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Title: Roosters 3: Bastard’s New Baby
Author: Raisa Greywood
Jackson: I need a wife. I’d much rather keep my string of submissives and the occasional lady I can take out in public, but my job — no, my very identity as Jackson McKenna, CEO of McKenna Logistics — is at risk if I don’t find some woman to marry. I wish I could find a woman who could do both. She would be intelligent, beautiful, of course, and be filthy enough to drop to her knees and service me in a parking lot before walking into a country club with perfect lipstick and manners. Nobody’s that lucky, though. That woman doesn’t exist.
Siobhan: I need a husband. I’d much rather focus my attention on Andy, my nephew and the son of my deceased sister. Despite my sister and her husband’s wishes, his grandparents want his trust fund and threaten to take him from me. They call me a whore and say I’m not a good guardian because I’m not married. In this small Ohio town, their argument holds weight. But Siobhan Jane O’Malley doesn’t roll over for anyone, and they’re going to find out I fight dirty. And I’m going to have to get very dirty when Jackson McKenna makes me his wife.
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Siobhan closed her eyes and prayed for patience. Lila Sievers gave her ulcers on a good day. “I don’t remember how many times I’ve told you this, Lila. I. Have. A. Job. Interview.”
Andy’s grandmother snorted. “A likely story. You’re getting all dolled up in that cheap suit for a date. And you expect me to watch my grandson while you gallivant around the county.” Straightening to her full height of just under five feet, Lila wagged a bony finger in Siobhan’s face. “Let me tell you this, missy—”
A horn tooted outside and she heaved a sigh of relief as she gathered her portfolio and purse. “Thank you for watching Andy. I’ll be back in a few hours. He should wake up soon, but his breakfast is already in the fridge in the purple bowl. Please don’t forget to change him this time.”
Lila scowled. “As if I need instructions from the likes of you.”
She had the door half open, but slammed it and spun around to face Lila. “It took a week to get rid of the diaper rash from the last time you took care of him. I’d prefer Andy not go through that again.” Looking at the clock on the stove, Siobhan winced and raced outside into the rain. She didn’t have time to deal with Lila anymore.
Watching her heels and the hem of her skirt, she climbed into her neighbor’s truck. “Thanks for the lift, Mr. James. I really appreciate it.”
Reggie James spat with unerring accuracy into the Mason jar between his legs. Siobhan was both entranced by his skill and appalled by the action and the nasty brown fluid arrowing into the receptacle. But he was her neighbor, and for all his bad habits, he was a good man. There were far too few of those these days, and Laura, his wife, was a lucky lady.
“No problem.” He glanced sideways at her, “I would have looked at it, you know.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s just a starter motor, but thanks. I already got a tow truck out.”
“Good idea. You don’t want to ruin your pretty suit messing with it. I’ll be in town until noon if you need a ride back. Just look for me at Marge’s Diner.”
“Thanks.” She listened with half an ear to his tales of his great-grandchildren, too focused on her mental preparations for her interview with McKenna Logistics. Thankfully, he didn’t notice her inattention.
She blinked when the transmission grumbled as he put his old truck into park, surprised that they’d already arrived.
His grizzled jaw worked his lips into a smile around the wad of tobacco in his mouth. “Good luck with the interview, honey! You’ll like Jackson. He’s a good boy.”
“Thanks!” She opened the door and dropped to the pavement, opening her umbrella. This summer storm wasn’t the best way to make an entrance, but she’d have to manage. “I’ll meet you or give you a call if I find another ride.”
She slammed the door and waved as he drove away, leaving her at the corner of Main and Spruce. The Prairie School building across the street would hopefully be her new workplace if she managed to nail this interview. It was a temporary assignment, covering for Jackson McKenna’s PA, who was out for maternity leave. It was also a shot at getting something that wasn’t bartending or waiting tables. She mentally thanked her friend Moira from the book club for the scoop on the job. She’d have to find a really filthy book for her to read after this.
Siobhan tried to forget the fight she’d had with Lila that morning. To hear Andy’s grandmother, Siobhan was nothing but a whore because she hadn’t found a husband before twenty-five. Lila had even gone so far as to hire a private investigator to take pictures through her windows, hoping to catch some incriminating photographs.
