Juice: An Alpha Male Billionaire Romance - Part 5 (Juice: The Series) (2 page)

I sit at my desk fuming. Two weeks. Just ten more workdays
here. I can do anything for two weeks.

Barry is close behind, following along to my desk, and walks
behind me to put a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, no hard feelings. We’ll do a
going away happy hour,” he says and walks out.

I’m flabbergasted by his nerve. Insulting me twice, then
offering a consolation prize of buying me drinks. Does this asshole even
remember what happened last time we did something outside the office?

Denise spins in her chair. “You’re quitting? Where are you
going?” she prods.

I can’t lie. Now that I’ve spilled the beans to Barry, I’m
sure he’ll tell the entire office. Best to get ahead of his gossip and think
about something else.

“I’m doing the juice company. Full time.
Namaste
or
bust!” I say and allow a quick smile to burst.

“Oh, that’s great,” she says smiling. Watching her face I
can sense some reservation in her voice.

“Yeah, it’s scary, though,” I continue. “Right now it’s just
Everett and me running it,”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine working alongside your… uh, lover?”
she says and asks at the same time. My face is burning red, though I’m already
flush with anger.

“It’s not like that. We’re going to make it work,” I say and
spin around in my chair again.

At least I tell myself that. To this point in my life I’ve
actively kept work and romance separate, but now I’m leaving a steady job to
mix the two together.

* * *

This is the last time I will set foot in this place.

The scent of stale beer, greasy chalupas, and faux-alpha
dudes pounding tequila shots at the bar wrinkle my nose.

Yes, we’re at
Sombreros
again, but with the entire
Dunbar team, seeing me off with a perfunctory going away happy hour. Barry is acting
over-top, even for himself. I tell myself I will do my very best to have a good
time.

A waitress appears at our table with an apologetic look on
her face and a tray completely filled with tequila shots.

“No, please,” I protest, but I know it’s of little use.

“Come on, Bronwyn,” Barry says patting me on the back, “This
is the last chance we have to give you hard a time.”

My spine instantly freezes from his touch.

“Hey, don’t worry. I got Patron this time. I know you only
drink the good stuff,” he says grabbing two glasses and places them in front of
me.

I look up and around the table and only see shrugs and half
smiles all around. Even Cindy in HR isn’t putting up any protest, rather
grabbing one for herself to pair with her beer. Who says lawyers are boozers?

“Fine,” I say, still not looking at the beast that calls
itself Barry, “I’ll take one.” A small cheer and clap goes up around the table.

Six of us clink glasses, down to the table, back up and down
the gullet.

“Lime, please!” I say and suck the citrus wedge to salve the
burn.

“Hey, congrats,” Cindy offers afterward, with eyebrows
raised. “I heard the news.”

“Thank you,” I reply, and watch her eyes look over to Barry.

“I heard there’s even an investor in the picture,” she says
with a wink.

“Maybe,” I say with a shy smile. I scan the table and catch
the eyes of everyone on me, Cindy, Denise, Barry, Sean, and a senior partner.
“Nothing is official, yet,” I say and the group returns to their conversations.

“Nothing official?” Barry says, leaning toward me “Well, if
you need a job again, let me know,” he says and pats my leg, again sending chills
down my skin.

I stand, suddenly. I need a break before this night turns
into another disaster, and run off to barricade myself in a stall.

I shoot a quick text ‘Hey’ to Everett, my unofficial
business partner. Barry’s comment wouldn’t bother me so much, if it weren’t
partly true. Piper, Everett, and I haven’t signed any documents, exchanged any
funds. The dichotomy of this fantasy of a complicated but beautiful future with
Everett split with the possibility of it all disappears puts my stomach in
knots.

I stare unblinking at my phone while sitting on the toilet.
I count the seconds, hoping I get a quick answer, some excuse to end this work
social function early. Nothing appears, and I resign myself to giving at least
an hour or two to these people.  The paychecks did clear after all.

I send another quick text before joining them again.

Barry’s being
weird again

My heart sinks to see only three people are left now. Barry
looks up at me with a forehead full of sweat, “Hey, you were in the bathroom a
while, so I ordered us some margs. I hope you like salt.”

