DirtyInterludes Read online

  “Why wouldn’t you be? You’re high. At work. That’s a pretty big signal right there.”

  Bryce glowered, his eyes bright from drugs and fury. “I got it all under control. What’s wrong with taking the edge off anyway?”

  Max knew when to back off, and this was one of those times. “Whatever. I’m gonna head out anyway. I got things waiting for me at home.”

  “Besides your irate neighbor?”

  “Yeah,” Max said on a grin. “Besides that.”

  He left the room, his bare feet cold against the concrete. The wide hall echoed with people talking and laughing in the break room, but thankfully all other activities within the building were muffled by the soundproofed walls. As he turned the corner, he almost ran into Demi. Her pert little face reminded him of a pixie, but he knew her small frame and innocent aura hid the heart of a dominatrix.

  “How was the new girl?”

  Max shrugged. What was there to say? “Enthusiastic.”

  Demi grinned. “Oh fun.”

  A brow cocked up. “You hoping to work with her?”

  She shrugged one shoulder in nonchalance, but he could tell by the glimmer in her eyes she was thinking about it. “I thought I might bring it up to Vane. I’m thinking a rough remake of the story The Snow Queen. With me as the snow queen, her as Gerda and you as Kay.”

  Max hadn’t heard of The Snow Queen but knew Vane loved to take fairytales and give them an erotic twist. Vane’s creativity and demand for perfection were perhaps the difference between Dungeon Films and the other production companies out there. Vane ran this place like a Hollywood studio. Although most things were improvised in the moment, the bones of the action and serious plot points had to be maintained. “I don’t know, I’m kind of run down at the moment.”

  Black manicured brows lowered. “I’m sure Vane won’t authorize it now. I have to write up the script for it first.”

  Max grinned. Demi was an ideas woman. “You know I don’t do submissive work, Dem.”

  She ran a red-tipped nail over his chest. “Who said anything about you being a bottom?”

  Max chuckled. “Come on, Demi, you and I both know you love to dominate and subbing just doesn’t rock my boat.”

  A devilish smile raised her lips. “You won’t know unless you try it.”

  Sure he wouldn’t know, and he’d like to keep it that way. He thumbed behind him. “Ask Bryce, he’s up for anything.”

  She pouted prettily. “I would like it better if I could pop your cherry.”

  Despite the industry he worked in, his ass cheeks still clenched together at the thought. “I bet you would. But there are plenty of guys who would love to let you try them on. Why not ask them?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I want fresh meat. I want a challenge and you might ‘play’ Dom from time to time, but I know inside you’re wanting something else.”

  Max shrugged. He couldn’t refute her words. His tastes, as far as the industry was concerned, were vanilla. Vane wanted different types of Dominants to fit into his stable and Max fit right into the “Player” Dominant. He liked to play at it from time to time, but it wasn’t him. He liked his sex playful with a touch of spice. But a submissive he was not.

  “You’re asking the wrong person, Demi.”

  She winked at him as he stepped around her. “I’ll catch you yet, little rabbit,” she said to his receding back.

  * * * * *

  Bridget’s eyes stung with grit as she stared at the music sheet, the notes seeming to blur together. In the background drums rumbled, indicating the beginnings of a crescendo. She cringed as she missed the conductor’s next phrase and fell a fraction behind. It was enough to throw off the entire cello section. A discordant tune rippled over the air in the theater and the wind section faltered. The conductor’s lips thinned with disapproval before he lowered his baton. The principal second peered at her in query and a little bit of glee. It was no secret Gillian wanted her seat.

  Cheerleaders had nothing on “the band”. It was cutthroat and somewhat backstabby. It was all her neighbor’s fault. Others dropped their instruments to peer around. If it weren’t for Gillian’s pointed stare, she might’ve passed their notice. After all, she never made mistakes. She’d practiced until her fingertips bled to get this seat and she wasn’t about to let it go.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  The conductor heaved a sigh full of grievance at her stuff up. She felt it like a rap to the knuckles and it stung. Again everyone prepared to begin and Bridget struggled to focus. The scores became nothing but bugs moving across the page and she shook her head to clear it. Grit hurt her all-too-dry eyes. The opening began and she ran the bow over the strings, the D-minor moving like a subtle wave across a lake. Seamless movement saw her move up the pace and she leaned into the music, her focus sharp as she followed the tempo.