That was yet another reason to hate Lila. She hadn’t gotten laid in months, thanks to the nosy old cow. She was even afraid to use her vibrator under the covers, for fear that the creepy slime of a detective Lila hired had installed cameras in her house.
How a great guy like her brother-in-law had come from such awful people would forever be a mystery to her. There was a reason Dan and Susan had chosen her to be their son’s godmother and guardian. Hell, it was because of Lila and Alfred Sievers that she’d sold a very lucrative business in Chicago to move into Dan and Susan’s old house in the middle of nowhere in southern Ohio. They’d gotten a court order to keep her from taking him out of state without permission.
She knew they were waiting for her to dip into his trust fund, but she wouldn’t. They would be the first ones to scream misuse, and she refused to give them the opportunity. They thought they could drive her off by taking away her livelihood and spreading enough nasty rumors that she couldn’t find work. They’d learn differently soon enough. Siobhan Jane O’Malley didn’t take that shit from anyone.
That two million dollars was there for his care, but it was his legacy. Not hers, and certainly not Lila’s. She’d already seen the printed MLS listings for Hilton Head condos on their coffee table. If they were given custody, his trust would go everywhere but toward his care.
Though she could ask her parents, she didn’t want to bother them. They didn’t have the financial assets to take Lila on in a legal battle, and the situation would only worry them. Besides, Susan and Dan had asked her to care for Andy, not either set of grandparents.
She could take care of Andy by herself, thank you very fucking much. She didn’t need a damned thing: not a man, and not Andy’s money. They’d do fine, and come hell or high water, she’d live up to her sister’s last request.
“Hey Mikey, you think you want to try some of this?”
Jackson stared down at the slender blonde on the bed as he tugged his jeans over his hips. He’d already given her sufficient aftercare that she was bright eyed and ready for round two – a necessary evil when playing in a private home. He was always happier when he could foist the important duty off on someone else. “Sorry, honey. I need to motor. Got things to do.”
He had no idea what her name was, but that was fine. She didn’t know his either. He never, ever gave his conquests his real name.
She pouted and stroked the landing strip over her pussy. Rope marks covered her wrists and ankles, evidence of their play. They’d fade soon enough. When she bent her knee, he saw thin stripes from his crop on the creamy skin of her upper thigh. He felt vaguely guilty that he’d taken his irritation at his job out on her tender flesh, but she hadn’t complained.
The smell of their sex was thick in her stuffy bedroom and he very nearly forgot about work. But duty called, and he needed to turn himself back into Jackson and leave Mike behind for another evening. She had no idea he was like superman; bland corporate executive by day, grease-stained biker with a penchant for whips and soft rope by night. He wanted to laugh at the analogy.
“You keep doing that and go back to sleep after you come,” he ordered.
The woman gave him another small pout, but nodded and settled back into the damp sheets, her fingers busy between her legs as Jackson closed her door behind him.
He started his bike and let it putter to the end of the driveway. There was no reason to wake the neighbors this early in the morning. He shifted and picked up speed as he left the residential area for the supercenter off the highway. He needed more condoms.
The clerk glanced down at the pair of economy sized boxes in Jackson’s hands and smirked as he went through the self-checkout. “Dude, I don’t know what you got under the hood, but you need to tell a brother your ways. This is the third time this month.”
“It’s only Monday.”
“That doesn’t make it better. How are you getting all the ladies?”
Jackson sighed and decided to give the boy a piece of advice. “Figure out what makes them come so hard they pass out. Do that over and over until they beg you to stop before you take anything for yourself.”
The boy frowned. “Nah, there has to be more.”
“Nope. That’s it. If you don’t have claw marks on your back, you aren’t doing it right.” He winked and added, “Practice makes perfect, son. Just don’t forget that no means no.” Holding up his purchases, he added, “And don’t forget these.”
He left the boy staring after him, counting the advice his good deed for the day. His mother would be so proud of him for educating America’s youth.
It was pouring rain by the time he was showered and dressed in a Jackson McKenna appropriate suit. Mike and all his trappings were safely hidden away for another day. Getting into his car, he glanced at the clock on his dash and swore. He was going to be late meeting with the woman his mother had recommended for a position as his temporary PA. He’d considered firing Rachel for her bad judgment in letting her husband knock her up, but her leave would only be a few months. He could put up with a temp for that long.
