Sunny gave me a sharp sideways look. I could tell she was wondering if I was talking about her sense of accomplishment hypothesis…or the unsigned contract still sitting on my kitchen counter.
I leaned forward and decided to make it easy for her. “That was one hell of a kiss, Sunny, and before this is all done, I’m going to figure out what it will take to get you in my bed.”
With that declared, I opened the passenger door for her.
Like the gentleman I definitely wasn’t.
* * *
Not going to lie.The memory of the stunned look on Sunny’s face after I let her know she'd end up in my bed made up for the four pills I had to pop just to get through the day once I arrived at the office.
But it also made it hard for me to concentrate on my work. Too hard.
Later that day, I realized I'd been reading the same summary report from the efficiency firm we'd hired to review the Benton New Orleans Hotel & Casino's performance over and over again. And I still couldn’t say for sure whether the report was good or bad.
Not very efficient. Not very efficient at all.
I needed to get my mind off Sunny. But memories of that kiss refused to stop looping inside my head: The way that pink leotard had covered all her lush curves without leaving anything to the imagination. The way her full lips had felt when I kissed her back like an animal. The way her body had responded underneath mine—before we were rudely interrupted.
“Will you be needing anything else before I leave for the day, Mr. Benton?”
I looked up to see my assistant, Agnes, standing in the doorway, her dark eyes looking askance behind her round glasses.
"You're leaving early?"
Confusion replaced my erotic thoughts about Sunny.
It wasn’t like Agnes to depart before six. After losing two assistants to claims of needing work-life balance, I’d made it clear to her from the outset that I required an assistant who’d be available to me from six am to six pm, not just on weekdays but also on weekends and potentially later for crucial projects.
“When I’m in the office, you’re in the office. When I’m not in the office, you’re on call for whatever I need,” I told her. “Tell me your number to be okay with that.”
Then, after I’d agreed to her six-figure proposal without blinking an eye, Agnes joked about informing her husband, Steve, a construction worker who'd been disabled on the job, that she was Cole Benton’s work wife now.
And sure, lately, I'd noticed she appeared a bit worn down. I'd also gotten the feeling that my seven-day-a-week schedule was taking a toll on her marriage when I’d overheard Agnes whispering on the phone, "I know it's our anniversary, but I can't leave. I explained this to you when I took the extremely well-paid position that saved us after your job screwed you over. Remember?" It appeared Steve was no longer on board with how many hours I required from his IRL wife.
But I kept my work life separate from my personal one—save for last night. But that was a one-off, and... "You're contracted to stay until six on weekends," I reminded Agnes.No matter how much your husband whines about it.
"Oh, I'm aware!" Agnes held up her hands with an apologetic wince. "But, Mr. Benton, it is six--a little after, actually."
I frowned. Looked down at my watch, which clearly displayed the time as five after six p.m.. Then cursed under my breath. How had I lost an entire work day to obsessing over that kiss?
“Is everything okay, Mr. Benton,” Agnes asked, looking worried.
“No, it’s fine." I rubbed a hand over my face. “I just . . . didn’t get as much done as I wanted to today.”
“Oh.” Agnes's face fell, then reset. “Well, I can stay if you’d like and call Sunny to let her know you won’t be able to make the CEO of the Year dinner. I was planning to give her a ring before I went home anyway to make sure she was fully satisfied with the hotel room she requested.”
I was about to answer, no she could go, but then the rest of Agnes’s offer caught up with me.
I went still. Very still. Then asked, “What hotel room?”
CHAPTER13
Sunny
I pulledon the golden sheath dress Agnes had delivered to my new room just a few hours ago.
How she’d known my dress and shoe size, I had no idea. The Benton Girl measurements on file for me (and by on file, I meant scribbled down by our ancient stage manager, Mary) were just my bust and hip measurements. We used a roller skate rink system for our show heels, which entailed everyone just grabbing the size they needed and Maurice the cobbler (Mary’s slightly less ancient brother) coming through on a schedule that could best be summed up as "whenever he felt like it" to fix and re-sole our supply.
