Page 88 of Flirting with 40

“I do believe I’m making progress towards winning our little side bet. She’s coming around. The promotion is in sight.”

“I don’t know . . . I did tell you satisfaction was a hard thing to measure,” I tease.

“Then I guess I’ll have to try a little harder,” he says before sitting up and pressing a kiss to my lips.

When he leans back, when those eyes of his dance with humor, I’m left wondering when exactly this charade we were putting on started feeling like more than just a sexy distraction.

Because no one was around for that kiss to be needed.

No one was there to pretend for.

It’s just him and me and a whole lot of satisfaction left in the balance.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Slade

She’s gorgeous.

Dark hair fanned across the pillow, skin that’s been kissed by the sun contrasting against the white sheets, dark eyelashes against her cheeks, lips that beg to be kissed.

It’s a snapshot I want to memorize.

I think of last night. Of her sitting atop me with the moonlight coming through the open blinds. Of the arch of her back. Of the cry of my name. Of the pure exhaustion that tumbled us into sleep soon thereafter.

She stirs. Her chest rises and falls with each breath, the peaks of her nipples taunting me through the thin cotton covers.

When I’m with her, it’s so easy to forget the shit going on in my life—the waiting, the wondering, the wanting. Yet, at the same time, if the shit hits the fan and goes against my favor, it would be that much easier because of her.

Christ.

She’s a chick. Just a woman. One I’ve known for fewer than two weeks, so why am I thinking shit like that? Why am I wondering what will happen when life gets in the way and endless shifts call again?

“Good morning.” Her sleep-drugged voice breaks through my thoughts.

That’s why I’m wondering. That right here. Those green eyes fluttering open. That sleepy smile dragging across her lips. The urge to pull her close to me and just hold on.

“Morning.”

“Please tell me you weren’t watching me sleep.”

“Of course not. You’re a horrid sight to behold. Drooling and snoring and half-open eyes.” I mock shiver. “And you’re still absolutely gorgeous.”

The flush of her cheeks from the simple comment validates all those thoughts I was just refuting.

I reach out and put a hand on her knee, which is bent up by my hip, and run my thumb back and forth over the cool fabric of the sheet.

Silence falls once again, sleep beginning to pull me back into its clutches when she speaks.

“You talked about fear yesterday.” She clears her throat, and I open my eyes to meet hers, curious where she’s going with this. I give a subtle nod for her to go on. “Before this trip . . . before you, really, I was petrified of losing my job.”

“Understandable, but besides the obvious, may I ask why?” I squeeze her hip to reassure her. “You have a ton of experience. Any other company would be lucky to have you. You even said other companies have tried to recruit you before . . . so, why the fear?”

Her sigh is heavy. “Because as much as Paul and I separating was for the best, it still messed me up. He was part of my identity, and with him gone, I think maybe I was lost. My job was the one part of me that I knew without question. I don’t have to fumble around to find Glam Blakely like I’ve been trying to find the new Blakely. My work is the me I understand, and so . . .” She averts her eyes, suddenly lost in that vulnerability I felt yesterday.

“It makes sense,” I murmur.

And it does. It even brings to light her sudden insecurity when it comes to Heather. A woman about the same age as the woman her husband replaced her with. Both women are threatened by her in different ways, but only one of them can possibly take the one thing she wants—her promotion.