Dirty in Charge Read online

“Got it, boss. But just so you know, they sounded anxious.”

  “It’s a tactic. They waited a year and now they’re coming back, hat in hand, looking for someone to save their shipment—I guarantee they gave the same line to Breson and the other groups, and none of them want it. Four more days and the price will come down. Let them sweat. It’ll be good for them, and better for us.”

  “Got it. Ok, have fun at the house. Is everything there the way you wanted it?”

  I take a quick look around the lavish master suite. This is the first time I’ve stayed in the place since the work was completed. I walk over to the double doors that lead to a balcony terrace. There’s a view worthy of a king from these doors. It sweeps across the grounds to the lake, the woods, and then a glimpse of the ocean beyond.

  “See for yourself when you come up this Saturday.” She’s invited to the wedding. Kenzie is my assistant, but she may as well be family.

  Kenzie laughs. “Joel asked if he can bring his fishing pole for the lake.” Joel is her husband of ten years.

  “He can ask Lena. I know better than to mess with the bride’s day. It’s all planned right down to the floors.”

  We sign off. A quick glance at the back of my phone and I realize I’ve been on the phone with the team for two hours. This is what happens when workaholics take off for vacation. I have faith in my team, but sometimes deals require handholding, something I’m usually happy to do, just not today.

  Which is not the song I was singing when I got up today. I love my brother, but hosting an entire week of guests and family in preparation for this wedding was going to make a serious dent in my schedule. I was prepared to smile and shake hands as the best man should, make all the toasts, then retreat up the stairs like the lord of the manor while all the buzz went on down below.

  What a difference a morning makes.

  Emma Whitman, event crew organizer. Tall and tan with sly green eyes and legs for days. Five days, to be exact. We’ll see exactly how many days it takes to seal the deal. Suddenly I’m not so annoyed to be stuck at a family house party for the week. Not at all.

  If I have a type, it’s definitely a woman like Emma, who responds and doesn’t play games and try to hide it. When she opened the door and led the way, her eyes were a soft but direct behind her glasses. Simple. Direct. No bullshit games. I respect that.

  I strip off my warm-ups and start the shower. It will be my second today, but I want the hot water and a fresh start before I see her again.

  This suite of rooms was one of the only sections of the house that wasn’t completely gutted and redone, thanks to the fact that the roof held up over time. Most of the original plaster had to be sacrificed after years of damp and exposure, but the wall of the sweeping art deco lines was preserved, and the furniture was painstakingly chosen to match the old family photos as closely as possible. My favorite part is the four-poster bed that dominates the bedroom, and then a bathroom the size of a professional basketball team’s locker room, with wall-to-wall period-style glazed tile.

  Because of the calls, there’s no time before guests arrive for the rehearsal party tonight to use the tile sauna I had installed—one of the many concessions to modern luxury and plumbing I made to the place. Ah, well. I step into the standalone marble shower and let the water beat down on my shoulders and back, working out the kinks from sparring this morning. But when I start soaping up, the gym isn’t what comes to mind.

  I wonder if the rest of her is as silky soft as the way she felt in my arms. Unfortunately, there was barely enough contact, but my imagination is taking a runner on this one. I saw enough under the tight skirt and t-shirt as she walked to get a few good ideas going. There was even a moment when she paused and looked over her shoulder and caught me in a bald-face stare at her ass. The way her lips just twitched and she kept on going hinted at a whole lot of possibilities.

  I lather up and take my cock into my hand, and not to get clean. I can see her so clearly, that hot glance when she looked over her shoulder back at me. It doesn’t take much to imagine pushing that skirt up over her hips and yanking her ass back against me. Knock those hipster glasses askew as her pouty lips open and….

  Damn! I’m not usually this quick to fire, but out of nowhere my cock is kicking warm shots of cum all over the new tempered glass. After a few seconds to catch my breath, I aim the shower spray and wash the evidence away, a little stunned.

