Big Swinging D: Wall Street Royals Book 2

  Big Swinging D

  Wall Street Royals, Book 2

  Tara Sue Me

  After Six Publishing

  Praise for Tara Sue Me

  “An erotic, deeply loving BDSM romance...Fans of erotic romance will delight in its mix of heat and heart.” PUBLISHERS WEEKLY starred review for THE MASTER

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  “For those Fifty Shades fans pining for a little more spice...the Guardian recommends Tara Sue Me’s Submissive Trilogy, starring handsome CEO Nathaniel West, a man on the prowl for a new submissive, and the librarian Abby, who is yearning for something more.” LOS ANGELES TIMES

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  “Scorching sex, well-developed characters, occasional bursts of humor, and skillful plotting make Me’s series launch a must-read.” PUBLISHER WEEKLY on AMERICAN ASSHOLE

  Copyright © 2019 by Tara Sue Me

  All rights reserved.

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  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN ebook: 9781950017058

  ISBN print: 9781950017065

  Cover photo: Deposit Photos

  Cover Design: Mister Sue Me

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Don’t Miss

  FOK

  Out Now

  Also by Tara Sue Me

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Usually when Isaac Gregory’s control slipped at work, he’d step outside of his Manhattan office building, walk for a block or two, and return, refreshed, and back on top of his game. Today, though, he could walk to Brooklyn and it wouldn’t help. Matter of fact, if he made it that far, he’d keep going.

  He’d expected his first day in three years without Lillian Bancroft as his personal assistant to be tough. Likewise, he’d known she’d be impossible to replace. However, if he’d had any idea how the first half of today would go, he’d have called in sick.

  Part of the blame was his. After all, Lillian had given her resignation six weeks ago, leaving him plenty of time to hire a replacement. But, in what he could now admit was a delusional case of wishful thinking, he kept waiting for her to take it back.

  Which was why he was on the phone seventy-two hours ago, desperate to find a temp able to start today while Lillian packed up her desk. And, okay, telling the owner and manager of the temp agency, “I don’t care, just send whoever,” was not one of his best moves, even when he added in the fact that it was then he realized Lillian was really leaving.

  His concession on that point, however, in no way excused the temp the agency sent over this morning. Just thinking about the mess waiting for him back at the office made his head hurt. In less than three hours, the temp had “assisted” him by deleting two files of documents he needed for a ten o’clock meeting. Files she shouldn’t have had access to, much less been able to delete. Then, because she didn’t want to get in trouble for the deletion, had tried to fix it, and somehow, in a move that stumped his entire IT team, ended up encrypting another.

  By the time she tip-toed to his desk at nine forty-five and, with tears in her eyes, whispered she was sorry, but she forgot to tell him his ten o’clock meeting had been moved up to nine, he was done. A quick phone call, and five minutes later, security escorted her from the building.

  Unfortunately, not before he overheard her bemoaning to a group of administrative staff she never even got to see if his dick was really big or if the nickname was a misnomer. Fortunately, the rest of the staff knew his feelings toward that nickname and remained quiet.

  He glanced at his watch and turned to head back to the office. He had a lot to do and no assistant to help. But on the upside, he couldn’t see how his day could get worse.

  Maggie Warren was late. Which wasn’t saying much, she was often late. But today, she was really, really late. She quickened her step, shifting the heavy load of compost while trying to look around the container to ensure her path was clear.

  So far so good.

  She hated being late.

  She blamed the ‘if only.’

  If only her most favorite author ever, or one of them, hadn’t released a book today. And if only she hadn’t been browsing online and saw the email alerting her with a link to purchase. And if only she hadn’t decided to buy it and read just one chapter.

  Because who could stop at one chapter?

  She knew she had to stop using ‘if only’ as an excuse to justify everything. But how could she when all the fun stuff was stuff she shouldn’t be doing and the stuff she was supposed to be doing was boring as hell?

  “Like taking compost to the collection site,” she mumbled.

  Not that taking the compost to the collection site was all that bad; it was what would happen after she dropped off the compost. Because that was when she had to look for a real job.

  She didn’t have to get a job, but after almost a year and a half of working here and there and filling in where necessary, she recognized she needed the stability. Plus, she longed to be in an office where she saw the same people day after day. To be around a group of people she could build relationships with. Maybe go out to lunch or something.

  And one day when she was ready, like in five years, maybe she’d find a guy she wanted to have sex with.

  God, she missed sex.

  Now, however, was not the time to think about sex. Not when she was carrying a massive amount of compost. Sex and compost did not mix well. At least not in her world.