“Whatever,” I say and grab the drink. “Let’s go outside,
guys?” I suggest. I need some fresh air and some space. I look to the front
door, vividly seeing the near brawl play back in my mind.

* * *

The back patio tonight features just a solo act, a tall,
thin, and very cute guy with an acoustic guitar. A small group of girls in
colorful dresses stand close to the stage, swaying along to the beat. He strums
an original tune with a Jamaican vibe which instantly mellows my mood. I close
my eyes and imagine briefly laying on a sandy beach with Everett instead of
this city courtyard with my boss. A hand snakes around my waist, which I instinctively
take in mine, but it’s cold and clammy.

Horrified, I realize it’s Barry, clearly drunk and sweating
profusely, and putting on a full court press. I step forward and away, ignoring
his attempt, and join the girls in front of the stage.

“C’mon, it’s our last night, Bron,” he slurs, “give me a
chance.” He’s still technically my boss for another 48 hours, and I want to
give him the benefit of the doubt. My mother’s advice ‘
Don’t burn any
bridges’
echoes in my head.

“No, Barry,” I say, turning to face him. “I’m just here to
see the group one last time. You’ve got to back off.” His face sours at my
words. Even with his money, I’m sure he gets rejected all the time. He should
be used to this kind of shabby treatment.

“You just need to loosen up,” he says, walking away. “I’ll
get us more drinks.”

Denise walks up just then and puts her arms around me. “I’m
going to miss you!”

“You’ll see me again, don’t worry,” I say with a confident
smile. She smiles back as well. Since mentally checking out of Dunbar, Denise
has stepped up holding more meetings, being assigned more high profile cases,
and generally being called out for her hard work. I admire her, but I’m happy
with my decision.

Barry returns, shoving Denise and I two more shots of
tequila. His comb over is now matted to his head, sweat stains leaching from
his armpits, but still sporting shit-eating grin. God bless his confidence.

“To great sex!” he cheers the two of us, who shrink away
from him, but take the shot anyway. Free drinks are free drinks. I discard my
glass and join the crowd again in front of the stage, hoping Denise will help
shield me from Barry’s advances, or at least distract him.

Just two songs later though, he’s right behind us, awkwardly
gyrating to the rhythm and looking every bit the creepy lawyer that he is.

“Let’s dance bitches!” he screams so loud, even the singer
on stage looks startled. He then jumps on stage and grab the mic singing
drunkenly into the mic. The cute guy backs away, but keeps playing his guitar. “Yeahhhh,
heyyyyy I love youuuu” Barry screams atonally directly into the mic, and points
a finger to Denise and me. My face flushes pink with embarrassment. Ugh, now
everyone here is looking at us. Barry jumps off the stage, satisfied with his
impromptu karaoke and walks up to us beaming, as we stand in shock. I look to
Denise, who looks to me with an open mouth stare.

Then, as if in slow motion, Barry grabs my head and kisses
me with slobbering, wet lips. Disgusted, I recoil and shriek.

A blur of dark gray blows by me, and see Barry carried off
in a flurry of kicking and struggling. “Hey, get off!” he protests. It’s
Everett.

Still wiping off his slimy saliva, I watch Everett punch
Barry cleanly in the chin twice, knocking him back and onto the floor in front
of the stage.

“I said, stay away from her!” Everett yells, standing over
him, scowling. Barry grunts and hardly musters a response from his position,
prone on the floor. Everett’s balled fists twitch at his sides, ready to
unleash a finishing blow, but he restrains himself.

“Let’s go,” he says, grabbing my hand, and in an instant,
we’re driving away in his Tesla.

“You saved me again,” I say, squeezing his leg and staring
at him grip the steering wheel.

“I could fucking kill him,” he says, eyes forward. I can’t
tell if he’s being literal or not, but the steering wheel looks like it may
snap under the pressure.

“I don’t want you seeing him anymore,” Everett says in a
flat tone.

“Never again,” I say. “I shouldn’t have gone tonight,” I say
with regret.

“You need to have more respect for yourself,” he says slowly,
“I need a full commitment from you to me.”

“I had to go,” I protest, “I don’t want to burn any
bridges.” My words feel ridiculous, explaining to Everett a man who could
build, burn, and rebuild any number of bridges.

