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An unhappy grumble over his comment is given prior to me proclaiming, “I know you have plenty of time to handle the event changes, which includes announcing that we will be testing Sully’s winter edition flavors among some of the hospitality vendors that stock our product; however, what I don’t know is why you lied about having to do it now.”
“You found a weird way to buy the woman you have the hots for flowers…” his shit eating grin precedes him sauntering over to one of the cushioned chairs in the center of the room, “and I simply found a weird way for you to drive her home.”
Additional murmurs of objection propel me to head for the door just as Penny is entering the library across the hall with her nose buried in a vase full of bright red roses.
That’s where the blue-eyed beauty was until almost four this morning.
And because she was there, I was here.
Waiting.
Listening.
Hoping she’d need something from me – fuck, anything.
Any excuse to walk across the hall to talk to her.
Engage again.
She left the door open – on purpose – and I fully took advantage of it.
Watched the way her face would light up when she discovered something that excited her.
Studied how she nibbled on her bottom lip when she was concentrating.
Became enslaved by the varying speed her tits would rise and fall based on whatever had her attention on the screen.
When she finally ambled away for bed, I headed straight for a long jog and an ice-cold shower that ultimately did nothing in the dick department like I needed.
While I’m not a saint – nor have I ever claimed to be – I fear that jerking off to thoughts of her would fill me with more guilt that relief.
Maybe I can ask Hamilton for a solution.
With the way modern science has expanded, I’m almost fairly certain they have some sort of pill that can assist me with blue balls.
Post a trip to my bathroom where I give my face a scrub with cold water and apply a hint of cologne to my neck – from a bottle I haven’t touched since before the accident – I relocate to the area where I’m expected.
What I find upon my arrival is not only Hurst and Holmes respectively waiting by open vehicle doors but Clark and Bryn discussing something I don’t approve of.
“Yes, it’ll just be the two of you,” he unexpectedly states to her, a hint of giddiness in his voice. “I would normally tag along, but I have a…budget proposal that must be submitted by two o’clock.” The lie crinkles my forehead. “Your mother usually handles these sorts of things, but since she’s currently indisposed, the responsibility has fallen to me.” Clark’s mischievous glare swings in my direction. “Per Mr. Wilcox’s orders.”
His snarky retort isn’t verbally responded to.
But I will later.
I will concoct some sort of punishment for both him and J.T. for meddling in my social life.
Or…to be frank…my lack thereof.
However, just because it’s practically non-existent doesn’t mean I need them arranging dates for me or pre-dates for me or playdates or whatever it is they’re scheming.
I can handle the situation with Bryn all on my own.
“Oooo, I get Jean-Luc Dicard all to myself in the backseat of a car…” She angles herself around Clark allowing me to get a good view of her in a pair of black ripped jeans and low cut, bright orange tank top out of my peripheral. “Lucky. Me.”
Faint chuckles come from the two security men waiting, prompting the woman plaguing my dreams – and my nightmares – to wink, flick her black sunglasses down, and climb inside the SUV.
Fine.
