I'm still trembling.
The problem comes a little later.
When my brain returns to slight lucidity. I blink to better focus on the card in his wallet, which was left open probably since he took the condom.
Cohen Becker.
Oh fuck, that’s where I’d seen him before.
I just had sex with an athlete coached by my father.
Damn.
He's about to say something to me, I take a step back.
I read the confusion in his gaze.
What do I do now?
Does he know me? Does he know who I am?
I have to disappear from here.
Okay, Sloane, breathe.
Confident look back on. I hope my voice comes out just as seductive. “Good night, Lucifer.”
I leave.
He tries to stop me, I think he tells me to wait. But I’m already past the door.
I hide in a niche so he can’t see me when, in about a minute, the time it takes him to at least put on his pants, he'll come out looking for me.
And he does, exactly 40 seconds later.
Fuck.
Luckily, I’m well hidden.
7
An Annoying and… Infuriatingly Sexy Client
Sloane
Today.
There isn’t a single position on this planet I can sit in without looking nervous.
The problem?
He’s been sitting across from me for exactly nine minutes and forty-seven seconds.
Yes, I’m counting.
He has that bored expression that drives me absolutely insane.
Hands laced behind his head, legs spread, gaze drifting around the room like he couldn’t care less about being here.
