Dirty Filthy Rich Men Read online

  “I’m free. I’ll just drop off my bag and be there in a few.”

  I took my time in my office, checking in with my assistant, and trying to decide what I’d say to Weston. But I could only dawdle so long, and there wasn’t much I could think of to say except the truth, so it was only ten minutes later when I arrived at Roxie’s desk.

  “He more relaxed than he was the other day,” she told me, which lifted my spirits. “But something has him on edge. Good luck.”

  “I still hear you,” Weston called through the open door.

  “Thank you,” I whispered to Roxie. “I think I need it.”

  At least I looked good today. I’d worn something different than usual—a short black skirt and a white fitted button-down blouse with a ruffle. I’d paired the whole thing with stockings and black high heels. It was less of a power outfit and more feminine, more demure.

  Ah, crap. Weston probably thought I’d worn it for Donovan.

  Huh. Had I?

  No way. I hadn’t dressed for anybody but myself. Most likely.

  I took a deep breath and walked into Weston’s office. He shut the door behind me but kept the windows clear. Like he had the last time I’d visited, he sat behind his desk and invited me to take a seat in front.

  And like the last time, I crossed one leg over the other and tried to stop the nervous tapping. Well, at least this would be out in the open once and for all. No more coming to Weston’s office and fretting about what he knew about Donovan and me.

  Silly, too, considering that Donovan and I had already dissolved into a big fat nothing.

  I sighed.

  Weston inhaled. “Friday night,” he began, “after you left the restaurant…” He trailed off as though unsure how to finish the sentence.

  And how could he finish it? You left the restaurant and fucked my friend and now I’m confronting you about it. Nothing he could say would come out politely.

  I had to help him out. This was my burden more than his. He shouldn’t have to be the one struggling to come up with the words. “Things change, you know, Weston. Things don’t always happen the way we plan and—”

  “I slept with Elizabeth,” he blurted out.

  I actually had to replay what he said in my head before responding. “Uh, what?”

  Totally not where I saw that going. Not even a little bit.

  “I slept with Elizabeth. I didn’t mean to. And I don’t know where things are headed in the future, but I thought you deserved the truth.”

  “I see.” So he didn’t know about Donovan.

  Did this mean I had to tell him anyway?

  “Are you upset?”

  “No! Not in the least.” Actually, I felt relieved. More relieved than I’d expected to feel. Now I didn’t have to feel guilty about anything I’d done behind Weston’s back. Not that I had felt guilty. “We didn’t have an arrangement between us. I didn’t expect anything from you.” Hint, hint—he shouldn’t have expected anything from me either.

  “I know, but we were in a closet together.” He moved his stapler from the corner of his desk to the center. “And I know I was acting weird that night, but it wasn’t you.” He pushed the stapler several times, shooting out a bunch of wasted staples. “It was because I was all wrapped up with her, and this bullshit that’s going on between her and me.” After fiddling for another few seconds, he returned the stapler to its original position.

  I studied Weston. He did seem to be in a better mood than he’d been on Friday morning, and more on edge at the same time. His eyes lit up when he talked about Elizabeth, and his body seemed tense, but it was strained with electric energy, the kind of energy that came from feeling out of sorts in a new relationship.

  The kind of energy that came from falling in love.

  “So you and Elizabeth…?” I asked tentatively.

  “No. God, no.” He flipped a pen back and forth between his fingers. “I mean. I don’t know. It’s complicated. Anyway.”

  It’s complicated meant more than a fling.

  The nervous tap of my foot was back, and for the life of me I couldn’t understand why.

  I sat back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest. “What does this mean for the pool? I had good money on you holding out.”

  The pen stopped spinning abruptly. “You placed a bet too?”

  I shrugged, trying to be elusive, but he seemed too affronted for me to carry the teasing any longer than that. “I’m joking. Any bet I would have placed seemed to be against my better interest.”

  He dropped the pen and put both palms flat on the desk. “But you’re really okay with this situation?”

