Penthouse Perfect: BBW Erotic Romance (2 page)

At least his father hadn’t made him work for someone like B&B. Bailey & Blake were notorious for taking on the worst clients in the legal system. They were the kind of lawyers that everyone whispered about but no one dared recommend, and the rumor persisted that they were crooks.

Lia probably dealt with murderers and pedophiles and drug dealers on a daily basis. That took guts, especially when she could be doing anything else. He was impressed, but a niggling thought at the back of his mind reminded him of the old saying about being thick as thieves, and that for all he knew she was as crooked as her bosses. He doubted it, though.

His driver, Roland, surprised him by opening the back door. “We’re here, sir,” he said with a little bow. Joel had tried over and over to get the elderly man to be less formal, but he’d finally given up. Roland was comfortable in his role, and he was an excellent employee.

“Thank you,” Roland,” Joel said, sliding from the car and pulling out the twenty he kept there. “Go have a good day. I’ll see you back here at three.”

Roland took the money, stashed it away as if it embarrassed him, and nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

It had taken Joel weeks to get the man to take that money. He had resorted to hiding it in the jacket that Roland kept beside him on the seat for a while, but then Roland had figured it out and stopped leaving his jacket out in the open. Joel had then started putting it under the driver’s seat to make it look like Roland himself had dropped it.  Roland wasn’t fooled though, and kept trying to return the money. Finally, Joel had had a long talk with the man and basically ordered him to take the money every day, if only to make Joel feel better.

“Roland,” he’d said. “You have to sit here in this car for ten hours at a time. I want you to at least be able to go out to lunch if you wish, or buy a good book to read.”

“Sir, you already pay me to sit here. That’s plenty. In fact, it’s a Godsend for these old bones.”

“I understand that, but I also understand that the guidelines that my board of directors set forth don’t cover all of your expenses. I can’t seem to make them change those guidelines, but they have no say in what I do with my personal money. Understand?”

“Yes, sir. I do. Thank you.”

Roland was raising two granddaughters, both of them on the verge of teen-hood. Joel didn’t have to have kids to know how expensive they were. At least the tip situation was settled, and he was sure it helped fill in the gaps for Roland.

He waved at Maggie as he walked through the lobby of Cortran Industries. He felt no sense of pride as his footsteps echoed on the granite walls – only awe. He hadn’t created this company, his grandfather and father had. He felt that it was an honor to even be given the reins and allowed to be a part of this thing that they had worked so hard to build. He was working hard to live up to their trust in him.

He had already made his mark in the company. Cortran employed twenty-six thousand people, more than ever, and had become the frontrunner in safety standards for the entire manufacturing industry. Joel worked hard to keep it that way, and managed to avoid the hostile takeovers that seemed so common in this business. He wouldn’t trust anyone with his baby.

He knew that he was a workaholic, and knew that it had cost him more than one relationship. Women needed more than money – they needed attention and they would go where they found it. His own father had told him that, and told him that it would take a special woman to put up with a man who worked these kinds of hours. Joel believed him, and along the way, he had discovered that it was easiest to keep things simple when it came to female companionship.

That was why, as intriguing and gorgeous as Lia was, he wouldn’t try to pursue her. She would only get hurt.

***

Lia made it to work almost an hour late, and she didn’t care. She practically shivered every time she thought of Joel touching her arm, and a smile curved on her lips each time she reached into her purse for something and felt the smooth gloss of his business card. Cortran Industries, CEO, it said, and she was awestruck that even his stupid business card looked expensive. Black on black with gold lettering that was sharp and perfect, just like the man himself.

Jared Blake called her into his office, which was paneled in real oak and featured an elaborate cherry desk and shelving system. It must have cost a fortune, but she had never dared ask where he got the money – their small firm certainly didn’t turn these kinds of profits. She sat on the edge of the visitor chair and looked at the hawk-like man, taking in the pale skin and deep black hair that never quite fell the way he wanted. As a result, he was constantly raking his hands through his hair and making it stand on end.

