She lets the words hang, and I can feel every molecule of my body heat up, starting at my neck and flaming straight down to my thighs.
“Oh my god, you’re so bad,” I mumble, digging my nails into my palm.
Eliza giggles. “Girlfriend, you have no idea what’s coming for you. Or maybe you do because I keep trying to tell you.” But then my new pal leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes suddenly gleaming. “Do you want to hear more?”
“Nope, I’m good,” I say swiftly, already turning to go. “I’ll see you later today! Bye now!”
Yet Eliza grabs my elbow, flicking her eyes to the lunch crowd, then back to me. “Brent and James are been partners, both in court and out. But every so often, when they find someone really special, they get intense.”
I stare at her, blank.
“Rough sex,” she says, voice barely a whisper above the hiss of the espresso machine. “Are you good with that?”
The words hit like a slap and then echo, twice, inside my skull.
“What … wait, what?”
She grins, all teeth. “It’s just what I heard, Marnie. They find a smart girl, chew her up, and spit her out before the poor thing knows what hit her. My cousin’s friend used to temp at the firm—she said during the holiday party that year, you could hear moaning in the boardroom forhours. Next morning, the girl was literally limping, and had to go to the emergency room after work.”
My face is so hot I’m surprised the Formica table doesn’t scorch my skin. My brain refuses to compute the logistics, but my body sure as hell understands the idea. All I can picture is myself, helpless and greedy, pinned between the two of them like a wishbone, being railed until I’m senseless. My form floods with heat, my pussy moistening.
Eliza’s gaze turns sly. “You like it, don’t you?”
My big breasts heave with arousal.
“You’re not helping,” I hiss, voice shaky.
She shrugs. “Someone’s gotta say it. Look, if you’re going to do this—if you’re going to fuck the actual wolves—at least beprepared.” She pops a sugar packet, dumps it into her coffee, and stirs with the focus of a surgeon. “What do you want from our bosses, really? A raise? Information about your dad? Or a naughty roll in the hay that will leave male cream trailing from your orifices?”
The words are obscene, and I don’t answer right away. Instead, I remember the look in Brent’s eyes, the ironclad logic of his words. The way James’s voice stuck in my head like a splinter. I remember the secret files, the way my stomach turned when I saw my father’s name, how every nerve in my body screamed for more even as I told myself to run.
“I want to know the truth,” I say in a mostly-steady voice. “About my dad. About the firm. I want to know if I’m crazy or if?—”
Eliza cuts me off. “If you’re right?”
I nod.
She leans across the table, not breaking eye contact, and squeezes my hand. “Then don’t get distracted.Use them. Don’t let them use you.”
The words stick, but so do the images. Two men, both old enough to be my father, each strong enough to ruin me in a thousand different ways. And tonight, both of them want me, and I want them right back, and if that’s weakness, then I don’t want to be strong.
I realize I’ve been kneading my thigh, tapping my foot restlessly. Eliza glances down, catches the motion, and arches one eyebrow.
“You’re horny just thinking about them, aren’t you?” she asks in a sly tone. “Don’t be embarrassed if you are because half thewomen at Gibson Grant lust over Mr. Gibson and Mr. Grant. Hell, probably seventy-five percent or even eighty.”
I stop tapping my foot, mortified, but it’s too late.
Eliza grins slyly again. “It’s fine. Just tell me what happens after the dinner because I want to knoweverything.”
I want to melt into the floor, but the thought sends a pulse of electricity up my spine. “You’re a menace,” I hiss.
She finishes her coffee, then pats my hand again. “Text me if you need an emergency exit. I’ll fake a family emergency or a fire drill or whatever.” She says it light, but there’s a seriousness behind her eyes.
“I will,” I promise, and this time I mean it.
Eliza stands, hugs me quick and hard, and then disappears into the bathroom, leaving me alone with the buzz of a hundred conversations. I try to slow my breathing, but the air feels thick with anticipation. Everything in my body is on alert, my nerves so tight that my whole self feels like a single, exposed wire.
I take a long, shuddery breath. My hands are still trembling. There’s a slick heat growing between my thighs, and I know that when I walk out of here, I’ll be shaky-kneed. I’m terrified, but it’s the kind of terror you get just before the drop on a rollercoaster—the knowledge that you can’t go back, and the only thing left is to see what happens.