  I smiled reassuringly. “I am.” My conscience, which had been niggling at me since he’d made his confession, took that moment to get the better of me. “Actually, I slept with someone this weekend too.” I paused to take a breath and decided I wasn’t obligated to say more.

  But I also decided I wasn’t a dick. “I slept with Donovan.”

  The air between us thickened, and Weston squinted at me for a beat too long.

  “Uh. Say something?” I prodded, suddenly concerned that I shouldn’t have been so honest.

  “I’m trying to decide if I’m jealous or if this relieves me of my guilt.”

  I reached across the desk and playfully punched his lower arm. “It relieves you of your guilt. Jerk.”

  He nodded. “Donovan, huh?” He inhaled. Nodded again. “I have to admit—I didn’t see that coming.”

  So we were both stunned by the weekend’s developments.

  “Is this a bad thing? Should I have not told you?” I wasn’t friends with Elizabeth. Maybe this was harder for Weston because of his relationship with Donovan.

  “No, no! I’m glad you told me. It’s just…weird.” Immediately he realized his error in wording. “I don’t mean it’s weird because of you. It’s weird because of him. He hasn’t been with anyone that I’ve been on a first-name basis with since Amanda.”

  That was impossible. Donovan’s fiancée Amanda died eleven years ago. Surely he’d had relationships since then. “What about Sun?”

  “That model?” Weston brushed his hand dismissively in the air. “I guess he sleeps with her now and then. He sleeps with a lot of women now and then, but I’m telling you, Sabrina, he doesn’t sleep with anyone that he has any interaction with outside the bedroom.”

  “Oh. That is weird.” Goose bumps shimmied down my arms. What did that mean about me?

  Nothing, probably. We worked together, but it wasn’t like we saw each other that much around the office.

  Still, something warm burrowed into my chest insisting I was different. Insisting that this implied I was special. Special to Donovan in some way.

  Yes, Sabrina, you have the distinct honor of being a sex partner that Donovan has also seen with clothes on. Congratulations.

  Right. I was being ridiculous.

  But maybe this explained why Donovan was such a dick when he’d left my place. Maybe that’s how he always left women’s beds. Since he usually didn’t see them again anyway, he had no reason to act differently.

  “Although it’s weird, this could be good.” Weston started nodding again. “Yes. I think this is really good. You’re the perfect woman to show him what romantic relationships are supposed to be like. You could domesticate him. Show him how to love again.”

  I burst out laughing. “There are so many things funny about that statement, I don’t know what to laugh at first.” Like, who was Weston to talk about relationships? Was he suddenly an expert because he’d banged his fake fiancée?

  And even more hysterical—a romance between Donovan and me? Show him how to love? Ha. Ha. Ha.

  “I’m serious,” Weston said excitedly, seeming to have warmed up completely to the idea of our coupledom. “You’re right for him. You’re already in his world. You won’t take his bullshit. I already approve of you, which is essential. The whole thing is brilliant. I should have thought of this before.” />
  I rolled my eyes. “Right. In between making your own moves on me, it totally should have crossed your mind.” The whole thing was insane. “It’s not happening. That’s not where this thing with Donovan is going.”

  Weston stared at me skeptically. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. With a capital P.”

  “Okay, okay.” He didn’t appear entirely convinced. “Wanna talk about it at least?”

  I brushed a loose piece of hair behind my ear and considered. It might be nice to have some insight on Donovan. But I didn’t necessarily know if it was fair to ask about him when I hadn’t tried hard enough to get insight from the guy on my own.

  And what did it matter since Donovan and I were a done deal? “I don’t,” I said. “If that’s okay.”

  Weston wasn’t quite ready to let it go. “Just a one-night thing, then?”

  “Just a one-night thing.” Why did it make my stomach knot so tightly to say that?

  “Fine, fine.” Weston narrowed his eyes. “Even just a one-night stand, he better have treated you right.”

  Again, I laughed out loud. “Or else what?”