  With each step she grew more and more aware of her hands getting slippery. Not to mention how the sun and heat worked together to make the compost smell even worse. She hadn't thought about how she’d desperately need a shower after carting compost. There was no way around it, job hunting would have to wait for another day.

  Her favorite thrift shop was just ahead and while she wouldn’t be able to go inside, the owner, Max, always had the most amazing window displays. She’d look at it closer on the way back home, for now she only wanted a peek.

  Shifting the weight of the compost, she drew nearer to the window. Max must have gotten in the pieces from the estate sale he’d told her about last week. Once she dropped off the compost, she’d window shop a little and come back tomorrow.

  That would be perfect. She’d stop by around noon and take Max to lunch. He had a habit of getting caught up in his work and forgetting to eat since his wife of fifty years died ten months ago.

  She turned back around, making a note to call Max when she got back to her apartment.

  “Mama, look!” a little boy who couldn’t have been over five yelled and ran past her.

  Maggie barely kept a grip on the compost, but she managed, and breathed a huge sigh of relief when it didn’t tumble out of her arms.

  What in the world had caused the little boy to run past her like that? She turned her head to see better, but no luck. Maybe if she moved over just a touch…

  She hit something hard and unyielding. There would be no save this time. The cont
ainer fell out of her arms. She watched in horror as it tipped over and the lid flew off. In a matter of seconds, compost covered the hard and unyielding thing, which she now saw was the most gorgeous man who ever walked on earth.

  He just didn’t smell all that great at the moment.

  Chapter Two

  Isaac stared at the reeking sludge covering him. What the fuck? One second he’d been walking back to his office and the next, someone had dumped… what the hell was this shit?

  “Oh, my God.”

  It took another second for it to register in his brain that the phrase was coming from the woman in front of him.

  “I’m so sorry.” She reached out as if to wipe the offending material off of him but shrank back. Then, seeming to think better of her actions, took a deep breath and starting wiping.

  Fortunately or unfortunately, no one crowded around them or even stopped. No doubt keeping their distance due to the stench. So strong he almost gagged, the sharp smell made his eyes water.

  The woman mumbled something under her breath. Though she helped in attempting to get as much of the stuff off of him as possible, she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “What is this crap?” Isaac asked.

  “Compost.” She picked what looked like a half-decayed leaf off his arm. “I wasn’t watching where I was going and I slammed right into you. I’m so sorry,” she repeated.

  He watched her as they both worked to clean what they were able off. She was tiny for lack of a better word, no way did she stand above five feet two inches. Her hair was dirty blonde and curly. Not the fake curls women bought at the salon, but the natural kind its owner lamented about and tried in vain to straighten.

  There was no way he could return to his office in his current shape, not until after a shower. Fuck, but he didn’t want to get in his car. Not smelling the way he was. He’d never be able to get the odor out. He doubted anyone in the city would want him on public transportation, either. There was a shower in the gym he and Lance had added for their company. Little good that would do since he didn’t have clean clothes to put on after.

  The only thing worse than a metaphorically shitty day was a literally shitty day.

  “Technically,” the woman said, “it’s not shit. At least not the kind you’re thinking about. You could probably stretch it and say it’s vegetable shit, but that’s not completely correct. Because they’re decomposed as opposed to excrement.”

  He’d been unaware he’d spoken out loud. Even if he had, he wouldn’t have expected a reply. Especially not one sounding more like a ramble than anything. He didn’t reply. He didn’t see the need to. Whoever this woman was seemed more than able to carry on an entire conversation by herself. She had thankfully moved on from the digestion of vegetables to compost storage and faulty lids and how she’d been meaning to get a new one and she would have made a better effort had she known this was going to happen. Again, Isaac didn’t reply because obviously that ship had sailed.

  She looked up at him, as if suddenly realizing she was the only contributor to the conversation. For a second, their gazes met and he couldn’t look away. Her eyes were the most astonishing shade of green. A green so vibrant he wondered if she wore contacts.

  “Nothing else to do.” The petite woman nodded and placed her hands on her hips, obviously decided about something, but he had no idea what. As much as she’d been rambling earlier, he couldn’t believe she hadn’t yammered on and on about whatever conclusion she’d just reached along with the path she’d taken to get there. “You’ll have to come with me to my apartment. You can shower there and I should have some clothes that fit.”

  He didn’t move for a long second. Surely he had heard wrong. There was no way a woman he didn’t know just invited him to her apartment. When she didn’t say anything further, he narrowed his eyes at her. “Have you lost every bit of sense you ever had or did you not have any to begin with?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “It’s my fault you’re covered in this mess. I don’t live far from here, and I have a shower and clean clothes.” Those green eyes he’d been so caught up in moments ago, glared at him. “I’m trying to be nice.”

