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Once my lunch is finished, I wipe my mouth with a napkin and throw it and the hot dog tray away in the nearest trash can. I take a bottle of water from my purse and drink down half of it. I start my Corvette, find the nearest Starbucks, and grab us both some coffee before I head to Everett’s office.
Fifty-three
Margie
“Margie. What are you doing here?”
My greedy gaze roams over his suited body from the doorway. What I wouldn’t give to have him hovering above me. Or even better still, bent over the desk with a handful of my hair clenched in his fist as he fucks me from behind. He would be so good. His dark features and that five o’clock shadow he’s been sporting recently is enough to have me dropping to my knees and begging for it.
“Is Reagan alright?”
Fucking Reagan…it’s always about her. I turn away for a second, closing my eyes tightly.
I conjure up an image in my head of us being together, not him and Reagan. That bitch needs to find out what it’s like to want, to need, to not have everything handed to her on a silver platter. I’ve had to work so hard all my life. I didn’t even graduate college
I soon forget all that and put a smile on my face, walking into his office slowly but surely, placing one foot in front of the other. I close the door softly before moving to the desk, placing my palm on the glass top and dragging it along as I find my way around to his chair. Pulling it out, I drop my ass down into it and spin around to face him.
“So this is what it feels like to be on the opposite side of the desk. I can see why Reagan likes it so much. She really must feel like she’s in control. Must be nice.”
“It’s Ms. Quinn to you,” he says with a firm voice. Of course that just makes things worse. “Can I help you with something?”
His muscles bunch as he folds his arms across his broad chest. I’m salivating just looking at him. Although nothing is a prettier picture than when he runs. The muscles in his legs and the sweat glistening over his tanned skin… I’ve gone back to my apartment many a morning after watching him and made myself come with my own hand.
“I don’t have all day, Margie. And I’m assuming you don’t either. So why don’t you tell me why you’re here.” He smiles politely but I know he doesn’t mean it. I know he doesn’t like me. We can’t upset his fucking precious Reagan.
I cross my legs, one over the other, hitching my skirt up my thighs a little. Resting my elbows on the armrests of the chair, I sway the chair gently from side to side. “I wanted to talk to you about Reagan.”
His eyebrows pull in and his eyes narrow. “What about Reagan?”
He puts his hand on the armrest and stops the chair from swinging. I can’t help but gaze up at him as he leans over the chair, his breath in my face as it puffs out. “Tell me.” He’s firmer than before.
Staring into his green orbs, I almost get lost in them. I grin capturing my lip between my teeth. My gaze drops to his hands; he follows my line of sight and stands upright.
“I can talk to you, right?” He folds his arms across his chest again, nodding. “I think she’s sabotaging the accounts. I think she’s the one who’s lost the account and has realized she’s been caught so she’s blaming everyone else.”
With a frown he turns away, giving me his broad back. “Are you crazy?” Everett spins back around with a surprised look on his handsome face.
“No. But I think she is. You have to believe me.” Standing from his chair, I take a careful step toward him and look up. “Honestly, I think she hates me.”
He sighs as his hands slide into his pockets and steps back from me. “She’s just a little stressed right now, she doesn’t hate you.”
“Stressed?” I roll my eyes at his reply. Her being stressed is bullshit. “Well, you know stress can make you act crazy.” I put on my best puppy dog eyes, my eyelashes fluttering.
“Reagan would never sabotage her own job. She’s been there longer than some of the furniture. It’s her life.” His eyes narrow as he mulls it over in his mind. “I think you’re lying…”
“I can understand that. You would stick up for her. But why would I lie, Everett? I have no reason. I love this job, and Terry is really good to me. He let me go to that dinner party when Reagan said it wasn’t for assistants. He’s listened to my concerns when I’ve needed someone…”
“Wait, if it wasn’t for Reagan taking you on, you wouldn’t even fucking know Terry Hicks,” he spits.
With some caution, I reach out. The tips of my fingers slide down the lapels of his jacket and I step closer until we’re toe to toe. “You’re too good for her. You’d be much better off with someone else. She doesn’t love you.”
His nostrils flare and I know I need to strike while the iron is hot.
Flattening my palm against his hard chest, I run it upward, feeling every muscle. His eyes darken and he catches my wrist in his grip, squeezing it between his tight fingers.
“Don’t touch me.”
I laugh, breaking out of his hold, and turn away. “If you won’t listen to me, I’m sure Terry will. Maybe I’ll tell him how his darling little Reagan is trying to ruin his business.” I spin away from him, my hair flicking in my wake.
