Brazen (A Miami Lust Novella Book 1) Read online

“I’m sorry to hear that. Being jaded, I mean. Love, when it’s right, can be an amazing feeling,” she admits, stopping short of releasing a sigh with those words. Ah, she’s a romantic.

  “And so can lust,” I counter for shock value. “It’s all I know. Love is a verb to me, instead of a noun.” Usually my words wet panties or melt them down their thighs to be tossed on the floor haphazardly. I probably need to tread lightly with her before I give Mary Poppins a scare. She raises her face to me with my last words and for a flash of a second, I see curiosity in those big eyes. Her long eyelashes sweep it away just as quickly as it appeared. So, she’s not Mary Poppins or no longer wants to be anyway. Interesting.

  “What do you have to offer me today, Brooke?” I ask keeping my tone as clean as possible because that’s a question loaded with dirty innuendo.

  “Well...umm...I actually have nothing to offer you at the moment,” she replies. “I thought our first meeting would simply enlighten me to your needs, I could tour your bar areas, get a feel for the kinds of stock you’re carrying, offer a few ideas, and then come back to you with a product plan. How does that sound?” Her eyes are wide with excitement when she finishes her speech. I can almost hear her praying for a positive response from me. She probably has her fingers crossed somewhere that I can’t see.

  “Brooke, are you in sales or not?” I ask boldly. “Because that’s about the laziest sales pitch I’ve ever heard. I warned Mr. Childer that he got one sales pitch and that was it. Looks like he sent me the hottest chick in his employment to entice me, but that’s not going to gain my business. He fails.” I stand up abruptly, pissed at her boss for sending an innocent lamb to slaughter. Immoral bastard. My eyes flash with anger and I snort in disgust as I tell her the meeting is over.

  “Wait, Mr. Solis,” she begs. “Just wait.” She presses her hands on my forearm to stop me as I pass her to open the door. “My dad didn’t send his hottest employee; he sent his only child. Heir to the throne to prove my mettle before I can take over the company. So, if you cancel this meeting, it’s not he that fails. It’s me. I can’t rank advance in my own legacy without securing your business.”

  “So, your sales pitch is begging for mercy from me to provide pity to secure your future?” I ask flippantly. “Wow. That’s a new approach I’ve not encountered before.” I’m surprised at her brassiness, but at least she didn’t resort to tears. Most women do at rejection.

  “I’m not begging. I simply told you the truth. Please, sit and talk to me. You scheduled me for an hour. I have forty-five minutes more, and I want them,” she demands. She’s standing tall now, with her shoulders rolled back waiting patiently for my response. Her face is expressionless, but the firm set of her jaw means she’s not fucking around. She’s not afraid of me. She simply wants her time. She’s bold, but isn’t a flirt. And she obviously isn’t going to use her sexual charms to gain the business. Damn. I like that about her, but feel a sense of regret over that thought too. Without another word, she picks up her pen and notepad and takes her seat.

  I retreat back to my chair, and get comfortable. This might be a long forty-five minutes. “So, what would you like to talk about Miss Childer?” Her back straightens and her eyes grow wide, but she’s smiling at me. She feels the victory, and it was worth giving in. I’m an idiot, but she’s been made a pawn in this game I play with her father. He put her in it, not me.

  “Tell me about your current suppliers. Tell me about a problem you’re having with them. I grew up in this business. I’ve learned a few things in my life that might be insightful to you,” she offers.

  I’m not telling her shit about my suppliers. She can forget that right now. “Have you ever been behind a bar? Do you even know how to mix a drink?” I ask. “You can’t be much over twenty-one yourself.” She shifts in her seat as she prepares to answer my questions, but instead stands and holds her hand out to me. This woman is a surprise at every turn.

  “Well, c’mon. Let’s go to the bar and let me educate you on my insightfulness,” she prompts, cupping her hand in asking for mine. I stand, but don’t take her hand. Instead I open the door for her and allow her to walk in front of me, somewhat being the gentleman that I am. Actually I just want to see her ass sway in that skirt and heels.

