Chapter 23
Aidan
It was a hellish week. I had no idea time could go so slow. Saturday seemed to be years away.
Samantha had given me not a flicker of a signal when she came back to the office on Monday afternoon. I’d come home to find the ticket gone from my kitchen counter and her panties left on my pillow. I’d groaned aloud, alone in my bedroom, at the thought that she’d spent the afternoon at work bare beneath her skirt and I hadn’t fucking known. It was like she was born to torture me.
I’d been tempted to take a shower and jerk off, thinking about it. But I didn’t. She was teasing me. I’d have some self-control.
So on Tuesday I went to the office all business. I went to meetings, reviewed reports, and met with Samantha about my schedule. Looking at us, no one in the office would guess that I’d had her bent over a hotel room bed, her hands in the sheets, her legs spread for me. No one would know that I knew what color her nipples were, knew what her skin tasted like, knew exactly what sound she made when she came. We were the same boss and assistant we’d always been. And that made the game more exciting to play.
Finally, on Friday afternoon—a thousand years later—I went over a few end-of-week notes with Samantha in my office. I watched her sitting in the chair across from my desk, her legs crossed and her head angled down as she wrote a note on her notepad, and I said, “Do you have any plans for the weekend?”
She didn’t look up; she kept writing. But a smile touched the corner of her mouth. Of course it did—she’d just won a victory. I hadn’t meant to cave in and ask her, but the words had just come out. Damn her.
She took her time answering, finishing her note first before looking up. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I haven’t decided.”
I met her gaze. “So, a quiet weekend at home, then.”
She shrugged, as if I hadn’t given her a ticket to SoHo’s most exclusive art show. “Possibly,” she said with believable casualness. “Possibly not.”
I nodded. “I hear there are some very good shows on Netflix right now. You know, if you’re spending the weekend alone on the couch.”
A muscle in her cheek twitched in annoyance. “Is that so?”
“Yes. Maybe you should join a meetup group. Try to make friends if you’re lonely.”
“You’re full of advice today.” She put her pen down. “It’s very generous of you.”
My pulse started to beat a little bit faster. “I’m just trying to be helpful. You live in New York, you know. If you want to find something to do on the weekend, there’s plenty happening.”
“I see.” Was that a flush on her cheeks? “And what exactly are your exciting plans?”
I shrugged. “You know my schedule is empty. I always find something to do. There’s an art exhibit in SoHo I’ll probably attend.”
“Because you’re an art fan,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“Sometimes, yes. I find looking at art a pleasant way to spend a Saturday night.”
“And you plan to attend by yourself.”
“If you believe the tabloids, yes.”
Samantha narrowed her eyes, and I fought off a smile. Fuck, this was fun. “Well,” she said finally, “I hope that you have a nice time, whatever you decide.” She stood and picked up her notebook.
“You, too,” I said. “Goodbye, Samantha. See you Monday.”
“Hm,” she said noncommittally, walking out of the office and closing the door behind her.
This was definitely going to be good.
We were going to play the game again.