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Me: Use my pictures?
I’m pretty damn sure I know what he means, even after several drinks, but I want him to say it. A few seconds later, a picture comes through… His pants are undone, his massive cock at full mast with his hand wrapped around it.
“Holy shit!” I clamp my hand over my mouth and glance around, forgetting that I’m all alone.
Me: Why, when you could have the real thing?
Cyrus: Because the way I’m feeling tonight, I’d break you in half. Good night. Behave and get home… NOW.
I straighten out my dress and walk back to the table, my legs wobbly with adrenaline.
“I’m exhausted.” Serenity yawns.
“Me too,” I agree, sitting back down. “Ready to head home?”
“Very.”
We pay our tab and take an Uber back to my place where all I want to do is crawl into bed and dream about Cyrus saying yes.
Chapter 17
Cyrus
I pace the floor of my office, my mind spinning. I can’t decide if it’s a healthy dose of fear or paranoia at this point. In the moment, sending that picture to Presley was hot and exciting. Believe it or not, it’s the first and most likely last time in my life I’ve ever sent a “dick pic” to anyone.
There have been too many threats, too many uneasy feelings lately for me to ignore them. Between the Nikki Frisk situation which I stupidly fell for, then Peter threatening me about keeping my own house in order, to randomly meeting Presley at The Waterhouse right before this deal goes through…
“Sir, Miss James is here for your ten o’clock.”
Abigail’s voice interrupts my thoughts before they can spiral too much out of control. I take in a deep breath, exhaling it slowly as I try to rationalize what I’m feeling. The last thing I want to be true, is for Presley to be some sort of corporate spy or another setup by Peter.
“Send her in.”
“Afternoon, sir,” she says with a pleasant tone to her voice as she steps into my office, closing the door behind her. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, thanks for making the trip to my office.” I don’t take a seat; neither does she. “Why were you at The Waterhouse?” I launch right into it.
“What?” Her brow furrows.
“The night we first met. Why were you there? I’ve never seen you there, in all my years of going.”
“I was just grabbing a drink. Why? What’s this about?”
“Did you purposely go there? To meet me? Did you know that I went there often?”
Her confusion deepens. “What? No. I just said I went there to grab a drink. I think I ordered French fries too. It had started to rain and I forgot my umbrella so I just ducked in to stay dry. Seriously, what’s this about?”
I stare at her and I believe her. Not just because it’s clear that she is completely caught off guard and has no idea what I’m insinuating, but because I trust her. I shake my head in embarrassment, rubbing my forehead with my fingers.
“Sorry, I just—I let my brain get tangled around itself and fall down a rabbit hole of paranoia.”
“So your fear was that I sought you out that night to do what?”
“I don’t know honestly. I can’t help but feel like Peter made Nikki Frisk seduce me, make me believe she was getting divorced so he could smear my reputation a little more right before this big deal, and then he threatened me at the gala.”
“He threatened you?” She takes a step toward me. “How?”
“Well, maybe it wasn’t a threat, but it seemed like one. Made mention of ‘my house’ being in disorder and that it might cause Meridian to look for a new buyer. It’s bullshit but it just made my mind spin on all kinds of ridiculous what-if scenarios. I know how these people operate, Presley. I mean it when I say they’re fucking snakes.”
