Page 11

The first time he was in the meeting room with Marcus. Glass was between us. Rhys looked like a man holding a building up with his jaw. Marcus had a folder. Neither of them waved.

The second time I walked past the firm gym. Rhys was in the hall. He looked like he had not slept. Cruz Maddox was inside with one of the associates on a bench. Cruz looked up once.

“You look like you didn’t sleep,” he said to Rhys. “I’ll keep Thursday open.”

Then he went back to counting. That was all. A trainer doing his job. I kept walking. I did not think about him again.

I sat in my office after that and tried to read a contract. I read the same page four times. I kept seeing Noah’s door open. I kept seeing Rhys’s face in that glass. I told myself I was here to lock thirty-seven and go home. I told myself I was not waiting for him to walk past.

By six the floor started to empty. Aria left with her coat on. Shane came up once to ask if Rhys needed the car. I said I did not know. Dev walked past with his earphones in and did not look at me. I stayed. I told myself I was finishing work. I was not. I was waiting for the building to go quiet so I could lock the door like I promised.

I am thirty-eight. I am wearing a black blouse and a tight skirt. I wear this when I want people to listen and still look at me. My auburn hair is down. My heels are off under the desk. When I lean forward my breasts press against the blouse. I know they do. I leave them.

Now it is late and my phone rings.

Rhys.

I almost do not pick up. Then I do, because it is him, and because last night he found a body, and because I have wanted that voice in my ear for a long time.

“Preswood,” I say, and I hear it. Soft. Like I already have my legs open.

A breath. Then his voice. Low. The one he uses when a door is shut. It goes straight between my legs. I have wanted that voice on me for years.

“Lo. You’re still on thirty-seven.”

“I said I would lock it.”

“Good. Lock it after. I need you.”

Heat hits my face. I look at the glass. Empty hall. Empty desks.

“You need me?”

“Don’t play dumb. You stay late in that skirt and you think I don’t look. I look. I looked last night. I looked at that dress. I looked at your tits in the doorway. I’m in the building. I want you on your desk. Blouse open. Skirt around your waist. I want my mouth on your pussy. I want you wet on your own chair. I want to lick you until you come and you can’t keep quiet.”

I laugh once. My voice shakes. It sounds dirty. I hate that I sound like that. I do not stop.

“You’re not thinking straight,” I say. “Noah died. You should go home.”

“I’m not going home. I’m in your hall right now. Are you wet?”

The question is filthy. It still sounds like Rhys. My body does not care if it is him or not.

“Yes.”

“Good girl. Put your hand up your skirt. No underwear in the way. I want your fingers on your clit. I want you to rub it while I talk. I want to hear you get sloppy. Tell me what you feel.”

I slide my hand up my skirt. I am already wet. My fingers come away slick. I rub a slow circle on my clit because he told me to and because I have wanted this for years. I breathe that into the phone. He makes a low sound, like a groan he cannot hold back.

“I want your tits out. Now. While you’re on the phone. Pull the bra down. I want your nipples hard. I want to walk in and put my mouth on them. I want to suck them until they hurt. I want spit on them. Then I want my hand back between your legs.”

“Rhys—”

“Do it.”

I undo the blouse. I pull the bra down under my breasts. The air hits my nipples and they go tight. I know I should stop. I look cheap and I look good and I still do it.

“They’re out.”