Dirty Little Secret: A Billionaire Romance Duet - Mika Lane Page 0,2

In keeping with the rest of the building, they were a wide, creaky contraption barely sturdy enough to pass city inspection, not to mention support the couple going at it doggy style on the second step. As I climbed past them, I nodded at the dude. He was drilling a screaming woman with her dress pushed up to her tits and her pretty ass up in the air, and he didn’t miss a beat. He nodded right back while he held her arms behind her back.

Nice.

Up on the mezzanine, I found three beauties in various stages of undress—mostly completely undressed, actually—cuddling on a large velvet sofa, sipping champagne from tall flutes they held with perfectly manicured fingers.

I made a quick mental calculation of which I liked best, and which I would settle for, if need be. Not to be a dick about it—I loved fucking all women. I just knew what I needed that night, and if I could find it, well bingo.

“Ladies.” I nodded at them. Lord, they were cute.

“Hey, take that mask off. I wanna see your face,” the voluptuous one demanded.

“Sorry, babe. No can do.”

They scooted a place open for me on the sofa and the blonde one patted a spot next to her. “Have a seat, masked man.”

I squeezed between the hips of two of the beauties. Christ, they were all stunners.

“I’ve seen you here before. I know that mask,” the skinny brunette said. “What’s your name?”

“G. What are yours?”

“X.”

“Y.”

“And—“

“Don’t tell me,” I interrupted. I pointed at the brunette.

“Your name is Z.”

She shrugged with a lovely laugh. “Somebody knows his alphabet. We got a smart one here, ladies”

If she only knew.

I smiled under my mask, not that they could see it. Damn thing was making me hot, one of the hazards of wearing it.

I removed my suit jacket and roll up the sleeves of my starched, cotton shirt to cover the initials on my cuff: VG. They knew the G. They didn’t need to know the V.

“You’re funny, Miss Z. Why don’t you do a little dance for me?”

“Yeah, Z,” X said. “Show us your stuff.”

“I can do that.” She stood, taking a position in front of us, and commenced to gyrating, wearing only fuck me high heels and a lacy thong panty.

My dick strained against my trousers, the compression approaching downright pain.

“You’re fucking beautiful, Z, you know that?”

I reached to place my hands on her lovely hips, but she stepped back, just beyond my reach.

Fair enough.

I stood. “I’ll be in the playroom on the third floor. Just letting you know.”

I left them in a flurry of protests and headed for the best part of the club, the one place in the universe to truly scratch my itch.

Chapter 2

Saffi

“Yo, Saff.”

I loved Tom’s nickname for me. Actually, I loved a lot of things about him.

If he only knew.

“Hey, how’s your day going?” I poked my head in his office door. Was he going to ask me to lunch? Finally? Or insist I join him in co-authoring a piece he was doing for the newspaper, which would be sure to win us both a Pulitzer prize.

“Saff, on your way back to your cube, would you mind running this stuff down to the mailroom for me?”

What. The. Fuck.

Without waiting for an answer, he turned back to his computer where he was most likely working on that Pulitzer prize winner, without me.

“Finally got my damn bills paid,” he muttered to himself. He reached for the ringing phone on his desk.

“San Francisco Post. Tom here.”

I lumbered down to the dark and foul depths of our newspaper building to drop off Tom’s bills, without a thank you I might add, and slunk back to my own hole of a cubicle. I’d been assigned a remote location on my first day there a few months before, conveniently stuck between the kitchen and the restrooms.

I had the pleasure of enjoying my coworkers’ smelly lunches and flushing toilets. All day long.

But even a shitty cube location in office Siberia was not without its perks. No one happened by unless they had a reason to, and I could always hear them coming. It was lonely, but gave me plenty of opportunity to read things like How to Get the Career You want, Do Nice Girls Finish Last?, and You Don’t Get What You Don’t Ask For.

And to look at the shoes on Zappos, of course.

In fact, just that morning I’d read an article about “taking the bull by the horns” and “making it happen,” right before