  More of a surprise? My dick stays hard. Even while I’m drying off and pulling on clothes for tonight—crisp white shirt, dark jeans and a sports coat. It only goes down to semi-hard—finally—when I’m deciding whether or not to skip the tie.

  As I stand there, I realize I have some time to kill after all. This is a new record for me; early to a party, instead of late, or skipping it entirely.

  It’s what a good host should do, I tell myself.

  Sure it is.

  Three

  James

  By the end of tomorrow, the full invading force will descend upon us. Tonight’s rehearsal is an intimate little gathering of, say, one hundred various family members, bridesmaids, groomsmen and closest friends. One aspect of being part of a large family is the great number of parties, anniversaries, wakes and weddings you end up attending. This may be the first I’ve ever had to host, but I know how the bustling and prep goes. When I arrive downstairs we’re only fifteen minutes or so away from when the majority of the guests are supposed to arrive. Still, people and crew are bustling about, kids and other family underfoot while the planners complete their tasks.

  I have to admit that Lena’s ‘enchanted library’ is just as beautiful as advertised. It was impressive in daylight, but now, with the tables and other little nooks lit by candles flickering against the backdrop of those giant columns of books, it’s magical. Tables along the wall are laden with creative arrangements of books, flowers, and food. Whoever this Renaissance Creations company is, they hit it out of the park.

  I got a warning text from Joe that I’m expected to stand in the foyer and greet guests as they arrive, but the stairs are at the back of the room, and every few feet I get stopped by someone remarking about the house or saying hello. I know most of them. I think. They’re a jumble of various relatives, friends of ours from high school, and Joe’s friends from college. The folks I don’t know I assume are Lena’s people, and we greet each other awkwardly.

  “James! So amazing, the house.”

  “All Lena.”

  “Jay-jay! The place looks amazing!”

  “Lena. The whole thing.”

  “Hey, cuz! Far out. Great job, man.”

  “The bride. Had nothing to do with it.”

  “Whoa! Cool!”

  I turn to see what one of the kids is pointing to, and in the back of the room, a regal procession of living statues has entered. They’re performers dressed in classical Grecian robes, painted a stark white from head to foot, giving them the appearance of marble statues. Each is holding a golden lyre. The gaggle is already in full performance mode, gliding like Greek goddesses until they reach their assigned columns, breaking character only to hand their lyres to a woman wearing black, walking discretely next to them. After they climb the white rungs set into the columns, the woman hands them back the lyre. That’s when I notice that the lyre has a long length of clear plastic hose attached to it. The living statues take a moment to attach the hose to linkup at their feet, then stand and freeze in position at the top. The effect is eerie. If I hadn’t seen the whole thing happen, I wouldn’t know the statues at the top were actual people.

  The woman in black is who holds my attention, though. It’s Emma. She’s changed clothes, and her hair is up on top of her head in a fancy French twist, but I’d recognize that body a mile away. Lucky me, the capris and bare feet have been replaced by a tight pair of black leggings and heels, showing off those long legs and thighs, and the liquid sway of her hips as she walks. Her black tailored shirt ends just above a perfect, heart-shaped ass.


  By the time Emma passes the lyre to the final performer and helps them attach the hose to the column, I’ve drawn closer. I’m trying not to lurk and stare like a creep, so I smile and chat with folks as I pass, but the whole time I’m focused on her. I debate whether it’s a good idea to talk to her, she’s clearly working, but then our eyes meet and hold as she passes. I’m frozen, wondering how to introduce myself as the guy whose lap she literally fell into this afternoon, but then she smiles at me and ducks her head. All the encouragement I need.

  “What’s the hose for?”

  She stops, still smiling, though her brows arch at the question. “Excuse me?”

  “The hose. Each of those little harps attaches to the column.”

  “Oh,” she says, “the tubing, you mean? It’s for water. The lyres puff magic vapor when you play them.”

  “Magic vapor?” I ask, but then, as if on cue, one of the statues comes to life, moving as though made of living stone, and thrums a chord. Lo and behold, a white puff of water vapor and glitter blooms from the lyre, fluttering over the delighted guests watching from below.

