Suds and Sam, the Prequel

By Stella Marie Alden

Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Suds and Sam take Manhattan
Chapter 1
 Copyright (C) 2019 Stella Marie Alden

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the
author's imagination and are used fictitiously.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by
any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information
storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.
stellamariealden@gmail.com
A special thanks to my ARC team, my Facebook fans, and those who open all my
newsletters. You help make these books possible.
To Rich, my love and gratitude for all the countless things you do to make this possible.
 Chapter 1

Suds

“The FBI thinks what?” Clunking my beer bottle on the small table, I clench my back teeth.
“Keep it down.” Always on high alert, Slate glances around this hotel’s drinking
establishment but I’ve already vetted the place.
To our right, a young couple gazes into each other’s eyes, ready for sex. Three large guys in
cheap suits talk animatedly behind us and those gathered around the bar focus on a soccer game.
I lean back in my chair and take a deep breath. “Y’all want to explain, boss?”
Slate eyes me over a short glass of amber liquid. “The FBI reopened the investigation of the
bombing in New York last fall.”
Shit. I’m about to share a few choice words on the matter when I glimpse in the mirror behind
the bar. One of the business men touches his ear, a sure tell he’s wearing a listening device. With
a toss of my head and a meaningful glance, Slate nods. We need to change topics, then vacate.
Eager to help out, I wink at a long-legged women ogling me from the bar and give her a
panty-melting smile.
My pal shakes his head. “When are you going to stop playing the field and settle down?”
“When you gonna make an honest woman of your gal? If y’all don’t marry her, I will.”
Slate sighs. “Lilac wants a big wedding with showers and bridesmaids but says she doesn’t
have time to plan a big affair.”
“Better you than me.” I raise my beer bottle and glance in the mirror where the guy still
watches us with too much interest.
Slate throws a few bills on the table, rises, and slaps my back. “You’re not getting any
younger, my friend.”
Grinning, I scrape my chair on the hard wood floor, and stand. “Just because y’all are pussy-
whipped, doesn’t mean I need to join the ranks. C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”
The three in cheap suits look up, none too happy as we pass by and I can’t help but add some
sage advice.
I point at my ear, then at the man with the nervous habit. “Y’all need to keep your hand away
from your ear. Might get you killed. You’re welcome.”
Chuckling, I follow my boss past the lobby’s six-foot fountain and exit via the front entrance.
My black leather jacket keeps away the chill. More importantly, it lets me fade into the
shadows. Slate, in a dark suit, shirt and tie, disappears as well.
We lean against the building and wait to see if we’re followed.
After about five minutes, I ask, “What’s going on?”
“The Joint Task Force is looking into the restaurant explosion in Manhattan. Patten suggests
you play dumb. It should be easy enough. For you.” His white smile gleams.
“Smart ass.” I smile but there’s nothing amusing about that day and as the memories rush in,
air gets sucked out of my lungs.
A Sunday morning, it should’ve been no big deal. I’d volunteered to guard a fucking baby
shower, mostly so I could hang out with best pal, Lucky. His wife was the guest of honor and I
figured we could catch up while the ladies opened gifts and cooed.
There were balloons, giggling women, and stupid games. It wasn’t supposed to be dangerous.
 In Technicolor slow-motion, the events play out in my mind’s eye. I’m laughing as Callie lifts
a tiny pink outfit with our company’s logo. Then, the waiter has me at gunpoint. The cook exits
the kitchen with a rapid fire rifle so I drop my weapon.
Sweat breaks out on my forehead as I recall the bullet going through my gut, getting locked in
the freezer, and smelling gas.
“It wasn’t your fault. You had bad intel.” My boss eyes me the way he does when he thinks
one of his employees needs time off so I light a cigarette to calm the fuck down.
“It don’t sit right. I almost got them killed.” I inhale slowly and puff out, letting the nicotine
do its work. Then, smiling like I got no worries in the world, I change the subject.
“Lucky’s wife, Callie, sure is something. Still, I can’t imagine him changing diapers. If you
ever hear me say I’m in love, just fucking shoot me.”
Slate laughs. “It’s bound to happen someday”
“Not to me.” I shrug.
He hands me a printout with a name, office, and address. “So, are you good for tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Just ask for Sam, right?”
“She’s supposedly one of the FBI’s best analysts and by the way? Patten said to keep it in
your pants.”
I chuckle, relaxed for the first time this evening. If our company’s owner said that, she must
be my type. I figure she must be older than twenty but less than forty. And pretty.
Maybe this interview won’t be as bad as I thought.
 Chapter 2

