Page 130 of Over the Limit

“You’re the last to go. Don’t be late,” she says about the envelope in my hand.

“I won’t.” I scurry after Blair and close the door behind me as I step into the room. “God, you look so good I could eat you,” I murmur and brush my lips over hers.

“Well, hello there,” she purrs.

My cock’s already hard. That’s all it takes with her is one fucking kiss and I’m a goner.

“You’ve done an incredible job tonight. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

“And, baby, I can’t fucking wait to collect on that down payment later.”

“Promise.”

“You bet your arse I promise. Those red lips of yours. I want them wrapped around my—”

“I’m well aware where you want them wrapped.” She pushes against my chest and wipes her thumb over my lips to presumably remove her lipstick. “You need to go. You’re up soon.”

“I know.”

I brush my lips over hers one more time and then open the door to find Monica Chamalet reaching for its handle. There is a shocked look on her face. One that has me praying that fucking red lipstick isn’t still on my lips.

Oh. Fuck.

“Monica,” I say and offer a strained smile as she looks over my shoulder and no doubt sees Blair and her smeared lipstick.

“How dare you?” she spits out in a low even tone. “Zola. She’s—you’re—you’re a cheating sack of shit. How dare you—”

“Spencer Riggs,” the emcee calls out.

“I can explain,” I say calmly with my hands up. “It’s not what you think.”

“Not what I think?” Her eyes widen and her voice escalates.

I look around the room and Zola sees me the minute I see her. Her eyes are wide and dread etches in every line of her face. “Mother,” she shouts as she scurries across the room.

“Blair? Where’s Blair?” a shorter man asks, one of her assistants I believe.

“Cruz Navarro,” the emcee says.

“Here,” she says, raising her hand and scurrying past me and out of the office toward him. Good. She needs to be gone right now. She’s not a part of this scheme.

But as much as I know that and Zola knows it, the glare that Monica levels at Blair is brutal.

“Mum,” Zola says. “It’s not what you think. I promise. It’s . . . we’re not together. I needed a break from you and the Baron thing and so Lachlan agreed to help me. To pretend. To—”

“Use you to get to me,” she says, not a single emotion on her face. But the ice in her tone says enough. In fact, it says it all.

“No. Never,” I say resolutely.

“It wasn’t like that, Mum. I promise. It was him being a good friend to me.”

“Of course, he was.” Her smile is tight.

“I assure you—”

“You just don’t ever listen,” Zola shouts at her mother.