  “Maybe so, but it’s a good way to get yourself killed.”

  “You aren’t going to kill me.” She lifted her chin, implying, he supposed, that was to be the final word on the subject.

  “You don’t know that. You don’t know me. I could be anybody, and you’re standing there asking me to come to your apartment.” She still didn’t seem to understand his concern, so he switched his protest. “How do I know you’re not a petite serial killer, luring men into your apartment intending to kill them? Maybe the man who owns the clothes you offered is in on it with you and he’s waiting even as we speak for you to bring in your next victim. “

  “The clothes belonged to my husband.” She spoke emotionless and dry.

  Belonged. Did that mean he’d left her? On one hand it made sense. Maybe he got tired of the batshit crazy. Couldn’t say he blamed him.

  She took a step closer to him. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “I should have worded my sentence more clearly. The clothes belonged to my late husband, and no, before you ask, I didn’t kill him.”

  He had not expected her to be a widow. Not as young as she was. When she spoke of her husband there had been a brief flash of grief in those captivating eyes, but it passed quickly. Isaac couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d been gone.

  Neither one of them could say anything because at that moment, one of the shop doors they were standing near opened.

  “Maggie, girl.” A frail looking older gentleman, stepped out onto the sidewalk. “I thought I heard your voice. What’s going on out here?” He followed up his question with a glare toward Isaac.

  “Max,” the woman he now knew was Maggie replied and shook her head. “I knew you weren’t eating the way you should. I’m coming by tomorrow and you’re going to have lunch with me. Don’t even think about saying no.”

  Max flashed Maggie a smile. “Only because it’s you, but I promise I’m fine.” He looked from her to Isaac. “Who’s this?”

  Isaac stuck out his hand since he knew Maggie couldn’t answer and then remembered how gross his hand was. He pulled it back to his side. “Sorry, sir. I’m Isaac Gregory.”

  Maggie took a step forward. “I accidentally dumped my compost all over Mr. Gregory here and I’ve asked him to drop by my place to shower and change. We better be on our way before the smell gets worse. I’ll call you in an hour to set up a time for lunch, okay?”

  “You two go on,” Max said with a wave. “I’ll call and have the rest of this cleaned up.”

  “Come on,” Maggie said, and Isaac found himself following her. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Now you can’t kill me because I have to call Max back in an hour and he’s seen me with you. And you’re safe because you gave him your name, and he’s seen you with me.”

  “Maggie?”

  “Yes.”

  “Turn around and watch where you’re going so you don’t run into anything else.”

  * * *

  By the time they made it to her apartment, Isaac realized he should have asked Maggie her definition of “not far.” He could have walked to his office and back twice by the time she stopped at her building.

  He had to admit, if only to himself, it was not the neighborhood he’d envisioned her living in. Located near the Upper East Side, it wasn’t one of the most expensive places to live in the city, but it wasn’t the average middle class or upper middle class neighborhood, either.

  A uniformed doorman greeted her with a warm smile but a wary eye at both Isaac’s appearance and the surrounding odor. “Did you have a nice day, Mrs. Warren?” the doorman asked.

  Maggie Warren. He assumed Warren was her married name.

  “I did,” Maggie replied all kinds of cheerfulness and unmasked enthusiasm. “U
nfortunately, I ended up making a mess of Mr. Gregory here.” She glanced Isaac’s way with a smile and a wink. He didn’t have to read minds to hear her unspoken ‘Now two people know.’

  Isaac couldn’t say if the doorman replied back. While they waited for the elevator, he tried to remember why the name Warren sounded so familiar. On the surface, it shouldn’t. Warren was a common enough last name.

  A large party entered from what looked like a courtyard. The sign above the archway read, Ellis Tobias Warren Memorial Garden. He looked to the woman at his side who was completely oblivious to his revelation. No way.

  He continued thinking as they stepped onto the elevator.

  They stopped on the tenth floor and she led the way out. He knew the entire chrome and glass combination that made up her home didn’t fit Maggie at all. And now he knew why.

  Her father-in-law was Tobias Warren, the oil tycoon. His son, Ellis, must have been Maggie’s husband. He vaguely remembered something about a house fire and the resulting death of the Warren Oil heir. But that was years ago. Was this the daughter-in-law Tobias’s wife had publicly ridiculed and blamed for their son’s death?

  Maggie had reached her door and held it open, waiting for him to follow.

  “If you go down that hall,” she said, pointing. “The second door on the left is a guest bedroom with a private bath. I’ll leave clothes on the bed for when you finish with your shower.” She cocked her head. “Are you wanting to save that suit?”