldn’t let me watch him struggle.”

“Is he eating normally?”

“Yep, pretty good appetite. Whatever they gave him cleared up the stomach problems he was having after the fall,” she tells me. “You shouldn’t worry so much, Pippa. He’s making the most of his time. He even has a private balcony in his room and jokes about being on vacation.”

That makes me smile.

And I guess I can’t completely hate Brock since he’s the reason for Dad’s recovery.

But that kind of makes it worse.

“I’m glad you’re both okay. How are you feeling about his outlook?”

“Hopeful! I don’t know anything about medicine but the way they talk just sounds so good. I think when he goes home, things are gonna be different. I’m pumped.”

God, I wish I could cling to that hope.

“Me too, Maisy. But don’t go another twenty-four hours without calling me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you,” I say.

“Love you too!” She hangs up instantly.

She absolutely should when she’s enjoying herself that much.

I sip my dark coffee, wishing it was the Kona peaberry brew. But as much as I loved that coffee back in Lanai, it comes with other memories.

I definitely don’t need that crap.

When I look up again, I see Jenn coming through the door, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

She doesn’t even wave until she gets her coffee and slumps down across from me.

“Welcome to the land of the living,” I say.

“Can I just say I’m shocked we’re at Sweeter Grind? You’ve been on such a Wired Cup kick since Hawaii I wasn’t sure you’d ever change it up again.” She tips her cup to her mouth and drains half of it in one pull.

“Eh, it’s nice to mix it up, right?”

Especially when you’re trying to get your mind off heart-stabby men, I don’t add.

“I’m glad. They’re overpriced anyway. Okay, so, I can’t wait to hear about this thing with the boss.”

I scoff. “I can.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” I sigh. But the cutting look she gives me says that won’t fly for a second. “You really want to know? Nothing new. Brock Winthrope is just a card-carrying jackass. And I think I should start looking for a new job. Don’t know if I can keep working here.”

“What? But he’s paying through the nose and you were doing so well with the reviews!” She sets her cup down and leans closer, the coffee prying her eyes awake. “Pippa, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Not sure how Vanessa is, but I’m peachy.” I gulp down the dark roast until it burns my tongue.

“Vanessa?” Jenn blinks at me.

“I’m asking the same thing. But she sure is oh-so-thankful to have Brock in her life, and she’ll be sending him pics soon!”

I know I’m getting unhinged.

And technically, we never talked about a relationship between bouts of soul-soaring sex. It’s not like I ever asked if we’re exclusive or special or even more than mutual sneakylinks.

For all I know, Brock might think I’d be perfectly happy as one more rotating choice in an entire harem of women lined up for his pleasure.

Still. Just thinking about the one other woman I know about makes my blood turn green.

“Lady, what happened?” she asks, tapping her cup impatiently.

“I still don’t know, honestly. He was asleep. There was a phone buzzing on the floor. I thought it was mine, so I fished it out of the clothes—”

“Wait. The clothes were on the floor? Whose clothes?”

My face heats as I force out, “Ours.”

“Ooh, spicy! Continue.”

I finish telling her everything I know, which isn’t much.

“…then I left. I have some dignity,” I finish.

“Holy crap. What a dick-knuckle.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t want to say it, Pippa, but I was afraid he’d play you like this. I’m pretty sure these billionaires are all the same.”

“Are they? What about that big coffee mogul who owns Wired Cup?” I sigh.

“Cole Lancaster? That wedding was dreamy!” She clasps her hands together. I can practically see stars in her eyes. “Oh, plus the way he saved her from that psycho. You know Winthrope helped, right?”

I cock my head. “He what?”

“It was his ship! The same yacht you were on brought Cole through this crazy storm to save his lady. Winthrope was in town after they made that big coffee deal and gave him a lift.”

Of course.

Brock just has to be hero and heartbreaker in everything.

My heart nosedives.

“Yeah, well, I can’t deny he’s a big cinnamon roll underneath his thorns. He took care of Dad and Maisy. He even has an adorable weenie lab.” I wait while she laughs in disbelief. “So, yeah, I can’t hate him. Without Brock, who knows if Dad would’ve made it another year.”

“Don’t give him too much credit. His family made their fortune off people like us punching a timecard. Brock saved your dad because you’re an amazing copywriter and apparently a better kisser. That doesn’t make him Mr. White Knight.”

“But he even sent his driver to babysit Maisy…”

“Hey, we’re trying to talk about how much he sucks here, aren’t we?” She rolls her eyes. “Oh, fine. Partial credit. But he’s still an elephant dick, and you should talk to Vanessa. She probably doesn’t know about you either with how these guys sneak around.”

