Cocky Suits Chicago: Books 1-3 Read online

  Cocky Suits Chicago

  Books 1-3

  Alex Wolf

  Sloane Howell

  Contents

  Cocky Playboy

  1. Tate

  2. Decker

  3. Tate

  4. Decker

  5. Tate

  6. Decker

  7. Tate

  8. Decker

  9. Tate

  10. Decker

  11. Tate

  12. Tate

  13. Decker

  14. Tate

  15. Tate

  16. Tate

  17. Decker

  18. Tate

  19. Tate

  20. Decker

  21. Tate

  22. Decker

  23. Tate

  24. Decker

  25. Tate

  26. Decker

  27. Tate

  28. Tate

  29. Tate

  30. Decker

  31. Tate

  32. Decker

  33. Decker

  Epilogue

  Bossy Playboy

  1. Quinn

  2. Deacon

  3. Quinn

  4. Deacon

  5. Quinn

  6. Deacon

  7. Quinn

  8. Deacon

  9. Quinn

  10. Deacon

  11. Quinn

  12. Deacon

  13. Quinn

  14. Deacon

  15. Quinn

  16. Deacon

  17. Quinn

  18. Deacon

  19. Quinn

  20. Deacon

  21. Quinn

  22. Deacon

  23. Quinn

  24. Deacon

  25. Quinn

  26. Deacon

  27. Quinn

  28. Deacon

  29. Quinn

  30. Deacon

  31. Deacon

  32. Quinn

  33. Deacon

  34. Quinn

  35. Quinn

  36. Deacon

  37. Quinn

  38. Deacon

  39. Quinn

  40. Deacon

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Filthy Playboy

  1. Dexter

  2. Abigail

  3. Dexter

  4. Abigail

  5. Dexter

  6. Abigail

  7. Dexter

  8. Abigail

  9. Dexter

  10. Abigail

  11. Dexter

  12. Abigail

  13. Dexter

  14. Dexter

  15. Abigail

  16. Dexter

  17. Abigail

  18. Dexter

  19. Abigail

  20. Dexter

  21. Abigail

  22. Abigail

  23. Dexter

  24. Abigail

  25. Dexter

  26. Abigail

  27. Dexter

  28. Abigail

  29. Dexter

  30. Abigail

  31. Abigail

  32. Dexter

  33. Dexter

  34. Abigail

  Epilogue

  Also by Sloane Howell

  Also by Alex Wolf

  About Alex Wolf

  Tate

  Nothing in my life can ever be easy.

  I glance at the clock on the wall of my hotel suite. I knew this would happen. Weston knows I hate getting assignments at the last minute and rushing to prepare. I’m going to be late. I’m never late. He’s probably already on his first drink at the bar. I could use a drink about now.

  I make it a priority to be organized and professional. It’s impossible when he throws stuff at me and makes unreasonable demands. My temples throb with the tension headache slowly radiating through my brain. I rub my fingers in soothing circles above my eyes, hoping to escape the pain. In haste, I toss a few Advil in my mouth, take a drink of water, and toss my head back to swallow.

  The room is nicer than I imagined for a quick trip: queen-sized bed, high thread-count sheets, walk in shower, hardwood floors. I shouldn’t expect any less from Weston. He’s a heavy hitter.

  I need to get my ass in gear and out of this hotel room. Weston Hunter is not the kind of man you keep waiting. He runs one of the most successful law firms in Dallas—The Hunter Group. He brought me to Chicago to aid in a merger that could be huge for our firm. It’s an amazing, though stressful, opportunity. I can’t help but feel this is my big test. Trial by fire.

  I’m a senior associate and this is my shot at making partner.

  I’m the best lawyer at the firm. It’s not a brag, Weston’s told me before.

  However, I’m underprepared and that doesn’t sit well with me. Back in the Dallas office I was reading over a deposition when Weston barged in and hollered for me to grab a bag and meet him at the airport. I don’t know what he was thinking.

  Maybe he’s the boss and can do as he pleases?

  I fuss over my hair one last time in the mirror. There’s one strand that refuses to behave. This shit happens when I’m in a hurry. Everything falls apart.

  Giving up on my hair, I slip on a pair of black heels and smooth my hand down the front of my skirt. I pick a stray piece of lint from the back as I twist around in the mirror. My blouse appears crisp and wrinkle free. My jacket completes the ensemble.

  Finally, all the paperwork is organized into neat piles on the coffee table. Lists of clients, checklists of shit that needs done for due diligence. It’s all there. I breathe easy, gather the files, and tuck the hotel key into my wristlet.

  Satisfied I have everything, I walk from the room and get on the elevator. It moves at a snail’s pace. If I wasn’t afraid of working up a sweat, I’d have taken the stairs to get me to the lobby faster. It never fails; the minute I’m in a hurry, Father Time makes things stand still. It’d be just my luck for the thing to stop working.