Samantha Russo

There’s a tap on the conference room door, it cracks open, and the downstairs guard pops his
head through. “Mr. Sutcliff is here.”
“Let him in.” I glance up from my computer screen and gasp.
Holy shit. A sullen dark angel, Sebastian Sutcliff AKA Suds, locks onto my gaze and holds it
captive.
The guard, sensing the sexual tension, clears his throat and motions his charge toward a
plastic chair on the opposite side of the table.
Turning to me he adds, “If you need anything, Sam, I’ll be right outside.”
“Thanks.”
Eyes locked onto my face, my interviewee lowers into the seat, and smirks. “Y’all gonna ask
me some questions or just sit there and drool?”
I snap my laptop closed and continue to meet his stare. If not for the low drone of the air
conditioner and the buzz of the florescent tube overhead, I’m sure he’d hear my rapid heartbeat.
Lowering my voice, I take a deep breath and try like hell to sound like I’m the one in charge.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Sutcliff.”
“I didn’t have much choice, sugar.” The former SEAL narrows his gaze, grins, and leans back
in the flimsy chair until I’m sure it will crack.
When it doesn’t, I click on the recording device.
After I announce our names, case number, and date, I begin my first interview. “How long
have you been working for Patten Securities?”
“Since I was honorably discharged.” His lids lower halfway with lashes so long, on another
man, they’d seem feminine.
“And from what branch?”
“Why you askin’ me shit you already know? This is a waste of your time and mine.” He starts
to stand and my cheeks heat.
“Ah… there are a lot of facts redacted in your service record.”
“Guess you don’t have high enough security, sweetheart.” He smiles again but it’s not the
kind meant to put me at ease. “Get to the point, darlin’ or is there something else you need.”
He unbuttons his suit jacket, spreads his legs, and shows off a massive bulge behind his fly.
Zzzpt. Brain synapses misfire. Oh fuck me. Wait, no. Don’t fuck me. Shit.
Chuckling, Sutcliff scoots his chair under the table and puts his elbows down.
“Better like this?”
Damn. I had no idea that asking a few questions was so hard, rather, would make him so hard.
Maybe I can use his attraction to my advantage and salvage my career. I back my chair away
from the table, cross my legs, and hike my pencil skirt high up my thighs.
Yeah, I’m that desperate.
“Can you tell me about your last assignment?” My heel slides out of my black pump and I
dangle it off my toes.
His beautiful mouth curls up at the corners as he shifts in his seat. “I was guarding a diplomat
overseas.”
“And before that?”
His eyes drifts up and down my body like a lover’s caress. He pauses at my breasts before
latching onto my lips and locks onto my eyes. “I was supposed to protect a few women at a baby
shower.”
Bingo. I’m finally going to get some answers. I knew there was more to the gas explosion
than Patten Securities let on. It was no simple robbery, it was a conspiracy.
“Go on. What happened?”
He leans further over the table, those dangerous cat eyes narrowing. “My intel was off.”
“Was it an inside job?”
“Not really.” His peppermint warm breath warms my lips causing me to imagine things I
shouldn’t.
“Umm…” Think, Samantha, think. “Why say that?”
His dark orbs flick back to my partially open mouth. “I’m guessing you know but just to be
friendly-like, I’ll tell you. The party was for a woman who invented some top secret shit. I can’t
say more than that.”
“Did you know this at the time?” I squirm in my seat as liquid pools between my legs.
“Yeah.”
“Would you mind explaining?”
His brows go up. “Sorry, sugar. Patten keeps a pretty tight lid on his operations. I signed all
sorts of non-disclosures. Hell, I don’t think I can tell you I if I pissed that morning without him
agreeing to it.”
I shove the document signed by the billionaire and he snickers. “It says here I can talk about
my last assignment. Let’s see, now. As I recall, last week I was in Paris, guarding a diplomat’s
daughter. Cute little five year old. Her name is Shanni. I drove her to school and…”
Dammit. My chat notification pings with a text from my boss. ‘Get your ass into my office.’
“Excuse me.” I stand, interrupting my guest’s southern drawl. “I’ll be right back.”
Dreading the inevitable, I walk the plank down the long hall. His door open, Special Agent
Kessler paces in front of his oak desk. With no family photos or motivation posters, the room
reeks of cold indifference.
“How do you think the interview is going, Miss Russo?” In his dark suit, white shirt, and
plain blue tie, he glares under a military cut.
My heart sinks. “Not well, sir. But to be fair, sir, I need a little more time. I figure once I get
him talking I can-”
A large, calloused palm appears in front of my face. “Stop. I was going to wait but you’ve
made my decision easy. You’re being let go.”
At first the words don’t register, then my mouth drops open and my heart races. “Hold on,
I’ve been a loyal employee for over fifteen years!”
“And as I’ve explained, we’re sending that work overseas. We have artificial intelligence,
now. You’re being outsourced.”
His authoritative bass makes my soprano plead sound childlike. “But it can’t replace common
sense, the human eye.”
“We hired some good men in Ireland. The only openings I have here in DC are in
interrogations and frankly, you suck at it.”
“But it was my first attempt.” I can’t believe he’s letting me go.
“People either have the skill or they don’t. Pack your things and I’ll finish up with Sutcliff.”
“It’s nothing personal.” He holds his hand out to shake and I do.
As soon as I get out the door, I wipe his germs off on my skirt. What the hell am I supposed to
do now? I haven’t written a resume or had a job interview since college. Mentally, I count out
my net worth and moan. I have enough money to last one, maybe two months.
I’m a friggin’ senior FBI analyst. How had I missed the axe was about to fall?
A grim-faced George waits back at my desk with a cardboard box. So, with tears dripping
down my face, I unpin my favorite photos from the fabric of my cube wall. There’s one of me
and my boyfriend at Yellowstone, at my cousin’s wedding, and eating pizza in my living room.
The guard eyes me with sympathy and yet says nothing. He has to seem impartial but it stings.
Every morning, I ask about his wife or his grandkids. I know he vacations in Georgia and owns
an RV. We’re friends, for goodness sake.
Finished with the wall, I pack away my awards and pause at a framed photo of me and the
president. I wrap it in my spare sweater and place it on top of the pile.
No room left, I grab all the small animals I’ve crocheted over the last fifteen years and stuff
them into my purse.
“Ready?” George gives me a sad smile.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
On the way out, we pass the open door of the interrogation room where Sebastian Sutcliff
paces.
If he wasn’t such an asshole, maybe I could’ve kept my job. “I got fired. Thanks a lot.”
 Chapter 3
Suds Sutcliff

Fired? Because of me? No way.

Sure, she was completely useless but that’s no reason to let her go. I’ve worked with plenty of
G-men a lot worse than her.
Jumping into the hall, I block their exit and can’t help but grin. She’s carrying the typical
cardboard box of the damned but in her purse? Dozens of yarn creatures with comic expressions
stare out over the open zipper.
I’m about to say something until I recall my mission. I can’t let her go without getting her
number.
Slowly, I reach into my back pocket, eyes on the guard. “Don’t shoot. I’m going for my
wallet.”
The man tenses and when he doesn’t go for his weapon, I pull out a card and hold it to his
face.
“Y’all got a pen?”
Nodding, he pulls one out of his suit pocket and hands it to me.
“Thank you kindly, sir.” After writing my number on the back, I stick my card between a tiny
grinning mouse and a surprised lion.
“Call me.” I suppose I should feel guilty hitting on her at a time like this but she went straight
to my cock. That hasn’t happened to me since I fell in love with my seventh grade English
teacher.
“You think you can get me a job with Patten Securities?” She looks so hopeful, I nod and lie.
“Sure thing.”
“Thank you.” Grabbing her box more firmly, she settles it on a hip.
“C’mon George. Let’s get this over with. Goodbye, Mr. Sutcliff.” Head held high, she clacks
her sensible heels down the hall while I admire the globes of her beautiful behind.
Not goodbye, sweetheart. Au revoir. I’ll see you soon.
From the opposite end of the building, solid shoes pound the marble flooring and I turn. I’ve
fought real grizzly bears and won. After firing my gal, this one’s getting jack shit out of me.
“Please take a seat, Mr. Sutcliff. I won’t take long and I apologize for my colleague.”
“Why’d she get fired?” I straddle my chair and ease on down.
His bushy gray brows raise. “I would think it obvious. Now, tell me about New York, starting
from when you were assigned to the case.”
I don’t like his attitude, I’m not under arrest, and I haven’t done anything wrong. Well, I
should clarify. I haven’t done anything that the FBI knows about. They’re fishing and I’m not
taking the bait.
“Lawyer, please.”
It takes over an hour before he lets me call my boss and another couple to get Patten’s people
downtown. I skip breakfast, miss lunch and it’s long past dinner. Questioning over, I’m starving
and need a moment to chill out.
Alone in the lobby of the FBI building, I check my phone messages and there’s one from Sam
Russo. She says to meet her at the Red Dog.

