Bad Intentions by Tara Wyatt
4
Present Day
Olivia’s strappy black heels clicked against the sidewalk as she and her four best friends inched forward in Boulevard’s VIP line, warm summer air swirling around them. The sun had long set, but the heat of the day lingered, the steel and concrete around them seeming to pulse with it. A hot breeze blew, tickling her hair against her neck.
“You would think VIP means no line,” joked Whitney Vanek, who looked boho-chic as usual in her short, flowy green and white printed dress, brown suede heels and layers of jewelry. Her long, blond hair tumbled around her shoulders in loose waves.
“At least it’s shorter than that one,” said Kate Lennox, pointing in the direction of the line for people whose names weren’t on Boulevard’s exclusive list. “We’d be standing here all night if we didn’t have a reservation.” She tucked a strand of her reddish-gold hair behind her ear, then delicately adjusted the elegant twist at the nape of her neck. Her blush pink dress was strapless and skintight, yet still managed to look sophisticated as opposed to flat-out sexy thanks to Kate’s updo and lowkey makeup.
Sometimes, Olivia felt a little guilty at how quickly her last name opened doors for her—VIP lists at whatever club she and her friends wanted to go to, concert tickets, exclusive events. Whatever she wanted was at her fingertips because of her last name and the fact that her father was one of the richest men in Manhattan. It was a delicate balance, trying to be appreciative and grateful for everything she had, everything she’d experienced, and wanting to distance herself from it and find her own place in the world. She wanted to earn things, make her own name, and live without the shadow of her father’s reputation and power hanging over her. But she couldn’t deny that she enjoyed the perks, even if she did feel a little guilty about them sometimes.
“Ahhhh, sorry I’m late!” Heels clicked rapidly on the sidewalk as Madison Sharpe approached, her thick, dark brown hair flying out behind her. “I was late closing down the bakery because I was waiting for the flour delivery,” she said, pulling Olivia into a tight hug. “Happy birthday!” She stepped back, holding Olivia away from her. “Oh my God, you look incredible!”
Olivia’s cheeks went a little warm at Maddy’s enthusiastic compliment, and she smoothed her hands down the front of her sleeveless black dress. It had a high neck but offered an ample view of her cleavage thanks to the sheer lace panel that ran down the center of the dress, leaving a swath of skin from her collarbone to her stomach exposed. The back was open, showcasing bare skin from her shoulders to the base of her spine. The dress was sexy, and she’d worn it hoping Lucianwould be here. Hoping he’d see her in it.
She didn’t know if Lucian would be here tonight, but she knew that Boulevard was one of his clubs, so there was a chance. She’d picked Boulevard deliberately, knowing he owned it and that he might actually be around. Not that anything would happen if he was here, sexy dress or not. He’d made that clear. But still…she wasn’t ready to give up on the idea that maybe things could be different between them.
“Um,” said Nicole Chan, lifting her slender fingers and brushing them against a spot on Maddy’s neck. “You have flour on you.”
Maddy blushed and then grinned. “Oops.”
Olivia laughed. “Were you waiting for the flour delivery, or the flour delivery guy?”
Maddy bit her lip and then laughed, her deep brown eyes sparkling. “Both.”
They all laughed and Whitney raised her hand for a high-five. “Atta girl.”
Maddy had been through a rough breakup a few months ago, but she was slowly regaining her footing and her confidence, and it made Olivia happy to see it. She loved her friends like sisters, like the found family they’d become. Ever since her freshman year at Columbia, the five of them had been thick as thieves. She’d been roommates with Kate, and Maddy and Whitney had lived across the hall. They’d met Nicole when she’d transferred into their residence halfway through the school year, and their little squad had been complete. These women were her ride or die BFFs, and they were always there for each other no matter what life threw at them.
They reached the front of the line, and after she gave her name to the bouncer, he let them in with a smile, wishing her a happy birthday. She returned the smile, and then linked arms with Whitney and Maddy as they all made their way down the stairs that led to the main area of the club. Lights pulsed around them, flashes of purple and red, pink and gold, and the bass from the music thumped through the speakers, vibrating the air around them. A disco ball style chandelier hung over the dance floor, which took up the prime real estate in the middle of the club. A woman in a tiny black dress approached and led Olivia and her friends to the VIP area, which was behind a heavy purple velvet rope at the back of the dance floor, giving them a view of the entire club. Leather couches and low tables dotted the space, and the woman led them to one in the back corner, whisking away the black and gold reserved sign.
