Chapter 47
forty-seven
“Jules!”
Tris waves me down the second I step off the elevator and onto Stryker & Sons’ executive floor. In another of her signature jumpsuits—rose pink this time—she appears bright and polished.
For a moment, I worry she might bring up the way I bailed on our lunch last week, but she just falls into step beside me and gives a conspiratorial look. “Seems like someone has a not-so-secret admirer.”
My brows arch. “Really? You do?”
Tris scoffs. “Ew. No. You , silly. I saw Beth whisk a very impressive floral display into the legal department. And we all know you’re the only badass bitch in there.”
She bumps my shoulder. “So, how did you get a man to make such a grand gesture? And a full week before Valentine’s Day, too. Maybe he’s just getting warmed up.”
I laugh a little too loudly. I’ve never gotten a Valentine in my life. “ Please . There’s no way those were for me. I’m sure one of the guys ordered them for his wife or something. Maybe Dominic finally decided to stop flirting with me and devote his attention to someone who actually wants him.”
Carajo . Internally, I cringe, knowing I said too much.
But Tris gives me a telling glance. “Before you, it was Grayson’s father’s personal assistant. She left when he retired last year, but Dominic used to look for reasons to hang around her desk all the time.” She shudders. “Skeevy perv. Isn’t he, like, married?”
I roll my eyes. “According to the ring on his finger and the photos on his desk, yes.”
Pausing outside my pod, Tris gives my arm a squeeze. “Let me know if you need any backup. You have my extension. Lunch tomorrow?”
Relieved, I grin at her. “You’re on. I think I owe you one.”
“Or two.” She winks, breezing off. “I’ll text you!”
That reminds me : Graham hasn’t texted me yet this morning . And the fact that I notice at all makes me feel so disgustingly girlfriendish —to use one of his fake words—that I want to slap myself .
I can’t exactly blame him, though. He spent Sunday afternoon at the hospital. Once Christian, thankfully, woke up, Graham had to deal with having him transferred to a very expensive rehabilitation program in the city, where he can continue to work on his degree while getting treatment.
From what Graham told me when he called before bed, the whole process was exceedingly complicated and emotionally draining. Christian didn’t want to go. Graham pleaded with him for hours before Chris’s withdrawal hit, and he agreed under duress.
Graham has to oversee the actual move this morning, then figure out an excuse for his tardiness at Everett Alexander, because his father still doesn’t know what happened. Which means my pinchao must be paying for the whole rehabilitation program himself.
Wincing at the thought, I sweep over to my desk and nearly trip on my own feet. A gasp flies out before I can help it.
Tris was right. Gorgeous flowers await me on my desk. At least a hundred blooms in every shade of purple. Orchids, azaleas, hydrangeas, and lilacs mixed with creamy roses and snow-white snapdragons, all bursting out of a colorless crystal vase.
My hand floats up to touch them, sure they can’t be real . I’ve never seen an arrangement so beautiful before.
For me? Graham would never send something to me here , would he? And when has he even had time with everything else he has going on?
My fingers tremble as I gently free a white notecard from the center of the bouquet.
Bijou,
Since it’s Monday, you should take your panties off for me. If you’re wearing any.
-G
I grin so widely it hurts my cheeks. Outrageous man. Exasperated with him and myself, still smiling, I shake my head. But I can’t resist holding one of the roses to my nose.
A fellow junior attorney strolls in, whistling when he passes my desk. “Damn, Rivera. You must have had some date this weekend.”
Bristling, I straighten away from the flowers and start to unpack my belongings. “Not really.”
He sits at his own desk, still smirking. “Well, all I know is, I’m not sending something like that to a woman unless she’s the one .”
The one? Please. With a roll of my eyes, I pull out my phone.
Graham Everett. You are in so much trouble.
Pinchao
You’re welcome, baby. I assume you got my note?
Crossing my legs under my cream sweater dress, I clamp my thighs together, hoping to stave off the tingles at their apex.
I did. Guess you’ll have to wait until tonight to see if I comply…
Pinchao
Something to look forward to.
I need that today.
My heart squeezes for him. I start to think of how I might surprise him after work, aside from the panties. I have to decide what to do about those, too. He seems to like it when I disobey him, but he also likes it when I finally submit…
I’m so busy plotting that I don’t notice Dominic hovering behind me until he reaches into my line of sight and plucks Graham’s note off my desk. My excitement plummets into an ice bath. Before I can think better of it, I snatch the card back.
Jesucristo. Who does this asshole think he is? He can’t read my personal correspondence. Thank God Graham didn’t sign his whole name.
Glaring at Dominic, I slide the notecard under my keyboard. “Mr. Carter,” I clip. “Can I help you?”
An inscrutable expression covers his face. Something between scorn and… hunger?
Que gonorrea. He’s jealous .
The realization sickens me, but I draw myself straight, staring him down. “Sir?”
He stays silent just long enough for me to wonder how much of the note he read. Then, lightning-quick, he glances at my lap. Specifically, my panty line.
Carajo .
A perverse gleam shines in his gray eyes. “Miss Rivera, I hope you had a relaxing weekend, because I’m afraid next weekend won’t be. We’ll be working on a project that needs to be completed before Mr. Stryker returns from his vacation.”
My instincts scream protests at me. “I’d be happy to get started on it right away,” I hedge. “I’m sure I can finish the project by Friday. My week isn’t too busy yet.”
An arrogant smirk twists his thin lips. “Unfortunately, mine is. I won’t be able to begin the work until Saturday. It’s your job to assist. I’m afraid I have to insist.”
My job? Pointedly, I glance around at the three other junior attorneys in our pod, none of whom ever have to meet him one-on-one after hours.
The bastard . Wasn’t Grayson going to speak with him? Maybe he did and Dominic just doesn’t care? Or thinks no one will find out?
“Next weekend is the one before Valentine’s Day,” I reply, hoping he’ll remember his wife and abandon this whole idea.
He grinds his jaw. “Even so, Miss Rivera,” he grits, glancing at my thighs one more time. “Consider yourself on-call.”