“What did Mr McAvoy call you into his office for, anyway?”
“A new project. He wants me to start right away.”
Rising to her heeled feet, Carmen squeezes both of my shoulders and pulls me into a quick hug. “No time to start like the present, then. Let’s go before rumours start flying that we’re snogging in the women’s toilets.”
Unlocking the door with aclickI follow her onto the office floor with a giggle. “It wouldn’t be the first time, and it certainly won’t be the last, Car. Do you want me to smudge your gloss a little, so it looks believable?”
Chapter 9
Calla
Wineglass in hand, I tuck my feet up under me, precariously balancing my laptop on my lap while I trawl through my client’s brief once again. I swear I’ve read the email so many times – back to front, left to fucking right – that I’ve practically memorized it, but I want to be sure I’ve nailed all of the details before I meet with him for the first time tomorrow.
It’s taken me three weeks since I was first called into Mr McAvoy’s glass cage – I meanoffice– to be given this important job opportunity. Three weeks of reading my new client’s email detailing their tax bracket, what type of properties they we’re looking for and how soon they we’re looking to move in.
In that time, I’d gotten a feel for the elusive client I was dealing with.
I can tell Mr B M as I know him by, is an organised sort. Type A. A never stray across the lines, sort of man.
Gulping cheap wine from my glass, I close my eyes, conjuring up a mental image of him in a tight-fitting suit, navy blue perhaps, briefcase in hand. Maybe he’ll show uptomorrow to our first apartment viewing wearing exactly that…
God, I really hope he’s single, so I don’t have to feel guilty about thirsting for another’s woman’s man.
Humming to myself, I take another sip. Businessman isn’t my usual type, but there’s something edible about the image I’ve concocted in my head.
My core clenches too, as if agreeing with me.
Not surprising really considering how much of a greedy bitch she is.
Once I’ve finished going over this brief one last time I’ll deal with her, although recently, slipping my hand between my thighs and closing my eyes, losing myself in my pleasure, hasn’t been as easy as before. Namely because, every time all I can see behind my eyelids are flashes of my one-night stand.
God,Blake.
My pussy flutters again just thinking about him.
That pretty face of his, a dimple on either side of his plush lips, his soft brown waves I’d carded my fingers through and the stubble of his beard.
Both my mouth and my core waters at the thought of his defined biceps, flexing and bunching as his long fingers gripped my hips, urging me to move above him. Those washboard abs of his, too – my fucking kryptonite – lean and toned from running up and down the football pitch.
I’m not ashamed to admit those magic fingers of his and his cock had given me the best sex of my life. Not to mention he was funny and kind. Or at least I thought he was, until he had to go and be a dick by not asking for my number.
Ugh.
I know it’s the twenty-first century and I could have askedfor his, believe me, I’m not usually shy about asking for what I want.
But I didn’t.
Why?
Because, and sue me for admitting this, but I’d made the first move all night and I really wanted Blake to make a move, to showhewantedme, rather than the other way around.
We all want to be wanted, right?
I blow out a large breath. Where the fuck did that come from?
Nuh uh, Calla, no feelings. That’s enough wine. Put it down on the table.
It had taken me a couple of days to get over the bitter taste of disappointment of Blake had left in my mouth, I don’t need to be revisiting the feeling any time soon. It’s best just left in the past as a slight misjudgement on my part that I won’t be redoing.
