Cover me so wrong its ri.., p.1
Cover Me (So Wrong It's Right), page 1
Cover Me
Casey Hagen
Copyright © 2020 by Casey Hagen
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including: photocopying, recording, or by any storage and retrieval methods without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the address below.
Hagen Novels, LLC
Casey@CaseyHagenBooks.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Edited By: Editing by Kimberly Dawn
Cover Design: Wildheart Graphics
COVER ME / Casey Hagen. — 1st ed.
“To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.”
Fderico García Lorca 
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Casey in the wild…
1
Trevor Myers sat with his leg confidently crossed over his knee, in a room full of eager employees perched around the conference room table. He smiled as he brushed a piece of lint off the breast of his Armani suit jacket. He was finally going to make partner. As the top contracting agent at Williams and Stensky Ad Agency for the past four years, it was about damn time.
He’d just had to wait for someone to leave the company to slide right in on a wave of charming smiles, firm handshakes, endless favors of the female variety, and the boatload of Benjamins he’d raked in.
A whopping forty-eight million in Benjamins to be exact.
He eyed the hungry schmoes around him, all sitting with their three-piece suit-clad chests puffed out, chins jutting forward, hanging on Davidson Williams’ every word, just hoping for Williams to rain advancement crumbs over them like fairy dust.
Good luck, guys, because again, he had this in the bag.
He’d spent four years making himself the best friend of every potential client. He’d been their confidant. And he quite possibly had some answering to do in the afterlife for the “favors” he provided in this one.
Nothing illegal. He wasn’t stupid.
Immoral?
Yeah, but then, he wasn’t the morality police and if a client was going to cheat on a spouse, they would cheat, whether or not Trevor delivered their flavor-of-the-moment to them.
His cell vibrated. Sliding the phone out of his breast pocket, he spied Monica’s sly, sensuous smile and wink. He’d taken the picture of his latest flavor on a friend’s yacht three weeks ago.
He’d cropped out her tits.
A damn shame that. They were possibly the most magnificent pair money could buy. Her bronze skin hid the scars left in their making and thank fuck she hadn’t upgraded too far that she looked distorted.
He’d call her back right after Williams handed him the partnership. He’d call in a favor and make an available table appear at La Bernardin. Once he filled her with the French food she loved, he’d feast on her lush curves for dessert. With any luck she’d wear those thigh-high boots of hers that made a man want to fuck the bad right out of…
The sudden quiet of the room brought his carnal thoughts to a screeching halt with his mental thrust. He looked up to find every pair of eyes around the table focused on him.
Rachel, quite possibly the most ravenous woman in the business world, a woman with no scruples, and his closest competition aimed a feral smile his way. Her smile slid into a smirk. She crossed her arms and practically vibrated in her seat as she kicked her crossed leg rhythmically under the desk. He knew that hostile energy. He’d missed something while his mind wandered, and she’d gained the upper hand. Given the opportunity, she’d go in for the kill. Josh and Mitch looked at him with that “sorry bro” look, their eyebrows raised, and glanced away. Others audibly snickered in the ominous silence of the conference room.
Oh, he’d missed something alright. Something big.
“Are you in, Myers?” Davidson Williams’ asked, his eyes narrowed, impatience pulsing from his wide, rigid shoulders.
What the fuck? In?
Why the hell would he ask him if he’s in. It’s a partnership. He’d have to be insane to not be in. Trevor tugged at his suddenly tight tie, glanced around, and pasted a smile on his face. Fake it 'til you make it. That was the saying.
“Of course. I’m so in,” he said with his most winning smile.
They weren’t the words he’d envisioned saying upon accepting his partnership. Hell, he’d been planning his humble speech for weeks. In the shower, in the car, in every mirror between his place and work, and even to the plant by the bank of elevators leading downstairs.
But it just couldn’t be helped. Orchestrating a grand humblebrag moment for the occasion didn’t matter. Locking in that promotion did.
Williams leaned back in his chair, and steepled his fingers under his chin. “So, you have someone in mind to bring?”
Huh?
His smile slipped. “To bring?” His leg fell to the floor as his chair snapped upright.
“Yes, it’s a couples’ retreat after all. If you’ve got your eye on this partnership, that is,” Williams said, raising a salt-and-pepper brow.
“Uhhh…” Trevor stammered.
Sebastian elbowed him. “You need a girlfriend,” he whispered through smile-clenched teeth as he leaned over.
“What?” Trevor whispered back.
“He needs a fucking miracle if you ask me,” Zack muttered from his other side.
“Trevor’s a single guy, Mr. Williams,” Rachel offered with a curl of her shiny blood-red lips. The gleam in her eye told him just how much she enjoyed tossing another complication into the mix.
