Page 62 of Never Dance with the Devils (Never Say Never #6)
MADDOX
I ’ve done the math and there’s approximately forty gazillion ways this could go wrong. It’s gonna have to be one of those ‘fake it till you make it’ type deals, for both me and Riggs. But especially for Riggs.
A fundraising gala invitation wasn’t on either of our bingo cards. Yet, here we are, at T-minus one hour from the start of the welcome cocktail hour. And I’m wearing a tuxedo.
“Are you two done yet?” I call out. Kayla and Riggs are still in the bathroom, putting the finishing touches on their hair.
Well, Kayla is. Riggs is probably staring at her with lustful drool dripping off his lip.
Shit, why didn’t I do that? I could watch Kayla get dressed and undressed, made up and unmade every day and still discover something new each time, so why am I sitting alone, waiting while doomscrolling on my phone?
“You’d better not be fucking without me,” I say, going to hunt them down.
They wouldn’t. We wouldn’t .
We’ve had some pretty detailed conversations about what we want our relationship to look like, feel like, and be like.
Since none of us have been in a throuple before, it took some deep thought and honest examination of where we wanted our boundaries to lie, individually and with each other.
One of the things we determined was that sex is all three of us or none of us.
“Just helping with her zipper,” Riggs answers as he comes into the living room.
He’s wearing a tuxedo, the same as me, but while I’m comfortable, he’s pulling at his shirt cuffs anxiously.
The suit is custom-tailored to fit him perfectly, so the discomfort is more mental than physical.
It has to be tailored. There’s no way he’d fit in one otherwise.
“Asshole. I could’ve helped if I’d known she needed me.” My mission, to distract and redirect.
“She didn’t need you. I had it handled.” Riggs smirks, the shit-eating grin telling me my trick has worked. But before I can celebrate the small victory, he holds his arms out, posing like a paper doll. “You’re sure I’m good?”
“Did you remember the black socks?” I tease, and he glares daggers, the anger at the surface disguising his deeper nervousness. “You’re good, man. Tonight will be fun, you’ll see.” I’m ninety-nine percent sure that’s a lie, but I’m hoping the pep talk will help soothe both our nerves.
“Yeah, ‘cuz a night of small talk with a roomful of corporate people sounds like a fucking blast.”
“What if I’m one of those people?”
Kayla’s voice has both of us whipping our heads her way. She looks stunning in a floor-length pink gown with an off the shoulder neckline that makes me want to kiss across her collarbones, down her chest, and beneath the structured fabric.
“You look stunning, Princess,” I growl, instantly deciding the best part of tonight will be coming back home and getting her out of that dress.
That was going to be the case no matter what, but seeing her with her hair in a sleek updo, wearing an elegant dress and strappy heels, with tasteful jewelry makes me want to un-prim and un-proper her right now.
Fuck, how did Riggs manage to keep his hands off her? Much less zip her into that dress instead of out of it?
“Thank you. You look quite handsome yourself.” She gives me a knowing look, reading my mind, with all its filthy ideas about what this evening could be. She reaches out to straighten my bowtie, and even though we both know it’s already perfect, I let her, welcoming her touch any way I can get it.
Once she adjusts it and runs her palms across my chest, giving those fantasies a place to come to life (ahem, my cock), she shoves me toward the front door with a laugh. “We don’t want to be late.”
I don’t give a shit about being late and neither does Riggs. But Kayla does. Tonight is the largest annual fundraiser for the Harrington Foundation. It will also be a very public appearance for the three of us.
I can nearly feel Riggs retreating into his shell, so I join forces with Kayla. “The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.”
That gets us all moving.
Riggs had a fair point about the small talk. If I never have to do another surface-level dissection of the Devils’ plans for the upcoming season, it will be too soon.
Of course, we’re planning to play our best and aim for the Cup. What the hell else would we be doing?
But hockey talk is significantly more comfortable than the curious glances that have been angled toward us all evening.
Kayla warned us that the society crowds’ version of ‘boyfriend’ is ‘close friend’, so she has introduced us as her ‘close friends’ to everyone who has approached us.
There haven’t been as many raised brows as I would’ve expected, but I suspect that’s a product of the Botox, not any easy acceptance.
Ironically, I think it’s Kayla’s reputation as a ball-buster that has saved us from most of the too-intimate questions. Compared to her, Riggs and I are foie gras in their eyes. But no one dares to fuck with her.
I, for one, am glad. Riggs, however, is still completely on edge, occasionally glancing around the room like an escape hatch might conveniently open up to rescue him from the conversation right in front of him.
“How’s that new data mining collaboration going?” a man asks Kayla. I forget his name, but he’s been talking shop with Kayla for several minutes while Riggs, me, and the guy’s wife stand politely by. I don’t mind since it takes the focus off us for a moment.