  The winds started their piece and she eased back, bow against the edge of her cello. Sweat coated her forehead and she dabbed it away with the back of her hand. Fuzz gathered in her head and she blinked furiously against the growing blur. Shifting in her seat, she prepared for the next set and rested her bow against the strings. Her fingers danced over the strings, producing long, smooth notes with every pull of the bow.

  Confident she could do it justice, she leaned into the music, bottom lip tucked between her teeth. Her fingers slipped off, the small error enough to shock her as her bow screamed across the odd note. She pulled back to gather herself but it was too late. It was the fourth mistake on her part today and the other musicians cast her irate stares. Some made commiserating sounds, but their eyes screamed frustration.

  “What is going on with you?” Gillian snapped.

  “Nothing.” She wiped at the sweat on her brow and exhaled through stiff lips. If she didn’t get her act together she’d have more to worry about than her neighbor’s lack of manners.

  “Well it must be something. Your lack of focus is messing up the piece and we’ve got to get this right.”

  Bridget would rather drink vinegar than apologize. Not to Gillian, who’d like to highlight her failure as a fixed chair. Although it was a relatively new job, Bridget wasn’t about to fail. “I’m fine.”

  Huffing, Gillian rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You better not mess up again.”

  Bridget held her tongue, her fingers clenched over her bow.

  The rest of practice went along much the same way. She made less obvious hiccups, but mistakes were mistakes no matter how she looked at it, and they didn’t go unnoticed by other cellists. Gillian was quick to whisper her “concerns” to others in the group as they packed up and Bridget was starkly aware of their censure.

  The clasps to her case snapped shut, loud in the tense auditorium. William stepped down from his podium and made a beeline toward her. Anxiety tightened in her stomach as she straightened. Show no fear. Her smile felt brittle as she thrust her shoulders back, waiting for the fateful words.

  “You were off today.”

  Relief sluiced through her even as she nodded sagely. “Yes. I think I’m nervous.”

  Brows dropped. “Nerves aside, I appointed you as principal for your work ethic. You were a little late today—”

  “I can explain.”

  “Explain all you want, but this isn’t school. You can’t just show up late and not suffer the consequences. This is your first warning.”

  Hands clasped before her, Bridget nodded, humbled. “I promise to do better next time.”

  Smarting like a child sent to time-out, she finished packing and hurried from the building as if the ghost of her humiliation couldn’t pierce the boundaries of her car. She drove home, all the while recalling every missed chord and cringing. The closer she drew toward her house, the more her annoyance climbed. It was clear to her that she wouldn’t have made those errors if she’d been able to sleep. She wouldn’t have overslept and she wouldn’t have set the day off on a bad foot.

  As she drove down her street a shirtless man runnin
g down the sidewalk caught her eye. The woman in her appreciated every ripple of muscle and the way sweat glistened on his back. It was cold out, but it didn’t seem to matter to him. Muscled arms pumped with each steady stride. Broad, tanned shoulders and a baseball cap turned backward instantly put him in the bad-boy category and she hoped his face matched the rest of his body. As she passed him by, she glanced into the rearview and almost braked hard. Max. She cursed as his name blazed through her head. She’d promised herself she’d never utter his name, but the shock of feeling that attraction made her forget how much she hated him. Fuming, she stepped on the gas and tires shrieked into her driveway.

  The car door slammed shut and she marched toward him as he slowed down to stretch on his lawn.

  “You.” She pointed an accusing finger at him.

  Black brows shot up, then he rolled his eyes, arms outstretched as though to say “save me from this crazy lady”. But she wasn’t crazy, she was mad. She shook with it. If there was a tsunami on the east coast, the devastation was nothing compared to the ruination he was making in her life.