Wow, that was fast. Twenty minutes later, I’m walking into a brightly lit bar decorated in
chrome and glass. Samantha Russo sits at a table at the furthest wall, nursing a beer. Her suit
jacket hangs on the back of her chair and her shirt’s unbuttoned to her cleavage.
Sheeeet. My hard-on makes it impossible to walk, let alone appear nonchalant. Regrouping, I
stop at the bar and order a beer. Once I have my unruly cock under control, I wander to her table
and sit.
Puffy red lids lift and under them, chocolate brown eyes stare. “Did you mean it?”
My mind goes blank. Had I propositioned her? Surely, I wanted to but fuck me if I recall
putting the offer into words.
Picturing her naked, legs parted, I smile. “My place or yours?”
“Oh. I thought we could do it here.”
I look around. The bathroom could probably work but would it would be nowhere near as
comfortable as my hotel room. “Thar works for me, darlin’.”
“Can I finish my beer, first?”
“Sure.” Whoa, now. Something isn’t adding up.
I review our short interaction in the FBI building. I gave her my card, she texted me to meet
her at this bar. She lost her job. Maybe she needs get-fired sex? Maybe it’s her way to work out
feelings of inadequacy and diminished self-worth?
Damn, I’m good. Dr. Phil and Oprah would be proud.
I like sex a lot, and she’s an incredibly beautiful woman. Still, I’d like to know what I’m
getting myself into. “How much have you had to drink?”
“This is my first, why?” Her big eyes are the deepest shade of brown I’ve ever seen and give
the effect of her being constantly aroused. I wonder if she even knows.
I take a swallow of beer to ease my parched throat. “Just checking. Ah, have you ever done
this before?”
“Not in fifteen years.” She says it as casually as one might say, I just finished my laundry and
folded my clothes.
Swallowing down the wrong hole, I cough. Holy shit. Blood rushing south relieves me of
more brain cells. “That’s a hell of a long time.”
She smiles shyly, “Everything was good. So why change?”
“And now?”
“Well, let’s just say I’m open to new possibilities.” She finishes her beer.
“Are you ready?” If I don’t enter her soon, I may explode.
She nods.
Fuck yeah! “The bathroom?”
“No, I’m good.”
No way. Is she having second thoughts? “How about another beer?”
“Sure.”
Maybe she needs a little more time. I mean, it has been over a decade since she last had sex. I
try to be patient but my imagination is spinning out of control. I stand, order a couple beers and
return to the table.
She pulls out her laptop and motions for me to sit next to her. I expect karma sutra, porn, or
some sex toys. Instead, I peruse at her rather unimpressive resume on the screen.
“It’s not current. I need to add my years with the FBI but do you think Patten will hire me?”
Huh? My mouth drops open and my cock refuses to stand down. Thank God I didn’t say
anything offensive.
I give her my email address with what I hope is a professional smile. “Can you send that to
me? My email is on the card I gave you.”
Her lush lips curve up. “Sure. Is tomorrow okay?”
“Perfect.”
“Ah, good luck and if you’re ever in New York, look me up, okay?”
“I will and thank you.”
Holy shit. There were so many ways that could’ve gone wrong. The worst part is, I’m still
attracted to her, maybe more so. My boss is right. I’m getting too old for this kind of thing. Or,
maybe I need more practice. Regardless, it’s a sure sign I’m off my game.
 Chapter 4

Sam

Okay, so I got fired but I already got a good lead on a new job.
I finger the thick cardboard of Sebastian’s business card. I guess he didn’t think my
interviewing skills were horrible. He did seem rather surprised when I pulled up my resume. In
fairness, I wrote it right after college.
Regardless, with his recommendation, I’m sure to hear from human resources at Patten
Securities. I’ve done them a few favors over the years and hopefully, it will pay off.
As I dig into my purse for my key, I rehearse the words I memorized to tell my boyfriend and
once in my living room, I call out, “Hello? Will? You home?”
My boyfriend sticks his head out of the bedroom. “Hey. What’s up?”
“I got laid off.” There. Better to blurt it out than beat around the bush.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Noooo…”
“Well, how are we going to pay our bills?” He steps into the hall in his PJ bottoms, shirtless
and I remember how it used to turn me on. Now, the fact he never bothers to get dressed makes
my blood boil.
“Perhaps you could get a part-time job?” I cringe waiting for his standard response but I need
for him to man up.
“Me? I am working. Every damn day. My book is almost done. Surely, you’re not going to
make me give up now? Once it’s published, we’ll be living the dream.” He grabs both my
shoulders, ready to kiss me but I step back.
Not this time. “I’m not saying it’s forever, Will. I’m asking until I find something else. I need
your help. Just this once. Please.”
He glares and the mouth that I used to love to kiss turns into an ugly snarl. “I suppose you’ll
kick me out if I say no.”
Tears well but this time, I’m going to be strong. “I won’t but I can’t afford this place, we’ll
have to move.”
He brightens. “That’s fine, honey. I can live in a smaller place. You have savings. You’re
smart. You’ll have another job before you know it. C’mon now, baby.” He kisses me and wraps
his arms around me.
In the past, I would’ve jumped into bed with him but I’m not a kid anymore. “Will, no. Sex
isn’t going to help us pay the bills.”
He pouts. “And this is exactly why our sex life sucks.”
“That’s not fair. I’ve all but jumped your bones but you say you’re exhausted.” This is
probably the worst time to be having this conversation but damn, I am tired of his shit.
“What’s not fair is you asking me to stop writing.”
“I didn’t say-”
“Everything I do is for you, for us. Don’t you see that baby? I want you to have the world, to
never have to work again. Just give me another month. Surely, you have enough savings for
that.”
“Sorry, Will. I’m moving to New York. My uncle has a room in an apartment.”
“Then, I’ll come, too.”
“You can’t. He’s old fashioned about that.”
 “Fine. We’ll get married.” His jaw juts out and his neck muscles tic.
After seven years, I get my proposal and this is it?
When my eyes lift to his angry gaze, I know it’s over between us.
“I can’t deal with you right now.” I turn and walk out the door, glad we never shared bank
accounts. Just to be sure, when I get in the car, I change my password on everything I can think
of.
I always thought there would be tears but I guess I’m all cried out. For years, I’ve been
waiting for a proposal and when it comes, it turns my stomach.
At some point, I must’ve loved him. A lot of men are house husbands. I figured once we had
kids, he would stay home and I’d be the bread winner.
Was it unreasonable to ask him to find a part-time job?
I almost turn around and apologize until I recall his angry proposal. I wouldn’t marry him if
he was the last man on the planet or the last alien in the galaxy.
I put my key in the ignition. He can stay at my place until I move. Then, we’ll go our own
separate ways.
Maybe getting fired was a good thing, after all. Maybe, he’ll think it over and find a job.
Maybe hell will freeze over.
My phone pings with a text.
Suds: My boss is here at my hotel. Want to meet?
Me: Be there in 10

