Page 9 of Misadventures of a Biker

“Both.”

I draped my arm over her shoulder. “Guide me to my office. I need to sit.”

Stumbling to keep up with her surefooted pace, I glanced over my shoulder. The well-endowed baritone interior architect was collecting my shoes and purse from the floor. In addition to being handsome, it appeared he was a gentleman. Even so, he was a man.

Kate lowered me into my chair. I fell into it like a tranquilized hippo.

“You’re trashed,” she said.

I pressed my palms against my temples. “I’m so drunk.” I looked around my office. “Do you have anything I can take?”

“Like what?”

“A couple dozen Xanax?”

She rolled her eyes. “There’s Tylenol in the conference room.”

“I need something to calm my nerves. I feel like I’m going to explode. Or puke. Maybe both.”

“Where’s your car?” she asked. “Please tell me you didn’t drive.”

“It’s with the valet at Mercato.” I straightened my posture the best I could. “I came here in a clown car.”

“What?”

“One of those stupid little Fiats. It looked like it should be filled with clowns at a circus.” I cleared my desk with a swipe of my arm. I laid my head on the cool surface. “The back seat was insufficient for anything but a toddler. It didn’t have air conditioning.”

“An Uber?”

“Uh-huh. It was awful.”

“Why didn’t you get an XL?”

“It’s off-season,” I said. “There weren’t any.”

She bent over and looked me in the eyes. “How much did you drink?”

“Two glasses of wine, and then Margaret dropped the bomb.” I closed my eyes. “I had another bottle and a half after that. I had to tip the waiter a hundred bucks to let me overindulge.”

“Take a nap,” she said. “We can talk about it when you wake up.”

“Shut the door on your way out if you don’t mind,” I muttered, half asleep already.

“Okay.”

“Who’s the sexy guy with the tattoos?” I asked, smiling at the thought of him. “An architect?”

“He’s our new receptionist,” she replied. “I was going to surprise you.”

My head shot up off the desk. “What?”

“I hired him on Friday. You were out all day, and he was the only applicant worth hiring. You said to hire someone if they were attractive and able. He’s both. He’s a friend of Herb what’s-his-name. The old guy you sold the place in Pelican Bay to. The big house that needed to be redone by the clubhouse. You saw him in the store the other day.”

“Herb Riley?”

“Yeah. That’s him.”

I buried my face in my open palms and exhaled a long breath. If we employed Mister Sexy, there would be no way I could keep myself from fucking him. At some point it would happen. There was a reason I exposed myself to handsome alpha males as little as possible. I had no willpower when the time came to deny their sexual demands.