The Bet
Anticipation. Desperation. Need.
It all swirled inside of her like a hot, intoxicating mess, causing her to do something she’d never done before—open herself to a stranger in a dark movie theater with Chris Pratt’s voice playing overhead.
She closed her eyes, her breath falling in short gasps. With every movement of his fingers as they went deeper into her pants, her heart threatened to leap from her chest. His elbow had to bend at an angle, resting against her shoulder to keep her pants from being shoved down. And when he skipped through the panty play and went straight to her skin, she wanted to moan.
Table of Contents
START
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
About the Author
Copyright © 2017 D.K. Combs
All rights reserved.
Cover Art © Covers by Combs, 2017
Editing © Toni Michelle with Polished Pages Editing, 2017
Interior Design © Foundation Formatting, 2017
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.
COPYRIGHT: This story, "The Bet" including all chapters, prologues/epilogues and associated content (i.e fanfics, teasers and content within blogs, social networks and eReaders) is copyrighted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights are reserved by the owner and creator of this work (D.K. Combs) and any unauthorized copying, broadcasting, manipulation, distribution, or selling of this work constitutes as an infringement of copyright. Any infringement of this copyright is punishable by law.
Punishments include but are not limited to:
A fine of up to $150,000 for each work infringed.
Infringer pays for all attorney's fees and court costs.
The Court can issue an injunction to stop the infringing acts.
The Court can impound the illegal works. The infringer can go to jail.
Printed in the United States of America.
First Edition.
ISBN-13: 978-1543068214
ISBN-10: 1543068219
Chapter One
“No, that can’t be right. We sent over the invoices and the batch reports from last quarter. We sent over all of the quarterly earnings reports and shipment itineraries. We sent over everything. The numbers shouldn’t be coming back like that.” As the CEO to one of the largest cargo companies in the northern hemisphere, Bristol didn’t like complications.
And this was a major complication.
“I understand your frustration, Ms. Thompson, but I—”
“Just send me an email with everything compiled, and we will go from there, okay? Thanks.”
She knew there wasn’t much she could do until she received the email other than sit and think about where the discrepancies had come from, but the more she thought, the more her head hurt.
Not only that, but she felt shaky, almost weak—and that was not a word she liked used to describe herself. The workload was piling on top of her, and the mix of stress and anxiety was making it that much harder to focus.
On the desk, her cell vibrated for the umpteenth time that day. The LED flashing light brightened the underside of her phone as it flashed and reflected off the table. She knew who it was. Knew what it was for. She knew what would happen by answering it. There was nothing on this large green earth that would make her answer that call, because the last thing she needed was a guilt-trip she didn’t deserve.
Bristol swiveled in her chair with a groan, eyes catching the glossy page of the personal calendar she had tacked to the pin board in a desperate attempt to ignore her phone, to ignore everything.
Her office was her personal haven in so many ways. From the gorgeous ebony desk, to the plush black office chair, to the stainless-steel trash can, to her floor-to-wall windows that overlooked the beautiful city of Long Island. It was hard to hate coming to work every day. Even the long hours she spent here weren’t that bad when she turned to see the sun setting every day, just like it was now.
With the weather turning colder by the day, the sky was a pale gray, the sun nowhere in sight. The darker the gray became, the better she felt. Soon, she would be able to go home.
Home to an empty flat, an empty bed.
An empty life…
She scrubbed a hand down her face.
An empty bed… Speaking of, it had been a while since she’d gotten out.
With such a busy life, it was easy for her to become consumed with work. At least once a month, she made a point to get out, to let herself get loose and relaxed.
How long had it been now? Surely not more than a month.
Sighing, she went to the calendar. The pin board was hung on the farthest wall of her office and only consisted of her calendar, a few business receipts she had to send to accounting, and some other loose ends.
As she stood in front of the calendar, she flipped the glossy page back a month, frowning. There should have been a red dot on that page, but there wasn’t. There was a purple dot for the hospital, and a few blue dots for meetings scattered around, but nothing red.
She lifted another page, going back one more month.
There, in the center of the page, was a mark scribbled in red permanent marker.
Like a furious, beady little eye, that mark glared at her as all of her problems started to make sense.
Two months.
It had been two months since she had last had sex.
Normally, she couldn’t make it past one.
She bit her lip, going back to today’s date.
How had she lasted that long? The growing stress, the constant tension, the snappiness—it all made sense, and there was an easy solution to it.
The only problem was, she didn’t feel like going to the bar tonight. She knew the second she walked in there and saw all the gorgeous business men prowling around, she might not be able to control her hormones.