I check out my outfit and grimace at the creases in my suit jacket and beer stains on my white
blouse. With the interior car lights on, I retouch my makeup in the rear view mirror and sweep
my hair into a neat bun.
Patten Securities, meet Samantha Russo.
 Chapter 5
Suds

“Okay, I pinged her and told her you wanted to meet her.” I’ve never recommended anyone
for anything but when it comes to the beautiful ex-FBI-agent, I’ll try anything to keep her close.
Slate’s been in meetings all day with our billionaire boss. Still in his dress shirt, he’s lost the
tie and rolled up his sleeves, displaying his military tats.
Sipping on his whiskey, he eyes me over the pristine linen tablecloth. “What gives?”
Should I confess? Tell him I want her in my bed, on my couch, and spread out on my kitchen
counter?
I shrug, hoping he’ll let it go while I double check the egresses. One bar door opens into the
hotel lobby, the other to the parking lot.
“A shrug is not an answer, Suds.”
He frowns so I repeat what I’ve rehearsed. “You said it yourself. She’s one of the FBI’s best
analysts. You might as well check her out before you head back to New York.”
“She was fired while interviewing you. Sounds too convenient. Do you think the FBI’s
looking to infiltrate Patten Securities?”
I almost burst a gut, holding back my smirk. “Damn, I never thought of that.”
Samantha? An undercover agent? Wait until he meets her.
My boss looks over the resume he printed out. “It says here she’s done Patten a few favors for
us over the years. She’s the one who helped clear up the mess in Utah.”
“Fun times.” I grin and like two old geezers, we bullshit over stuff that almost got us killed.
Suddenly, I get a chill. The tingles start under my hairline and run down my spine to the back
of my right ankle. My Ute grandmother, a shaman, always warned me to pay attention to my
spirit guide.
Modern science calls it addressing subliminal messages. All I know is something life-
changing is about to go down. In combat, it’s saved my life more than once.
Slate glances around the room without moving his head. “What do you see?”
“Hell if I know.” We’re in the middle of a bar in one of the nicest hotels in the nation’s
capital.
The front door opens and in walks Ms. Samantha Russo. Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun,
her black suit wrinkled, and her starched white blouse is buttoned to the top. Those sensible
black-laced shoes shine and she carries a black leather purse the size of a duffle bag.
I cannot figure why my fucking cock takes notice because my brain registers a perfectly
normal woman.
What the hell is wrong with me?
She searches the room but neither of us wave. No doubt, Slate wants to see how long it takes
for her to spot us. When she does, her gaze connects with mine and bam, like the Grinch and his
chest, my jeans grow a few sizes too small.
Slate motions her over then studies my face which I dare not let twitch.
He chuckles as she approaches. “Her? Really?”
“Fuck off.”
No time to retort, he stands to greet my gal and shakes her hand.
“You must be Mr. Slate. Thank you for seeing me.” Her smile sends me over the edge.
Hiding my hard-on, I lift halfway, lean over the table, and take her offered hand.
 Holy fuck. Electricity snaps between us. Like grasping onto two-twenty volts, I can’t let go.
A blush rises to her cheeks, the black circles in her eyes widen, and her sexy mouth parts.
“Suds?” Slate glances down at where I hold her captive.
“Right.” My hand releases and we both sit, a might stunned.
My pal gets right to the point. “Thanks for meeting us at such short notice. Suds here tells me
you just got laid off. And by the way, it’s just Slate.”
He uses a velvety tone with eyes so soft and doe-like, I kick him under the table. Seriously,
dude? Even she’ll see through that.
Samantha either doesn’t notice or pretends not to. “I, ah… Yes. I’ve worked as an analyst but
my job is being moved overseas. They believe it can be better handled by artificial intelligence.”
She flicks her gaze my way, no doubt hoping I haven’t said anything about the interview.
I raise one brow and shrug apologetically.
Frowning, she glares across the table. “You told him?”
“Sorry, sugar.” As much as I want her between my sheets, I can’t jeopardize my brothers at
Patten. Maybe she can handle the phones at the front desk.
My gal purses her lips and throws some paperwork on the table. “Well, I did some research
and the interview today was a setup.”
“How so?” Slate glances down and begins to speed read.
“My boss made me believe there was another position available so I applied for it. My record
will indicate I was bored with my current job and requested a chance to move up. It won’t
mention anything about my job being outsourced. Not only am I laid off, I will never be rehired.
He’ll make sure of it.”
I whistle through my teeth. “Who the hell did you piss off, lady?”
“I’m still investigating.” Her mouth curves up on the right side and there’s a twinkle in her
eyes.
“No way. You can still log in?” My brows go up as do Slate’s.
Her security access should’ve been revoked the moment she was fired. Well, hell. I sit up a
little straighter. Maybe this is a real interview after all.
“What kind of work are you looking for?” Slate studies her face while she pauses, mouth
pursed.
“I-I th-think I-I’m best suited for analytic work, at least for now.” Noticing her fidgety hands,
she sits on them under the table as my boss fires off the next question.
“Where do you see yourself in five years?”
“I plan on opening a private detective agency. Mostly cyber-crime, of course.”
My mouth drops open and unable to resist, I catch Slate’s eye. At first, we both grin. Then,
there’s no holding back.
Her? A dick in the Big Apple? Seriously? I snicker.
We both know plenty of private investigators. Most are ex-military or ex-cops, tough as nails,
and have been doing that kind of work for over twenty years.
Eyes watering, Slate rubs a hand over his smirk and I drop a napkin so I can break into
laughter under the table. He kicks me but it only makes it worse and I’m sure she hears because
her head pops under the table.
“What? You think it’s a stretch?” Guileless eyes stare making it even harder to hold back.
I try to turn my guffaw into a cough. “No, ma’am. I’m sure you can do whatever you set your
mind to. I just, ah… hell.”
A coaster drops near Slate’s feet and I salute him for keeping a straight face as he reaches for
it. “Is this a private party or can anyone join?”
Rising, I punch his arm which cracks him up and gets me started giggling like a girl.
I give Slate a lot of credit for regaining his composure. “That’s quite ambitious, Ms. Russo.”
