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Grant
“So you’re workingfrom home today?” I ask my longtime buddy and business partner Brooks over the phone.
I hear a feminine laugh at the other end of the line.
I shake my head. The other day, Brooks was talking about a breakup with his new wife Sarah, and now it’s safe to say they’ve mended fences. Annoyance creeps under my skin. Brooks has turned into a mush ever since he married Sarah, even if he won’t admit it.
“Yeah, man. Can’t make it in today,” Brook says, then the sound of a swish of sheets filters in our conversation.
“I wonder why,” I say dryly.
“Don’t be a lemon, Grant. Why are you grumpy—weren’t you going out with someone?”
“Didn’t work out,” I say.
“I wonder why,” he says, using the same tone I did a couple of instants earlier.
Touché, asshole.“Okay, I’ll talk to you later,” I say, then hang up the call—but not before registering a soft moan on the other end of the line. A woman’s moan. Were they really fucking with me on the line? Probably just foreplay.
I sit the phone on the desk, and thread my fingers through my hair. I have shit to do. A meeting later, I need to contact the technology team about some software update, and call a few people back.
All of this would have happened already if it weren’t for her. Amy St. Claire.
A saint in name, the devil in flesh.
For the past week, she’s been working for me while her cousin is on vacation. I’ve had to deal with a few inconveniences—how she’s always a few minutes late, or how I had to repeat to her how I like my coffee… but the worst of all, is me having to deal with her prancing around with that sexy body and those big tits that won’t quit.
Just thinking about it makes my body stir.
Brandi, my last sugar baby, left me because I called her Amy in bed, a few days ago.
An honest mistake, since this hot brat hasn’t left my mind. I can’t fuck her, of course… I respect Terri, who has worked alongside me for almost twenty years now—much before Sugar & Silk was created, back when I sold software for start-ups.
Not being able to fuck her though doesn’t mean I don’t fantasize about it every waking hour of the goddamn day.
It’s starting to affect me. Fuck.
A soft knock at the door announces her entry.
Like a sad puppy who’s left alone all day, I look forward to when she pops in my office. “Yeah?”
“You have that meeting in an hour. I printed all the talking points like you’ve asked,” she says, then hands me a folder.
“Thanks.”
She smiles. “It’s cute how you like to print everything.”
A wave of embarrassment washes over me. “Well, not everything,” I say, unsure if I’m insulted because she implied I’m old, or if I’m flattered she learned something about me already. I use a lot of digital notes, but for important shit, yes, I like having a paper in front of me. “Though I should do better. For the trees.”
She shifts her weight from one foot to another. “I’m not judging.”
“Good.”
She worries her bottom lip, then closes the door behind her, and pulls a chair in front of me. She sits on the edge of it, all nervous energy. “Can I ask you something?” she blushes.
My entire body is on high alert. My shoulders tense up, and moisture leaves my throat. Her blush does something to me.
“I know this sounds silly, but where would a woman my age meet guys?”