  “Or else I’ll have to kill him.” The wink he gave as he made the declaration sort of ruined its power, but it was a nice gesture all the same.

  “Yeah, I totally believe you’d kill Donovan,” I said sarcastically. “Glad to know you got my back.”

  I didn’t need Weston to take care of Donovan or any of the men I dated, but what the heck was going on? Was he treating me like a sister? Was that what happened when ex-lovers became coworkers and found other lovers?

  After I left Weston’s office, I was halfway down the hall toward my own when it hit me—if Weston was involved in more than just a fling, then that meant he would no longer be available to be my fallback guy. No longer my safety net.

  I didn’t want Weston. I’d never wanted Weston. The most attractive thing about Weston was that I’d believed he could keep me from Donovan. That he could keep me a “good girl”, safe and content without the urge for dirty, kinky filth.

  It hadn’t been a very good plan anyway because somehow I’d still ended up naked with the wrong guy.

  Well, lesson learned.

  I couldn’t depend on Weston to protect me. I could decide what I wanted for myself without hiding behind someone else. I could stand up for myself and, at the same time, teach Donovan a thing or two about how to treat women in case he ever did decide to have a romantic relationship again.

  Feeling buoyed, I changed direction and headed toward the opposite side of the building right away before I had time to have second thoughts.

  Twenty-One

  Donovan was standing by his secretary’s desk when I got there, discussing his day’s schedule with Simone. Despite the way my stomach flip-flopped when I saw him in his fitted black Armani, I kept my shoulders back and my head high.

  “We need to talk,” I said, stealing Weston’s opening line. Then, without waiting for him to respond, I marched past him into his office.

  I didn’t look back, but after a beat, I heard him say, “Simone, hold my calls.”

  It took thirty painfully long seconds for Donovan to follow me in, hit the buttons to shut the door and darken the windows, and get situated at his desk.

  Meanwhile, I paced, pulling my hair over one shoulder with both hands.

  “Go ahead, Sabrina,” Donovan said, making himself comfortable in his high-back leather swivel chair. “Tell me what’s on your pretty little mind.” He said mind but his eyes drifted down my legs, and he made no effort to hide it.

  I scowled, but truthfully, it made me a little giddy. Especially when I’d never seen him look at the other women in the office like that, but thinking about that would get me off track so I shelved the giddiness for later.

  “Look,” I said as forcefully as I could while continuing to pace the length of his desk. “I can accept that Friday night was a one-time thing, but you—”

  He cut in before I could finish. “Do you want it to be a one-time thing?”

  I stopped mid-step, my pulse quickening. “That’s not what I said.” My cheeks suddenly felt warm.

  “It’s not what you said, but it’s what I’m asking.”

  “I don’t. I hadn’t thought.” I was flustered. This wasn’t fair. Another round hadn’t even been on the menu when he’d left the way he did.

  And that’s what I was here to discuss—how he’d left, not if I wanted to do more naughty, naked things with the man who’d given me the best orgasms I’d ever had in my life.

  I shook my head to clear it of the filthy images that had begun to flood my imagination. “I’m not talking about that right now. Can I just finish what I was saying?”

  “Yes, of course. Go on.” He gave me that devilish smile of his. The one that made my panties wet every goddamned time.

  Devilish smile or not—wet panties or not—I had a message to deliver, and I was going to get it out if it killed me. Aiming a finger directly at him for emphasis, I said sternly, “You don’t get to leave like an asshole again.”

  Phew. I’d said it. And I felt pretty proud about my delivery as well.

  Donovan rubbed his chin, considering. “Sex with me isn’t always as easy as the other night, you realize.”

  Perhaps my delivery hadn’t gone quite as spectacularly as I’d believed.

  More likely, the fault was with my audience. “Are you listening to me?”

  I tried to pretend that I hadn’t been listening to him, but part of me definitely had. The part of me that was less concerned with respect and woman’s pride and more concerned with primal needs and wants. There was a lot to question after a statement like that. Sex with him wasn’t always that easy? My head wanted details. My body wanted demonstrations.

