My favorite part is the bodice of the dress. Damn, I want to remove those thin straps with my teeth. “Judith knows her stuff.”
She nods. “And the strappy nude heels she recommended complement the dress.” She extends a foot, showcasing dainty toes painted red.
Red dress. Red lips. Red nails.
The lady in red is a vision––as breathtaking as a timeless movie star.
An image of Harley wearing nothing but those heels on her feet as her legs dangle over my shoulders as I drive into her pussy, flashes in front of my eyes.
Fuck.
I shake my head, dislodging the inappropriate thought.
“Nice heels,” I say.
She responds with a radiant smile.
My cock responds with a twitch.
Down, boy.
She tilts her head to the side and her smile falls. “It just hit me. There’s no red carpet. No photographers. I gather today’s luncheon is more low-key than last night’s dinner.”
“The owner of the building vetoed it,” I say. “The gathering of crowds would block 5th Avenue, which would require police officers to be present on the premises. It’s a big pain in the butt. The photographers will be hanging out on the rooftop. The photo ops are better up there, anyway. The rooftop offers unparalleled views of New York.”
“I can’t wait,” she says. “You know the owner of the building? Is he a hockey fan or a customer at one of your restaurants?”
“You’ll never guess which is his favorite Creamy Heavens ice cream flavor.”
Her cheeks flush, competing with her dress. “You’re pulling my leg.”
I shake my head. “No, Logan Ellison buys half a dozen pints of Harley’s Java Jolt at a time.”
Her eyes are huge.
As will be my cock if I don’t stop sliding into the gutter, slamming Harley with a jolt of my own.
I clear my throat.
“I met him through the business club I’m a member of.”
“The same high rollers club you met Max Keller at, who enlisted your help to assist Grazie Mille’s owner.”
“Yes.” I arch a brow. “Someone’s been paying attention.”
“As your social media manager and public relations liaison, I’d be doing a shitty job if I wasn’t on top of things.”
The sudden image in my head is of Harley on top of me, cowgirl style.
I blink the bouncing image away.
“Your official start date is tomorrow, and already you’re hitting it out of the park,” I say.
She nods. “You live in a world that’s foreign to me.”
“Guess what, Goldilocks? You’re part of my world now.”
Something I can’t quite read veils her eyes.
