Page 70
“Ah, sir? What time should we be leaving for the resort?” Bennett’s voice carries through the closed bedroom door.
West freezes. I let out a breathless laugh, pressing my forehead to his chest.
He groans against my throat. “I hate that kid.”
“Liar,” I murmur. “And he’s right. It’s almost seven.”
“It is?” West frowns, looking over his shoulder at the Alexa screen next to the bed. “Shit, I have a meeting in half an hour.”
“We’re leaving in twenty minutes,” I shout out, trying not to laugh at the way West winces as he pulls away from me. “Don’t you dare go into that bathroom,” I hiss at him. “I get to shower first.”
“It’s my bathroom.”
“And I gave you a blow job last night. That’s got to be worth five minutes of steam and peace.”
His gaze locks on mine, his brow lifting like he’s remembering the way I slid between his legs. “I’ll give you ten.”
I can’t help smirking as I brush past him and climb out of the bed. But even with my speedy shower, it takes us far longer than thirty minutes to get out of the house.
Which is probably why West’s stupidly expensive watch is flashing an alert by the time we step out onto the sunlit driveway, our shoes crunching on the gravel. His meeting should have started ten minutes ago, and his phone’s been constantly pinging with messages.
But you wouldn’t know it by looking at him.
Gone is the grumpy, growling man who pressed me into the mattress forty-five minutes ago. In his place is Mr. Suave. His shirt is perfectly buttoned, his tie knotted, and sunglasses in place. With the cherry on the top – the world’s most charming smile aimed directly at Bennett.
“You ready for your first day?” he asks, tossing the keys to the Aston Martin into the air and catching them like some kind of car commercial lead.
Bennett, who looks a little nervous in his khakis and a bright white polo that still has the creases from the store, nods like he’s about to be knighted. “Absolutely, sir. I brought my notebook and a backup pen.”
“Very wise. I like a man who’s ready for anything.”
Bennett blushes like West’s nominated him for employee of the year.
“Take these,” West says, throwing a set of keys at me. I catch them and frown. They’re for the SUV.
“Aren’t I coming with you?” I ask him.
“I may need to work late tonight,” he murmurs, looking like the West I used to think I knew. “I thought you might want to escape from me early.”
“Why can’t I take the Vantage?” I ask him.
He raises a brow at me. “I figured you’d prefer an automatic. I know you had some problems with the stick shift.”
“Ouch.” I narrow my eyes at him, keys dangling from my fingers. “You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself.” I glance over at Bennett. “Hey, want to drive with me?” I ask him. “I’m much more fun than Mr. Grump over there.”
Bennett’s eyes widen. “Ah…”
“I beg to differ. Nobody’s more fun than me,” West says.
I give him a pointed look, because he’s spent the last hour as the poster child for grumpy husbands.
“I guess the Aston Martin is very nice,” Bennett says, like he’s a kid in the middle of a custody battle, being asked to choose one of his parents over the other.
“It’s even nicer when it’s driven by somebody who knows what they’re doing,” West says, giving me a wide grin.
God, I hate the way he’s so stupidly attractive. “When you find someone who knows what they’re doing, let me know,” I say sweetly.
His smile doesn’t falter as he unlocks the car and Bennett climbs into the passenger seat, clutching his notebook like a life raft. West watches him shut the door, waits a beat, then turns and stalks toward me with that slow, confident stride that does ridiculous things to my insides.