  “Yes, I’m listening to you. In response, I’m explaining what a continuation of a sexual relationship with me could look like.”

  My breasts felt heavy and my thighs felt weak. I threw my hands up in frustration. “But what does that have to do with what I was saying?”

  His eyes glinted at me, more green today than brown. “You said ‘again’, Sabrina. Which insinuates you foresee a time in the future in which this would be an issue.”

  Was that what I’d really said?

  I replayed the words in my mind. “That wasn’t what I meant,” I said hurriedly.

  “Wasn’t it?”

  I wasn’t sure. Because maybe that was what I meant. What was the point in even correcting his behavior if I hadn’t, on some level, wanted there to be another time?

  Still, none of that mattered if he didn’t hear me. “But did you get what I was saying?”

  He sighed. “Yes, yes. Don’t be an asshole, Donovan. I heard you.” He swiveled his chair to the side. “Come here.” He used two fingers to summon me.

  Didn’t sound like he took me very seriously though. And what he’d done had been a big deal.

  Grudgingly, I trudged around his desk and stopped when I was a couple feet in front of him. “You heard me, but will you actually make an effort to change?”

  He half-shrugged. “That sort of remains to be seen, doesn’t it? Get on your knees.”

  “Remains to be seen? That doesn’t sound very committed.” Without thinking about it, I began to kneel down when my eyes hit the very large bulge in his crotch. “Wait.” I shot back up and stepped away. “Oh, no!”

  “Come on.” He stroked his hand along his erection. “Door’s locked. Windows are dark.”

  Goddammit. What was wrong with me? I was mad at this jerk, and he had the nerve to try to entice me to suck him off? In his office, no less? This was sexual harassment. This was inappropriate and indecent and such a fucking turn-on that I wouldn’t be surprised if Donovan could smell my arousal from a yard away.

  But respect! Women’s lib!

  “I’m not going to reward your bad behavior with a blowjob. That’s not why I came in here.” Though every second I stood before him it got ha
rder and harder to remember why I existed if not for him.

  “No, you came in here to tell me off. Which you did. More or less. Now we’re moving on. I’m helping you decide whether or not the other night was a one-time thing with another look at what it can be like to have sex with me.”

  Donovan’s expression got serious—the kind of serious that said he was on the verge of losing patience, and I’d better listen if I knew what was good for me. “So, like I said before—get on your knees. I’m not going to tell you again.”

  I was a girl who knew what was good for me.

  Immediately, I fell to my knees.

  The office floor was hard, even with the carpet Donovan had under his desk. It was dark brown with a tight pile that rubbed against my knees. It would leave marks if I spent much time there, even through my stockings.

  But honestly, I didn’t give a fuck about my stockings. They could rip for all I cared. I was on my knees in front of Donovan Kincaid, and all I could think about, all I wanted was to get my mouth on him.

  He was already undoing his pants. When he’d gotten both his belt and his zipper open, he dropped his hands to his sides. The crown of his cock peeked up at me above the band of his boxer briefs, much like it had the other night at my house. This time, however, I was eye level. This time, I was close enough to touch.

  “Now this is where you make your choice,” Donovan said, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair. “If this is what you want—and by the way you’re biting your lip, I’d say this is exactly what you want—then you make the next move.”

  Way to save himself when it came to consent. It was probably a wise move on his part. Not that I was going to sue him for workplace harassment, no matter how many times I brought it up. I happened to like it too much. I probably even encouraged it at times.

  But there was a bigger question here now—was this really what I wanted? Did I really want there to be an “again”? What did it mean about me if I did?

  Maybe I really couldn’t take care of myself. Maybe I really did need Weston or a safe guy to hide behind, someone who wouldn’t be asking me to get on my knees in the middle of a workday. Someone who didn’t get off on the idea of holding me down while he fucked me. Someone who didn’t think it was necessary to warn me that sex with him wasn’t always “easy”.