Page 13 of Bad Run

“Fine. But promise, no heavy lifting?” I glare at her.

It was a hard-won pregnancy for my boss, and I have no problem pampering her.

“You sound like my husband,” she grumbles.

She takes a seat at the front of the room and gives me a rundown of what she’s going to cover during the meeting as I grab the file folders and place one on each chair.

Maryse is amazing to work with. As soon as I started here, she had me shadowing her, learning all the ins and outs of the marketing department and getting the whole PR team on my side.

According to Maryse, “We women have to stick together.”

She’s the ultimate girl’s girl and knows I can do this job with my hands behind my back. She has so much faith in me and has already implemented the new team branding campaign I thought up over the break.

The strategy my father approved without knowing it came from me.

After the agenda and marketing packets are laid out, I return to Maryse at the podium. This is not your typical executive conference room. This space is arranged like a movie theater and acts as the team meeting room and media press conference space as well. The stadium-style seating means everyone’s eyes will be set on me.

My pesky little heart beats double-time as butterflies take flight in my stomach.

Today is the day. I’m no longer able to hide from Lance-mother-freaking-Taylor.

A white-hot shiver races down my spine just thinking of his name and, of course, my traitorous brain flashes images of that night in my head.

The last time I saw him. Felt him. Tasted him.

Every moment of that night is engraved on my soul. His piercing blue eyes and his gravelly voice visit me in my dreams every night. I will never forget what happened that night. From now until the end of my days, I will remember every word and every kiss we shared. Every touch of his hands on my body. Every inch of him inside me.

What I experienced with Lance was life changing. Nothing like what I had experienced with other lovers before.

There was this indescribable energy between us. It felt like red-hot threads of shimmering gold that were determined to bind us together.

I could have sworn Lance felt it too.

But the more I go over that night, the more I think maybe it was all in my head.

Or maybe he’s just that good with his dick that he dickmatized me into thinking there was something special between us than just the best sex of my life.

I still picture his thick cock as it slowly …

Nope. Do not think about his dick!

I blow out a raspberry in disgust at myself. At my thoughts. At him.

How dare he turn me into this overthinking mess? The bastard didn’t even have the decency to say thanks for all the sex and the blow job of all blow jobs in the shower.

I’m more than heated now, after my mental little segue. Anger and anxiety mix, ratcheting up as the clock ticks down.

Weeks ago, I promised myself that if he didn’t reach out by New Year’s Eve, I’d let the idea of him go. I’d toss my feelings for him into the ocean like the old lady from Titanic did with the necklace.

Only now, it’s the middle of January and I still haven’t been able to toss the metaphorical necklace overboard.

Every day, I seek Lance out, only to run in the opposite direction or hide in storage closets when I see him. I tell myself not to look for him. But something keeps pulling me toward him.

Stop thinking about him and concentrate, damn it!

I fiddle with my skirt, brush my pale-pink silk blouse down—making sure I don’t have sweat stains—and check my watch for the time.

The guys on the team should show up any minute now.