He rolled his eyes. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
And that’s exactly what I planned to do.I pulled out my new phone and found a missed call from the night before.Bill.A missed call from the husband I’d devastated a few days earlier was not surprising but definitely unsettling.
I ignored it and snapped a picture of David’s perfect profile. The profile that, in this same position, I’d fallen for months ago when I’d agonized over not being able to touch him. For that, I reached over and felt the muscles of his arm under his shirt. When I raised my hand to his cheek, he leaned into my palm. I returned my eyes out the windshield but played with the ends of his hair—so as not to mess it up—until we arrived at my office building.
I reached for my seatbelt, but he stopped me. “I’ll get that,” he said with a mischievous smile.
My face heated as his fingers grazed the houndstooth wool fabric of my new skirt, and I wished suddenly there wasn’t so much of it. He hit the release, but his hand lingered, sliding up my thigh until his fingers brushed between my legs. I involuntarily sucked in a breath.
He leaned over awkwardly in the small space of the car and kissed me on the cheek. “Let’s ditch,” he said against the corner of my mouth, and I sighed. “I’ll take you home, throw you on the bed, watch you ride me till you come on my dick. Then I’ll flip you on your back, make you come again underneath me.”
I whimpered as his hand compressed my thigh. He turned my face to his so we were inches apart. “You know, when you’re about to come, your body trembles like a leaf. It makes me rock hard just thinking about it.” He kissed me hard and much too deeply for the start of a workday. His tongue invaded my mouth, thorough and probing like it was searching for something. When he pulled away abruptly, I might have been swaying, and I definitely saw stars. “You’re nowofficiallylate,” he noted.
I was somehow both breathless and breathing heavy, and it took me a moment before I said, “Shit.”
“Want me to write you a note?” he asked, slipping on his sunglasses as I gathered my purse.
“Beman would be thrilled, actually,” I muttered. “He has a crush on you.”
David’s grin faded. “I don’t like your boss, Olivia.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t like Arnaud,” I retorted and clamped my hand over my mouth. “Oops. Sorry.”
“Wait, what?” David raised his sunglasses. “Why not?”
“I’m sorry, baby,” I said, pecking him on the lips. “I didn’t mean it. Have to run.” I shut the door and took a few steps before turning and waving quickly.
It wasn’t that I worried David would tell his colleague what I thought. I just didn’t want David to feel weird bringing me around the office. He’d worked with Arnaud Mallory for most of his professional career, and that included their house-flipping business on the side. I had enough conflict in my life without making enemies of David’s friends. And I vaguely remembered David referring to Arnaud as a brilliant architect, which meant he wasn’t exactly expendable.
I decided to worry about my careless comment later as I sneaked into the office relatively unnoticed. Oddly, my day continued normally. It seemed, with the uprooting of my life, as if the world should feel differently, as if everyone should look and act differently, but they didn’t. Jenny, the office receptionist, remained cheerful. Serena, my assistant, stopped by my office to chat twice before ten in the morning. Lisa, the toxic co-worker, dutifully ignored me when I passed her in the hallway and a curt nod from Beman, my boss, meant he’d acknowledged my existence and nothing more. I went about my work, nipping, tucking, erasing, marking, removing, adding, and writing.
A text from David around lunchtime was a very welcome distraction.
David:Swamped over here. I need an assistant.
Me:Want me to come fill in for the day?
David:I’d get nothing done.
Me:But I think I’d be a good fit for the job, Mr. Dylan.
David:Qualifications?
I smiled. I was no architect, but I could work with what little I knew. Attempting to keep a straight face, I tapped out a response.
Me:I’ve been told I have unequaled skills in steel erection… In fact, I was cantilevered just this weekend and can be for hours on end.
David:That’s all good, Ms. Germaine, but being an architect’s assistant is very physical work. It involves a lot of hammering, mounting & screwing.
Me:As it happens, I’m a pro at nailing studs. When do I start?
David:Right away. We’ll begin with any and all cracks that need caulking.
I clasped my hand over my mouth and giggled.
“Something funny?” I heard.
I jumped in my chair as my head snapped up to find Bill in the doorway. “Jesus,” I said, adjusting my mood from giddy to somber. “What are you doing here? How’d you get in?”
