The Best Laid Plans (2 page)

Amber’s legs were a killer endorsement, so Jayne tagged along.

And now she felt thoroughly steamed.

“You going to come again on Thursday?” Amber sucked back some water.

“Hell no!” Jayne mopped more sweat from her brow, noticing Amber barely sweated. Of course, with her dark brown, almost black hair except for the chunk of white blonde on the front of the right side, it was harder to tell if it was wet. It probably wasn’t; she’d be used to this hot yoga crap. “You can keep it.”

“Wimp.”

“I don’t know how you can do that shit and then go back to the office and work! The only thing I can think about is a nap.”

“You get used to it.”

Jayne squirted a thin stream from her bottle at a passing businessman. The water landed short, hitting the sidewalk in front of him. His pissed off expression turned to a charmed smile at her cheeky grin.

It was a walk-by flirt, though. They kept moving their separate ways.

“You are so bad.” Amber swatted at Jayne’s arm.

“Only on Tuesdays.”

“Today is Tuesday!”

“Well, then. Color me bad.” Jayne strutted a little harder.

“I feel so close to you right now. Do you have plans this Friday?”

“Glass of wine, quiet bath. I can barely focus. I think my brain got broiled in there.”

“That’s the relaxation talking. Come for a drink with me!” Amber fobbed them into the employee entrance to the office building.

“I don’t know.” Jayne pressed the elevator button and they stepped inside selecting 34.

“Come on. I’ve already ruined your productivity for the afternoon, might as well let me wreck your Friday plans too. Besides, we need something to look forward to, other than the staff meeting.”

“You’re not wrong there. Thursday night is going to be super exciting.” Jayne tempered the sarcasm with a genuine smile. Amber had only transferred to her office three weeks ago. They’d spent the first week sizing each other up. The second Monday, Jayne had seen the notes Amber took during the meeting. She’d drawn a giant talking penis with an awful moustache – perfect caricature, and characterization of Jim, the misogynist asshole who constantly sucked up to the boss. He hadn’t been fired because he made way too much money for the company. Everyone with breasts hated him.

Jayne asked Amber out for lunch that day.

They’d been buds ever since.

“Don’t make me beg, Jayney. It’s undignified.”

The elevator doors opened.

It would be nice to have plans for after the dull networking “party.” “Oh, fine. Text me later with the details.”

“Excellent!”

“But you better start putting out soon.”

Amber snorted and veered off the hall into her office with a wave over her shoulder.

***

‘Here’s a secret they won’t tell you in the glossy magazines: It doesn’t matter what you wear. You can get the hot guy regardless of the makeup you’re wearing, or how much you pay for a haircut. The key is how you treat him when you’re in a group of people.

What you do with him after you’ve gotten him alone is up to you. But this is about getting the guy. Not keeping him. Because why would you want to keep him?’

Technique Number One:
You’re the most fascinating/insignificant person I’ve ever met.

-
Lisa Tristina
,
Author of
Snagged: Landing ANY man on the run.

Why indeed,
Jayne thought as she stared at Victor like he was the most fascinating person in the world.

“The thing about transitioning from exclusively trading equities to trading futures, is … ”

Blah blah blah. I wonder if he’s wearing boxers or briefs. He looks like a boxers kind of guy.
She nodded as if hanging on his every word. Futures brokers’ staff parties were terribly boring – she’d been one for three years and they were all the same. Meet at whichever hotel had a large enough room for the company and their top clients. Since it was ostensibly about networking, and pretending not to care about the competition, a few other companies were invited as well, but Jayne and her coworkers were expected to out-schmooze the rival firms.

There were about one hundred people milling about Ballroom B of The Lorraine Hotel, business casual-clad, and drinks in hand. Jayne knew less than half of them, but had her eye set on Victor.

Surprisingly, inter-office dating was encouraged, in the unspoken interest of acquiring inside info on their rivals. Jayne had been largely ignored for most of the parties. But the last year had picked up considerably when she’d been exposed to the dating advice of Lisa Tristina. Initial skepticism had been blown away by the instant success she’d achieved by following the slim volume of advice on how to get the guy. Jayne had a lot of lonely years to make up for.

 She had learned how to get the guy. Oh how she’d learned. It was almost pathetic how easy it was. Guys who wouldn’t have looked twice at her in high school or college fell all over themselves trying to please her now.

 It still felt so fraudulent. She looked like she fit in with the beautiful people, but her easy smiles and self-confidence were hard-won, not quite second nature yet. But the book’s advice hadn’t let her down so far.

Victor stopped talking and Jayne immediately shifted her gaze to his colleague who’d taken over the conversation.

‘
Men want attention,’
Lisa Tristina had written.
‘They want to feel important and fascinating. When they speak, you listen with undivided attention. When they stop talking, they don’t exist to you anymore. This makes them feel insecure, and want to get your attention again. They will notice when you are paying attention. They will want you to pay attention when you’re not. Be the prey. Men love a challenge. Make them work for it – and they will.’

Jayne smiled harder at Peter, catching Victor’s oh-so-surreptitious glances at her. When he interrupted Peter, and didn’t take his eyes from Jayne when he spoke, she knew she had Victor. She just had to reel him in.

***

Victor pushed her against the elevator wall like he’d never done it before, but wanted her to think he had. He’d wasted half the elevator ride just standing there staring at the numbers above the door, until she stepped into his space, and he sprang into action. She let him kiss her neck, but his tentative hands annoyed her. Men weren’t manly anymore. They’d been taught that women were gentle creatures to be treasured and respected. Respectability was fine – in the workplace. The bedroom had other rules.

“You’re amazing. I’m going to show you a night you’ll never forget. Treat you like a princess.”

