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Thanks for watching out for me
Roman
No problem.
Kira
Also, do you think you could fix my sink? It’s not draining well
A moment later, a picture of the sink comes through. I click on it to get a better look, and it’s only then that I notice the reflection in the mirror. A topless Kira is in the far corner of the frame, making eye contact with the camera.
Seeing it’s a live photo, I hold my finger down on the image, making the still photo come to life. She drags a hand over her breast and gives her nipple a quick pinch.
A smile pulls at my lips as I type out my response.
Roman
Of course. I’ll call a plumber first thing in the morning.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Roman
By the time Friday rolls around, I can hardly function.
I was a fucking fool to think I could handle working with her without losing my goddamn mind. I haven’t been able to think straight since she walked through those doors, but the sad part is, she’s got me so wound up, I can’t even make myself care.
Thanks to Kira Blakely, I have a one-track mind. She consumes my every waking thought, ensuring her presence is known. As if anyone could forget…
She’s gone skinny dipping in my pool every night this week. And just like clockwork, I’ve stood in my window and waited for the show.
Then the following morning, we both return to work, as if it never happened. As if I don’t have an entire album on my phone of the sneaky nudes she keeps sending me, all under the guise of repairs around the pool house.
But the torture doesn’t stop after hours. Because at least that I could handle.
She has to keep it going, strutting around wearing those fuck-me skirts, flirting with my brother right in front of my face. And then there’s all the phallic-shaped foods she’s always eating at her desk. This morning she dipped her banana into her vanilla yogurt and licked it clean from the tip right in front of me.
Who eats a banana like that? It’s not a fucking ice cream cone.
She knows exactly what she’s doing. And I hate that it’s fucking working. It’s like she’s made it her personal life’s mission to get me to break, and frankly, I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.
White-hot jealousy burns through me as my eyes zero in on a large diamond glinting on Kira’s ring finger. I fucking hate that it’s the first thing my eyes go to every damn day. But after what she confessed in my truck, some stupid part of me keeps waiting for her to take it off. Like maybe once she does, I won’t feel like such a bastard for the things I can’t stop thinking about doing to her.
I watch as she fake-laughs at one of Guy’s stupid jokes, trying to get under my skin. I know that’s what she’s doing because the joke wasn’t even funny. And after weeks of watching her—too closely, probably—I’ve become something of an expert on her laughs. There’s the snort that slips out when she’s genuinely caught off guard. The breathy one she tries to swallow when she knows damn well she shouldn’t be laughing—like in the middle of an important meeting when she misheard Luka asking to see someone’s deck.
And that one?
One hundred percent fake.
Beside me, my phone vibrates on the conference table with a text. I don’t normally have my phone out during meetings, but I had to call the plumbers to fix Kira’s drain for the second time this week, and I’ve been expecting their call.
Let’s just say this woman doesn’t do things halfway.
She’s really gotten creative in her methods of breaking things around the pool house. Clogging sinks with God knows what, putting a whole lemon down the garbage disposal, and overflowing the washing machine by using the dish soap because she ran out of detergent.
I’d like to think she’s doing it for attention. But judging by the mess overflowing from her desk…and the state of disarray of the pool house since she’s moved in, I’m not sure she’s ever learned how to do normal things like laundry and housework.
It’s just a hunch anyway.
