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"No?" he asks behind me.
"No, I mean, yes. I'm good," I say, carefully propping myself on my elbows.
I take a deep breath and stand. I avoid looking at him, glancing at the floor to look for my pants and pulling them on quickly.
"You can freshen up in my bathroom if you'd like," he offers.
I raise my gaze to him, and he hands me my G-string. I instinctively touch my pants and realize I forgot to slip them on. Wait. I never took them off. "I don't remember taking it off."
"You didn't," he says with a smile that makes me want to throw myself in his arms. “I ripped them off when you were coming.” He comes close to me and whispers in my ear. "And I'll do it again."
14
Archer
I'll definitely rip her underwear again.
I stare at Hazel, her lips parted, a look of surprise in her pretty eyes like she's registering what I said. She enters my private bathroom to freshen up. Soon after she’s done, her phone rings at a distance, an annoying reminder of reality. I have a jam-packed schedule today, and she knows that.
"I'll go get that,” she says.
"Of course."
She leaves without looking back, and I hear her talking to the operations manager. I go to the bathroom, compose myself, wash my hands, and splash cold water on my face. When I look at my reflection in passing, I catch the glint in my eyes.
I’m experiencing the high I usually get when I close a coveted business deal. But we had sex, and it's still here.
Damn it.
I dry my hands and return to my office. My cell phone rings, but I mute it without looking at the screen.
What's happening to me?
I'm completely hooked on Hazel. The way she felt, so tight, so ready for me…, and the way she kissed me.
I want more. I want it again. I want her.
My gut clenches. Relax, man. I'm probably still coming down from a post-sex high. I might think differently in an hour. Yes, that's right. An hour should be enough to come down from a sex high, given my enormous experience in the subject.
I go to my phone and I set my timer for an hour.
Sixty minutes.
A lot can be done in sixty minutes, and maybe I'll learn what's happening. I'll be calmer and think more realistically. If in one hour I still feel the same way, then I'm fucked.
So I open my inbox and go to the folder that Hazel has curated for me. Every day, she goes through my endless emails and prioritizes the ones I should read—not the ones she can reply to in my name. It's a sound system. A system I should protect with every shred of common sense. If I lose her as an assistant, will it take months to find someone suitable again?
Worst of all, I don't want to lose her… as an assistant or anything else. No, I want to bathe in her scent, to be wrapped in her warmth.
I glance at the timer.
Forty minutes. In forty minutes, rationality will return.
I go back to work, tweaking proposals and calling my legal team to double-check clauses. I even polish the business deal I want to present to Sugar & Silk—one I hope to get the chance to present.
"Mr. Cromwell," Hazel says, walking into my office. "In thirty minutes, you have that meeting with the tech team in the conference room."
I raise my gaze from the screen to her.