  She enters the bar area and looks to be immediately at home. I take a center seat on a stool and let her do her thing, watching every move she makes. She flusters every now and again in not knowing where things are, but after a few minutes, she sets a Miami State of Mind cocktail in front of me. I take a sip and I have to say, “That’s pretty damn good. Now make ‘A Pain in the Ass’ for me.”

  She gets right to business and within five minutes, she’s placing it on a napkin in front of me. She probably could have made it in three minutes if she knew the bar layout. Tito, one of the lead bartenders, comes up from the basement carrying a new box of napkins and swizzle sticks, watching us both in wondering what’s going on. I hand it to him to taste. “Here, Tito. Tell me how she did?” I ask. We both watch him take a sip and smack his lips together afterward waiting for the flavors to blend in his mouth. She wrings her hands in anticipation, letting her face light up when he smiles.

  “That’s really good boss,” he announces proudly. “Probably one of the best ‘Pain in the Ass’ drinks I’ve ever had. You hiring her?”

  “No, Tito. I’m not hiring her,” I say as his shoulders sag in defeat. I do have a feeling that direct bar sales would increase with her behind it, but that’s not my plan. “Brooke, make yourself a drink and pour me a Godfather. Then we’ll go back to my office to finish our meeting.” She pours herself a soda, and hands me my drink before we make our way back to business.

  “You aren’t going to drink with me?” I ask.

  “I hardly ever drink. I can’t be trusted when I do, and besides, I’m working here,” she winks and smiles at me.

  That little minx. She’s saucy and fun. I like her, but I’d love to fuck her.

  Chapter 2 - Brooke

  I sit across from him sipping my soda, staring at the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Europe holds some absolutely breathtaking men that will charm your lacy little thong right off you if you let them, but Thiago Solis is the alpha male outlier. He blows the chart up in comparison sitting on the outrageously hot, fuck me now scale at 1000 when the next man down the ranking sits at a measly 200.

  His shoulder-length, golden, brown hair is halfway pulled back into a messy man-bun. The remainder that hangs down is slightly curling all around his neck with some of it clinging to his light scruff. My fingers itch to reach across and pull on the one hanging on his left side. Chocolate eyes are trained on me. We appear to be in a staring contest. I’m watching him watch me, and both of us have our game faces on. Although I will admit, his game face is fucking ice cold compared to the deep flush of heat on mine.

  The silence in the room is threatening to make me go insane. At this point, I think I’d do just about anything to hear him speak again. He’s got a voice that melts panties like ice cream on a hot summer day. When he first walked in the room and spoke, a flush started at my toes and I could feel its heat creep up my body. It was the heat of desire. I’ve only felt it one disastrous time before. Better get back to business.

  “So, tell me in more detail about all of the problems at the bar?” I ask to start off with, not giving a fuck if he can’t handle it. He raises his left eyebrow in surprise at my boldness. I believe in being forthright, but if I’ve learned anything from my dad it’s that you should wrap your customer service in sandpaper when dealing with the owner of a company. Chances are great that he’ll appreciate the directness instead of wasting my time.

  He chuckles under his breath and leans back in his chair pulling his thoughts together. The room fills with the solitary noise of the leather chair creaking under his weight. His eyes haven’t left my face yet, but the ice cold stare has thawed a little. “Fine then,” he concedes. “If we’re gonna play it like that. T
here are many problems actually, but you tell me what you see. Then I’ll advise if we’re in agreement.”

  “To start with, your coolers aren’t cold enough. I could barely feel the chill coming off them. Remember you’re in Miami now—it’s hotter than hell outside. Refresh them after they’ve waited in that ungodly long line,” I inform him. “And your well drinks aren’t organized efficiently. I grabbed the wrong bottle twice...and it wasn’t based on unfamiliarity.”

  “Is there anything else?” he asks.

