1
Pru
This girl’s all out of sugar
“Well, it’s official.” I stare at the production assistant’s text. “I’m the new foreign language dialect coach for What Tomorrow Brings.”
Never in a million years did I see this coming, especially considering how craptastic my life has been recently. Although it’s hard to get excited about a job I don’t want. I loathe anything to do with celebrities.
My family name brings enough of the spotlight. In New York City, Edwards means old money founded on an industrial dynasty.
“Pru, that’s amazing.” Harley’s happiness for me lessens the lingering sting at the current shambles of my life.
“Is it?” I study my Duomo Days, Isola Nights blue nail polish.
“Come on, don’t be grumpy. This isn’t like you. You’re my ‘make lemonade out of lemons’ girl.”
“This girl’s all out of sugar and tired of sucking lemons.” The shot of tequila, near tasteless, slides smoothly down my throat and warms my insides. “And I’ve got the cankers to show for it.”
I exaggerate a pout, and she scrunches her pert nose, shaking her head.
“Don’t be a brat. Let’s celebrate.” She holds up our empty shot glasses and the bartender nods, acknowledging the request for another round. “When do you start?”
“Two days.”
It’s plenty of time to move out of my former employer’s TriBeCa loft and into my mother’s penthouse at the El Dorado, one of Central Park West’s most iconic pre-war cooperatives.
The place belonged to my grandparents and with their passing, it went to their daughter, Priscilla, with one caveat—it will eventually be mine, either upon my mother’s death or if Mom gives it to me sooner.
Yeah, right. At nearly twenty-six, it’ll be a long wait until it’s mine.
“This could be a new career for you.” My best friend’s enthusiasm leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
The petite bartender approaches, smirking. “These,”—the shots are set down in front of us—“are from the guys at the other end.”
Three suits ogle us from across the crowded pub. It’s happy hour, and while not intentional, we’re showing more skin than most in our summer dresses. This Pearl Street after work drinking hole isn’t our usual hangout, and we’re unicorns among a sea of black, blue, and gray office attire.
The Wall Street bankers raise their glasses, sporting thirsty grins, as an invitation to come over. There’s nothing off-putting nor spectacular about them. Hair trim, clean-shaven, nails better manicured than mine…and their wolfish grins do nothing for me.
Not to be rude, but with no intentions of joining them, we lift our shot glasses in cheers and thanks. I smile, down the liquid in one gulp, and plunk the empty glass onto the bar.
Harley’s blissfully on her way to the altar, and I’m not interested in harmless flirting or a meaningless anything.
Images from a week ago, at another bar—The Salon in Chelsea—explode in my mind like a psychedelic acid flashback. I clench my thighs together, easing the sudden ache gathering between my legs.
My one and only one-night stand.
Serious relationships aren’t my thing. Monogamy and friendship, definitely—but both parties have to agree to fun…not forever.
Mr. Knee Melter was a first for me. A first in more ways than one. He was a complete stranger, and with just a look, something indescribable fired between us. I wanted him to fuck my brains out.
Sure, I’ve had instant attraction before, but nothing like this. Nothing so consuming I threw caution to the wind. I was impulsive.
Before him, attraction was as far as I’d take things with some guy in a club. I mean, a girl’s gotta have standards, and there’s no harm in wild fantasies. But this man…he was different. Everything about him was different.
Without exchanging words, I followed him to the restrooms. No hesitation.
We were finally alone. The sultry heat of his breath on my neck, his overpowering, masculine scent, and his possessive hands.
My body buzzes with vivid sensations of him. I can almost feel the weight of him pressing into me. Deep pools of molten chocolate colored eyes scorched my soul.
Strong, deft hands carried me to the counter, cupping my ass and hiking up my dress. Hot lips seared the swell of my breasts, and teeth nipped playfully at my collarbone.
Gah, my panties are soaked.
“Do you want anything else?” The bartender murders my dirty daydreams like a butcher hacking at fresh meat.
I jolt from my erotic stupor and my bestie grabs my shoulder to steady me. “You okay?”
“Um, uh, I’m fine.” Heat creeps into my cheeks as if my visions play on the wall like a movie for all to see.
“We’ll have two waters, please,” Harley says, and I’m grateful for the chance to pull myself together.
Yes, my naughty hookup was unforgettable and yet she only has the highlights. I couldn’t find the words and oddly, I didn’t want to share.
The night was supposed to be just sex, but it was more than physical. And if possible, I wouldn’t have showered for days, not willing to wash off his scent let alone forget the way he owned my body. I still vacillate between wondering if it even happened to never wanting to forget.
Shoot, I’m doing it again, imagining him. It’s pointless torture. I don’t know his name, and even if I did, it wouldn’t go anywhere.
Forget about him, Pru.
Determined to stick to the here and now, I press a smile onto my face. “So where were we?”
“The job…it could be the start of something new.”
A server brings two glasses of water, and an unattractive snort bubbles up my throat. “I’m not so sure I want the job. I only took it so Ross would stop going on about it. All I wanted was to leave his office.”
The deep sapphire of my nail polish lulls my senses, squashing the rising ire at the mention of my ex-boss.
“Dumbass.”
We used to be friends and business partners, and now, I’m not so sure. A wave of nausea or more like anger ploughs into me. As CEO to my COO position, Ross Carmichael fired me, and the why of it, or lack thereof, still rubs me the wrong way.
“Have you talked to him?” Harley’s cautious, unsure if she should bring him up.
I was a screaming banshee the day I was canned, and Harley was the first—no, the only—person I called. And because she’s amazing, she dropped everything for me, even her fiancé, Nash.
He’s also great. When he found out what happened, he threatened to sue Ross’s ass and Carmichael-Edwards. If anyone could cripple Carmichael-Edwards, it would be Nash Everett.
“Nope and I don’t plan to. He’s called a few times, and he even had my replacement call me.” I put on a corporate voice, recalling Ross’s messages. “So as to ensure a smooth transition.”
“He didn’t!” Her fingers curl into fists. “That asshole.”
We met him at NYU, and right away it was clear he was driven to become the next Bill Gates.
Upon graduation, we joined forces and started a tech company, CE. He had visions of world domination, and I’m fluent in six languages—English, Spanish, French, Mandarin, Arabic, and Russian. Together, he was convinced we’d rule the world.