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“That is not all they are good for.” I refrain from rolling my eyes.
“Oh really? Please, do tell…” I purr, pretending to give in to his charm.
“Hmmm, I could always show you,” he offers, his thumb rubbing where it still rests on my waist, and I still. His hands feel good. Too damn good, but I’ve taken the teasing too far.
“Ugh, I do not want to know. Get your hands off me.” I groan as I step back, creating distance between us.
“You are the one that ran into my arms, sweetheart. I merely caught the cargo,” he says with a shrug, then slides his hands in his pockets.
“The cargo? Oh my God, you are such a Neanderthal.” I find myself shrieking a little. I need to rein it in before I start to sound like a crazy woman. I can’t help it, though. These places always put me on edge. It’s almost like I stepped back in time, but with the years of experience to make me stronger, if not entirely pessimistic about it all.
“A Neanderthal, huh? Well, don’t stop with the compliments, Mrs. Doubtfire. Please, continue.” His tone is amused as he rocks on his heels, smirk still intact.
“Mrs. Doubtfire?” My head falls back as I look up at him, and my hair flows down, reaching where his hands just seared my back with his touch. It makes me shiver.
“Well, if the shoe fits.” His piercing eyes look up and down my body, and understanding washes over me that he is insulting my wardrobe. I came straight from school, not bothering to change, so I am very G-rated compared to all the other women here.
I shake my head in annoyance. These suits are all the same.
I get another push from behind and land against his hard chest again with a huff, and I do not miss the warmth. My breasts are firmly squished to his solid form, and I take a deep inhale of his cologne. It’s a dangerous woodsy aroma mixed with deep desire, distracting me enough that I don’t notice I’m still flush against him until his grip around my waist gets tighter. My skin tingles where his hands touch my body, and I need to shake my head to get the thought of wanting to stay in his protective embrace from my mind.
I go to step away again, but then I am whisked up, my feet no longer touching the ground. I exhale a small shriek as I grip onto his shirt, white-knuckled, as he twirls me around and swaps positions with me. My back now against the bar, and my waist cold, he moves his hands onto the bartop on either side of me, caging me in and barricading me from the pushy crowd at the same time. He is getting nudges into his back now, but he doesn’t seem bothered.
“What are you doing?” I ask him, my steely gaze drilling into him as I try to remain composed.
“Protecting you.” He smirks at me in a cute yet totally annoying kind of way.
“I don’t need protection.” The audacity of this man. I have been on my own a long time. I can look after myself.
“Benjamin,” he states, his eyes piercing mine.
“What?” My eyebrows furrow, trying to understand what he is talking about.
“Benjamin. My name is Benjamin. You can call me Ben.” His mouth lifts a little on one side as he introduces himself. Years ago, I would have swooned, but I am not the same woman I once was.
“That’s nice; however, I really need to go, so if you will excuse me…” I duck under his arm and walk away from him toward the bathrooms, not once looking around or looking back, even though I really, really want to.
But men in suits have no place in my life. Not anymore.
CHAPTER TWO - BENJAMIN ROTHSCHILD
I watch as the little firecracker with the pouty lips walks away. She called me a Neanderthal. Who even says that word? Her plump ass sways in her god-awful attire, not that I care about what she’s wearing. I am not sure what law firm she works at, but I know it isn’t mine.
Our interaction lasted five minutes, yet it was the most fun I have had in months. Her sultry lips and her quick wit has my mind racing. I’ve never had a woman banter with me like that before. I usually get the yes women, those who will do anything I ask, anything I want. It was new, and I liked it. Even if she toyed with me and threw insults my way.
I wasn’t wrong when I called her Mrs. Doubtfire. The name was said in jest to match her ridiculous name for me. I liked pushing her buttons and I saw her eyes flame as soon as it left my mouth. But the name fits. She has every inch of her skin covered in her basic black pants and white shirt combo and looks out of place in a bar like this. The women crowding this bar are much more liberal, showing off everything they have to offer, and I mean everything. I have already had two offers for a quick fuck in the bathrooms, and while I said no to both, after my run-in with her, my senses are awake and firmly looking for attention. Preferably from a short, sassy, dowdy-dressed woman.
I learned from a young age that appearances are everything. My mom always used to say Dress to impress, Benjamin. I can still hear her shrill voice in my head, and I shake it to remove it entirely.
“Want another?” Tennyson asks me, making my eyes leave the woman's ass to land on him. He is younger than me by two years, and I eye him suspiciously. He loves nothing more than a night of drinking and ladies, so I need to make sure he doesn’t stay out too late tonight. I don’t need to work all weekend to take down paparazzi photos of him doing things he shouldn’t be.
“Sure,” I say with a nod. He grabs my glass and drops it on the bar behind us, and I take another look in the direction of the bathroom but see no one. The hallway is now empty.
“Who’s the nun?” Eddie asks as he comes to join our circle to get away from the crowd. He himself is trying to detangle from the manicured hands that appear on his arms regularly.
The three of us stand at the bar, oblivious to all the looks we are getting. We are DC’s richest most eligible bachelors, our faces recognizable to the city's female population. We even trend with our own hashtags at times.
“No idea,” I reply, taking a swig of my fresh glass of whiskey that has appeared. She didn’t give me her name, something she clearly wasn’t keen to offer. Again, another first for me. Most women I meet friend request me the minute they leave my side, yet this one didn’t fall for my charm. I spot red fingernails inching up and down Tennyson’s arm, as yet another woman tries to lay claim to him for the night.
