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"Not that kind of hook up—you savage. I mean that I've found us a good photographer. She calls herself Mistress Strokes."
"That's an interesting name."
"She's an equally interesting person—definitely the artistic type. She has blue hair and comes highly recommended," CJ says, grinning from ear to ear. I watch the screen as she pushes her own hair behind her ears. She always does that when she's excited.
"Great," I say, wondering if this is the reason why she wanted to meet with me this morning—just to tell me about some photographer. Like I really give a fuck who takes my picture.
"You should be thankful," she says. "It wasn't easy finding someone. Not a lot of photographers wanted to work with you. They were afraid you'd somehow sully their reputations."
"I don't really give a fuck what they think, CJ. You know that."
"Fair enough," she shrugs. "I do know that, but the good thing is that we don't need to worry about it anymore. By the way, how did your meeting with Abby Cleveland go last night?"
"It was um … well it … it went great," I say, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. I somehow wasn't expecting to field that question right off the bat, and I absently run my fingers through my hair again. CJ would flip if she knew the full truth.
She squints her eyes at me as if she's putting together two pieces of a puzzle and she's just found a match. "Hmm… you were up late last night, you overslept for our meeting this morning … where's Abby now?" CJ asks.
"Um … she's … well, she is—" I start to respond, but CJ cuts me off.
"You have to be kidding me Aidan! Not again. Are you freaking serious!"
"What? Why are you freaking out on me right now?" I shrug.
"You of all people should know by now that this won't end well. Has it ever?" she asks.
"Calm down; everything's fine."
"It's not fine! We can't afford to ruin a perfectly good relationship here. This is a good opportunity. And as your agent, I have to put it bluntly—she may be our last chance," CJ says, leaning back in her chair and looking up at the ceiling in exasperation.
"I fucking promise that's not what's going to happen here."
"Give me a break. That's what always happens."
"This time is different."
"Sure it is, just like the last time, and the time before that, right?"
But before I can answer her and tell her that in fact I never made that kind of promise with any of those other women, I hear a noise behind me.
I stop and swivel my chair around to take a look.
Then I see her.
It's Abby.
She's leaning in the doorway wearing nothing but my button-up shirt. It's big on her. She only has a few buttons clasped, and the shirt is hanging off her right shoulder.
"Morning," she purrs, parting her moist lips in a smile and sweeping her hair to one side.
I immediately want to run my fingers through her hair and pull her close. If I'm honest, there are a lot of things I'd like to do to her right now. I look at her smooth and slender bare legs, and the way the shirt just barely reaches her middle thighs.
"Aidan, are you still there?" CJ asks on the computer and I'm jolted back to reality.
"Yeah, sorry. I'm here, but listen, I've gotta go CJ."
"Aidan, wait, we need to—"
But before she can finish, I interrupt.