  “Voila,” Emma says, pointing to the column. “We have water hoses that run around the room under the floor panels.” At this, she pauses and raises an eyebrow at me before continuing. “And then the water feeds to the vaporizer and a small compressor releases a cloud of both.

  “The magic of the vapor,” I say, admiring the trick.

  Emma inclines her head in acknowledgment.

  She doesn’t walk away, so I step closer. “That’s really…” I struggle for a word. “Kind of ridiculous. No offense.”

  She laughs–a sweet low sound that I really like–and holds her hands up in a ‘none taken’ gesture. “Bride wants, bride gets. Believe me, this is not the most over-the-top wedding we’ve ever done.”

  “You sure?” I ask, thinking of the ‘hummingbird and fairy wing’ leather floors, and now the living statues. We stand together as Emma looks over the room, surveying her handiwork. The Enchanted Library does indeed look enchanted.

  “I’m sure,” she says. “Though I’ll admit, this is probably the most over-the-top house we’ve ever worked, that’s for sure.”

  Amused, I look at her. Brass pair on this girl to say that to the owner.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Oh yeah,” she chuckles and rolls her eyes before she peers up at the high vaulted ceiling. “It’s like something out of Gatsby. On steroids.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  Emma glances at me out of the corner of her eye, then looks back up at the house. She tilts her head with a shrug. “I dunno. Good, I guess? Kind of weird, maybe?”

  I fold my arms, very curious now. “How so?”

  She smiles again. “I guess I mean… Gosh, houses like this? Do real people really live this way? So grandiose, it’s something out of another time. So beautiful, so much history, of course, but how could anyone really live here, you know?”

  I look around with her and feel a little tingle. It’s strange to have my own words from my conversation with Joe this morning echoed right back to me. I agree with her, of course. But now, standing with her and looking out over the decorations and the room filled with family and friends, I feel like I have a glimpse of why little American palaces like this were built. Maybe that was Joe’s point.

  Thinking of my brother, I offer, “Well, you know, when the house is full of people it makes a little more sense.”

  Emma smiles at me and nods. I’m starting to really like it when she does that.

  “But then it’ll just go back to being a mausoleum again when everyone goes home, right? Why would you want to live in something like that?”

  My turn to nod. She’s more right than she knows.

  Our eyes catch again. She’s a beauty at any hour, but the soft candlelight in the room makes her green eyes glow like a cat’s, and I want to touch the shadow on her lower lip. That sizzle between us snaps again. The same heat I felt when I first saw her. And remembered in the shower. When her eyes flick to my mouth and back up again, I know she feels it, too.

  She backs up a half step, and without even thinking about it, I advance. A little light of challenge sparks in her face as she lifts her chin, “So…where do you live?”

  I’m so distracted fighting the urge to advance on her again, I’m confused by the question.

  “Pardon?”

  She looks up at me and tilts her head. When her eyes drop to my lips and stay there, I can feel my cock twitch. I’ve been semi-hard standing close to her for this entire conversation, and things are looking up.

  “Did you fly in for the wedding, or are you close?” Her voice is soft, a low kitten purr.

  I hear her question, but my brain interprets this as, Your place or mine?

  “I live in the city. It’s a drive, but not bad. What about you?”

  She ducks her head and smiles, then looks up at me. I know that look—the naughty, I’m-being-bad-flirting-with-you look. We’ve had chemistry since the second we met, and the heated, hungry look on her face mirrors exactly what I’m feeling now. It’s the charge between two people who know they’re going to tangle up very soon.

  Before she can answer, though, she looks up at something just past me.

  I feel a heavy clap on my shoulder.

  “James! The house, my god! The work is incredible. Just incredible.”

  Tearing my eyes from Emma, I turn into the giant bear hug from my Uncle David.

  “Hey man, how you doing? You just get in?”

