It happens fast, and we’ve both been working out. As she holds me close and our semi-naked bodies touch in all the wrong places, my skin sparks.
She is in her hot yoga clothes, and her perfect breasts are tight against me.
I feel good again as electricity sparks between us.
I am about to say something, but I can’t. It’s too fast, and it is too perfect. Our hips touch, and now our flushed cheeks touch.
Samantha pulls back quickly, and then she reads the card. Raising a brow, she asks, “So, not from you?”
“Why would I, ahh…?”
Samantha pouts and pulls the flowers from me. “Right,”
Smelling them, she sighs. “Anyway, it’s nice someone cares.”
She looks me up and down, and I return to lean on the oak door frame. We have a moment, and it’s charged. I also see sweat run down her stomach, and sweat is running down my naked chest.
“Thanks, message boy, you can go now.”
I smirk as she smiles. She smells the flowers again and then walks happily into her room. My old room and in my darned own home. She closes the door, and I walk down the hall. I am far from happy. I want to kill.
I first need a shower, but the order does not bother me. Kill, shower. Shower, kill. Either way, let’s get the show on the road.
Standing under the water,my mind churns fast. The flowers were not from Troy or Rhett. It could have been that pup attorney, but he would lose my pals as clients. Even he is not that stupid.
It had to be the bridge fixers.
“Those fuckers,” I say, slamming the silver tap off. I towel off and walk straight to the estate radio on my desk. “William?”
Seconds later, William answers, “Sir.”
“I think we need the bridge construction workers to bring their own caravans for breaks and their own Porta-Potty. I do not want them around the staff kitchen or house. Not even the back or the garage.”
“Sir?”
“Just make it happen, and please… Have them base themselves on the other side of the bridge. Distractions are not required.”
“Of course.”
I walk across my apartment, naked, and I look down. There is no way anyone is going to claim her. Not fucking now.
She is mine.
18
SAMANTHA
The next few days go fast, and I focus on my nutrition meal project. Harry works in his penthouse most of the time, and his focus is truly inspiring. Or a sickness, or both.
At the end of the third straight workday, I overhear Harry talking. He tells William he needs to fly to LA for a meeting in Hollywood. After, he tells him, he needs to have a meeting back in NYC.
He then says he will fly off, alone, and he will do it first thing in the morning.
I remember my boxes back in my old apartment.
I need to get them from my A-hole ex, in LA, and there is no way, no way, I can ask a pal or my mother to help. It is too risky.
My ex’s last message was heavy, and I do not want my things thrown out. I also do not want my things burned.