“You have to be punished, so you’ll learn,” he says, with
his voice now lower. A sly grin spreads across his face as he shoots me a
sidelong glance. I’m still watching and staring at him, not watching the road,
but knowing exactly where we’re going.

Everett

Her second message made me sick to my stomach. I was on a
call with my partner in Singapore, walking them through some of the more
convoluted parts of our code, when I read it.

I should have sent a stronger message the first time he laid
his hands on her.

I usually can control my temper, my rage, but Bronwyn
triggers an instinct in me. The idea of anyone but me touching her instantly
quickens my pulse, and I find my hands forming fists. 

Bronwyn has a rare mix of beauty and grace I’ve never seen
before, and I will not let her go.

* * *

Bronwyn

I can’t tell if my eyes are open or closed, Everett’s
apartment is so pitch black. He leads me silently and directly into the bedroom,
and my eyes start to adjust to the dark. Through the window, a million little
lights dot the island of Manhattan hundreds of feet below.

He pulls me back against his tough, broad frame, gripping
and holding me against him. His essence fills my lungs again, that undefinably
masculine mix of aftershave and pheromones that always surrounds him. In a
quick moment, my shirt is pulled up over my head and business skirt unzipped,
falling to the floor. I’m eager to be more naked and closer to him.

“Good,” he says, looking me over. “I see you’re wearing a
better set of lingerie,” I squirm, ecstatic he noticed the little investment I
made in a few sets from Hanky Panky last week.

 “Kneel,” Everett’s voice rasps, still with a dash of anger.
He lights a couple red candles on the nightstand and slowly unbuttons his white
collared shirt. My hair falls in waves over my face as I kneel on all fours on
the firm but luxurious bedspread. I turn my head back and watch him move across
the bedroom.

“Eyes forward,” he commands curtly. I turn back but catch
him holding a long piece of cloth. The piece is draped across my eyelids and
cinches at the back of my head.
You have to be punished
. The words echo
and stir my body as he tightens the blindfold. The smell of the burning candle
wafts into the air the scent of cinnamon and leather. I shake a bit, thinking
of the discipline in store.

“You’re going to have to do better,” he says, fingers
running up and down my spine and sending warm and pleasant shivers through my
skin. His large hand rest on my right buttock and squeezes. I arch my back and
let a moan escape my lips.

“Oh!” I scream as his hand slaps my butt hard. I jolt
forward, his slap carried so much weight to it. There’s no surprise my soon to
be former boss was knocked out cold just moments earlier by him.

“Tell me you’ll never see that loser again,” he says again
in my ear, causing goosebumps to run up and down my skin.

“No, never,” I answer.

“Who’s your master?”

“You are, Everett.”

“Good.”

His loosened belt buckle and dress pants clatter on the wood
floor behind me. Both of his strong hands are at my hips again, pulling and
kneading my flesh. I feel he’s completely disrobed now, and his cock rubs along
my panties which are now soaked. I push back against his member and let out a
hum of pleasure.

“No,” he says, backing away, “I said, you are going to be
punished,” and smacks my butt again, this time the left side, and even harder
than before. I yell out in surprise and bury my face into the soft bedspread.
He slaps again in short quick bursts. My butt is now warm and tingling, sending
small jabs of pain to mix with the anticipation and excitement.

“Do you like it?” he asks, raising his voice. I nod, and
murmur a yes into the bed.

I love it.

I need it.

Again, two more short slaps on my already rosy butt cheeks.
I’m squirming, wanting to touch myself, touch him, anything, but I know moving will
displease him. I stay as motionless as possible and wait.

Finally, I feel his thumbs under my panties, which he yanks
down my thighs and off. His hard and massive member is again at my entrance
which I push against, hoping it finds its way inside. He balls my hair in his
fist, angrily tightening and pulling my head up.

“Don’t. Move,” he commands again, making my aching pussy
sick with desire. Using all of my strength, I stay still on my hands and knees
as he drags his tool up and down my slit.

“Good,” he says, and slides inside my body, fully, deeply,
filling me. I gasp at the sensation of his cock slipping into me. I scream
again and claw at the bedding. He stays deep inside me, slamming over and over,
faster and faster into my pussy.