No, this time, she needed a one-on-one date that could end in a night of sex. Glorious, emotionally draining sex. But how?
She didn’t keep the numbers of anyone she slept with. Her contact list was full of clients, not potential dates. Surely her life wasn’t that centered around work. She had to have kept at least one contact, right?
She sat back at her desk, reaching for her iPhone. As the screen came to life, she entered the passcode and purposely ignored all of the missed calls and voicemail notifications. Once that was done, that dirty, horrible part of her life shoved to the side, she went to her contacts.
And scrolled.
And stared.
There wasn’t a single name that she couldn’t place, nor one she knew would be good for what she needed.
Screw it.
Bristol tossed her phone onto the desk, leaning back in her desk chair.
If she had gone two months without it, she could go another one. Right? She could last three months without any type of release. Right?
She cursed, reaching for her office phone.
No, she couldn’t last that long. Even right now, just debating this minimal thing was making her tense when she had no reason to be.
The fact remained. She had no clue how to pick up a guy without going to a bar, and that was the last thing she wanted to do tonight.
She lifted the phone to her ear, calling the one person who might have an inkling of how to get a date.
“Madeline, I need you to come in here.”
Then she hung it up, not even giving her assistant time to respond. If she had, she probably would have told her to just stay out there, to forget it, but then, that wouldn’t be conducive—and unfortunately, her whole life was about productivity.
She had worked at Roderick Rodes, Inc. since she had gotten out of high school almost ten years ago. She had spent summers off college interning here, and when she had finally gotten her Master's, she had quickly moved up the ladder; a lonely, isolated ladder.
It wasn’t common for her to ask for help, but right now, she needed a younger mind.
“You asked to see me,” Madeline said, poking her head around the door. Bristol’s eye twitched.
“Come have a seat.”
She heard the faint, “Oh god,” before the blonde took a cautious step into her office. The closer she walked, though, the more her shoulders straightened.
Bristol watched her with a raised brow.
“You aren’t getting fired, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she told her drolly. “I need help. This is a personal matter, and stays between us.”
She couldn’t believe she was actually going to ask this of her, but…
“How do you find dates?”
Madeline blinked.
“Do you mean the food, or an actual date, like with another person?”
“With another person,” Bristol said, rolling her eyes. Of course, she would make this more painful than it needed to be. “Tonight. How do you find a short-notice date?”
“Well…” Madeline sat in front of her, smoothing her hands over her black pencil skirt. “Do you have any exes you could call? I don’t recommend it, but if you need short-notice, then…” She trailed off when she noticed Bristol shaking her head.
“No exes. Don’t know anyone, really.”
“Oh—why go on a date so quick? Don’t you want to get to know a person before you go out with them?”
“Not really,” Bristol said shortly, giving her a straight look.
Realization dawned in her assistant’s eyes, and then she nodded, grinning. “Oh—it’s one of those dates. Have you ever heard of the dating apps? Like Plenty of Fish, or Tinder?”
She frowned. “No. What are those?”
“Where’s your phone? Okay, yeah, just go to your App Store and type ‘Tinder’ in the search bar.”
“This one?” she asked, turning the phone around for Madeline to see. When she nodded, Bristol clicked the ‘Get’ button. As it started to download, Bristol asked, “It’s not filled with serial killers, right? This seems so...impersonal.”
“That’s what you wanted, right?” Madeline asked, giving her a look through her lashes. Bristol could see the gears in her mind working, trying to make sense of the situation.
Shit, even Bristol was trying to make sense of the situation. She never would have thought she’d bring her assistant into her personal life. Worse yet, never thought she’d show her assistant this side of her. She had to be making assumptions, had to be judging her, and yet… Bristol didn’t care. Madeline might be an oddball, but at least she wasn’t a loud-mouth. Plus, Madeline valued her job. She was going to assume that Madeline understood the unspoken agreement that this did not leave her office. She would have gladly asked her friends instead of her assistant—if she had any.
Unfortunately, everyone she knew was either an employee or a client.
Neither of which were appropriate parties to bring up one-night stands with.
“Okay, now just make a profile. You know, your information, your picture, choose what you’re interested in. After that, it’ll start matching you with people. If you like them, swipe right. If not, swipe left. It’s pretty easy to use,” Madeline said once it was loaded.
“Uh, my own picture?”
Madeline nodded, pushing her hair behind her ear. “You don’t want to be a catfish—someone who uses fake profile info to lure someone in. And I highly doubt anyone you know will be on there, so no one will recognize you, anyway. Are you just wanting to do a one-time thing, or…?”
“Just this time,” she said quickly.