“Thank you.” She treats it as a complement which is probably for the best because
unfortunately, Slate’s mind is made up. He’ll never hire her now.
Clearing is throat, he starts to rise. “I think I got everything I need. Can you email me your
current job responsibilities?”
“Certainly. Thank you for meeting with me. When can I hope to hear from you?” She beams,
completely unaware she blew the interview.
He takes her hand. “I’ll have someone from HR contact you soon.”
Shit. I figure that’s that until she adds, “Oh, I almost forgot, my dad says hi.”
Slate pales and his impenetrable mask slips. “Russo? As in Michael Russo?”
“Uh huh.” Her eyes lift to his.
Check and mate. We’ve been had. Her father runs the twenty-first precinct. If we piss him off,
working in New York’s going to get a lot harder.
My friend’s eyes narrow but he won’t say anything, not yet. He’ll research his options, call in
a few favors, and come out smelling like a fucking rose.
“It was nice to meet you, Ms. Russo.” Nodding, he strides off while I grin at her audacity.
Up until a few moments ago, I only wanted her in my bed. Now, I need to know what makes
her tick. After, the fucking will be twice as incredible.
She looks around for her purse, as if to go but I put my hand on hers. The bold move pays off.
Her now amber eyes flick up to mine and damned if the centers don’t go big and black. Her
nostrils flare, her mouth drops open, and a tongue slips over her lower lip.
“Can I get you a drink? To celebrate?”
“Ah, yeah. Sure.” She slides her hand out from under mine.
I motion the waiter over. “What’re you havin’ Ms. Russo?”
“Samantha, please.”
“Not Sam?” I wonder about her name.
She blushes. “My family called me Sam when I was a kid but in the FBI, I kept being
mistaken for a man. Whenever I showed up, I was at a disadvantage. I figure it’s best to let
people know my gender, up front.”
“It shouldn’t matter.”
“But it does, otherwise you wouldn’t laughed at my five-year plan.”
“It wasn’t your gender, sugar. It was your lack of experience.”
The waiter drops off our beer, giving me time to recoup. “For example, do FBI analysts learn
how to fire a weapon?”
“We held my sweet sixteen party at a gun range. Uncle Vinny’s treat.”
Grinning, she leans over the table and whispers. “I grew up in Bensonhurst. My dad’s a cop
but my uncle is Vinny Vitale.
Fuck me. “Whoa there, little lady. Back up a second. You’re related to the Vincent Vitale?” I
stare into those big brown eyes that blink back innocently.
“Yeah. So?”
“Does Slate know?”
“What? Should I have listed him as a reference?”
“Would he?”
“What?”
 “Have given you a good reference?”
“Whad do you think?” Her Brooklyn accent becomes more apparent.
“I dunno, why you don’tch you tell me?” I mimic hers.
“What da fuck?” She grins and gives me a rude gesture with an upward swipe of her hand.
Then, she breaks into giggles, downs her drink, and takes off her black suit coat.
“Phew.” She wipes her watering eyes and undoes the three top buttons of her white dress
shirt.
“Waiter!” She puts two index fingers into the sides of her mouth and whistles. “Yo! Over
here. Please. A couple of beers.”
“A-cuppulla bee-ahs?” Smiling, I repeat the phrase using her accent.
“You godda problem with dat?” Blond hair tumbles to her shoulders when she pulls a
butterfly-like clip out of her hair.
Near her forehead, a blond lock frames her face. The rest of her glorious mane is a waterfall
of every shade under the sun. I tuck an escaped lock behind her ear so I can touch her and when I
do, my cock crams against my jeans.
Hell, I’ve guarded gorgeous movie stars and cover models and kept my over-eager appendage
in check. What is it about this gal? Maybe if we fuck, it will all make sense.
Our waiter rushes over with our drinks, drops them on the table, and scowls at Sam. “Next
time, wave me over or do something normal.”
“Apologies.” When he leaves, she puts the beer to her pretty lips, gulps, then sets it down on
the table, eyes back on me.
“Just so you know, I wasn’t done with your interview this afternoon. I was waiting for you to
let your guard down, then I was going to get what I wanted.”
Nursing my beer, I study her pretty face, and wonder if she’ll sleep with me. “What do you
want, Sam Russo?”
At my seductive tone, her breath hitches and she leans in as if about to kiss me. “I want so
badly…”
She stops, brushes her lips across mine, and her lids flutter. When her index finger caresses
the back of my neck, I think about all the ways I am going to do her.
Come on, sugar, say it.
“…to not have to fuck you to get a job.”
I guess I deserved that. Leaning back, I try to look like she didn’t slap me in the face.
“Darlin’, I don’t have much say whether you get hired or not.”
“Get the fuck over yourself.” She downs her beer. “Listen, I would love to go upstairs with
you. I really would but I’m still in a relationship.”
“Your body language says a whole lot different.”
“It’s complicated.”
“You want to talk about it?” I don’t want her to go, not yet. I can’t remember being more
entertained.
“No way.”
“What?”
“You want to listen to me rant about my boyfriend?”
I nod, watching all the incredible emotions flit across her face in an instant. Damn. What
would it be like to watch her while she comes?
“Well, to be honest, when I move to New York, I’m not inviting him to join me. I feel bad
because I have no idea where he’ll live.”
 When I raise my brows, she sips her beer and sighs. “He’s a writer, waiting for his big break.”
“How long you been together?”
“We met our senior year in college. We were so crazy about each other and had such big
dreams. He was everything I was not. We were good together.”
I can’t help but notice the past tense as I do the math. Hell, that’s seven times longer than any
of my relationships.
She shakes her head back and forth, playing with the cardboard coaster with the bar’s logo.
“God, I have no idea what to do. Is it wrong for me to want him to pull his own weight? Bring
home a paycheck? This is not what I signed up for.”
I put my hand over hers. “Samantha, you deserve a lot more than that. When you dump the
loser, give me a call. I have a black belt in rebound-sex.”
She smiles as she stands. “I might take you up on that. Listen, thanks for listening. You’re
alright. When you want me, all you got to do is whistle. I know you know how to whistle,
don't you, Suds? You just put your lips together and blow."
Sexy as fuck, she turns on a heel, flicks her hair, and saunters out of the room.
Like Captain Harry Morgan in that old movie, I wonder what hit me and stare at the door long
after she’s gone.
 Chapter 6
Sam

