I flinch, then open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, while my heartbeat thunders in my ears and my lungs suck air. What the hell…? That was just a dream?
Groaning, I swat my phone until the alarm quits and run a hand down my face. What a sickening nightmare. And why Dad? He’s never been in a dream before. Ever. As for Aspen… I’ve had a few dreams, but they’ve been sexual in nature—withme.
If she’s going to kiss Dad, she should do it inherdream. Actually,no, she shouldn’t kiss him at all. That’s disgusting.
I know why I had that dream. It’s because Yvette sent me a picture of her kissing Dad in the Bahamas, her hair still bright red. I responded that he was welcome to my sloppy seconds.
I get up and start toward the bathroom, then pause and make a quick detour to the closet. When I spot the things inside, I let out a small sigh. I should throw them away, but I haven’t been able to. I don’t know exactly why I bought them, or why I’m still holding on to them. My brothers would say I’m acting like a kid who won’t give up his childhood teddy bear. But these things aren’t teddy bears. They’re more like…reminders. Like the fourteen neat lines tattooed on my shoulder.
After the run with my associates—which I plan to stop after today, since they’ve learned their lesson—I shower and have two strong coffees, then go to work. Endorphins from my morning exercise linger, but I’m still grumpy from the nightmare. The image of Aspen and my dad just won’t go away. Why couldn’t it have been about Yvette and Dad? I wouldn’t have cared at all.
There’s an email from Josephine Blackwood with an invoice attached. I glance at it to see what she bought for Aspen, and nod with approval. The woman has good taste and judgment. Then I wonder what “miscellaneous lingerie” means. Like…thongs? Demibras? Lace? No lace?
Stop thinking about Aspen’s underwear!
I shake myself mentally. Just as I close the email, my senses go on full alert like they always do whenever Aspen’s around. I see her walking toward her desk near my office through the open door, and everything in my gut tightens. She’s in an emerald-green dress, like the one I saw in my dream, except in reality, the dress stops an inch above her knees, and it doesn’t show any cleavage. But my mind’s already filling in the blanks, and my palms tingle like they’re tracing her curves.
The thin material of the dress swirls and clings to her thighs. I narrow my eyes. Unless I’m mistaken, it’s one of those fabrics that you can’t wear with underwear.And there’s no line.
My blood boils at the thought of Aspen’s hidden nudity. And thatshe’s in the office like this. Matthias smiles at her and says something, to which she replies with an even prettier smile. She hasn’t smiled like that at me.
Wait… Did that cocksucker just check her ass out? Oh,yes he did. And she’s still smiling at him, like she enjoys the attention! He’s just some former Goldman Sachs investment banker with a lousy Harvard MBA. Nothing special! Maybe I should continue the morning run one more day and invite her too, so she can see he runs like there’s a cattle prod stuck up his ass. That should kill whatever attraction she’s feeling for him.
A tight knot starts to burn in my gut. Don comes over to says something to her too. He hands her a granola bar, and she beams! What the hell? He got that from the breakroom. AndIpay for everything in there, not him! If she’s going to say thanks and smile, it should be to me, not him.
She finally sits down and opens her laptop. I glare at her, my teeth clenched so tight my jaw aches, then glance at the green crystal Mt. Everest clock from Noah. She wasted five minutes flirting with those jerks. She’s never done that before.
It’s that dress—and the way it clings to her ass. I pull up the intercompany messenger and fire off a shit-ton of due diligence to Matthias and Don. If they have the time to eyeball the curvature of her butt, they can take on this massive project.
She shifts a little and the dress rides up, showing a taut expanse of mid-thigh. My mouth dries. I reach for my coffee and realize the mug’s empty. Damn it.
She smooths her clothes and stands up, grabbing her legal pad. The dress falls over her, clinging to her high breasts and waist and hips like a lover’s kiss. My blood is so hot, my skin feels like it’s burning.
Finally, she’s going to go over the day’s agenda with me. I rein in all the snide comments popping into my head about her flirting with other guys in the office, because they would make it sound like I cared.
She walks in and closes the door. The shoes are stilettos that emphasize the stunning length of her shapely legs. The sight reminds me of how she looked back in Malibu, when she stood in nothing but lingerie and heels. My dick starts to perk up, and I resist the urge to shift in my seat. Can’t let her see my physical reaction.
What she’s wearing and doing has to be calculated. She knows the impact she has on men. I shouldn’t have bought her anything except the bag. This is what happens when I let my emotions guide me, because she still does something volatile and dangerous to me.
Her hips swing as she walks closer. I find myself running my tongue along my lip and immediately stop.No. Just no.
“You’re late,” I say.
“I am not.” She looks at a slim Harry Winston on her wrist. Josephine must’ve noticed mine and got her a matching one, like we’re a couple or something. “It’s nine right now.”
“Nine-oh-three,” I correct her. “You should reset yours so it’s accurate.”
“I’ll make sure all my watches and clocks are set to the Grant Time Zone.” She shifts, and the fabric moves with her.
I look closely. No line. Not even a string showing.
“Are you staring at my crotch?” she asks.
“I’m wondering why you’re in that dress.” I wasn’t staring at her crotch. I was trying to figure out what could be underneath.
“Because you asked me to upgrade my wardrobe and paid for it?” Her hair’s unbound today, framing her face perfectly. Very irritating.
“It’s unprofessional.”
