Praise (Salacious Players Club, #1)(18)

I try to imagine it, but it feels so wrong. I can’t seem to shake this idea that a man belongs here and I belong at his feet. Fucking patriarchy.

“Well, go ahead,” I say with a wry smile as he steps in front of me. Let’s see how he likes to be challenged.

He lets out a laugh. “Yes, ma’am.” Then he faces me and drops to his knees on the velvet cushions with his eyes on my face. As he lowers his gaze, I watch him bend his head downward and bow down to me, his lips near my black stilettos.

There is no chemistry between us, but there is still a warm buzz of arousal coursing down my spine at the sensation. This big, powerful man is bowing to me, and it is intoxicating. I let myself imagine someone else in his place, someone I shouldn’t think about.

As Garrett lifts up, he touches my leg, sliding his fingers up the side of my calf, and I can’t seem to breathe at all. This feels forbidden, and not the good kind. Almost as if I’m…cheating?

“Now imagine what someone could do from this position,” he says quietly. The raspy tone of his voice feels like it’s echoing through my bones. And when I look down at him, I imagine another pair of eyes looking back.

His attention moves downward to the apex of my crossed legs. My mouth goes dry, and I have the undeniable urge to leave.

“What are you doing?” a voice thunders from the doorway, and I jump about three feet in the air. Emerson is glaring at us as I erupt from the chair. His arms are crossed, his fists clenched, and those wolf-like eyes are trained on me with so much vitriol, I feel like I’m going to cry.

“Emerson,” I stammer, waltzing across the room and trying to remain as casual as I can. I’m not interested in Garrett. I mean, he’s gorgeous, but I just met him and I don’t even know him…and why am I defending myself? I didn’t do anything wrong.

“Your assistant was curious,” Garrett replies as if the room isn’t drenched in tension. “This room was my idea, you know,” he adds.

“Naturally,” Emerson replies through clenched teeth. Then his gaze lands on me and I swallow, trying not to shrink in his presence.

“The window can be adjusted for viewers or privacy, and the stockade will go off to the right.”

“The stockade?” I ask, my mind reeling as I try to picture it. As my mind settles on the wooden plank with three holes and a lock, my cheeks flush hot. “Oh.”

Garrett chuckles. The smile that plays on his lips is wicked, and there’s a mischievous gleam in his eye.

It makes me wonder—what’s his kink?

Does everyone really have one? Like an astrological sign, aligned with their personality and built into their identity. A secret, dirty astrological sign.

I feel Emerson’s hot gaze on my face, and when neither of us move toward the door, Garrett excuses himself, leaving me alone with my fuming boss. What is his deal?

Garrett’s footsteps disappear down the hall, and Emerson strikes, slamming the door and cornering me against the crimson red wall. “I thought I told you I don’t want you involved with this stuff.”

“Then, why did you bring me? Why did you even hire me?” I ask, forcing my voice to hide the shake. He’s towering over me, and I am momentarily overwhelmed with his proximity. Those hard pecs in my face, that intoxicating cologne, the deep rumble of his voice.

“At the moment, I’m not exactly sure.”

The cold, harsh expression on his face makes me want to crumble to my knees. I’m not even sure what I did wrong, but I’m tired of feeling scolded.

“I don’t think this is going to work out,” I say in a quivering whisper, but when I try to escape from this place he has me cornered, his warm grasp on my arm stops me.

“No,” he barks.

“No?” He can’t tell me I can’t quit. Not when everything I do seems to infuriate him.

His chest rises and falls with a heavy breath before a softer expression settles on his face.

“No, you can’t quit. But when we’re at the club, I don’t want you leaving my side or talking to anyone other than me, understand?”

“That’s not fair!”

“I’m not saying this as your boss, Charlotte.”

The argument dies on my lips as I stare up at him.

“Then, what…”

“You’re my son’s…friend, and it’s my job to protect you. No one will hurt you here, but I don’t feel comfortable throwing you into the lion’s den on your first day. Understand?”

My body temperature cools about a hundred degrees. Here I am thinking about Emerson’s hot pecs and big hands while he sees me as a kid, as one of his son’s friends. I feel like an idiot.

Why couldn’t Beau’s dad be ugly?

“Let’s go see Maggie,” Emerson says, letting go of my arm and turning his back to me. I’m frozen in place for a moment, and when he gets to the door, he waits for me to follow. Once I reach his side, his hand returns to that comforting place at the small of my back. I hate myself for how much I love that, but I can’t stand the idea of him being angry at me. He nudges me gently out the door and down the hall. This time, I just keep my eyes forward instead of letting them trail into the various open rooms we pass on the way to the office.





RULE #9: DRESSING LIKE A HOOKER COMES IN HANDY.