When I get home, it’s late. Unfolding the futon in the living room, I try to convince myself
I’m being thoughtful for not waking up Will but in my heart I know differently. Tonight made
me realize it’s way past time to us to go our separate ways. My mind whirs as I grab the sleeping
bag out of the closet.
Seven years is a huge investment. What if Will was my one chance at finding happiness and I
blew it. Then, I recall how insulted he was when I suggested counseling. He swore he was totally
committed to our relationship but when I asked about the lack of sex, he claimed it was my fault.
I was the one freezing him out.
Guilty about flirting, I think back on Sebastian. On the opposite end of the male spectrum, it’s
almost unfair to compare.
Will’s phone pings on the counter, breaking my thoughts. He usually keeps it by his bed stand
at night and I have no intention of snooping until I read the message on the front screen.
“Hey baby. Call me.”
No way. I swipe, attempt to log in with a couple passwords, and hit gold on the third try.
Using your date of birth as your pin? Seriously Will?
From there, I check more of his messages and my heart sinks. No wonder he hasn’t wanted to
have sex. I count more than a dozen different women he’s texted recently. Cripes. Is he whoring
himself for money or for fun? Maybe both.
No wonder he’s had no time to write or wanted sex with me.
As my stomach wretches, I make a mental note to schedule an appointment with my GYN.
God knows how long he’s been at this.
I want to scream, wake him up, and kick his ass out the door. Maybe I should call Uncle
Vinny and let Will’s body wash up alongside the Potomac. Or, I could call my dad. He would
shoot Will in a heartbeat. He always said my boyfriend was a loser.
In college, my family’s disapproval only made me want Will more.
Shit. I can’t stay one more night in the same apartment as that man-whore cheating bastard.
Are you fucking kidding me? I haven’t had sex for six months! My fault? I am such an idiot.
First my job and then this. No wonder I got fired from the FBI. I must be the laughing stock of
my whole department.
When a phone pings, I assume hey-baby isn’t done texting. However, his phone is blank and
it’s my cell that’s blinking.

Suds: Get home safe?

Me: Who is this?
Suds: Sebastian
Me: Can I call u?
Suds: Anytime.

I grab my purse and walk out the door toward the stairwell as I picture him all sorts of naked
in his hotel room.
“What’s up?” His voice reminds me I’m the one who called.
“Were you serious about the black belt in revenge sex?” I cannot believe I’m doing this.
“Yeah… ” His breath hisses and the sound goes right between my legs.
I bite down on my lower lip. “The douchebag’s been cheating on me… for months.”
“So you’re thinking a little revenge sex?”
“More like manna in the desert.”
He chuckles. “How long has it been?”
“Over six months.”
His whistle distorts in the small speaker. “Ouch. Were you trying for sainthood?”
“Apparently.”
“Give me five, I’ll come get you. Wait inside your building, I’ll flash the lights.”
“Don’t you want my address?”
“Sugar, I knew almost everything about you the minute I logged into my laptop.”
“I don’t know whether to be flattered or frightened.”
He chuckles. “See you in a few.”
 Chapter 7