  I watch the numbers slowly change from one floor to the next. To make things better, I’m stuck with an older woman wearing enough perfume to choke a horse. I hope the freesia scent doesn’t cling to my clothes.

  Arriving in the lobby, I barely give the concierge time to open the door as I rush out to the street in hopes of catching a cab. I wave my hand at one passing by, calling out, “Taxi!” and it rolls to a stop.

  Perfect timing for once.

  I make it four steps when a shoulder slams into me out of nowhere. My folder flies through the air. The papers explode like a flock of pigeons and float down to the sidewalk. Catching my balance after managing not to snap a heel, I watch in horror as my hard work scatters itself along the sidewalk.

  I throw my hands up. “Really?”

  What are the chances?

  I shake my head. It’ll be a miracle if the wind doesn’t carry my papers off to the suburbs of Chicago. I let out an annoyed huff and glance to the perpetrator who caused this misfortune. My eyes start at his Berluti shoes and work their way up a Burberry three-piece that’s tailored perfectly to his frame. Icy blue eyes meet my gaze paired with a mischievous smirk. A smirk that would no doubt be sexy under different circumstances. Damn, he’s hot. His smoldering stare is something out of the movies.

  “You could have said excuse me, or sorry at least.” I narrow my eyes on him then drop down to gather my papers. His cologne lands in my nose and smells so good it should be banned. Warmth spreads through my veins as I inhale the intoxicating scent.

  A low snicker passes between his perfectly sculpted lips. “You bumped into me, sweetheart.” His voice is low and comes out like a primal growl that would make me weak in the knees if he wasn’t such an arrogant prick.

  I suck in a breath and get a grip on myself, sh
aking off the sexual thoughts rushing to the forefront of my mind. It’s just that I have a thing for sexy voices. Sure, I love a good-looking man as much as the next single woman, but give me a deep voice that vibrates down to my core and it does something to me. This jerk has the voice and the looks that go with it. I bet that neatly trimmed beard would work wonders against my thighs.

  Regardless of my impure thoughts, he picked the wrong woman to mess with.

  “Sweetheart?” I roll my eyes. “No. I recall the moment perfectly. You barreled into me and nearly knocked me to the ground.” I glance to the sidewalk. “Look at my papers.”

  I watch his eyes flit from my cleavage to the strewn papers on the ground and back to my breasts. He makes no attempt to hide the fact he’s ogling the twins.

  I point two fingers at him then at my face as I speak. “My eyes are right here, buddy.”

  He stares like I’m on a display, put there solely for his amusement. Those blue eyes cut into me like glaciers. “Buddy.” He snorts. “Have to admit, I like the view of you on your knees in front of me.”

  “In your dreams, pal.”

  “Highly doubtful.” He rubs his jaw, still smirking. Those blue eyes pierce straight through me once more.

  He must see I’m thinking about what he said, me on my knees in front of him. I bet he’s hung like a damn horse. Jerks usually are, in my experience anyway. I mentally smack myself. I need to snap out of it.

  Sneering, I move to gather my papers.

  The hottie in the suit bends down to help. He reaches for my folder, and I smack his large hand.

  “I’ve got it.” Cute or not, this guy is an ass and gets on my last nerve. Not to mention nobody touches my work. Nobody!

  “Have a nice evening.” He huffs out a breath and has the nerve to climb into my cab.

  “What the hell?” I yell at him and throw my hand up. “That’s my cab. I’m in a hurry.”

  He shoots me a sly wink. A grin spreads across his smug face and his pearly whites flash. “I’m in a hurry too, sweetheart.” He smacks the door of the cab twice. “Spoils of war.”

  “Asshole!”

  The cab speeds off.

  I grind my teeth and continue trying to make heads or tails of the mess he’s left me in. This is just great. Now, I have to go back into the hotel and fix everything. All my hard work is ruined. The papers are all out of order. Hours of my life wasted.

  My phone pings, and I know it’s Weston ready to chew my ass out for not being there. It’s not like I’m wasting his time on purpose. Rain drops plop on my head and thrum on the ground, and at this moment, I don’t know how things could get any worse. I clutch everything under my arm and run as fast as my heels allow back into the hotel lobby before the rain ruins my hair.

  Shaking my head, I hop back in the elevator and make it to my room. One glance in the mirror and rage consumes me. I look like a wet rat with smudged makeup. Grabbing a towel, I wrap my hair up and hustle to get organized once more. If I ever see that bastard again, he’s a dead man.

  Walking into the bar thirty minutes late, I’m surprised to find Weston still there. I square my shoulders and approach. He’s perched on a stool nursing a tumbler of whiskey. I lay the files on the stained oak bar top and situate myself on the stool next to him.

