Fran stands up, and she and Devan do the dance of the cables as they disconnect one laptop for another. While I’m waiting, I cave and pull out my phone.
Fifteen texts?This is getting ridiculous.
I glance up, checking that they’re not waiting for me, but Fran has the remote in hand, trying to find the right source on the TV to view her screen. I skim through the texts, my blood boiling the further I get.
Lola, my oldest sister, is asking me to approve a charge for candles at her wedding. The price is eye-watering, and I toy with the idea of refusing and telling her to make the candles herself to teach her about cost control.
The messages aren’t just from Lola though. My mom is on the warpath about a date she wants me to go on. Again.
My entire family is obsessed with my love life. Ever since my long-term girlfriend and I split up three years ago, it’s been relentless. If my sisters aren’t asking me who I’m dating, the papers are speculating about a model who came to one of my clubs for five minutes.
I have no interest in a girlfriend; all I want is a hard fuck now and again, and for there to be no hurt feelings and no strings attached. That’s why I reached out to an escort agency that my friend Lucas recommended. I want a nice compliant woman who’ll do what I say, when I say.
Is that really too much to ask?
According to her texts, my mother has apparently found the ‘perfect’ woman for me; the daughter of a friend at her bridge club apparently. My fingers tighten on the phone so hard that I hear the screen creaking, and I shove it back in my pocket just as they finally land on the right channel and the screen flickers to life.
But before Fran can start speaking, there is a commotion outside the conference room door. I sit up in my chair, hearing the voice of one of our secretaries yelling at someone.
What the hell?
Everyone in the room turns toward the door, Fran poised with the remote still in hand and her slides on the screen.
There is a scuffle outside, as if someone is trying to break down the door; then it slams open with the force of a tank, and a woman I’ve never seen before walks in.
I stare at her, dumbfounded.
She’s on the taller side, and slim, with a tight waist, long dyed red hair, and lipstick to match. Her hazel eyes are sharp, heavily lined, and huge, making her look like an anime character.
The black dress she’s wearing hugs her killer body to perfection. Black leather jacket, black heels, bright red nails, and a scowl. I’m immediately intrigued.
Whoever this is, I hope she’s here to see me.
“Gray Jones?” she says, her eyes spearing me from across the room. “I need to talk to you.”
Well, hot damn.
The whole room is paralyzed. My straight-laced exec team is not used to this kind of behavior, and it’s been years since someone interrupted a board meeting unannounced.
I stare the woman down, staying absolutely still, keeping my expression blank.
“And who are you?” I ask, leaning back in my chair. Three of my execs are on their feet, looking outraged. Other than Fran, the intruder is the only other woman in the room.
She looks around, unapologetic, unbothered, and defiant.
“Pippa Grooman sent me,” she says, her eyes boring into me as she flicks her hair over her shoulder and puts her hands on her hips.
Fuck me, this is one of the Sterling House escorts? Yes, please.
“Who the hell is Pippa Grooman, and who areyou?”Devan bites out as two of my security guards appear in the doorway.
“That took way too long,” I snap, as they advance on her.
The redhead’s whole body goes taut as if she’s about to claw their eyes out, and I can’t help the bubble of amusement that rises inside me.
“Wait a second,” I say as they’re about to escort her out. “I know who she is.”
Everyone in the room turns to me, Devan’s mouth opens wide with shock as his eyes bug out of his head. I hold up a hand.
