“Bye Dad. Your driver’s out front.”
Once he’s gone, I text the woman who drives me bonkers.
Me: Where are you?
Landy: B there in five.
Looking in the mirror, I fidget. Maybe I should change? Wear a tie? Fuck. She has my cock wrapped around her little finger.
With that image stuck in my mind, I tuck my starched white shirt into my black jeans. It’s warm out but the air temp inside the restaurant is anyone’s guess so I grab my favorite Armani jacket.
Needing to work off nervous energy, I trot down fifteen flights, exit in the lobby, and don my New York City mask. Part-boredom, part-disdain, it makes others think twice before approaching.
On the sidewalk under the marquee, I slip the doorman a crisp Benjamin. “Let me know if you see anyone suspicious hanging about.”
The man smiles, a gold bicuspid glistening. “Will do. Thank you, Mr. Montclair.”
He opens the door of my waiting limo, I hop in the back and turn, momentarily stunned. Who is this stunning creature sitting next to me?
Holy fuck, it’s Landy. Her hair’s up, both fancy and messy. Ringlets hang all over the place and she did something to darken her eyebrows. I drool over her plump red lips and her eyes… Oh my God. I have no idea how she did it but they’re huge and smoking hot.
If Jiminy Cricket was on my shoulder, he would tell me,let your conscience be your guide, dude. Ignoring my inner insect, I clear my throat. What’s a polite thing to say? We’re not on a date and yet she has clearly gone all out to give me a hard-on.
“You clean up nice.”God, I need to up my game.
“Ditto.” She eyes me from head to toe and after an awkward moment, catches my eye, and a corner of her mouth raises.
“Care to fill me in, Sherlock?” Her humor sets me at ease. Under all that gorgeousness, she’s still Lanita Manuel, bad-ass pilot, and my partner in crime.
“Write this down, Watson.” I keep my eyes north of the boobs popping out of her dress and tell my libido to calm the fuck down.
It’s going to be a long night. “Remember how I told you a body washed up on the Jersey shore? My dad found his widow on a dating site and asked her out.”
“Really? Why all the subterfuge?” Thick, gooey, dark lashes lift and as her tongue flicks over her lower lip, I picture her straddled over my lap in the back seat with me deep inside her body.
The cyclops bulging in my BVD’s makes it difficult to speak. “The widow knows more than she’s saying.”
As I force my one-eyed willy to stand down, our conversation shifts to the weather. Too soon, we’re stopping in front of The Gotham on 12th Street. My chauffeur pops an umbrella over her head and as he helps her out of the vehicle, his eyes drift to the slit in her dress. I can’t blame him. No living male could resist staring at the shapely leg, bare from thigh to red toenail.
Resisting the urge to quit the case and take her back to my room, I grab the canopy from my driver and tuck her to my side. “I’ll text you in an hour.”
Chuckling, he taps his hat. “Sure thing, Mr. Montclair.”
Inside, I shake the wet silk, stick it in a bucket, and help Landy remove her raincoat. Done with the coat check girl, I slip a couple bills to the maître d.
“We’d like to sit at the bar.”
“Yes sir. Do you want to join your father?”
Spock-like, I raise one brow in feigned surprise. “No no. Don’t mention I’m here. Apparently, great minds think alike.”
“Though fools seldom differ.” Landy’s quick comeback makes me smile. Damn, if this were a real date, I’d rank it among my best and we haven’t even started.
“I never heard the last half of that saying.” Keeping her close, I place my hand on her lower back, lead her to the long granite bar, and pull out a stool
“It means dumb people share similar thoughts, too.” She sits and oh my fucking God, her slit opens again.
Pushing in her seat, I stand guard behind her, and as I motion over the bartender, my dad clears his throat in my earpiece, creating a much-needed distraction.
