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And then one of my all-time favorite songs came on… and I knew what that meant.
Dance party.
six
Maddox
This day had turnedinto a shit show. Arthur Hobbs had gotten on the call and then abruptly told me he was nauseous and proceeded to dry heave into the phone before violently vomiting while I was on speakerphone. I’d let him know we could reschedule and ended the call, not even certain he’d heard me.
I didn’t do well with gagging and heaving, and I used that time to take a look at Georgia’s notes again. I’d read the three chapters of Mara’s work, and I agreed with my assistant. Even though that wasn’t the genre I typically read, I knew good work when I read it. It was a gift I’d been given from my grandfather, who was an iconic man in the publishing world.
Nadia had torn apart the opening, which was near perfection in my opinion. So, I’d gotten on the phone with my grandfather and told him about my assistant being an avid reader and loving the submission and that I agreed with her.
He’d heard Ted was going to shop this story to other houses starting tomorrow, so he told me to reschedule the board meeting, and he’d booked a meeting with that dickhead Ted Hagger in the city for dinner. He told me to bring my assistant and take the helicopter and not to be late.
The problem was, my goddamn assistant wasn’t answering her phone. I no longer needed the jacket she’d gone to get, but we’d both need to pack a bag and get our asses on the helicopter in an hour.
I jumped in my car and drove back to my house, finding her ridiculous scooter parked in my driveway. It infuriated me that she drove that thing, even after I’d offered her a temporary loaner, as I had multiple cars, and she’d turned me down. She was attached to the stupid thing she was driving, and she said she didn’t need handouts.
Well, she needed a goddamn car, and I didn’t care how she got it.
I jogged inside, and when I opened the door, music boomed through my entire house.
What the actual fuck?
Was she throwing a party?
I held up my phone and Shazamed the song and shook my head.
“Slow Ride” by Foghat.
Her taste in music was as bad as her taste in transportation.
I moved through my bedroom and into the bathroom, pausing as I stood against the wall with a view into my closet. She couldn’t see me, but I could see her perfectly.
She was standing on top of my leather ottoman in her booties, which was an argument for another time, because I wouldn’t care right now if she’d spray-painted the walls.
I was completely mesmerized.
She was wearing my black velvet jacket that covered the backs of her thighs, because all I could see was a set of gorgeous legs and her booties. Maybe she was naked beneath? That would be quite the fantasy. She had a cowboy hat on her head that I’d never worn, but it was my grandfather’s, and he’d given it to me.
She belted out the lyrics to the song, which would now go down as my all-time favorite song forever. She danced and wiggled and shook her ass.
Fully invested in her performance.
A slower part to the song started to play, and she bent her knees and turned just enough for me to see her playing the air guitar, and I nearly blew my cover when I realized she was holding a can of shaving cream in her hand, which she was clearly using as her microphone, and she tossed it down on the ottoman.
She broke out into the chorus before doing some sort of rock star jump through the air and landing on the floor and then spinning in my direction when her gaze locked with mine.
She sang the words one more time, her voice much softer. “Oh, hey there, Bossman. Um, I was just heading back.”
She hurried toward my speaker and turned it off, and the room fell silent, aside from the heavy panting coming from her mouth. I moved inside the closet. Her chest was rising and falling from her stadium-worthy performance, and she blinked up at me a few times.
“On a scale of one to ten, how much trouble am I in?”
Fuck. I wanted to lay her out on that ottoman and bury my face between her thighs.
Touch her and taste her and make her cry out my name.