Suds

Naked, I hop into jeans, grab my sneakers, and slip into my jacket. Tying my shoes at the
elevator, a pang of guilt knocks on my conscience’s door so I review my morality and
motivation. Here’s the deal. If a beautiful woman offers to share her body with me, who am I to
refuse? Besides, I’m a damn good lover and next time she falls in love, she won’t settle. In truth,
I’m doing her a huge service.
A tiny voice tries to get me to reconsider but the bulge in my jeans wins out. As I flash my
lights in front of her brownstone, I hold my breath because if she’s changed her mind, I’ll
probably drive to New York. There’s no way I’ll sleep after this.
The door under the stairs opens and she waves as she approaches. Wearing the same outfit as
she had on earlier, she peeks into the passenger side window, then hops in.
“You sure about this?” I hold her gaze, willing the truth out of her.
She leans over the cup holder, puts one hand high on my thigh, and brushes her lips across
mine. “I’m certain.”
Shivering like a randy teen, I push her fingers south, away from my need so I can drive. “Has
it really been six months since you’ve had sex?”
Nodding, Sam rolls her eyes, and sighs. “Can you believe he blamed me?”
“He’s a moron. Why did you stay with him so long?”
“At first I loved him. Then, I guess I didn’t want to give up. Seven years is a huge chunk of
time.”
“You know what they say about throwing good money after bad.”
“I thought there’d be dividends.”
“That’s the trouble with junk bonds.”
“Too risky?”
“Uh huh. They look good at first but best to get rid of them fast.” I put more pressure on the
gas pedal when she squeezes my knee.
“Tell me, what kind of asset are you?” Her sultry voice goes straight to my groin causing a
lack of oxygen to the brain which would explain what comes out of my mouth next.
“I would guess I’m a long term, high yield investment but no one’s ever stuck around long
enough to find out.”
“Ahhh. Good to know.” When her hand slides up and unbuttons my jeans, I almost lose my
fucking mind and lower my zipper to keep the metal from damaging the goods.
“Sugar, best you let me focus on the road.”
She stares with her mouth dropped open, catching flies in the flickering light of the street
lamps. I swell at her admiration and her fingers wrap around me.
There’s two long blocks to go.
Looking both ways, I drive us down a long ramp into the hotel’s parking garage. In the
furthest dark corner, I unwrap her fingers, and tuck myself back into my jeans.
After I park, I race around the car, grab her hand, and pull her into a heated kiss. She’s been
torturing me the whole drive, releasing my inner Neanderthal. The wild man within pulls her hair
and owns her mouth with a heated kiss.
My tongue goes deep and I press her lower half into my aching lust until we’re caught in the
bright headlights of an incoming SUV.
 Dammit. I grab her arm and run with her to the elevator bays where she punches the up button
repeatedly.
“The more you press, the faster it goes.”
“No shit?” Despite my painful hard on, I smirk.
The doors slide open, I press four, and we both face front with me behind her. Wrapping my
arms around her waist, I pull her butt against me and kiss her neck’s soft flesh.
When we reach my floor, we intertwine hands and stride down the hall. After swiping my key
card, I pull her inside and I press her to the closing door. My hard want at her abs, I take both
cheeks in my palms and reclaim her mouth.
My tongue demands entrance, she opens and I explore her fully while her fingers unzip my
jacket. Soft palms explore my chest and my back. When they slip into the waistband of my jeans,
I moan.
Hell, I’m already on fire and she’s pouring on gasoline.
I start to work the small buttons of her blouse and am about to rip it off when she takes over.
While she’s busy, I tug down her jeans and undies. With her clothes pooled at her feet, I reach a
finger between her blond curls and sink into pure, heated honey.
I show her my wet finger and as I taste her sweetness, the black centers of her eyes fully
dilate. She unzips my jeans while I unclasp the back of her sensible bra and let the straps slide
down her arms and off.
I had no idea she was so lusciously full. My palms caress her fleshy wonder, I squeeze, and
she moans.
Kissing her again, I thrust in and out as I kick off my shoes, and step out of my jeans. Freed at
last, my desire swells against her.
Somewhere along the way, she’s grabbed a condom. It crackles in her hand so I release her
mouth and let her sheath me.
She rolls it down slowly, driving me mad and when she’s done, her eyes lock onto mine.
“Hard and fast.”
I pick her up, drop her on the bed, and pull off her shoes so I can pull away her pants. Then, I
separate her knees and kiss up her thighs until I reach her treasure.
I kiss the swollen nub and almost at once, she comes apart with a scream.
Climbing up her body, I place myself at her entrance. She wraps her legs around my waist
with her heels locked at my lower back.
“Go.” She arches and takes in my tip.
I don’t want to hurt her so ease in and let her adjust to my size. I’ve never had to work so hard
to stay in control.
When we’re core to core, she does this shudder thing around my cock and all my fucking
brain cells fire at once. On my elbows, I kiss her, and thrust in deep.
“More.” Firm thighs squeeze hard and happy to oblige, I pull out fully and dive in again.
Her nails dig into me, she bites my earlobe. “Faster, damn it.”
Something inside me snaps. I pull out completely, turn her onto her hands and knees, and slap
her behind. Then, I hold her in place and begin the rhythm older than time.
I start slow, letting her rise to her high with my finger on her center. Her excitement drives me
on. She bucks back, slams into me, letting me know her strength.
“Fuck me.”
Dirty talk? Oh shit, no, fuck me. “Yes, ma’am.”
I plunge into her tight core until we’re lubricated in sweat. She’s sighing and screaming and
begging. As flesh slaps against flesh, the sweet globes of her butt bounce and the headboard
bangs against the wall.
When her muscles tighten, she stops, and I tense. My balls fill, my body coils, and I let go
into the depth of pleasure, shouting with this primal noise I don’t even recognize as my own.
When I finish, she falls flat onto her stomach with me on top, panting, unable to move.
Damn. What the fuck was that?
My cock twitches inside her, wondering if it’s too soon to have another go at it. She feels it
move and wiggles her butt.
When I pull out, she groans. “Not yet.”
“New condom.”
I throw out the old, replace it with another, and when I return, she’s on her back with her legs
spread open.
“Long term, high yield?” She grins.
My mouth waters at her creamy goodness. “Sugar, for you? I may rethink my whole
portfolio.”
We explore each other all night long then sleep in until noon. I’m the first to wake and for the
longest time, I watch her wondering how I’m supposed to let her go.
In the shower, my phone pings, and it’s Slate, asking me to call him back so I do.
“What’s up?” I whisper so as not to wake Sam.
“Jeesh, Suds? You got a woman in your room?”
“Yeah. What of it?”
“It’s not Samantha Russo, is it?”
“Ah, it might be, why?”
“Shit, Suds. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Where do you want me to start?”
“Whatever. Just get her to New York. Patten wants her on the job immediately.”
At the sound of her clearing her throat, I turn around. “She’s here. Can I tell her?”
“Put me on speaker.”
I press the icon then hold the small electronics between us so Sam can hear. “Go ahead.”
“Ms. Russo? We’re offering you a position as a consultant. Interested?” A healthy salary pops
up on the screen and she grins.
“Manhattan, here I come.”
 Hi luvs!

Thanks for downloading my Suds & Sam prequel. They’re just starting their hilarious
adventures. God knows where they’ll lead me next. Scroll down to the start of the first in the
series, releasing in October of 2019.

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Stella
 Chapter 1
Suds Sutcliff

