Page 99 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

Duncan laughs, as intended. “I did bring a bottle tonight. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about having the place full, so I came prepared to self-soothe.”

He pulls a bottle of fantastic Scotch out of a desk drawer and pours me what has to be a double and threatens to end me if I put it in my coffee. We laugh about drinking it out of paper coffee cups. The burn is soothing, and after a few minutes, a medicated languor spreads through me. Still, I can’t tell him the whole truth of why I’m here. The saga of Kait and Eóghann is too pathetic to share.

“Have a look around, but before you leave, I’ve been meaning to introduce you to Eóghann. Come find me before you go?”

“That would be great,” I say. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Really?” he asks with a little smile and a lot of suspicion. I forget that coffee is a second career after a too-long stint in hostage negotiation. The man listens like it’s his job because it was. “You know Eóghann?”

“I have the first one of the heart paintings, like the one on the door poster,” I say. “I’d appreciate an introduction later.”

I want to talk to Eóghann before things get busy. This is shaping up to be a capital E event. Trays are staged in the coffee area with hors d’oeuvres. There are bottles of champagne on ice with a counter covered in flutes, and gourmet s’mores ready for nibbling, and a few servers dressed in crisp white tuxedo shirts and bow ties standing behind the counter, waiting to be of service. There’s a buzz of energy as two women stand back and straighten paintings with an eye for perfection, and Bean staff willingly do their bidding, moving tables and chairs to show the art to its best advantage.

I hope the big hearts aren’t obscenely priced because I wouldn’t hesitate to sell a kidney to take them home. It’s not like when I bought my black chair. I wanted it but would have been fine with something else. This is different. If I can’t have Kait, I will have the art that reminds me of her. Art that calls my name when she won’t.

“Have a look around,” Duncan says, gesturing to the walls of paintings. “We’ll talk later.”

One of the women is a tall and leggy blonde. To say she’s stunning would be accurate but doesn’t capture her genetic blessings. Yet it’s the woman with auburn hair who captures my attention in her black dress and heels. Every light in this place is turned on to show off the art, and her hair is gleaming, long copper-tinted tresses that shine as she moves, pointing at one frame and tweaking another. She’s the boss, calm and in command of the entire operation, and a temptation while doing it.

I’ve always imagined Kait looking like this woman. I managed to get long and auburn out of her one day. She also said she was plain at best, which I never believed for a second. I’ve had multiple girlfriends who were ultimately revealed to be ugly on the interior, but I’m well aware of how good a person can look when they’re beautiful inside.

I don’t know what the brunette says, but the blonde replies, “Yes, Your Highness,” with affection and sarcasm that pings a memory I reach for but can’t grasp. Odd—I know I’ve never met her. She’s memorable in a way beautiful people often are. “Your wish is my most favorite command, Empress.”

The tall one almost walks into me, stepping backward from the wall until I clear my throat to let her know I’m present. She says, “Excuse me,” and walks around me with a painting in hand.

That’s when I get it. The woman in the little black dress is Tiny Giggle in her dressed-up adult form, and holy hell, I wish I were a guy who could appreciate her more. Sure, I’ve had a bit of heightened interest in her for a few months, but this sleek and sexy version is terrifying.

I’d leave now, but my desperation to find Kait forces me to reach deep inside for the courage to speak to her. I don’t want to. I have to.

I need to find Eóghann, and Tiny is clearly working in some capacity tonight. And if she’s the way I find Kait, then talk to her I shall. Because if Eóghann doesn’t know who bought my painting, this is it.

If this doesn’t work, I’m done.

No more looking.

No more hope.

I let her go.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

KAITLIN

I’m tweaking a painting with a minuscule tilt in a last-minute effort to attain perfection when a warm, rich baritone “Hello?” sends a frisson of energy down my spine. Like his voice, only deeper.

“Pardon me?”

I turn, and wow. Mr. Coffee is on fire tonight. His charcoal overcoat fits his broad shoulders perfectly over a navy suit and green tie. I’ve never been within fifteen feet of him before. He smells faintly of lemons and coffee. The hit of lemon makes me want to run out the door in fight-or-flight mode, while the lower half of my body wants to know if he has strong feelings about pinning a woman down and slamming his cock into her.

Oh Lord Jesus, it’s a fire.

It’s in my panties.

His eyes are brimming with intelligence, an almost translucent light green with a hint of Sennelier #714 Steel Blue around the edges. Why do men always get the lashes so long they curl?

New me, new rules. I’m officially changing my tea time to 7:45. I’ll be in that line with him every damn day until we start up witty little casual conversations. He’ll volunteer that he’s single. I’ll accidentally-on-purpose bump into him, he spills coffee on me, puts his hands all over me trying to help, and it is goooooood. Of course, he’s a gentleman, and I’m charming about his blunder (that I caused), and naturally, he requests my phone number. Eventually, we practice making babies all the time.

His smile is warm, but it doesn’t reach his stunning eyes. I smile back. I’m pleased to get closer after months of basking in his discomfort.