“Okay, cool. You can just delete your profile after you’re done, then. So no harm, no foul. Do you have any pictures of yourself?”
“Sure, I have the picture from the employee photoshoot from last spring,” she said proudly. Finally, she was getting the hang of all this.
Or at least, that’s what she thought until Madeline gave her a pitying look.
“Not one of those… A personal picture. Like a selfie.”
“Uh...no. No selfies here,” she said with a sigh.
Madeline shared her sigh, then held her hand out. “Give me your phone. I’ll take a good picture of you. If you want to attract the right crowd, you have to set yourself apart from the other women, so maybe you could let your hair down. Give it some volume or something.”
Bristol reached up, touching her bun.
“That’s probably not the best idea. Just take one of me like this.”
Madeline carried out her request, then handed the phone back. Bristol stared at the picture, lips pressing. The woman in the screen looked tense and unhappy, almost like a soon-to-be spinster. Even though her clothes were immaculate and brand new, there was still something...off.
“It’s the hair,” Madeline said between coughs. “Hear me out—take the bun down just for the picture. I promise you’ll get better hits that way.”
She groaned but listened. Soon enough, there was a new picture loaded, her profile was done, and they had swiped through a few profiles before she came across one that she actually liked.
Suit. Dark hair. Nicely trimmed beard. Very nice smile. “A professional,” the profile read.
“Justin looks like a good match,” Madeline said, raising a brow. “Swipe right! Holy crap, he already swiped right for you? Message him!”
She would never admit it out loud, but this was kind of fun. To talk to another woman about something not work-related, to do something different. As she clicked on his profile and brought up the chat, she froze.
What the hell was she supposed to say?
“Just ask him if he’s busy tonight,” Madeline urged.
So she did.
Seconds later, her phone pinged back with a response.
Chapter Two
“Can’t believe you picked Boejack,” Chase said as he stepped out of his truck. He shook his head ruefully, and Noah rolled his eyes inside the carbon fiber helmet. If there was one thing he hated, it was how much his friend gloated whenever he won a bet. “He is one of the slowest out there. What, were you hoping for a miracle? Or did you just not care about the thirty-K that much?”
It had been a few months since Noah had seen his childhood friend, and he was regretting that he’d agreed to have his friend over. Chase should have stayed in New York—not because Noah minded him being here, but because whenever the two of them got together, he lost a lot of money and a lot of patience.
“I mean, it was an amateur decision. You should have known better, man.”
Noah grunted, taking his helmet off. He opened the glove box and pulled out his wallet and phone. The leather jacket he wore just for riding stayed on. The air was going to get frosty once it hit ten, and by then, the movie would be over. He pushed his fingers into his hair, trying to get the static out as he gave Chase a droll look.
>
“You’ve been saying that since this morning. I thought we were coming here to enjoy a movie, not gloat over winning a couple thousand,” he said. The night air wasn’t cold just yet, but there was still that gray overcast from fog and a slightly chilly breeze. Black skies held no stars, and the parking lot to the theater was empty besides a few cars—cars that were worth more than all of his bikes combined. Long Island was a place that vacationers called home, but it still didn’t make sense to see a luxury car at a theater that didn’t even have a full-course meal included.
“Why isn’t that something to gloat over?” Chase asked, laughing. “Are you bitter? Because you’ve always been a sore loser.”
He climbed off his bike and stuffed the keys into his pocket.
The Aprilia Tuano was just one of many in his collection of bikes. It was an easier, simpler ride, not flashy like his other bikes, but still sounded good underneath him. The black bike sat under the parking lot lamp, the glitter in the paint catching just the right angle to gleam. It wasn’t a bike that had cost him a fortune, so it was one of the few that he kept riding once the weather started to get cooler.
Speaking of chill… Chase could take care of himself. He strode to the theater entrance quicker than Chase could keep up with him at a normal walk. Spite kept him from slowing down.
That had been the whole fund he’d saved for the Ducati Superleggera for the past two months. It was like Chase had known he’d had that set aside before he had come to visit. Now, it was all but gone.
And damn him if he wasn’t pissed.
“You’re an ass,” Chase said as he jogged up beside him.
“One for The Passengers,” he said to the lady behind the window. He dug around for his wallet, pulling out a twenty and sliding it under the glass. As she tapped on her screen, Chase gave him a look.
“If you’re going to get pissed about losing, I’m just going to make the next bet that much worse.”
“Do it,” Noah said, glaring at him. “I dare you. Nothing is worse than forking over thirty thousand over a horse race.” He took the ticket and the change from the lady as she mumbled directions to the theater, then he stomped off.