Call Me Sir 2: Penny
Author
Shala Mungroo
Reads
130K
Chapters
48
She lives by the rules and wears perfection like armor, until boredom starts to itch. Each week, she slips into a bar that smells like trouble and tastes like freedom. There is a man there who watches from the shadows, magnetic and off-limits, the kind of temptation that dares her to blink first. A reckless offer hums between them, thrilling and risky, and it awakens a side of her she keeps buried. Desire tangles with danger, confidence with fear, and the night promises more than she planned. How far will she lean when playing safe no longer feels like living?
Chapter 1: The Man at the End of the Bar
RUNE
Fuck if I’m not tired.
Working as a gun for hire for an elite organization was getting to be tiresome. Of course the money was good. Great, in fact. But in the last ten years, I’d made more money than I could spend in two lifetimes.
I had offshore accounts keeping my money hidden away and properties that spanned the globe. I could live anywhere in the world, but for some reason, I didn’t want to leave this country yet or even this town. I’d ended up here by a fluke.
My last assignment had been completed, and I had just been passing through and stopped by this little bar called the Crow on a total whim, looking for somewhere off the beaten path where no one could find me.
No one paid me any attention here, but I was sure it was because they could tell there was more to me than meets the eye. Sure, I was dressed like them—dark jeans, black T-shirt, and sometimes a leather jacket.
But the tattoos that spanned my arms and neck told the story of my past and sometimes my present.
They represented death and destruction that I left everywhere I went. I didn’t like what I did, but it just so happened I was fucking good at it. Now, just crawling into my thirties, I was considering retiring from it all.
The last job had hit too close to home for me, and it was the first time I considered taking a break from it all. Maybe this was the place for me to do that. No one would expect me to stay in America or even come to a town like this.
I could blend in. Hone my hacking skills, which I recently realized I had a knack for, and find some new hobbies.
For a minute, a feeling of peace swept over me, the decision finally taking root as I gave myself over to the unfamiliar feeling.
PENNY
Fuck if I’m not tired.
I spent most of my days in class or studying at the library, like the good girl everyone expected me to be.
Some afternoons I spent with my best friends, Jordan, Camille, and Regina, having pizza and wine or generally having our girl time.
But ever since Jordan left for a semester in London with her hot Professor Lev Volkov six months ago, our pizza and wine nights had dwindled down to maybe once a month.
My roommate Camille and her boyfriend Greg were always either fighting or making up in our apartment. That resulted in me spending even more time at the library.
Did they know it was all for show? That my parents, Rod and Martha, had groomed their only child to be the shining example of a perfectly bred child. Impeccable manners, modest clothing, and a list of accolades as long as the Mississippi River.
I wanted to scream. Well, I was tired of it. Tired of being so goddamn perfect all the goddamn time.
I’d been so focused on school that I never had time for a boyfriend. Well, that was going to change. I didn’t want the usual college boy like Camille. I saw what that got her. No, thank you.
I wanted to pop my cherry, and I didn’t want some boy clinging to me afterward, thinking we were in love. I needed a man. Preferably someone who knew what they were doing. After seeing Jordan and Lev together, I had no doubt of the benefits that being with someone older could bring.
I knew when college was over, my parents would expect me to be with someone in high society, a politician maybe. A doctor or lawyer was also acceptable to them. Which was why I wanted none of those things. Not now. Not when I had the freedom to choose for myself.
Two weeks ago, I’d looked up random bars far enough away from campus where I was sure I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew or, God forbid, anyone my parents knew. I called the Uber and just directed him to the last one on the list.
The first time, I had barely stumbled past the threshold when I felt the heavy weight of the stares from around the room. I almost smiled, recalling that night.
Clearing my throat, I’d made it to the corner of the bar and hopped onto an empty stool. “Are you lost, little girl?” The skinny bartender covered in piercings had asked me, but his tone was amused.
I just shook my head and ordered a Mai Tai. His smile had evaporated then, and he scowled, letting me know he didn’t do “girly drinks,” so I ordered a Chardonnay instead. He never even asked for my ID.
I spent the next half an hour sipping on my wine and people watching as if I was sitting at the mall instead of a seedy bar in a dubious neighborhood.
A few men had approached me as if they were curious, but I’d politely declined their offer of drinks and was relieved when they didn’t cause a scene.
Then he’d walked in. I was sure my jaw had dropped, but no one seemed to notice because all of a sudden everyone seemed to be on instant alert.
I felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room and that the man moving to the stool at the other corner of the room was my lifeline.
I turned my body slightly to observe him under thick lashes as I sipped my wine. He looked tall with a body you would expect from a gym rat and not someone lounging idly at a bar. The black T-shirt he wore molded to his shoulders, chest, and what I was sure was killer abs.
His chocolate brown hair was wet and slicked back as if he’d just had a shower, and even though it was nighttime, he wore wayfarers so I couldn’t see his eyes. My pulse quickened the longer I inspected him, and then a small smile had curved my lips.
He would do nicely, I’d thought. But I’d been coming here for two weeks now, and he’d also been here but never approached me.
Sure, I wasn’t gorgeous in that sexy way like Camille or even Jordan. I’d like to think of myself as more of a classic beauty. More Nicole Kidman and less Christina Hendricks.
I had strawberry blonde hair that was usually in a high ponytail, and my wardrobe mostly consisted of sweaters and jeans.
I was sure my glasses perched on my very freckled nose didn’t help either. I told myself I would give him one more week, then I’d make the first move myself. He couldn’t say no, could he? I mean, what guy would turn down an offer for sex with no strings?