The woman was a calculating, backstabbing piranha. He thought he’d detected brilliance in her at one time, but all he found past that outer shell was soul rot with a stink to rival rotting fish guts roasting in the Florida heat.
“Oh, well, that’s too bad. I had high hopes…”
The roaring in Trevor’s ears drowned out Williams’ voice as it all came together in one soul-sucking picture. He didn’t have the partnership in the bag. He had one last schmooze to make, this time to his boss since that cool forty-eight million hadn’t been enough, and he needed a woman to do it.
A real woman.
At least one who could hold her own in an intelligent conversation for more than two minutes.
So not Monica.
“I’m not single,” Trevor said with a feigned conviction born of experience and a touch of sheer panic.
Sebastian gave him a 'poor bastard' look.
Trevor racked his brain. Nervous sweat broke out along his temples. Christ, he hadn’t been nervous since he’d been in middle school hiding rogue boners.
Monica didn’t fit the bill. They weren’t in a committed relationship and barely knew a thing about one another beyond him knowing she needed her nipples played with while he sucked her clit to get off and her knowing he loved watching her choke down his cock until her eyes watered.
Hell, the more he flipped through the black book in his head, the more he realized none of the women he knew were up to this. His sister had warned him that his, as she called them, man-whore ways would eventually bite him in the ass, and it looked like his time had come.
Williams sat forward. “Oh. Who’s the lucky lady?”
Lady? He didn’t know any ladies. He knew fast women with even faster libidos. And none of them were the kind of women you use to impress the boss.
He needed a name. Something. Anything.
A neglected memory cropped up in the corner of his mind and he grasped at that fucker, blew off the cobwebs, and threw out a name from the past.
From when he’d done his best friend a solid by escorting his painfully shy sister to the prom when no one had asked her. “Piper Bradley, sir.”
“Well, that’s good to hear, son. So, it’s serious?”
As serious as it could be after one date with a brace-faced, curveless girl almost five years younger than him.
Sell it, Myers. You could sell a Porsche to the staunchest bishop in the heart of Amish country.
“Sure, it is. Been together a year now. Thinking of popping the question,” he called out with a mega-watt smile, to where his boss sat at the head of the conference room table scrutinizing him.
Sebastian cleared his throat on a cough. “Shit man, I can’t wait to see how you swing this one.”
Yeah, he couldn’t either.
He had no clue what had become of her. For all he knew, she was happily married, an active PTA member, and a doting mom with another on the way.
Yeah, that would go over well.
“Good, good. I can’t wait to meet her. Who knows? Maybe you’ll find the inspiration to move things along and pop the
Just the thought of sliding a ring on any woman’s finger had a cold sweat trickling from Trevor’s collar down the dip in his spine.
Sliding that promise on his best friend’s little sister’s finger…yeah, that made his ass clench.
But the words were out as much as he wished he could grab the little bastards and shove them back down his throat.
He needed Piper, a ring, and a legion of prayers that he didn’t screw this up. No problem, he could do this. Call his buddy and ask to borrow his sister. Nothing weird about that at all. Perfectly normal. And…ask said sister’s ring size.
What’s the worst that could happen?
Piper really could be married with two-point-five kids and her husband could knock Trevor’s teeth down his throat for the mere suggestion that she help him out.
Unless Trevor checked with his buddy first since he’d really rather keep his teeth right where they’d been since grade school.
His buddy could punch him in the face, but not the knock-your-teeth-down-your-throat kind of punch since they had history.
A fat lip… that shit was temporary.
Or…he could lose his friend.
Okay, that would sting, but borrowing her was one thing. It’s not like he planned to actually fuck her or anything.
Yup, he’d walk away with his friendship intact.
The rest of the meeting faded away into a series of mumbles while his mind raced with scenario after scenario.
What if Piper was still that shy girl from high school?
If she agreed, he’d be thrusting her into the kind of weekend that left no room for retreat. She’d be fully integrated into everything, whether she liked it or not.
And this wouldn’t be a cake walk like prom.
Nope.
There would be touching and affection. They had to sell a believable intimacy.
A brief memory surfaced of her pink lips curved in the shy smile, rosy skin, and Piper’s feathery voice squeezing precious air from his lungs.
Christ. Down boy and stay the fuck down.
The meeting broke, and those few employees that had a shot at the partnership scattered like BBs from a buckshot and by the look in their greedy eyes, as they begun tactical planning.
Of course they had, after all, he’d started before the meeting even ended.
He pulled out his cell and dialed his best friend, Ryden, his only connection to Piper.
The bridge to his savior picked up after two rings. “Hey man, how have you been?”