  Uncle Dave is as big of a man as his bear hugs. I’m also pretty sure he’s gotten into the Honey Jack. His face is flushed and happy.

  Emma gives me a look and gesture that she’s about to go back to work, but I try to signal her to stay. She scans the crowd for a moment as though she might bolt, but then she smiles and folds her hands behind her back, waiting. The motion does a delightful job of straining her breasts against the buttons of her blouse, but I can’t focus on that very long because of the giant who still has me in his grip.

  “Goddamn, son, can’t believe how it all turned out.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Dave. All the bride. You know…” I wink at Emma and she ducks her head.

  “Not the party, son, the house! You’ve done some beautiful work here. Can’t imagine your great grandmother isn’t bursting with pride up in heaven, god rest her soul. You’ve restored the family home from a crumbling pile to its former glory.”

  I appreciate the praise, but my face is hot. The rebuild and renovation had been more of a project than a passion. Something I could do, so I did. I never expected the emotional reaction from the family, but here’s my uncle tearing up just like the rest of them.

  I look in Emma’s direction and roll my eyes, but I notice her forehead is notched and she’s staring at me with a shocked look on her face.

  Four

  James

  At the dinner, I do my duties as brother and best man. It’s the first of many, many toasts I’m going to have to give this week. I shake hands with everyone. Hug every aunt, grandmother, older second cousin from brother-in-law Jerry’s sister’s whatever or other. Mill around, fend off the hungry looking bridesmaids. Get through dinner, get through more toasts and the rehearsal-cum-family reunion. I love Joe, and Lena is a lovely, sweet girl, but through it all, I’m still searching the crowd for Emma.

  She took off in the middle of Uncle Dave’s little talk, and it only dawns on me later as to why.

  Did you fly in for the wedding or are you close?

  She didn’t know the house is mine.

  It makes sense when I think about it. Joe is the groom, and when she met both of us this morning, he was the one asking all the questions. I was just some guy in sweats standing with him. Could have been a friend, could have been anybody. Best man, sure, but the event crew isn’t going to know the entire wedding party.

  But I haven’t seen her all night and it’s making me nuts. I want to catch her and ex
plain…and then get on with whatever it was that sparked between us.

  It’s not usually my style to pursue women. I’m not trying to be an arrogant dick, but the truth is I usually don’t have to chase women. No runways in Milan for me, and I’m a guy who’ll go for pizza and beer with my salad, but I’m not bad to look at. And then there’s the money. Always the money, which has kept me removed from a lot of people, not just women. Even some of the people in this room. Surrounded by all of them now, I feel like choosing to renovate the house was a good thing. For them. For me.

  Maybe that’s why I’m so anxious to catch a glimpse of Emma now. We were on the same page before she knew.

  And with that thought in mind, I finally spot her. Just a flash, but those horn-rimmed glasses and those hips…oh yeah, that’s her. She’s hustling out through a side door that leads to the kitchen at the back of the house.

  Dancing and chatting have commenced, and I’m still getting back pats and hey-how-are-ya’s from everyone, so it takes a minute to get to the side door, but when I push it open, the hall is empty. At the end I see a few people bustling back and forth, and I start to make my way down. But almost like an answered prayer, the woman I’m looking for rounds the corner and starts striding up the hall in my direction. She’s got a small tablet in her right hand, and the left is pressed to her ear as she walks, talking softly to someone over the two-way. I walk a little faster, hoping to get next to her before she spots me, but no such luck. Her eyes flick up and hold mine.

  She stops walking. Looks left and right, but there’s nothing but walls.

  I put my hands in my pockets and plant myself directly in her way. I’ll give her credit for trying: she does her best attempt at a slight, polite nod as she tries to sidle past, but I don’t move. I don’t take my hands out of my pockets—I don’t want her to feel trapped—but I flash a grin and that stops her.

  There’s a long moment when I’m not sure what she’s thinking. Too long. I’m about to step out of her way and try to forget my little party planner entirely…but then I see her lips curl up in a tiny smile.

  It’s all I need.