So much for waiting to talk until we get to his apartment.
I jerk my thumb over my shoulder toward the stocks. “That right there was amazing. One of the best sexual experiments of my life. But I can’t handle the animosity from the other staff when you like to publicly flaunt me. So, as long as I’m working here, I want our relationship to stay private and away from my coworkers’ eyes.”
Brows drawing in even closer together, he asks, “So as long as you work for me, no sex in the club. But if you don’t work for me, we can fuck in here.”
“That about sums it up,” I tell him simply.
“And this is all to keep harmony between you and the staff?” he asks for additional clarification.
“Then the job offer to work at the club is revoked,” Jerico says as he crowds in close to me. I take a step back, pressing into the wall. His voice goes low… hypnotic. “I’ll hire you to work for Jameson Group. You’ll work at the office over on Clark Avenue. Then some nights you can join me here, other nights my apartment. Sound fair?”
“You’re selling The Jameson Group,” I remind him. “That doesn’t sound like good job security to me.”
Jerico snickers and presses his lips to my head. “It won’t be any time soon, and I’ll make your employment there a condition of the sale with Kynan.”
This is such an easy option that I feel terrible even considering it. Jerico’s doing too much for me, and I don’t like how it’s making me feel. I’ve never been one to depend on others for help, outside of asking my brother for a loan… and I’ll not be making that mistake again.
Resting my hand on Jerico’s chest, I say, “Let me think about the job offer.”
It’s obvious he wants to argue and force me into accepting, but he holds his tongue and gives me an accepting nod. My heart almost doubles in on itself when he asks hesitantly, “But you still want to see me? Regardless of whether I have you in the club or not?”
Smiling wide, I give him a resounding, “Yes. That part’s a done deal.”
“Then we’ll figure out everything else later,” Jerico says as he drags me out of The Silo and to his apartment.
After pulling the seven-iron from my bag, I reach into my pocket and curl my fingers around the golf ball and tee I’d shoved in there after the last hole. I keep my eyes on the flag of this par-three. There’s barely any wind so this should be an easy shot to the green.
One foot planted, the other one rises slightly as I bend down to push the tee into the ground with the golf ball already on top of it. I step behind the tee and take a few practice swings.
“Fifty bucks says you don’t hit the green,” Kynan says as I move in closer.
“You’re on,” I say without looking at him. I’ve been on fire today, my confidence in my game at an all-time high. Maybe it’s because Trista let me tie her to my bed last night or maybe it’s just because I’m currently kicking Kynan’s ass, but I know I’ll hit the green.
Easiest money ever.
I position myself, rocking left and right a few times to get stabilized. My head turns to look at the green once more, down to the ball, back to the green, and finally back to the ball. I swing. When I make contact, I know it’s a good shot. My eyes lock on the ball as it sails down the fairway but only for a moment. I’m so confident I don’t watch it land but rather reach down to pick up my tee. When I stand back up, Kynan’s muttering a curse and pulling his wallet out to hand me fifty bucks.
Grinning, I gladly take his money, loving this day. It started with Trista’s warm body beside me, and I’d forgotten how nice it was to snuggle with someone and wake up all tangled up in each other. She made breakfast—French toast—and then we took a long, leisurely, and orgasmic shower together. She headed home to get some personal things done, and I met Kynan out here at the golf course an hour ago.
Kynan follows the same routine I just did to get ready for his shot. Normally, we’re evenly matched, but I’m riding high today and he won’t be able to come close to the groove I’ve got going. After he tees off, we deposit our clubs back in our bags, which are sitting on hand carts, and we start walking along the fairway to the green.
“I want out by the end of the year,” I tell Kynan, but he doesn’t show any response. Not a jerk, a head snap my way, or even a “what the fuck?”