“Good, good. It’s been a while.” Trevor cleared his throat. “Look, this is going to sound insane, but…any chance I can borrow your sister, you know, if she’s not married, pregnant, or otherwise spoken for?”
Piper Bradley winced as she straightened and rubbed her knotted neck muscles. She scanned over her latest creation, a ballet gown with a double reinforced bodice for those wonderfully talented dancers who had been heavily blessed in the bust department.
So many brilliant designers had come and gone, yet not a one thought of doing something like this. They all enabled the industry to quietly shame anyone with more than a hint of fat between their skin and bones.
Girls morphed into young women over the course of their thousands of gazes before the dance mirrors. What started out as dream-filled smiles over their faces became wary assessing stares, quick glances and stark comparisons to the dancers around them, and eventually the realization of what was to come, followed by soul crushing desperation to hold on to their dream confined by rigid boundaries.
Eventually a dancer’s fear split their energy between perfecting their routines and relentless self-scrutiny, leaving them fighting the almost-permanent downward turn of their mouths while hatred for the way their bodies betrayed them welled deep inside.
The demise began with the little tells. Their leos began to pinch here and there. Nothing overtly noticeable at first. Irritations easily blamed on brand, a change in the quality of fabric, or careless production until the truth could no longer be denied.
And if you didn’t fit in industry standards, your dance career vanished.
How many dancers had been body-shamed? Dance instructors, fellow dancers, and society, all hitting them with little digs, disparaging looks, and scathing judgments, each barb eroding away at their confidence until they gave up their passion.
And how many moved on after investing years in their dreams with nothing to show for their hard work but the pain and longing left behind?
Well, not anymore.
Traditionally, dancers were not to have large breasts or wide hips, but through her designs, she was changing that.
At least, that was the plan.
It started with an idea, then bringing that idea to fruition. Then finally, slowly, almost imperceptibly changing the industry from the inside, one silken thread at a time.
No dancer had to go through what she had.
She blinked and focused on the dress once again, her eyes roaming, not missing a single feature. She’d lived and breathed this design since it first flashed in her mind.
She’d positioned the waist just an inch above the belly button. It was high enough to conceal evidence of a nontraditional ballerina body, but not high enough to be considered an empire waist, which would have dance critics crying foul when it came to this particular style.
As mesmerizing as it was, something was missing, but no matter how hard she examined it, she couldn’t figure out what. Not even a flicker of a good idea, but a lot of bad ones.
Yep, she definitely needed a break.
“Hasn’t come to you yet?” her best friend, and business partner, Rafe, said as he sidled up next to her offering a hot, sinfully-rich cup of much-needed espresso.
She inhaled the dark, rich smell with the cup just inches from her mouth, her eyelids drifting shut and her rigid shoulders easing a fraction.
“No, and I’m ready to tear my hair out.” She took a sip, savoring the sting of the hot liquid, and sighed. “It’s gorgeous, right? I mean the barely-blush ombre color is perfect, just perfect.” She rubbed the mostly nylon fabric between her fingers and blew out a breath.
“We have time, Piper. Plenty of it. You should take a break,” he said, his words patient and encouraging, immediately soothing the frustration building up inside of her. “Go see your family for a few days. Clear your head. I bet when you come back and take a look, it will jump out at you.”
She hadn’t seen her parents or her brother in a good six months. She wasn't sure she would classify a visit as clearing her head. Her parents would grill her over every aspect of city life, looking for some crack in her love for the fast-paced life there. Once they found it—not a valid crack mind you, just a normal less than stellar aspect of New York City living would do—they’d slowly pry open that crack any way they could until they were showing her houses for sale in the neighborhood.
Not long after they’d slide in those comments about so and so, how her son moved back to the area, and how it’s just so sad to see such a good man with a bright future ahead of him going to waste. But maybe if she moved back…and off her parents would go.
By that point, Piper wouldn’t be listening anymore. Nope. She’d be glaring at her brother who somehow escaped this crap.
So of course, like any healthy family, and little sister, she’d start prodding her brother over his latest conquests. She had to put that irritation somewhere. Being his little sister, it was practically in the job description. Might as well have come stamped on her butt when she was born.
He’d take it all in stride, for a few minutes. Then, he’d get that gleam in his eye and turn the tables. “Still spending all your free time in those gay bars with Rafe? You sure you don’t have something to tell Mom and Dad?”
And of course, that would get her mother going. Not that her parents had anything against that kind of thing, quite the opposite. And her brother knew it.
All of a sudden, they’d set aside those picket fence visions and go into full after-school-special mode. Her mother would sit her down to tell her that they love her no matter what, and if she has anything to tell them, she should feel comfortable.