  I know there’s ten more things I haven’t mentioned, but then again, I was only back there for a few minutes. My eyes dart down to my notepad, which is blank, but he doesn’t know that. Everything I know about his business is from the past several nights of observing it. Do I lay all my cards on the table or just the ones with promise? How far do I go with him to get the business? He’s already accused me of emotional conniving. I guess it’s time to invoke personal rule #1: You never go anywhere if you don’t move your feet.

  “Do you want the whole list or just the immediate money-savers?” I ask. His interest is peaked since he sat up straighter with my question. Sexy rolls off him like a waterfall. I hope he gives me a long response, because I desperately want to hear the deep, calming tone of his voice. I shift in my chair again, uncrossing and re-crossing my legs. I’m wet just being three feet away from him.

  “You might as well give me the immediate money-savers since you only have twenty minutes left,” he reminds me.

  “I gave you some insight, but before I share more—could you tell me why you don’t like my father, or his business?” I ask. He raises his left eyebrow again in surprise. “Earlier when you said that you only granted him one sales pitch, it seemed as if you didn’t like him. I’m curious as to why that is.”

  “Your father is not known for his upstanding morals with how he treats his employees. I’ve been told numerous stories of his threats of deportation, low wages, poor working conditions, and the list goes on,” he says. “Of course, these could be rumors, especially since I’m new in town. But they are complaints all the same, and they’re numerous. That many people can’t be lying.”

  “Well, thank you. I appreciate your honesty,” I reply, as professionally as I can muster.

  “Can you tell me why you care if I like your father or not?” he asks. His voice is sincere in asking. I’m not sure if he really cares or if curiosity is getting the better of him, but my personal relationship with my father is not on the table for discussion.

  “I am the heir to the business, or so I’m told. I just graduated college, and am expected to take over the reins at some point soon. If you don’t like him or won’t do business with him, surely there are others. I aim to remedy that, and grow the company from the stagnancy it’s fallen into,” I advise.

  “And you are qualified and ready to run the business?” he asks with a cocky smile on his face.

  “I am, on both counts. My degree is in International Business, and I minored as a Management Analyst,” I inform him, setting my notebook down on the edge of his desk. He is making me nervous, like I’m in a job interview. Why the hell am I so nervous around him? “I’m taking over to grow the company and maneuver it into global sales markets.”

  I finish with a smug smile on my face. I’m kinda proud of that off-the-cuff reply, because I know I’ll do everything I say I’m going to do, starting with obtaining his business. “So, do you want to do business with a global company who’s going to lead the spirits and liqueur industry into the new age of sales and marketing?” I ask using my business voice. Our eyes lock onto each other. Damn, he’s too much to take in for an hour. I blink and look away, conceding to our little staring game of chicken.

  “I’ll give you a piece of the business on two conditions,” he states. “One, you promise to overhaul the corporate human resource issues at your company starting immediately; and two, you help me oversee the reorganization of all three bars here.”

  “Is that all, Mr. Solis?” asking incredulously. I had planned on doing his first condition anyway. As for the second one, well, that actually sounds like a win-win for me. That’s automatically more time in his presence. I stand and reach my hand out to shake his in accepting his conditions. “When would you like to start on the bars?”

  “I need to speak with my brothers, but I’d like to schedule a meeting with all of us soon for planning. When would you be available?” he asks. He moves the mouse on his computer and clicks a few times for his calendar. “How about next Thursday? Mateo will be back then.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t do that specific day,” I advise. He looks dejected. “It’s my birthday and I’m absolutely not working. It’s the first birthday that I’ll celebrate back here in the States in a few years, and my friends have planned a day of bonding, I’m told.”

  “How about your evening plans?” he asks. “You and your friends should come by here. I’ll set aside a party table and you can enjoy the atmosphere on the 3rd floor.”

  “That sounds like fun,” I say. ”I’ll run it by them and see what happens. I’ll let you know,” I reply, turning my face away and pretending to find my keys in my purse. I don’t know why all of a sudden I feel shy. I’m sure he offered in genuine friendship, or maybe to make up for the things he said about my dad. I’m not sure. Either way, he seems like a genuine and caring person who doesn’t like to see people taken advantage of. I can respect that.