Lost in thought, he picked up speed as he drove the familiar route through downtown Briartown. It would be nice if someone called him by his real name as he was doing wicked things to their quivering flesh. He shook his head and downshifted as he turned the corner of Spruce and Poplar toward the last of the red lights blocking his way. If he kept them gagged, he didn’t have to listen to them scream someone else’s name
His phone chimed a text notification as he approached the intersection and he thumbed it awake. Yanking the wheel over, he pulled into his reserved parking spot and read the message. Glancing at the time, he sighed irritably and returned his mother’s message, agreeing to take her to dinner tomorrow evening, though he ignored her increasingly shrill demands about finding a girlfriend, or better yet, a wife.
He’d have to do it sooner or later, but he hated being forced into marriage. His mother had every intention of issuing a vote of no confidence if he wasn’t at least engaged by the time Haruto Nakamura of Nakamura Shipping retired. The old man wouldn’t sell to a company headed by a single man, and McKenna Logistics needed the influx of assets and connections badly. She’d already told him to update his resume.
If he was lucky, his mystery wife would pump out a few brats to give Moira McKenna her grandchildren and leave him alone to focus on his company. If he was very lucky, he’d find a nice girl who could put on pearls and a frothy dress for business dinners after she’d gone down on him in the parking lot. That was a fantasy, though. A woman filthy enough to give a public blow job would never be an executive’s trophy wife. A sharp tap rattled the Mustang’s window and he pushed the thought aside. Nobody was that lucky.
The walk signal flashed white at her. She hopped over the torrent of water racing toward the storm drain, landing a few steps away from the curb.
She was so focused on the building in front of her that she didn’t see the yellow Mustang speeding around the corner. She looked up as tires screeched in the early morning air. The engine roared its downshift and she watched in horror as it barreled through the intersection, completely ignoring the red light.
She turned and darted toward the sidewalk, but her heels caught in the sewer grate and sent her falling forward. Her knees hit the pavement as the Mustang sped past, the pain making her bite her lip as tears escaped to mix with the rain. As her umbrella tumbled away in the gusty wind, she caught a glimpse of a man at the wheel, his eyes trained on the phone in his right hand.
Hauling herself to her feet, Siobhan looked down at herself and swore viciously, the syllables clipped and virulent. Her dove gray suit was blackened with mud and filth, her stockings were torn, and blood seeped from ugly scrapes on both knees. She was soaked to the skin from the pounding rain and the deep puddles she’d landed in. At least her favorite Louboutins were intact. She hadn’t broken a heel, though the expensive leather stilettos might never be the same.
Hot tears welled in her eyes, and she scowled as the Mustang careened into a parking spot in front of McKenna Logistics. Wiping the mud from her face, she stood and faced the building, watching as the man who had almost run her down sat in his car, still screwing around with his phone. With her luck, he probably worked there and she’d have to see him every day.
If she got the job at all, that is. She wasn’t exactly successful interview material right now, but decided it was better to show up and explain. Maybe Mr. McKenna would be understanding and let her reschedule.
She crossed the street and tapped on the tinted window, ready to give the driver a piece of her mind. Yet when the dark glass lowered into the door, she nearly swallowed her tongue. He was an asshole, but a gorgeous asshole.
His chestnut hair laid neatly; the haircut alone probably cost more than her car. Wide blue eyes were surrounded by incredibly long lashes, and damn, that late night ginger and gray scruff on his jaw made her thighs twitch. Well, at least until he opened his mouth.
He looked her up and down and wrinkled his nose. “St. Leo’s has a homeless shelter right down the street, miss. I believe the soup kitchen is open today, and they might have something in the charity box…”
Nice. Two people in one day dissing her favorite suit. At least the asshole had an excuse now that he’d ruined it. “This used to be a six-hundred-dollar suit before you decided to be a total dick and run me down.”
He blinked at her in surprise and opened his mouth, but she spoke right over him. “Did it ever occur to you that red lights are there for a fucking reason, asshole? If I wasn’t already going to be late because you were too busy playing with your goddamned phone, I’d call the cops and have you arrested.”