Unable to help herself, she glanced around, her eyes scanning the space as she looked for Lucian, just like she did at every single event he might possibly be at. God, how many boring Walsh Assets dinners and cocktail parties had she gone to hoping he’d be there? Hoping for a glimpse, for just two minutes of flirting. Any short amount of time she spent with him was never enough. He made her feel like a flower in bloom, always chasing the sun.
“Do we have an Olivia here?” asked the woman in the black dress, who’d returned with two bottles of Veuve Cliquot and a tray of champagne flutes.
“That’s me,” she said, lifting her hand, “but we haven’t ordered anything yet.”
The waitress grinned, and then pointed up toward the a balcony on the other side of the club. “Courtesy of Mr. Prescott. Happy birthday.”
She looked up so fast she almost gave herself whiplash, and sure enough, there he was, hands braced against the balcony’s railing, his eyes trained on her. He nodded from across the club, the corner of his mouth tilting up. Her stomach bottomed out somewhere around her ankles as she ate up the sight of him, her gaze raking over him. She hadn’t seen him in months now, and the sight of him was like fresh air after being stuck inside for ages. He was wearing a white button-down shirt, open at the collar, and a pair of black pants, his clothes perfectly tailored and showcasing his mouthwatering body. Her gaze lingered on him as she studied him, her mind helpfully filling in the details of his face that she couldn’t quite make out across the distance.
“Well, well,” said Maddy in her ear. “Hel-loooooo Mr. Prescott.”
Olivia’s face went so hot she was sure she was glowing. She bit her lip and tore her gaze away from Lucian, returning her attention to the waitress, who was working the cork of the first bottle free while two bus boys set up an oversized ice bucket.
“Please tell him thank you very much,” she shouted to the waitress, her face still burning.
The waitress smiled as she began pouring the glasses. She handed the first one to Olivia and leaned in close to say, “You can thank him yourself. He’d like to speak with you.”
Her eyes went wide and she pressed a hand to her chest, her heart hammering against her ribs. “He wants to talk to me?” Knowing he wanted to talk to her had her vibrating in her seat. Ever since she’d first met him five years ago, she’d been drawn to him. He made her feel like she was a compass and he was her true north, always pulling her in. The maddening thing was that he did it without even trying. He was pure, raw, male magnetism, and the need he stirred in her was always there, pulsing in the back of her mind.
“I’ll find him in a bit,” she said to the waitress, then lifted her glass up, catching Lucian’s eyes from across the club again. She mouthed “thank you” and then took a sip, the expensive bubbles dancing lightly on her tongue.
“Happy birthday!” said Nicole, raising her glass, and the other women followed suit.
“To Olivia!” said Whitney, her eyes sparkling. “May all of your birthday wishes come true,” she added with a wink, her eyes cutting back and forth between Olivia and where Lucian still stood on the balcony, watching. Her friends were well aware of her longstanding crush—although crush felt like far too juvenile a word to describe her feelings for him—on her father’s business partner and loved to tease her about it, but she didn’t care.
“Happy birthday!” they all said in unison, clinking glasses and taking a sip of the delicate champagne.
“Is Massimo coming?” asked Kate, her tiny nose wrinkling slightly. At the sound of his name, Olivia’s stomach clenched, her pulse beating sluggishly in her temples.
“No. We’re officially done. I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore and that he needed to leave me alone.” God, she regretted going out with him. Yeah, he’d been sexy as hell, but he’d also been a total pig and a grade-A asshole who’d treated her like a piece of meat. They’d only dated for about a month, so she’d assumed that when she broke it off with him, that would be the end of it, but he wasn’t taking the hint.
“Oh, thank God,” said Nicole, crossing her slender legs and sipping her champagne. “He was hot but also kind of the worst.”
“He was a total dickbag,” said Whitney, never one to mince words. “A sexy dickbag, but still. A ginormous dickbag.”
“Agreed,” said Olivia, taking a healthy swig of her champagne. “He was an asshole.” Just the mention of his name had her on edge, and she found herself scanning the club, looking for any signs of him. Not that he’d have any way of knowing where she was tonight, but he seemed to have a knack for showing up when she was out with her friends.