Part of her job was to make him look presentable on court days. She got the creeps every time she touched him.

“Good morning, Mr. Blake.” He had tried to get her to call him Jared but that, along with the primping, was just too weird for Lia.

“Did you finally make it to work, Lia? You know we depend on you here.”

You only depend on me because you hired Classy out there for her boobs. She can’t do anything else.
The woman’s real name was Chelsea, but Lia seldom called her that. In fact, she seldom spoke to the woman at all.

Unfortunately, Lia was pretty sure that she had been hired for her boobs, too. She was nicely endowed, and they were real. She just got bonus points for being able to actually do the job. Hence, she did the work of two people – two people who constantly stared at her breasts the whole time she was trying to talk to them.

She slumped in her chair a little. “Sorry, Mr. Blake. It couldn’t be helped.” What was he going to do? Fire her? The thought of losing this income scared her, but it sort of excited her to think about a fresh start, too.

Maybe it was time to move on, after all.

He slid a sheet of paper across the surface of the desk. “I need you to dig up some case histories for me, Lia. You can find them a lot faster than I can.” He put his elbows on the desk and leaned forward, closer to her chest. “I’ll need them this afternoon around five.”

She bit her lip to keep back the sarcastic remark that burned in the back of her throat. She wasn’t technically even his employee – he had hired Classy out there, who was currently doing her darndest to sneak out early for a date with the tanning bed. Lia worked for Marcus Bailey, who wasn’t much better, but still…

She hurried out of the office before she ended up in worse trouble and headed for the stairs that would take her to the storage room in the basement, her black heels clicking her progress. She loved these heels, even though the day she had shown them to her mother, the woman had tsk-ed at her.

“What?” Lia had asked.

“A woman your size shouldn’t wear such high heels, Lia. They’ll destroy your knees.”

Not the vote of confidence that every girl wanted to hear from her mother. Even now, five years later and with her mother gone, the remark still stung. Lia didn’t let that stop her from wearing the sexy shoes, though.

On her way down the second flight of stairs, she swung around a turn and ran smack into Chelsea, who was still trying to sneak out of the place. Lia groaned from the impact, and then again when she saw that the contents of the girl’s purse were strewn all over the stairs. Papers, makeup, and hair accessories scattered around their feet.

“Lia!” Chelsea whined, and for the slimmest of moments Lia wanted to slap her. “What are you doing?”

Your job.
She almost said it, but didn’t. It wasn’t Chelsea’s fault that her bosses were morons, or that Lia was feelings more frustrated than usual this morning. She let it go.

“Let me help you,” she said, then bent and began to gather up the papers from Chelsea’s purse. She couldn’t help but skim over what she was holding: receipts, overdue bill notices, pay stubs, and -.
Hey. She makes more money than I do. A lot more.
As in, a couple of thousand dollars a month more.

Anger shot through her. She hurried to finish helping Chelsea, shoved the papers into the girl’s pale, perfectly manicured hands, and headed back up the stairs.

How dare they? How could they pay that girl so much to do nothing, while she worked her butt off for almost half the pay? It wasn’t fair, and she intended to get a few answers. Her nostrils flared and her fingernails bit into her palms as she went.

She knew she needed to calm down and keep careful track of her tongue, but she wasn’t sure that was even possible at this point. She hit the landing almost at a run, heading for Marcus Bailey’s office. It was in sight, and she hadn’t slowed down a bit, when a man stepped out the door.

“Are you Lia Davies?” he asked. That brought her to a screeching halt.

“Yes. Why?” The guy was chubby, around her age and dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and scuffed sneakers. He didn’t look very official. What did he want?

“Could I speak to you? Privately?” he asked.

She glared at her boss’s door, but nodded and followed him to a bench near the top of the stairs. He sat very close, forcing her to back up a little, and leaned in toward her.

“I have information that you were with Mr. Joel Cortran this morning. Is that right?”

She wasn’t sure what to answer, and it was surprising to hear his name in connection with her own. Was he in trouble somehow? Had she unwittingly made herself an accomplice or something?