“I… Let me pay…” He fumbled in his pocket, his reddened face turned away from her.
“You know what?” she interrupted. “Fuck you. Save your money for your next speeding ticket.”
She spun on her heel and limped toward her destination, hoping they had a washroom with lots of towels.
A blast of air conditioning made her shiver as she opened the door. A tall, elegant woman with pin straight brown hair looked up from a fashion magazine, blinking at Siobhan’s disheveled appearance. Her severe black suit matched the stark Scandinavian décor. “Can I help you? St. Leo’s…”
Gritting her teeth, she said, “I know. I apologize for my appearance. Someone ran a red light and nearly hit me.” Siobhan drew in a breath. “Sorry. I’m Siobhan O’Malley. I’m interviewing with Mr. McKenna for the PA position. Is there somewhere I can clean up before our meeting?” She looked down and winced at the blood trickling down her shins from her scraped knees. “And maybe some bandages, if you have them? I’m happy to reschedule if Mr. McKenna prefers to postpone our interview.”
Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she said, “I guess it’s okay. There’s a first aid kit on the shelf in the bathroom.” The woman led her past a cubicle farm and down a darkened hallway to a bathroom, a cloud of strong perfume in her wake. Workers glanced at her, their eyes filled with curiosity.
The lights flickered on as the door opened and Siobhan turned to give the woman her thanks, but she’d already walked away. Shrugging, she closed the door behind her and got to work.
Mandy’s pretty face was set into a sneer as she sashayed into his office, her heels clicking on the marble floor. She had enough makeup caked on that it was hard to discern a real expression on her.
He would have liked to have seen a smile on the face of the blonde he’d nearly run down. She was a knockout, despite the fury in her poisonous green eyes. She rocked the half-drowned waif look, for sure.
And damn, the woman had a rack to die for. He would have loved to see her in nothing but a corset and those fuck me black stilettos. There was nothing finer a little flesh on a woman, and she was built like a brick shithouse. She was tall, too. He liked not having to bend down to kiss a woman. His cock stiffened as he remembered those sweet, pink lips spilling the most deliciously profane words. He wanted to give that filthy mouth something else to do. He wanted to see those pouty lips wrapped around his cock, or maybe a ball gag.
But first impressions counted, and he’d done a piss poor job of it. There wasn’t much he could do to make up for nearly killing her, assuming he ever saw her again. She’d disappeared around the corner before he’d had a chance to get out of his car. There wasn’t a greeting card for, ‘Sorry I almost killed you’. That was definitely a flowers event. Jewelry might be better.
Shifting in his chair, he readjusted his hardening cock and firmly put the image of that stacked blonde in nothing but rope and those shoes out of his head. He had to focus on business.
“Your PA interview is here…sir.”
Mandy’s breathy little girl whisper annoyed him, but he didn’t mention it. When she leaned forward, exposing surgically altered cleavage, he huffed out a breath and leaned away from her and the overpowering scent of her perfume.
Women like Mandy were the reason he refused to consider a relationship. She would play the part of a trophy wife well enough, but he couldn’t imagine her skinny body in his ropes. And if he had to have a wife, he wanted someone with a fucking brain in her head. If women like Mandy were what he had to choose from, he’d almost rather be out of work.
“Show her in, please.”
Ignoring his order, she folded her lanky frame into the chair in front of his desk and crossed her legs. Her skirt rode up, baring a long thigh almost to her hip. “She’s in the bathroom trying to clean herself up. I guess she forgot to look both ways before crossing the street and someone almost hit her. I should have told her not to bother.”
She stretched out a hand, checking her manicure, and thankfully not looking at him. What were the odds that there were two women in this town who had almost gotten run down on a Monday morning? He must have been a very good boy in a past life. Or maybe not. He scowled as he remembered his mother had recommended the blonde for an interview. Worse, he’d still be out a PA. What were the odds some banging blonde in a rumpled suit would have the skills he needed?
“I doubt soap and water are going to improve on things, Jack,” she continued. “We should tell her the position has been filled. She isn’t the sort of person we want representing McKenna Logistics.”
“We, Mandy?” His voice was soft, but dangerous. “I don’t recall adding your name to the letterhead.” He missed his old receptionist, Lois, but she’d been unfaithful and left him for her grandchildren in South Carolina.
