“Hmm. I must not have explained to her properly what we were doing.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, that’s the problem. I’m sure if you just meow louder, she’ll totally understand.”
My phone beeps as I go to find Winnie.
Liam:Come to dinner with me. Thursday night. The Silk Table.
I smile reading it, my pulse skyrocketing at his words, as it always seems to these days. Silk Table is a three-Michelin-star restaurant. Oh, this is exciting.
Me:Is this a business or pleasure dinner?
Come on, say pleasure.
Liam:Pleasure. But it’s an order.
Yes.I grin to myself, my cheeks flushing.
I check under Lizzie’s bed for Winnie, but there’s no sign of her furry ass. I start typing out a response to Liam, something witty and flirtatious. But before I can hit send, another message comes through.
Liam:I wasn’t asking, Gemma. I’ll pick you up at 7. Wear that dress I like. No panties.
I’m grinning so hard my face hurts. Cheeky bastard. Did he just command me to go commando at a Michelin-starred restaurant? Not that it matters. I think my knickers just spontaneously combusted at his message anyway.
I squeeze my thighs together, a delicious shiver running through me. Part of me wants to sass back about not taking orders from anyone, even ridiculously handsome CEOs with a domineering streak.
But the other part . . . the part already picturing myself across from Liam in that little blue number, feeling decidedly bare underneath . . . well, let’s just say that part’s winning by a landslide.
Me:Yes, sir.
I’ve barely hit send when another message pops up, and I nearly drop my phone again.
Liam:Don’t even think about touching yourself before our date. I want your tight pussy soaking wet for me. Do you understand?
Oh, this man . . . I swallow hard, my trembling fingers hovering over the keys.
Me:I understand perfectly, sir.
Liam:That’s what I like to hear. There’s a good girl.
Good girl. Those two words shouldn’t affect me as much as they do, but fuck me, that’s hot.
I toss my phone aside as I resume my search for Winnie. It’s going to be a torturous few days until Thursday.
Winnie is nowhere to be found. I search my bedroom, bathroom, even the iron cupboard.
“Lizzie, did you see where she went?” I call out, the words echoing in the wardrobe as I shove aside hangers and boxes, hoping to find a furry stowaway.
“No,” she shouts back.
Okay, starting to get a little freaked out now.
“Is she hiding somewhere?” I ask, trying to keep the worry out of my voice as I walk back into the hallway.
Lizzie pops her head out of the kitchen, toast hanging from her mouth. “She’s not here?” she mumbles, spraying crumbs everywhere. “It’s because I tried the mirror work, isn’t it? I’ve traumatized her with my shitty cat communication skills!”
“I hardly think that’s the reason,” I say, but there’s a nagging doubt in the back of my mind. Winnie did look pretty disturbed by Lizzie’s mirror antics.
This is weird. Winnie’s not exactly the adventurous type. I search the flat top to bottom, calling her name with increasing desperation. “Winnie! Come on, baby. Where are you? Mummy’s sorry for letting Auntie Lizzie terrorize you with a makeup mirror.”