“Who wants to know?” she asked finally, scooting back a little more.

“Oh, sorry. I work for the Post.”

“The Washington Post?” She stared.

“Yes, ma’am. Were you with him this morning?”

“Briefly. Why?”

“Well, ma’am,” he said, then his voice dipped even lower. “I believe he wrote something down for you. I believe that it was his personal number. Is that correct?”

Bailey & Blake were momentarily forgotten, and alarms were going off in her head. She remembered Joel writing down the number, now tucked safely away, and the way he looked when he asked her to keep it to herself. She had promised.

“I’m afraid that I can’t respond to that, Mr…”

“Ian. Ian Orson,” he said. “And before you say no, I’m prepared to offer you a large sum of money for the information on that card.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

He shook his head, pulled out a pen, and wrote a number on the palm of his hand, making Lia feel like she was in an old spy movie. The number itself, though, made her feel more like she’d won the lottery. It was enough for her to live on for a year, at least.

She could tell Bailey & Blake to kiss her behind. She could buy a new car. She could even go on vacation. Maybe to the ocean. She hadn’t been there since Gran died and left her the apartment, nearly three years ago.

Joel’s face flashed in her mind again. She had promised.

“I’m sorry, but no. That information isn’t for sale.” She didn’t ask the thousand other questions running through her mind, like why would they offer so much? How had they even known she was with Joel? How had they known how to find her?

She shook her head. “Is that all you needed?”

Ian looked upset. “Are you sure? My boss will be upset if I can’t get that information. I can offer a bit more, if that will help.”

She stood up, afraid of her own thoughts. It was so much money… “No. I’m sorry. Why don’t you contact Mr. Cortran himself? Make an appointment?”

Ian looked away. “Maybe. Sorry to have taken up your time.”

She felt bad for the guy, and even worse to be letting that much money just walk away, but she had made a promise

To a stranger.

He’s not exactly a stranger.

Yes he is. You think he cares about you at all?

Not really, but a promise is a promise. Get over it.

You need a new car.

I need a new car. A new life. A new plan. So what? Selling out Joel is off the table.

No. It would be lying, it would be small and mean, and it would make her feel horrible.

Joel probably had reporters hounding him constantly, and she felt oddly proud of helping to protect him, even just a little. Even if he would probably never know.

She was suddenly exhausted, too tired to even yell at the men behind the closed doors across the landing. She walked back to her desk and sat down, then just put her head on her arms. She would deal with them tomorrow.

She knew one thing, though. She couldn’t sit here for another minute. She got up, stuck her head into Mr. Bailey’s office without knocking, and said, “I’m sick, and going home for the day. Tell Mr. Blake to have Chelsea find the files he needs.”

Marcus Bailey looked up, blinked at her through his thick glasses, and waved. “Oh, OK. See ya tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” she muttered, and closed the door hard

***

A soft knock on his office door brought Joel’s head up out of the spreadsheets he was studying. It had been a long day already, and it wasn’t even eleven o’clock. He had signed off on the permits for the new factory in Pennsylvania, checked the accounting figures for this quarter, and now he was in the middle of figuring out how to restructure management tiers without firing anyone.

His office, normally a comforting place for him, was starting to feel claustrophobic. He reminded himself that he always got that way when he was about to make an important decision, regardless of where he was. 

A happy sight greeted him from the doorway, though. “Miffy!”

He got up and swung around the desk to hug his grinning ex-secretary. She was so little that he was afraid he would accidentally crush her, and her springy gray curls tickled his face as he bent down to kiss her cheek. She smelled like lavender. “How are you? How is retirement?”

“I’m bored out of my mind!” Miffy stomped a tiny, Nike-clad foot.  “This screw-brained idea isn’t going to work. I keep telling Harry that, but he won’t listen. Do you miss me yet?”

Joel laughed. “Every day, Miff. Every day.”

She glanced past him to the stack of papers on his desk. The highest one was almost as tall as her. “You need to hire someone.”