Jayne couldn’t help but lean away from the hand he caressed her face with. For once, she just wanted to be thoroughly ravaged by someone.

No one meant what they said on the first date anyway. She didn’t know why they tried so hard – why waste perfectly good tongue on pillow talk?

She grabbed him by the front of his jacket and kissed him hard, spiraling her tongue around his.

Victor moaned in her mouth, pulled away from her as the elevator dinged open, and guided her to his penthouse apartment.

Another woman might marvel at all the imported Italian marble and modern art, but Jayne couldn’t care less. She wasn’t here to make him her sugar-daddy or husband.

“Care for a tour?” His voice oozed smugness. He was accustomed to his wealth sealing the deal.

“No. But I’d really like you to fuck me now, Victor.”

His look of surprise was comical for someone whose tongue had just been in her mouth, but he led her to his bedroom.

“Most women want the tour first.”

“I’m not most women.”

She shut the door with his back, pressing him into it, grinding her hips against his. He was already hard, erection straining against his pants. Jayne smiled and shrugged out of her military-style suit jacket. Underneath was a pale pink satin camisole. Screw the magazines and the fashionistas’ ‘redheads shouldn’t wear pink’ rule. It suited her. No way she’d admit she was a natural blonde - she’d dyed her hair and eyebrows red for years now. Her makeover gave her confidence before she was able to act out Lisa Tristina’s advice. The red hair, and cherry red book changed her life.

Victor palmed her breasts and ran his thumbs over her nipples, teasing them until they were as hard as his cock poking into the front of her skirt. She unzipped it, letting it fall to the floor, revealing her lacy satin panties, a perfect match for her top. Stepping out of it, heels still on, she kicked it away, and stripped his jacket from him, tossing it onto the nearby chair.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, eyes drinking her in from head to toe and back again.

 Am I?
She  wished he’d take charge of the situation instead of just standing there ogling her. She swallowed back the insecurities. He wanted her. Biting his lower lip didn’t provoke him into action, but she felt the hard length of him twitch against her. Instead of bothering with the last two buttons, she grasped his shirt and tore it open, buttons flying, daring him to meet her intensity.

He passively let her strip the torn shirt from him, while he undid his pants with fumbling fingers. His dark eyes sparkled in the lamp light. His body was decent, flat belly, lean but toned arms, though his legs ran a bit to the scrawny side.

She smiled at the silk boxers tented out. “Well hello.” she licked her lips, and slid the boxers down his hips, letting the smooth material slowly rub against him on the way to the floor. He sucked in air through his teeth and led her to the bed, stopping at the edge, finally kissing her like he meant it. She arched her back and sighed with pleasure as he pressed himself against her, grasped her ass in his hands, and squeezed. He looped his thumbs under the elastic of her panties, and slid them down, letting gravity pull them to the floor when they got past her hips. Jayne kicked her shoes off and threw her top and bra to the floor.

Victor’s hands roamed around her hips. Mmm. Maybe she’d been wrong about him. He sat on the edge of the bed, his breath tickling her belly. She spread her legs, waiting for the mouth that never made contact. Instead, he slid back on the bed, rolled a condom over his dick.

“Climb on, baby.” He held out his arms to her.

She should have known his passive ass would want to be on the bottom. They all wanted to watch the show while she fucked them. She was too tired to dominate tonight. Too disappointed to
make
him lick and suck at her until she was wet and screaming.

Jayne straddled him, angled her hips so he slid into her with one fluid motion, and rocked up and down, back and forth. She put his hands on her breasts and circled her hips faster.

“Yes,” he moaned, hands falling to his sides on the bed. Jayne picked his hand up, and led it to her clit, but he let it fall again, his eyes closing, head thrashing weakly from side to side. “Don’t stop, you feel so good I can’t take it, can’t move.”

They’d just started and already she overwhelmed him.

So disappointing. He was a millionaire, in charge of a large company, in charge of hundreds of millions of dollars. He was supposed to be powerful.

But he was just like the rest: powerless beneath her. It made her feel strong, in charge.

“God, Jayne, you’re too - you feel so -
how
are you
doing
that? I can’t, please—”

She smiled and moved faster. Ten seconds later, he came. She didn’t. When she rolled off of him, he was too busy marveling at how awesome the sex had been to notice her disinterest.

They gave up their power to her, and she no longer wanted them. What had been so attractive wilted like their spent dicks.

It made her feel powerful, but not satisfied.

When he’d fallen asleep, she dressed, then tiptoed out. She never stayed the night. One round of mediocre sex was enough. No sense doing it all again in the morning.

Malcolm flexed his fingers and snapped his guitar case closed.

“Malcolm, if you wouldn’t mind hanging around until Dana hears your tracks?”

“Sure.”

Alvin, Dana’s producer, ducked his head a bit. “Your reputation for,” he paused, “pulling a song together, is why we hired you.”

What Alvin was really saying, was that Dana needed some major help, and they’d wanted Malcolm because he could make a vocalist shine and help a track sound tighter than it was. Alvin couldn’t say it outright in respect to his client, but Malcolm appreciated the admission and the compliment. He’d had to finesse the guitar tracks quite a bit. It would be fine, as long as the singer didn’t get it into her head that the guitar was overlapping too much, and that her voice needed to be right, left, and center of attention.

Malcolm hated working with divas, male and female. Knowing he was doing them a favour, and having them feel like he was just some guitar player trying to showboat on
their
album was a piss off and it made for an unbearably long recording session. He was glad he’d been able to record without Dana being there to throw in her opinion, objecting to this or that because it didn’t “jive” with her “artistic vision.” He’d had that experience one too many times. It was one of the only things he didn’t enjoy about his work.