He’d hired Mandy with his mother’s idea of an appropriate wife in mind, but had realized she annoyed the fuck out of him before she’d completed her first day of work. Well, if what she did could be called work. She didn’t take messages and dropped most of the calls she tried to transfer, but she did take two-hour lunches most days.
Rachel had been another prospect, but she’d turned him down flat in favor of her dairy farmer husband. In his defense, he’d hit on her before their marriage. When she’d gotten pregnant, she’d become firmly off his menu. He didn’t do mothers or kids. The combination made his flesh crawl.
“And I certainly don’t recall inviting you to address me by my first name, which, by the way, isn’t Jack.”
Her face turned red with anger, and she lost the Marilyn Monroe drawl. “Excuse me? I’ve been working here almost…”
He held up a hand, cutting her off before she said anything that might make him fire her. He didn’t have time to find another receptionist, especially with Rachel on leave. He looked down at the stack of paper on his desk, finding her resume on top. Glancing at her name, he said, “Please show Ms. O’Malley in when she’s ready, and make sure there’s fresh coffee. She could probably use some after her mishap.”
Mandy sniffed and tilted her nose into the air. “Of course, Mr. McKenna. Whatever you say.”
Siobhan glared at herself in the mirror. Unless she could find a good dry cleaner, her beautiful suit was a lost cause. She tossed the stockings into the trash and cleaned up her knees as best she could, stopping the bleeding with several bandages from the first aid kit and wishing her skirt was long enough to cover them. God, she missed the monogrammed polos and black trousers of her old job.
The rain had washed away what little makeup she’d put on, leaving her freckled and blotchy. At least her hair looked decent. The rain had tamed the frizz, and if she could get the interview over with before it dried, she’d be happy with it. She’d managed to wash the mud and road grime off her hands and face, and the little polyester shell she’d worn under the suit had rinsed clean.
Nothing was dry, of course. She was uncomfortably sticky and the air conditioning chilled her damp skin, making her nipples pebble under the thin lace of her bra. If she got the job, she’d have to invest in some sweaters. The building was cold enough to hang meat.
With one last swipe at her skirt, she left the bathroom and made her way back to the receptionist, but she wasn’t at her desk. She sat down to wait in a plastic chair by the door, taking the time to go over her notes and straighten up her portfolio. Papers had come loose when she’d dropped her bag in the street, but nothing had gotten wet, thank God.
A photo of Andy slid free and she touched his sweet little face. He grinned widely, exposing his new teeth. He looked just like Susan when he smiled. She took out her tablet and opened the case. It didn’t appear damaged, and she set it aside without turning it on.
A door slammed and she stood, readying herself for her meeting. She’d spent the last few days drilling herself on all things McKenna that she could scare up on the library internet as Andy napped in his car seat at her feet. Unfortunately, the one thing she hadn’t been able to find was a picture of Jackson McKenna. Despite being one of the richest men in Ohio, there seemed to be no images of him anywhere.
The receptionist stormed into the entry, her eyes flashing angrily. Siobhan gathered her portfolio and blinked in surprise when the woman stomped up to her and waved a finger in her face.
“Why are you still here? Your interview has been canceled and won’t be rescheduled. You’re a mess and we can’t have someone like you in this office.”
“I beg your pardon?” What the fuck happened to small town manners? Even in Chicago, she’d never been treated so rudely. And she didn’t give a good goddamn how rich McKenna was. There was no excuse for such unprofessionalism.
“You heard me.” The woman gave her a nasty grin, and said, “Don’t let the door hit your fat ass on the way out.”
“Oh honey, you are out of your weight class.” She shoulder checked the woman, making her stumble backward, and strode toward the closed door bearing a brass plate with the name ‘Jackson McKenna’.
“Stop! You can’t go in there!”
“Watch me.” The door hadn’t been latched, and she pushed it the rest of the way open. She glared at the receptionist over her shoulder as she walked in, stopping only when she slammed into a hard, deliciously warm chest.
“I am so sorry…” Siobhan turned to face Mr. McKenna and her mouth fell open in shock as she stared into icy blue eyes. A grin twitched his perfect lips as he rasped a hand over his stubbled chin. “Oh, fuck me. I’m out of here.”