“Exceeding expectations,” Kayla answers with a polite smile.
I don’t understand the specifics of what Kayla’s doing with Data Logic Solutions, but she’s happy with the new direction the project is going, and that’s what matters to me—Kayla’s happiness .
“Better than Jessup?” the man asks with a curious furrow of his brow. “Word is they’re the only ones who can do what they do.”
“ Were they?” Kayla questions slyly.
The man drops his chin, his brows now lifting over shrewd eyes. “Interesting. You know, I would love another option given Jessup’s reputation for…” He lowers his voice. “Well, you know.”
Kayla knows. I know. This guy knows. Hell, everyone knows.
Brent Jessup was all over social media for a couple of weeks after those videos went viral.
There were parodies making him out to be even more sniveling and weak than he actually is and cheering for Kayla’s bold confrontation, hailing it as a model of what every woman wishes she could do when faced with assholes like that.
People were doing deep dives on women’s representation in the boardroom, citing Kayla as a prime example of the change that’s still needed, given she had every possible head start as a Harrington yet still struggles to be taken seriously, and the name Jessup has become synonymous with misogyny, which is definitely not the legacy David Jessup hoped to leave in his company’s wake.
The coverage about our relationship served to further fuel matters.
There were still comments calling Kayla a Mad-Trick and those deeming us ‘disgusting and immoral’, but the truth is, we just don’t care.
Those people aren’t in our lives, in our relationship, and certainly not in our bedroom.
We know what we’re doing is right for us and we’re happy, and that’s good enough for us .
“Nancy Lakeman from Data Logic Solutions is here. I could introduce you?” Kayla offers.
“I would appreciate that. Shall we?” He holds out a hand, letting Kayla lead the way.
We stay close, and anyone who didn’t know us might think we’re her security, but if a guard dared to touch her the way we do, I’d kill him with my bare hands.
If, and that’s a big if, I could get to him before Riggs murdered him.
After Kayla makes the introduction, she smoothly slips away, leaving Nancy and the man to discuss business. “You’re good,” I growl at her, catching her around the waist.
“Of course I am,” she says, not bragging but merely stating facts. “I’ve been doing this since I was six years old.”
I can’t imagine attending a gala like this as a child.
I can barely stand it now and Riggs is looking more and more uncomfortable as the evening wears on, but Kayla is completely at home and in her element—working the room, making connections, and charming everyone she meets while we follow her around.
A bell dings over the speaker, interrupting the soft music that’s been playing, and Kayla explains, “That means it’s time to go into the ballroom.”
“This isn’t over?” Riggs grunts.
Kayla laughs, the sound light and bright. “That was only the cocktail hour. We still have dinner, speeches, and the auction.”
Riggs pales, his eyes going vacant. “Tell me you’re fucking with me.”
Kayla links her arm through his elbow, pulling him toward the double doors that are now open. “You’ll be fine. I’ll tell you which fork to use. ”
He meets my gaze behind Kayla’s back and mouths, “Forks? Fuck me.”
“Later,” I mouth back with a wink, and he scowls.
But it’s forced, hiding the chuckle he started to make.
He knows the whispers, and it’s a reminder that he’ll be fine.
Kayla will help, I’ll help, and in the end, the worst that can happen is that he uses the dessert fork for his dinner.
Truthfully, nobody’s going to give a shit about that when Kayla’s sitting between us at one of the Harrington family tables.
“How do you think bidding on the Devils’ package will go?” I ask.
“Uh…” Kayla goes pink, looking as though she’s been caught red-handed stealing from the cookie jar.
I lean in, whispering hotly in her ear. “What did you do?”
“Bought it,” she says with an embarrassed grin. “I gave a sizeable premium above face value for them, but Angeline told me how special the signed jerseys are and I couldn’t imagine anyone else wearing them. I wanted them for myself. They’re at home, in my closet.”
An image of Kayla wearing nothing but my jersey pops into my mind. My name on her back, her nipples hard beneath the slick fabric, her long legs sticking out, her pussy bare and ready for me to touch, taste, and fill.
I groan, shifting in my slacks. “Fuck, we should go to your place tonight instead.”
Kayla gives me a faux-pouty look, puffing her lip out the slightest bit. “Oh,” she says, feigning disappointment, “I was hoping for a nice, long soak in the hot tub after wearing a tight dress and high heels all night.”
She knows I’m wrapped around her finger and we’ll end up in our hot tub. But next time we’re at her condo? She’s getting fucked in my jersey. Probably Riggs’s too. And yes, I know that means getting her dressed and undressed mid-fuck, but it’ll be worth it… for all of us.
“Hot tub it is,” I concede, trying to make it sound like my idea.
Her smile is victorious, but we’ll all win. I’ll make sure of it.