They settled into conversation, flitting from topic to topic—orgasms, sex toys, most disappointing encounters—and Olivia lost track of time, enjoying being out with her friends, the champagne, the summer party atmosphere around them. She didn’t know how long they’d been talking, but she did know that it was time for a trip to the ladies’ room.
“I need to go, too,” said Whitney, standing and smoothing her hands down the front of her dress. Olivia linked her arm through Whitney’s as they stepped away from the table.
The restrooms were located on the other side of the bar, below a spiral staircase, meaning they had to navigate their way across the dance floor to get to the ladies’ room. The bodies were packed so tightly that she had to let go of Whitney’s arm and turn sideways, shuffling between writhing bodies, trying not to crash into anyone. She’d almost made it to the edge of the dance floor when a big guy turned suddenly, his body colliding with hers and sending her stumbling backwards. She flailed her arms as she teetered on her heels, trying to stay upright. She slammed into something hard, her back colliding with what felt like a stone wall. Huge masculine hands curled around her upper arms, helping to steady her.
“Easy there,” came a deliciously deep and familiar male voice, breath brushing against her ear. “I’ve got you.” She gasped, a shiver working its way down her spine. Heat curled over her skin where he touched her, and her pulse doubled its tempo.
Lucian.
Whitney shot her a wink and continued on to the ladies’ room alone.
Lucian’s grip tightened slightly and she could’ve sworn he inhaled deeply, as though he were smelling her. His hands moved from her arms to her waist, and he turned her to face him, guiding her body with ease.
It had been a while since she’d been this close to him, and he was so much bigger than she’d remembered. Even with her heels on, which pushed her to 5’9, he was still a good six inches taller than her, if not more. His shoulders were broad and everything about his body was hard, strength practically radiating off of him. His eyes were dark, and as she met them, she felt as though she were getting sucked into a deep, fathomless pool. Lines fanned out around his eyes and he pressed his full lips into a thin line, drawing her attention to his mouth. He studied her with an intense gaze, the heat of it making her feel naked. Her nipples beaded and her stomach dipped and swirled.
She didn’t care that he was eighteen years older than her. Lucian Prescott was the sexiest fucking man she’d ever laid eyes on. The only man who’d ever made her feel like she was about to come out of her skin with how badly she wanted him. She didn’t care that his life was dangerous. She still wanted him. Hell, knowing that he was dangerous made her want him even more.
His fingers flexed into her waist, his gaze fixed on her. Heat cascaded through her and she took a deep breath, blood rushing to her cheeks. She let out a soft whimper at the contact, the sound thankfully snatched away by the throbbing music around them.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice rippling over her skin like velvet. Goosebumps erupted on her arms and she swallowed and nodded.
“I am now. My hero,” she said playfully, trying to see if she could get any kind of reaction out of him.
A hint of a smile played across his gorgeous lips, making her stomach flutter. “I’m no one’s hero,” he said, arching an eyebrow. Then he leaned a bit closer, his breath teasing the shell of her ear. “Not even yours.” She breathed in, the scent of his expensive aftershave hitting her like a ton of bricks, making her legs feel weak. His fingers flexed into her again, her pussy clenching in response.
Oh, holy hell. She was halfway to an orgasm and he’d barely touched her.
He pulled back and his gaze dropped from her face to her dress, scorching her as he drank in everything she had on display. Everything she’d deliberately put on display, hoping for exactly this. The dress didn’t allow for a bra, and she knew he could see the hard points of her nipples through the thin fabric.
Good. Let him see exactly what he did to her.
She licked her lips, his dark gaze zeroing in on her mouth. “I heard you wanted to talk to me about something,” she said, savoring the feel of his hands on her, something she hadn’t felt in far too long.
“Do you have ten minutes to meet with me in my office? This won’t take long.”
Ten minutes alone with Lucian? Hell, yes she had time for that.
“Sure. Lead the way.”
Instead of taking her hand as she’d hoped, he laid a hand on the small of her back and led her to the back of the club and down a hallway. Once they were alone in the office, he left the door open and then sat down behind his desk, looking very businesslike with his spine ramrod straight and his hands folded in front of him.
“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to one of the empty chairs. Glancing around, she sank down into one.
“What’s this about?” she asked, feeling completely thrown by how his demeanor had changed once he’d stepped foot inside the office. He was treating her like a business associate, not the woman he’d spent the past five years flirting with.
“I’d like to offer you a job.”
