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Hopefully, I won’t have to pretend to be engaged to that man whore for longer than that. But knowing my luck, I could be stuck with him for good.
And being stuck with Tanner—that’s what scares me.
Not because I find him quite as intolerable as my press releases suggest, but because I know that the longer I’m around him, the harder this gets.
Seeing how fucking good Tanner still looks—always looks, damn him—gets my juices flowing, and not the just ones concerned with stock prices and profit margins. Before all this, I was able to keep my emotions in check. But spending so much time with him, it’s going to be hard to not fall for his charming line of bullshit all over again.
I shake my head in a futile effort to get him out of my every thought, every cell of my being. Instead, I try to distract myself with the latest news on the fallout from the fashion show.
Article after article detail the events without adding anything new, just idle gossip and chatter. A few small pieces on my falling stock prices. Tanner’s stocks are falling, too.
I’m about to switch over to my email when I see an article from Lis Langley. I usually like to read her pieces—when I’m not the subject, of course. She knows her stuff, and she’s sharp.
Too bad she’s writing for that shitty gossip rag that tries to pass itself off as a respectable business paper.
My eye catches the picture of Tanner accompanying the Lis Langley article. Fuck, he’s good-looking. I think back to being in his office and how close I came to surrendering and just falling into his arms.
He’s right; that part did work for us. It was everything else that was fucked up.
And I see no reason to think it would be any different this time around.
I just have to remind myself of that—when I’m standing close enough to him and feel the heat emanating from his body.
It bothers me how much I liked it when he slammed me against the window in his office. Take-charge Tanner is quite the turn on.
I’m remembering all the times in the past when Tanner turned me on, all the nights spent in his bed, my bed, his penthouse roof, and so many other places.
My email window springs to life, jolting me back to grim reality. Unread messages: two hundred sixty-seven.
Shit.
I scroll past the messages from my shareholders—plenty of time later to have my ass handed to me by old white men. I flag a few emails for follow-up and forward even more to my assistant, so she can do the heavy lifting on them.
There’s more than a couple of dozen messages from the press clamoring for an interview. Sure enough,
I see Lis’ name as I scroll past it.
Lis is overqualified to work at The Chronicle. I think that every time I read her stuff. She’s fucking wasted on them.
But pitying her work situation isn’t enough for me to grant her an interview, or to any of the reporters crowding my inbox.
Minimizing my email window brings me back face to face with Tanner, who’s staring at me from the website of The Capitalist Chronicle. Damn if I don’t want him. Right here, right now.
But wanting him and liking him are not the same thing. In my case, where Tanner’s concerned, at least, they’re polar opposites.
I pick up the bottle sitting to my left to pour another much-needed glass of rosé, but nothing comes out. Given the turn my life has taken the past few days, it’s no surprise that I’ve managed to finish a bottle of wine.
In the middle of the day.
And I’m going in for seconds.
I haul myself to the kitchen, and as I grab another bottle from the wine cooler, I notice the imported chocolates that Monique sent to me just hours ago.
That assistant of mine needs a raise. No, multiple raises.
She knows just how to raise my spirits. Decadent dark chocolate truffles are a good start. But add it to my rosé, the strawberries I have in the fridge, and a few other goodies waiting for me by the tub, and I have the makings of a spirit-boosting bubble bath to die for.
I open the fridge and reach for the strawberries to add to the pile of sustenance I’m gathering on the counter. The can of whipped cream sitting beside the fruits takes me back to a certain Hamptons weekend getaway and the creative ways Tanner found to use whipped cream.
