Praise (Salacious Players Club, #1)(28)

“Charlotte,” I whisper, but even I don’t know what I’m about to say. I should tell her to stop and put her foot down.

“Yes?” Her voice is breathy and inviting. The moment is charged and sexual and very, very fucking dangerous.

Before I can say another word, her phone rings on the table next to her. I almost look away, but my eyes dance back to the screen when I recognize the name.

Beau.

She tears her feet away from me and freezes with her hand over the phone. Then she looks at me.

“Answer it,” I command her a bit too enthusiastically.

As she snatches it up and hits the green button, I freeze in my seat. This is because of the message I left him. I knew he’d reach out to her when he found out she’s working for me. So, now what?

“Hey,” she murmurs into the phone, walking across the room but not too far. I can’t hear what he’s saying on the other end, but I watch her body language. Her shoulders tighten closer to her ears and her other hand wraps around her middle as she speaks. “What?”

She peeks back at me at the exact moment I’m sure she realizes I told him.

“Yeah, I am. Why?” She bites her lip and curls in on herself even more. “Because I needed a job and it pays better than the rink.”

A tense pause as I hear his muffled voice rattle on.

“It’s not about you,” she says a bit louder now. “No! I’m not— Beau!”

I stiffen in my seat. She looks noticeably affected and growing more agitated with each second.

“No, I won’t quit. I need this job, and what does it even matter to you?”

Then she gasps before turning toward me. “You’re wrong,” she mumbles quietly, her eyes still on my face. I can’t take another moment as I burst out of my seat. I don’t even know what I’m doing when I snatch the phone away from her and hold it against my ear.

“Beau?”

He stops talking the second he hears my voice. Then, he responds with just two words. “Fuck you.”

And the line goes dead.





RULE #13: ACCEPT CHANGE. CHANGE IS GOOD.





Charlie





He unbuttons his shirt methodically while I wait awkwardly by my car. I can’t take my eyes off his thick, masculine fingers as they slip each tiny button through the hole. Underneath his shirt is a white cotton T-shirt that fits him so snugly, I can make out the contour of his pecs and the protruding shape of his nipples.

Jesus, Charlie. His nipples? You’re staring at the man’s—

“Pop the hood for me,” he says, and my mouth goes dry.

“Huh?”

“The hood, Charlotte. I need to reach the battery.”

“Oh,” I stammer, rushing to the driver’s side to find the latch Sophie showed me last time we had to do this. It pops, and when I look up through the window, I see that Emerson has completely removed his long-sleeve shirt and draped it over the top of his car. I find myself staring at the heavy weight of his shoulders, marveling at how more muscular he looks without the work attire on until he pulls open the hood, obstructing my view.

He’s such a…excuse the cliché…man. Not quite dad enough but still so much older than me that I find it strange to even look at him like this. And to think I kissed him.

And a couple hours ago, I was rubbing my foot against his impressive erection while he massaged my feet. God, what is happening? This is all getting out of hand, but I almost don’t want it to stop.

I have to stand up to see him again, and I know he can feel me watching. My curiosity is becoming my greatest fault, making me want to do things I know I shouldn’t but how can I resist? And he’s just jumping my battery, not exactly highly involved mechanical work, but watching him attach those jumper cables is doing something to my heart rate. Warmth pools low in my belly as I imagine running my hands along his chest and abs.

“Okay, start it,” he bellows from in front of the car. When I turn the key in the ignition, it stutters for another moment, which is a lot more than it did this morning. And after a moment, it purrs to life.

“Success!” I yell with my hands up. He gives me a curious arched-brow expression before pulling the cables off the battery and closing the hood.

As I move to tell him thank you, he blocks my path, holding a black credit card out to me. “You need a new battery. And you’ll need to find a dress for the opening next week. Something that matches with my blue tux.”

I stare open-mouthed at the credit card. “I can’t take that.”

“You have to,” he replies so matter-of-factly, like I don’t have a choice.

“Why would you buy me a new battery?”

“I’m tempted to buy you a new car.”

“Emerson,” I say, glaring at him.

“I need to be able to count on you to show up to work, which means you need a reliable vehicle for your job. And the dress is a company event too, so just take it. No spending limit.”

“Emerson!”

I stare up at him as he leans on the door of my car. The expression on his face says he’d like to put me in my place for yelling at him, and I let my dirty mind wander, wondering what exactly that would look like.

There’s something about the credit card that makes me feel like it has something to do with the call from Beau. As if this is his way of apologizing or making it up to me since I know he must have told Beau about me working here.