“I thought about that,” I say slowly.

“Why didn’t you?”

I shrug. “I wasn’t trying to snoop, Jenn. But there was no lock screen and the texts kept popping up. And then I thought maybe telling her would be the right thing, but one minute before that text, I was so smitten. Call it an illusion. Whatever. All I know is, it hurt like hell when it shattered. So what right do I have to go around breaking other people’s fantasies?”

“You’re too nice. Sometimes I wish I could be more like you.” She sips her drink in silence before she looks at me again. “When I came here, I thought this was a crisis meeting.”

“Crisis? What crisis?”

“I guess you haven’t seen the bad news with everything going on. But now, you might welcome it.” She looks down at her cup.

“Um, what? What bad news? I’ve had enough of that.”

“It’s bad for him, Pippa. Not you. And we aren’t fixing it this time. Let Vanessa help him crawl his way out of this hole,” she says with a dark laugh.

“Okay, what are you talking about?”

“A video went viral at Winthrope Scottsdale yesterday.”

“That sounds like a good thing?”

“Not when it’s an altercation between an employee and an influencer. Go check TikTok. Try searching ‘Scottsdale scandal.’”

Holding my breath, I open the app and type it into the search bar.

A slew of videos pop up with angry captions.

I open the first one without any commentary attached.

A girl who looks roughly Maisy’s age dances around the hotel lobby in a black skirt with matching boots and a halter top. Her curls are bunched into buns on her head.

“Looks like she’s having fun…”

“Just wait,” Jenn whispers.

A man in a Winthrope blazer walks up to her. “You need to take that outside, ma’am. This isn’t a playground or nightclub. The workin’ girls hang out on fifth street behind the back exit. But you’ll have to walk around the building to get there.”

“Working girls? I’m here for a vacay, dude,” Dancer Girl flings back.

“Very funny. Now move along. We can’t have your sort on our property soliciting business. Kindly leave or I’ll call the police,” manager man snaps.

“What do you mean ‘my sort?’ What ’business’ are you talking about? I told you, I’m staying here. I’m just waiting on my parents because I locked my keycard in the room.”

Oh, God.

My stomach knots, but I keep watching.

“If your story were true, you’d just go to the front desk and ask for another card,” he says coldly.

She shrugs.

“Whatever. I didn’t know. You’re not helpful, dick.” She walks away from the guy, flipping her camera around so we can see her. “Yeah, so, I would not recommend this place. Nothing beats getting called a hooker just for hanging around in comfy clothes—”

The guy comes back into the shot, cutting her off. “What are you doing? I told you to leave.”

“Getting another card like you said!” she says angrily.

“You need to get out now.”

“Dude, fuck you! My parents paid good money to put up with your shitty attitude.” She rolls her eyes. “O-M-G. How do you even have a job?”

“Dylan, get security,” the man yells to someone off-screen. “Let them know one of the whores from the street won’t leave.”

The girl looks into the camera again with her mouth hanging open. “Wow. Wooooow. Did you guys hear that? Like someone forgot to give this crusty Boomer d-bag the memo that you don’t talk to women like that. And you damn sure don’t call security over nothing!”

A guard steps into the frame. “Miss, come on. Let’s go.”

“Wait? What? You’re serious?” the girl asks, her voice shrinking.

He grabs her.

I gasp.

The video fades to a jerky black with her belting out a loud scream.

“That was—yikes.” I look up at Jenn. “I don’t even know what to say. That could have been Maisy. Hell, it could have been me. I forgot my keycard in Chicago and Brock had the staff grab my stuff.”

Jenn nods. “Yeah. There’s no fixing that, bad reviews aside. Maybe Vanessa works miracles.”

I try not to throw my coffee over her head.

“Brock Winthrope is a sneaky, overgrown man-child. I hate him, but I still take my job seriously. Hopefully, we didn’t implement this plan too late to undo this tidal wave. I don’t even know how we get small-time influencers now if this is all over the internet.”

Jenn frowns. “We didn’t sign up for this. It’s just too much and it’s a real scandal. It’s one thing to polish over snotty rich people not getting their luxury towels. Those are apples and this is a sour orange.”

“…are you sure it’s true, though?” I venture. “I mean, think about all the things we found out in Chicago. There’s pretty good evidence someone’s trying to bring Winthrope down. What if this is another engineered hit job?”

My mind flashes back to Apollo Finch and his creepy grabby hands. The acid in his voice when he went after Brock.