  “Do you understand what your lack of manners has done to me?”

  He dropped his hands onto his hips, chest heaving. “No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

  “Because of you I might lose my chair.”

  “Well, buy another one. Not my problem.”

  He bent to stretch his hamstring while she sputtered.

  “I don’t mean a chair chair, you imbecile. I mean my seat as the principal in an orchestra. Oh why do I expect you to understand? You’re nothing but a classless baboon.”

  He straightened and brushed his chin with his thumb and index finger. “A baboon? I haven’t heard that one before.”

  “Neanderthal.”

  He gunned a finger at her. “Now, that I’ve heard. You really know how to pull those insults, don’t you?”

  “You’re an ass.”

  “Yeah right, look, babe—”

  “Don’t call me babe.”

  “I don’t know why you’re making me out to be the villain in your little piece of reality. But whatever magical way you’ve managed to convince yourself that I put your job at risk is bullshit. The onus is on you.”

  “No it’s not. Because of you and that woman I didn’t sleep and I couldn’t concentrate.”

  He threw up a hand and walked way, but not before saying, “You need to get laid.”

  Bridget stiffened. “What did you say?”

  He paused and angled his head. “I didn’t stutter. I said, you should get laid. Loosen whatever’s got your panties in a wad.”

  “Oh and I suppose you’re offering up your services,” she scoffed.

  “Hell no.”

  Ouch. That stung. It really did. She covered her embarrassment with a tilt of her chin. “Well, at least on that we’re in agreement.”

  She stalked away to retrieve her cello, all the way thinking up better insults to throw at him next time he upset her world, which to be honest at this point was going to be a regular thing.

  Max stretched his hip flexor and admired the way her ass looked in those dress pants as she bent over to pull out her massive instrument. For all her bluster, he’d have to give it to her. She was one hot piece. She had an impressive set of curves. A tight butt with breasts that’d bring a man to his knees. Nice honey-brown hair that’d look good in his fists. Whoa, where’d that thought come from? He’d gotten his rocks off plenty today and shouldn’t be thinking about sex. Least of all with his uptight, highbrow neighbor. He shuddered at the thought.

  She grunted somewhat prettily as she pulled the cello from the trunk and carried it toward the house. She trudged through the minefield of gnomes and stopped on her porch. When she glanced over her shoulder at him, he smirked, the move greeted with such a dramatic sniff of disdain it made him chuckle. Pity her face was always set in a look of constant disapproval. It made him wonder if she drank vinegar before she stepped out of her house. As the door closed, Max stood and wiped the dirt off his knees. He’d hoped the run had burned off the restless energy, but after his encounter with sourpuss, he wondered if it was enough.

  He grabbed a towel as he entered his home and threw off his cap. The sweat cooled on his skin and he grimaced as the cold penetrated his flesh. Sweater pulled on, he retrieved a drink from the fridge and knocked it back before settling on the lounge. The leather cooled his skin and he closed his eyes, willing sleep to come.

  That wonderful drone started and he slipped deeper into oblivion. The drone went up a pitch then down. Then stopped. What the hell? Max snuggled deeper into the cushions and the drone started again, but this time he recognized it as music. Cello music. Groaning, he rolled over and pressed his hands over his ears. He couldn’t go in his room, it was too damn cold, what without a window and all. And now Bridget was playing her damn music.

  Huh, so much for getting some shuteye.

  Chapter Two

  Bridget tried to stifle a yawn. About her the café buzzed with activity and she just wanted to kick off her shoes, lie down on the sofa and go to sleep. Today was supposed to be a celebratory dinner over her role as principal. Instead, she slouched over her pudding, unable to enjoy the sugary goodness. She’d been a little off in practice, but it was a marked improvement from yesterday. If the conductor’s fierce expression was any indication, she needed to pick up her game. Gillian had already started to plant the seeds of doubt but Bridget wasn’t going to give up without a fight. For the last two nights, Bridget barely slept a wink. If she’d gotten a good night’s sleep she wouldn’t have made those mistakes. She knew where to place the blame. Right at Max’s feet. She spent last night practicing until her fingers hurt and when she did go to bed, she practiced with air cello until she passed out. Which wasn’t much before dawn.