  But I need to build a wall between us. He makes my body want things I haven’t had in years, and there’s a reason for that. It’s too painful to crack open the concrete that I poured over my heart. Plus, he’s a potential client. This is a playground that I shouldn’t swing in or I may want to stay and play well after dark.

  He escorts me to the door and offers to walk me to the front, but I assure him that I can find my way out. I remember to Americanize myself for saying goodbye and offer my hand to shake in departure, but he leans in and kisses my right cheek. He whispers “good-bye” into my ear before moving over to kiss the other cheek. My knees go instantly weak in reacting to the deep tone of his voice. I grab onto his forearms because I’m sure I’m about to melt into a puddle at his feet.

  He grabs my elbows to steady me. The heat of his skin on mine actually causes little microbursts of heat to explode in my uterus. Was that a micro-orgasm? Yes. It was. There’s the wetness seeping into my panties. My face darts up to look at his in confusion. How can just a touch cause that to happen? His eyes are dark as night, but I can see the storm raging inside them. I need to stay away from him. He’s a hurricane, and I will feel the devastation afterward. I can’t go through that again. I turn and walk out the door of his office, not looking back in hearing it close and latch shut.

  I take a few steps and realize that my hand is empty. Where’s my notebook? It’s been in my hand for the last hour, so I know I had it. I open my bag and don’t see it. I need it—it has my observation notes in it. Retracing my steps, I raise my hand to knock on the door, but it opens in a rush causing me to fall forward into his arms, bracing my hands on his chest. His hands reach down and embrace my waist on impact, dropping the notebook to the floor.

  I gasp suddenly, and also take in the smell of his cologne. I release a moan, because he smells divine. Immediately I wish I could take that little noise back. He caresses his hands down my hips before releasing me to stand on my own.

  “You forgot your notebook on the edge of my desk. I was just going to chase you down,” he says.

  “I can’t imagine you chasing a woman, so I guess it’s a good thing I realized I forgot it and turned around,” I reply.

  “You’re right. I normally don’t. You’d be the first,” he mutters, saying something else under his breath that I can’t hear because all the blood in my head has drained to my sex. I feel slightly dizzy, like I’m gonna swoon. His voice mixed with his cologne and body heat are too much for my senses. He clears his throat and steps back from me, leaving my hands to fall
down to my sides. Scooping up my notebook, he hands it back to me without touching my skin. I place it in my bag, and thank him again before running down the hallway to get away from him.

  Chapter 3 - Brooke

  I head back to work and quietly slip into my office shutting the door behind me. I’m exhausted from my meeting with Thiago, and its early afternoon. Lunchtime actually, but I’m not hungry. It’s not that the meeting was a lot of work, but it was mentally draining to pay attention to business when my thoughts were clinging to being naughty with the man. He’s dangerous to my healing heart. I won’t let it go completely. There’s a weak link in my armor now. Time may have soldered it back together, but the next strike through that weak link penetrates quicker and deeper, and hurts more. I have to remember every day, and never fall again.

  But damn I want him like no other. Just once. He’s the apple dangling from the forbidden tree, and I’m most definitely Eve...tempted. My body is still humming and thrumming from being close to him. His voice vibrated through my soul and heated every inch of me. A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts as my dad’s head appears in the small opening.

  “Pumpkin, why are you hiding behind a closed door?” he asks.

  “I’m not hiding. I’m working without distraction. There’s a difference,” I explain. “And please, don’t call me pumpkin while we are in this building. Or for that matter, during business hours.”

  “So, how’d it go today?” he asks, ignoring my foul mood. My dad is never one for small talk.

  “It was okay. I didn’t secure any business yet, but we had a nice talk and got to know each other,” I say.

  “Know each other? What the hell does that mean?” he bellows. “I sent you in there to secure business, not make friends.”

  “Dad, I have my own approach. All good things in time,” I remind him patiently.

  “You need to put your business head on for a moment, and think about growing this company, not your circle of friends,” he quips.