Sipping on my cappuccino, I stare out the front window. Just off Fifth Ave, tourists already
crowd the sidewalk. A few working stiffs, like myself, expertly glide between them at the quick
pace of the city.
Well-dressed inhabitants stop for coffee, barely awake in their designer lounge wear.
Where is she?
Like a randy teen waiting at the lockers, I stand inside my favorite coffee joint, thinking of
how I left her.
Revenge sex. That’s what she called it but not me. I say it was fucking mind-blowing. My
cock goes hard, just like it does every time I’ve thought about her since that night. At first, she’d
laughed off my advances but later pinged my phone and met me in the hotel bar.
Days have passed but I remember the moment as if it was last night. A beautiful woman
wanted to share her body with me. Who was I to say no?
I pace. My friends all warned me this would happen but I’d laughed them off. They said I was
playing with fire. I snickered. All happily married, they’d drunk the Kool-Aid but not me, never
me.
Even now, while one part of my brain remains cool and collected, the other half knows I’m
totally fucked. I got issues, says my right brain. The left flashes a picture as she came apart in my
mouth, and again, as her ankles locked behind my back, her nails digging into my arms while
screaming out my name.
Shit. I adjust my jeans and try to think of something, anything else but it’s too hard.
I chuckle at my own double meaning and then choke down the last of my coffee.
Holy fuck, there she is.
At first, I play it casual-like but when she looks up and smiles, something inside me snaps.
Taking three long steps, I open the door, toss my cup into the garbage, and pull her sweet curves
against me.
Her lips meet mine, as hungry as I recall and as her palms slide under the erotic zone below
my ears to the back of my neck, I groan and thrust in my tongue.
Fuck Fifth Avenue, fuck the tourists, I want to fuck this woman.
She suddenly realizes how public a place and how private the kiss because she pulls out of my
grasp, face bright red. “Oh shit. I mean, hi.”
I eye her up and down, not ready to stop what I started. Her prim and proper black suit is
doing a number on me because I know the passionate woman that lives underneath. It’s like
having a dirty secret and I love it.
I lean into her ear. “I want to fuck you so bad. The lady’s room?”
Her eyes widen. “Ah, I have an interview with your boss in five minutes.”
“As I recall, that’s all we’ll need.”
She blushes even deeper. “I can’t. No. Really. I need this job.”
I was the one who convinced my boss to give her a chance but I’m not the kind of asshole
who would remind her of that. She’ll be between my legs soon enough.
“Come on then. Get your coffee to go.”
She orders a small caramel latte, extra sweet and then turns to me. “Where to?”
I put a palm to her back, fingers lingering on the top of her sweet buns and direct her into the
building next door. I sign her in with the guard then swipe my card in the elevator which allows
us entrance to the twelfth floor.
On the way up, her phone pings, she rolls her eyes, and deletes the message.
I question her with raised brows and she shrugs. “The ex. He’s not taking our breakup real
well.”
The cheating bastard. His loss however, is my gain. If he hadn’t left his phone on the kitchen
counter, she never would’ve seen his cheating texts.
I should send him an engraved thank you card.
Chuckling to myself, the elevator pings, and we walk into the offices of Patten Securities. Still
in her scrubs, Slate’s wife, Lilac, gives me a hug.
“Looking good, darlin’. Anytime you want a divorce, look me up.”
“Thanks. Got to run. Already late for my shift.” The beautiful blond gives me a hug. “Be
good. Stay out of trouble.”
“Moi?” I feign an indignant look. “When have I ever-”
She glances at Sam. “Don’t believe anything he says.”
Then, she takes the stairs and is gone.
“C’mon. Slate’s a stickler for promptness.” I glance up at the clock as I knock on the open
door. “Nine AM on the dot.”
Slate stands, just as fucking fit as he was in the service. Like all of us, he takes that shit
seriously.
“Ms. Russo. Please sit.” He points to a comfortably padded chair in front of his desk.
I sit next to her and Slate comes around to join us. “I trust you had no problem finding the
office?”
Small talk? I grin at Slate. Seriously dude?
“I uh, I met Suds, rather he m-met me at the coffee shop.” Samantha smiles nervously, her
hands clinging to her purse in her lap.
I slide a coffee to Slate and open my own. Interviews and caffeine, in my opinion go together
like, guns and bullets, grits and gravy.
We take a minute to open the lids then Slate starts in. “So, do you still want to join our little
establishment?”
She nods, a small milk mustache on her upper lips which I am dying to wipe off.
“Good, good. I checked your references. Fifteen years with the FBI. A senior analyst. Your
first boss had nothing but praise. Your second, not so much, to be honest.”
“Yes, sir. I’m not surprised.”
“Would you like to explain?”
I glance over at Slate, eyebrows raised. I thought he had agreed to hire her. This sounds more
like another interview. I know she risked everything to move to New York as does he. He must
be testing her nerve under pressure. If she fails, the only work she’ll ever see is answering the
phones and setting up appointments. Perhaps, he’ll let her analyze a little data in a small office
cube.
She wipes her mouth, face blushing when she notices the milk on her napkin. “I am going to
be perfectly honest with you, Mr. Slate.”
“Slate, just Slate. No mister.” He says it in the same manner as Sean Connery. Bond. James
Bond.
Samantha clears her throat. “Ah, okay. Slate. My position was outsourced to artificial
intelligence and a team in Ireland. Apparently, it was cheaper to move my job offshore so I put in
for another job in DC. My first trial involved interviewing suspects, like Suds here.” Her eyes
flash toward me and I grimace.
Yeah, I got her canned.
“My boss fired me on the spot.” She sips her coffee and I give her credit when she puts it
down on the table and juts out her chin.
Slate loves that shit. She owned up to her failure. I was a complete ass during the interview
but in a way, it’s Slate’s fault, as well. He told me to share nothing with the FBI so I didn’t. I
suppose, on retrospect, I could’ve been a little nicer about it.
Slate looks into his laptop like he’s looking over her resume and I swallow a grin at his act.
He doesn’t need to review anything, he’s got an almost photographic memory.
He clears his throat. “I also checked your references. They all speak highly of you. Dr. Jones
sends her regards.”
Sam smiles widely. “She’s amazing. Have you spoken to JASON? Oh my God, you’d never
know it was artificial intelligence. He sounds so real.”
“We’ve worked with her unit some. Glad to know you have had good results. Some find it
difficult to deal with.”
Her brows go up. “Really? Hmm. I can’t imagine why.”
My boss regards her face for any sign of deception. Finding none, he sighs. “I also spoke to
Police Chief Michael Russo and-”
“Listen, I’m real sorry about name dropping my dad. I just really need this job.”
“He suggested I hire you on as a receptionist and if anything happens to you, he will make
damn sure we can’t do business in Manhattan.”
Her face pales. “No. I will fix this right now.” She stands with her phone in hand.
“Sit down, Ms. Russo. If I succumbed to threats, we’d be out of business.” He eyes her and I
hold my breath, wondering if she’s going to be out on her ass.
I got her into this mess so I rather feel responsible. “Slate, I think-“
“Shut it, Suds, or leave the room.”
Fuck. “Yes, sir.” I say sir with as much disrespect as I can and still not get fired.
He glares. “I’ll ignore that.”
Then, his eyes fixate on the tops of her bright red cheeks. “Ms. Russo. I also got a call from a
Vincent Vitale. He said he would take it as a personal favor should I decide not to hire you.”
She rolls her eyes then curses under her breath. “Shit.”
Slate stands, walks to his desk, and makes a big deal out of hitting enter. “Check your email.
Patten hires all his people as contractors first. If you make the grade, we’ll sign you up full
time.”
“Thank you, you won’t be sorry. I promise. I’m good at what I do.”
He walks back to where she sits and holds out his hand. “Don’t thank me too soon. Find an
empty cube, logon to our network, and look over our offer carefully. If you like what you see,
you can fill everything out there. Shut the door on your way out.”
After she departs, I frown. “What the fuck? We never hire consultants.”
“If she’s any good, she’ll find out soon enough”
“You said you’d hire her. She moved here on your promise.”
“To be precise, I did offer her a job.”
“As a consultant. I assume that means part-time and no benefits?”
“Listen, Suds, what is it with you and this woman? Since when do you care who I hire and
how? I get that you slept with her but that doesn’t mean she’s qualified. She wants to be a private
detective, for God’s sake. Despite being a brilliant analyst, some part of her brain is squirrely.”
“True, but-”
“You need to dump this one, fast. Both her dad and her uncle would shoot you just as soon as
look at you.”
“Fuck.” I stand and grab the door handle. He’s right. The sooner I drop her, the better. She’s
already getting under my skin.
“It’s nothing. I just felt bad she was fired on account of me.” I glare, better able to lie than any
of his bodyguards.
After about a minute, he grunts. “Get the fuck out of here and don’t let me hear you’re
fucking her. Understand?”
“Okay. Y’all won’t hear a thing."

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