  “I hate that man,” Bridget grumbled, pushing aside a blob of cream with her spoon.

  Cathy peered at her, brown eyes alight with confusion. “Huh?”

  Deciding the pudding had seen better days, Bridget thrust the plate aside. “My neighbor. I hate him. He kept me up ’til all hours the other night.”

  Cathy paused mid-chew. “What?”

  Bridget rolled her eyes. “He had some woman next door screaming her head off. I couldn’t sleep. I was so angry I broke his window with P. Diddy Gnomes.”

  Cathy’s blonde brows shot upward. “You love P. Diddy.”

  Bridget folded her arms. “I know. I just didn’t think and now he’s holding Gnomes hostage.”

  “That bastard.”

  If it were anyone else, Bridget might’ve thought she was teasing her. But not Cathy. Their love of garden ornaments had brought the two together. Cathy had moved to Los Angeles a few months ago and they met by happenstance. It was kismet. Bridget finally had someone who understood her obsession for gnomes.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to go over there and ask for my gnome back. He’d probably take a hammer to it just to get back at me.”

  “Why not break into his house and get it then?”

  “Cathy.”

  She blinked at her owlishly. “What? It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it.”

  “But it’s breaking the law,” she whispered.

  “Psshh. You already broke his window. Criminal.”

  Bridget laughed. “All right you have me there. Maybe I’m a late bloomer and only starting to rebel now.”

  Cathy held up her coffee mug. “Here’s to anarchy.”

  “Anarchy.”

  Bridget sipped her coffee and pondered if she had the courage to do something like that. “Besides, even if I were to do it, I don’t know when he’s home or not. He works some odd hours.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes he is home, others he isn’t. There isn’t any real pattern to it. I think he might be self-employed or something. If I wanted to get P. Diddy Gnomes back, I’d have to know when he’d be out.”r />
  Cathy mock-gasped. “I can’t believe you’re going to go through with it.”

  “I’m not.” Cathy eyed her dubiously. “I’m not. I just thought if I did, I probably wouldn’t know when to do it.”

  Cathy sighed. “I can’t believe I have to give you tips. Haven’t you seen a heist movie? You do it at night and wear black. Oh and don’t get caught.”

  “Ha ha,” she grumbled.

  “You know, if you really want to do something wild, we could hold him hostage and do all sorts of things to him.”

  Bridget giggled, imagining Max tied up and slave to her whims. The sliver of lust that snaked through her killed her amusement. She really shouldn’t fantasize about him in any form or fashion. “As tempting as it is, I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought it was all foreplay.”

  “Being tied up?”

  “By two women. That man is a sex maniac. All he ever talks about is sex.”

  Cathy paused, cup suspended by her lips. “He talks dirty to you?”

  Bridget grimaced. “I wouldn’t call it that. He likes to tell me how lacking I am in the…sex department.”

  Cathy’s lips stiffened and the cup hit the table with a clunk. “He made advances on you?”

  Bridget waved a hand, worry spiking over her friend’s sudden defense. “No, never. More like giving me the brush-off. Enlightening me that I’d never have a chance with him. As if I would want to.”

  “Oh.”

  That one word, a deflated breath, pretty much summed up her day. Deflated. “Enough about me, I want to hear about you. How are you and Mitch?”

  A grimace flitted over her friend’s face before it cleared. “We’re doing good. Good.”

  Something about her tone made Bridget think things weren’t completely true. “Are you sure?”

  Cathy stiffened. “Yes. I said we were, didn’t I?”

  Sensing the door to that conversation sealed tight, Bridget moved on to other things. Still she couldn’t shake her friend’s words. She’d moved here, as far as she knew, with her boyfriend for a fresh start. Finishing her coffee, Bridget yawned.