  He rubs his chin. His eyes are two dark slits and burn a hole into me. I know I messed up, but it wasn’t my fault.

  “Where the hell have you been?” His voice is low but lethal. “Why didn’t you answer the phone?” He grips the glass and taps the side for the bartender to pour him a refill.

  “You done?”

  Weston doesn’t respond. He simply takes a long swig of the dark brown liquid.

  “I would’ve been here half an hour ago if some jerk didn’t knock my papers everywhere and steal my cab. Then came the damn rain.” I huff out a breath and that stupid curl springs to my forehead. I blow it out of my eyes and wait for Weston to respond. I’m sure he’s going to rip my ass and threaten to fire me, but with the mood I’m in, I almost welcome it so I can argue with him. We both know he won’t follow through on any threats and I need to let off some steam.

  Weston halfway laughs to himself.

  “What?” I shoot a glare in his direction.

  “Nothing, that’s just how I met Brooke. Stole her cab. Granted I didn’t knock her on her ass.”

  I narrow my eyes and try to reclaim some amount of dignity. Through gritted teeth I say, “He didn’t knock me on my ass.”

  Weston sighs. “Whatever, Decker left already. Got tired of waiting. You made me look incompetent.”

  “I’m not a miracle worker. I warned you I didn’t have enough time to get everything ready. I’d barely checked in when you demanded this shit.” I pat the folder I carried in. “Did you want half-assed work? Because that’s not what you pay me for, and you know it.”

  “Whatever. You win.” He shakes his head and orders me a drink. “You look like you need one. Just make sure you’re prepared for the meeting tomorrow.”

  I smirk. “I always am, when given an appropriate amount of time.” I knock back the drink. I deserve it after the day I’ve had. Weston settles the bill.

  “Tate?”

  “Yeah?”

  He grins and nods at my head. “Do something about that hair.”

  I scowl back at him. Asshole.

  He snickers.

  I know it looks like a ball of fuzz on my head after the rain and towel drying it. It couldn’t be helped.

  Weston stands up. “Let’s head back to the hotel. You can get room service and fix whatever this shit’s supposed to be.” He motions to the papers hanging from my file.

  I had them all color-coded at least. I suppose they could be worse.

  We share a cab back and go our separate ways in the lobby. Arriving in my room, I toss the files on the table and kick off my heels. I trade my business attire for my robe. Falling into the couch, I grab the menu for room service and scan the choices available. With a big day tomorrow, I don’t want anything heavy. I settle on a grilled chicken salad and a fruit bowl for dessert. The files can wait until after I eat. What I really want is a nice warm soak in the tub. That stupid jerk and his mesmerizing blue eyes. My cheeks flush and heat spreads down my neck and across my chest at the thought of his face between my legs.

  On my knees my ass, buddy. Put your mouth where it belongs.

  My mind flashes to his smoldering stare. It’s been too long since I’ve had sex. That’s all these thoughts are. But I can’t get him out of my head. His stupid smirk. His deep voice. His large hands. That heavenly cologne. It’s like I can still smell it. And for God’s sake, that cocky wink he threw my way as he took off in my cab.

  The saddest part is, it’s his arrogance that’s doing things to me. I don’t want him to be sweet. I want him to be commanding and dominate me, but I want him to work for it. I want to put up a fight and make him earn every inch.

  My fingers trail between my breasts as the fantasy plays out in my mind. I pinch one of my nipples and picture those striking blue eyes. He was gorgeous. I want him to make some smartass comment so I can shove my pussy on his mouth to shut him up. I smirk at the thought as my fingers move farther south. I picture that devilish grin as the tip of my finger circles my clit.

  A rap at the door echoes through the room, interrupting my fantasy.

  I jump. Shit.

  “Room service.”

  “Coming!” I shake my head at my choice of word and attempt to stifle the laugh building in my chest. I yank my robe closed and head for the door. I don’t have on a bra and don’t want the guy thinking his tip is me flashing my breasts. I open the door and a younger man wheels a cart in. I tell him thanks and grab some cash from my wallet to give him a decent gratuity because I feel guilty about what I was doing, even though he has no clue. He gives me a polite thank you and is on his way.

  I walk to the bathroom and wet my face with a cool cloth and get ready to eat and forget a
bout those blue eyes and that smart mouth.

  I smother my salad in Italian dressing and stab a chunk of chicken with my fork. My stomach growls as I chew. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until now.

  Despite the food, I can’t stop thinking about that guy. I’m here for a job not to meet Mr. Wrong. That’s all that cocky man would be. Another jerk to cross off the list of men who can’t handle me.

  I know I’m difficult to please. Working in a male dominated field I have to be. I can dish it out with the best of them. Some men appreciate I can hold my own while others find it intimidating. Putting up walls helps keep things professional and focused on work abilities, not how I look in a skirt.