“Eh, if it’s fake, we’d better see those actors in Hollywood. And think about what did go wrong in Lanai,” she reminds me.

Fair point.

My phone rings and I glance at the screen. “Speak of the actual devil. It’s him.”

“Answer it! I want to hear this.”

“I’m not taking that call.” My face heats.

“What if it’s about work?”

Sigh.

I swipe the green icon and press the phone to my burning ear. “Yes?”

“Pippa, where are you? Are you okay—” Brock starts. “I talked to Fyo. He said your dad’s fine and there’s been no change in his condition. So, where the hell have you been?” he asks.

“At the coffee shop with Jenn,” I say numbly.

He goes silent for a moment.

“He hasn’t figured it out yet, has he?” Jenn whispers.

“Are you going to explain why you left without even saying goodbye? I tried calling you all damn day. What happened?” His low growl vibrates through my head.

I’m suddenly afraid to mention Vanessa point-blank, but I don’t have another reason for leaving. “I told you I had to stop by the house, so I left early. And I had work to do,” I lie.

“What work? You could have used my office,” he says, suspicion in his tone. “Piper, what’s really going on?”

“I needed space, okay?” I shriek. “Space to think.”

“Space,” he echoes. I imagine him shaking his head and scowling. “Goddammit, Piper, tell me what’s wrong. What did I do?”

I don’t want to tell him the truth.

“Did you really think you’d get away with it forever? Are you flipping serious? How stupid do you think I am?”

“Get away with what? What are you talking about? Are you on some crazy pills I don’t know about?” he snarls.

I snort into the phone. “That’s rich and very male. If a chick calls you out, she must be nuts. Goodbye.”

“Goddamn you, wait!” he barks, and I pause. “Why am I an asshole again?”

I slump down in my seat, straining for words.

“Brock, just stop. It’s game over and I know about her. But if it makes you feel better, she’s probably still in the dark. You’re golden there.”

“She?” The word sounds like thunder.

“Vanessa. She said she’s really happy you’re in her life, so… I won’t keep you guys. Ciao!”

“What the fuck? You were—peeping around in my phone after I fell asleep? That’s fucking low.”

For a second, I whip my head away from Jenn, tears stinging my eyes.

It hurts hearing him so angry. Even if he’s the whole reason we’re so damaged.

“I didn’t snoop. For some unholy reason, a billionaire CEO is too stupid to use a lock screen! I picked it up thinking it was mine. The messages were just right there. But if you didn’t have a—a Vanessa, it wouldn’t matter.”

“Vanessa is none of your goddamned business,” he grinds out.

“Cool.” I cut the call there before I burst into ugly tears.

“That sounded brutal. Are you okay?” Jenn asks softly, reaching across the table for my hand.

I shake my head. “He’s not even sorry.”

“He’s sorry he got caught, you mean. Typical rich prick.” Her face screws up with disgust.

“I don’t know, Jenn. I feel like someone just carved out my insides and left them on the side of the road.”

“You don’t need him. It probably feels like you do right now, but you don’t. You were happy before you met him.”

“Then why do I feel like death?”

“It’s just the shock. Pippa, you’ll be fine.”

I pick up the phone again so I don’t have to see her pitiful looks.

“What are you doing?” Jenn hisses.

I smile. “I’m going to be brave and deliver the bad news. Someone should do it, and he already hates me.”

She watches in horror while I try to call back.

The jackass doesn’t pick up.

“No answer. I’ll try texting,” I say.

Piper: Just thought you should know the Winthrope Scottsdale went viral. Don’t worry. I’m on it. I’m not sure Vanessa can help with these things, but you still have me for that. For now.

Brock: Vanessa doesn’t stick her nose where it doesn’t belong.

Piper: Sounds like a “her” problem. You’re welcome, asshat.

I shove my phone down and look at Jenn. “Any chance I can bum a ride home? I need to crawl into bed and die.”

“Sure, but Winthrope isn’t worth dying over. You’ve got ten thousand other guys in this city who’ll treat you better.”

Right. Because billionaire beast-men who come rushing to my family’s rescue grow on trees.

“I hope you’re right. At least if Dad comes back a whole new person, the money pressure won’t be there anymore,” I say.

“You’ll travel the world and kick so many asses on the way,” she says, lifting her cup in a mock salute. “I’ll bring you home and stay for lunch. My treat.”

She’s trying so hard to help it hurts.

I feel ungrateful, but I know she can never fill the Brock-shaped hole in my heart.