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Maybe she… I don’t know, didn’t think I’d be good enough for her or something. Perfect, professional Anita who was really good at her job and did pilates and swimming and spin class and had a perfect body and a perfect face and stupid, perfect hair.

Well I had all those things too. I didn’t like to brag, but I was practically flawless. I looked damn good. I ate well and took exquisite care of my body. I had a beautiful car and a stunning nesthouse and a wildly successful business that I’d started from scratch. My watch had cost ten grand. The diamond in my ear had cost a little over double that. I filled out a suit like nobody’s business. And a tux. God, I looked fucking fantastic in a tux. Maybe I should become an international spy so I had more reason to wear one. I’d probably make an insanely good spy, although I didn’t really like martinis and I’d never fired a gun.

I probably wouldn’t even need a gun. A few kickboxing classes, maybe some Krav Maga, and I’d be an unstoppable, handsome force.

Feeling a little better about myself, I sauntered into the kitchen to fill up my water bottle. Instead, I found myself snatching up my phone and typing the web address for Feris Events into my browser.

I didn’t think Anita had been lying about the dumb rule. She’d been too flustered and anxious to have been faking it. Besides, I was pretty sure she would’ve taken great pleasure in telling me flat-out that she wasn’t interested in having sex with me again, especially while my shirt had been streaked with my own cum.

I trawled through the website as if I expected to find a list of employee rules on there, number one being, ‘No having desk sex with your clients, no matter how handsome and charming they are. Not even if they’d make a really sexy spy’.

I glanced up from my phone and looked around my silent kitchen, suddenly feeling stupid. Why did I even care so much? I could go out right now in my gym clothes and find someone else to have sex with in an hour tops. I could probably achieve it without even leaving my nesthouse—just call up one of the many women in my phone and charm them into coming over.

I squirmed, the idea feeling weirdly gross. I still tapped over to my contacts, but I scrolled down to the Ls and hit my sibling’s name before I could think better of it.

“Sup,” Laki answered after a few rings.

“Hey.” I could hear voices in the background. “You busy?”

“Nah, just at Mom’s.”

“Who’s that?” I heard my mother demand.

“It’s Nuni, Ma.”

“Give me the phone, Laki.” There was a rustle before my mom’s voice came through the speaker. “How are you, darling?”

My mouth quirked. “I’m good, Ma. Just about to go to the gym.”

“At this time?”

I huffed in amusement. Mom somehow knew all our schedules—well, except maybe Greid’s. I guessed mine wasn’t too hard to keep track of, seeing as I very, very rarely deviated from it.

I’d deviated from it today, though.

“Yeah, I, uh… was working late.” My ears fluttered weakly. “Could you pass me back to Laki, Ma? I don’t have much time.”

“Alright, darling, I just wanted to hear your voice. Come home soon, will you? Ooh! Greid and Beryl are coming for dinner on Sunday. Why don’t you come then?”

My lip curled. “Maybe. Might be busy on Sunday. I’ll let you know.”

She tutted. “You work too hard, Nuni.”

“It’s Pooni, Mom,” my sister Kiti’s annoying voice piped up in the background, making me scowl.

“I am not calling my precious son that, Kiti,” Mom scolded, then spoke into the phone again. “Come for dinner on Sunday, darling. Let me feed you.”

I rarely took cheat days—despite what I’d told Anita earlier when she mentioned the food-tasting for the event—but I made exceptions for my mom’s cooking.

“What’re you making?” I asked, feeling tempted even though I’d be subjected to an afternoon of being called Pooni. I might be able to withstand it if Mom was making porin. She usually made porin on Sundays.

“Porin, of course,” she confirmed. “It’ll be Beryl’s first time trying it!”

Well, how nice for sweet little Beryl. I grunted. “I might be able to make it, but if I can’t… you wouldn’t save me a bowl, would you Ma? I could drop by Sunday evening to pick it up.”

After Beryl had gone.

“Of course I will, darling, but do try and make it. Now, I’ll pass you back to your sibling. I love you.”