Chapter Thirteen
Phoebe barely managed to suppress a smile. Like she would know the difference. But the least she could do was play along on this sudden detour to Chicago. “So long as we don’t drink too much and miss tomorrow’s presentations,” she murmured, taking a flute from her boss’s hand.
Was the brush of his fingers against hers an intentional thing? Was she a complete idiot for even asking herself such a question? There was no way on earth the man was interested in her outside of their professional relationship.
And no way he could know about the fantasies he inspired …
I roll my head on my neck and wonder if the greats ever questioned their writing the way I’m doing right now. It’s just that I never had to think much while doing this before—not that writing was easy per se, but I was comfortable. Words flowed with ease.
I’m overthinking this.
Phoebe and her boss have to get something going on while flying either to or from Chicago.
They just have to. They’ve been flirting and ratcheting up the tension for thousands of words.
I doubt my readers, whoever they are, will feel like waiting much longer before a pulsing, throbbing cock pops out.
I wince at the thought. How am I supposed to write about this when I can’t even keep a straight face while thinking about it?
What would he think if he knew how much sleep he’d cost her? Not to mention, productivity. How was she supposed to work when all she could think about lately was how much she wanted him to clear off her desk with a sweep of his arm and tear off her panties? Preferably with his teeth.
I can picture Blake that way. I can imagine him in all sorts of ways in fact.
Before I know it, my imagination starts running away with me. Sure, Blake with my underwear in his teeth. He spits them out—no! He buries his nose in them to inhale my scent before tossing them aside and burying his face in my—
“Damn it!” I growl when the phone rings. Just when I was starting to get into it. “This’d better be good,” I warn Hayley on answering.
“Ouch. That’s what I get for taking time out of my ridiculously busy day, huh?”
“It’s Sunday. How busy can you be?”
“Hella busy, thanks very much.” She sounds downright annoyed now, which saddens and chastises me.
“Sorry. I’m in a mood. You know I’m always glad when you find time to say hello.
” Though preferably not while I’m starting to feel more than a little turned on by the notion of my boss going down on me.
While I’m on a desk with my skirt hiked up …
and I really shouldn’t be thinking about this while Hayley’s on the phone.
“How did it go last night? You know I’ve been dying to know! Where did you go?”
The question brightens my mood. “Nowhere special. We took the jet to Chicago.”
“What?”
“And had dinner in this ridiculously amazing restaurant that used to be a speakeasy Al Capone had spent time in. My eyes almost fell out of my head. Did you know there are restaurants without prices on the menu?” For some reason, I still can’t get over this.
“Shut up! That’s so cool! The speakeasy stuff, I mean. I can’t believe he whisked you away like that! Then, what happened?”
There goes my mood. It lasted all of ten seconds. “Well, we were supposed to go to a jazz club he owns part of, which I think is just about the neatest thing ever, and I had the feeling he was going to take me to his apartment afterward. He has one there.”
“Of course he does. Was there any, you know, sexy stuff?”
“I wish. We did kiss though. That was nice.”
“Just nice?” She laughs.
“No. More than nice. It was exciting and hot and thrilling. Sweet though. He was respectful. He took his time too, which I think we can both agree is a plus.”
“Mmm,” she sighs. “I love long, slow kisses. I miss them.”
“But he got a phone call. Business.” I lean back in the chair and close my eyes, one curled fist against my forehead. “It brought the night to an end real fast.”
“Oh no. So, no jazz? No hot sex?”
“No sex at all.” I snicker. “We flew home. He was on his phone the whole time, typing messages and taking calls to prepare for this huge board meeting or whatever.”
“And what did you do?”
“I took notes on my phone—the jet, the dinner, all of it. What was I supposed to do?” I ask when she giggles.
“I might as well have not been there. He barely said a word to me. For a minute, I thought maybe he was angry with me for some reason. It was only when he apologized again before dropping me off at home that I knew he was mad at himself and the people who wanted the meeting.”
“Aw, that’s a shame. I’m sorry. But, hey! You got to fly on a private jet, and you know what it’s like to have dinner at a restaurant with no prices on the menu. You can use that for your book, right?”
“I took a peek at the bill after it was delivered,” I have to admit. “The meal was over six hundred bucks. I’m sure it meant nothing to him, but I almost yelped.”
“Wow! You’ll have to bring me along on your next date.”
“If there is a next date. I mean, things ended pretty strangely. He was already dialing his assistant when he got back in the car. He didn’t even walk me up to my apartment.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” she says, sounding like the Hayley I know and love. “He was distracted. But if that kiss was anything like you described, he’ll be calling soon. Mark my words.”
“I hope he does. Not just because I have a book on the line either.”
“I didn’t think that was all there was to it,” she gently assures me. “You sound so excited when you talk about him. And you’re not a user. That’s the last word I’d use to describe you. It’s clear that you like him a lot.”
“I do. He’s such a gentleman and drop-dead gorgeous.
I mean, I can hardly think straight sometimes when we’re together.
I just wanna stare at him. And he’s generous and thoughtful, and he’s a real person at heart.
A normal guy. Except for the whole having-to-drop-everything-for-business side of things. ”
“I guess that comes with the territory,” she says. “He’s a powerful man. There’s probably a million pies he has a finger in.”
“Wow. There’s a pretty image.”
“You know what I mean, you weirdo. He’s got a bunch of business interests. There. Satisfied?”
“Yes, smarty-pants. And of course, I know what you mean.”
“It probably takes him forever just to clear a few hours in his schedule to spend time with you.”
“Which is exactly what I’m talking about! You’re making it sound like I should be grateful for any little bit of time he can spare. And, yes, I am. I know he goes out of his way to spend time with me. But I want more than that. Is it wrong for me to want more?”
“More than a man with the money to do anything you want at the drop of a hat? No, really,” she insists when I scoff. “Think about this. Anything you want would be yours. From what you’re telling me about him, he wouldn’t deny you anything.”
“Except for himself, which is all I’d want in the end. He’s more than just a fat wallet. And honestly, I don’t know how I feel about you making it sound like that’s all I should care about. Who do you think I am? Don’t you know me better than that?”
“I already told you, I know you’re not that person. Don’t take it the wrong way, please.”
“How else am I supposed to take it? I don’t care that he’s a billionaire. I care that he’s himself. That’s all.”
“I think you’re getting mixed up. You’re not supposed to be dating him to fall in love or anything like that. You’re supposed to be using him for research.”
My mouth opens immediately, a cute little retort on the tip of my tongue. Only I can’t go through with delivering it since she made a good point. I hate it when she makes a good point, especially when she’s disagreeing with me.
“I know,” I sigh instead of telling her off.
“But you can’t help yourself, can you?”
“I wish I could. Maybe I can. I have to face this professionally, is all. I can’t let him get to me. I mean, this is one book of many. I’ll have to date a ton of guys to keep cranking out new books.”
“Or … you could marry Blake and never have to worry about writing again!”
“Shut up!” I yelp, and we both laugh. “You’re not helping.”
“I know; I know. I couldn’t help it. And don’t pretend it wouldn’t be amazing, being the wife of a billionaire.”
It would be incredible. I know he would make it that way for me, for us.
But how many special evenings would end abruptly because of an unforeseen phone call? How many vacations would I spend alone because he couldn’t get away from work?
Besides … “I wouldn’t ever want to stop writing, you know.”
“I know, but you could write what you want. You wouldn’t have to worry about marketability or any of that.”
“I thought you were a fan of me taking my career to the next level.”
“I’m a fan of whatever makes you happy, sweetie.”
And I know she means it, which is why I’m able to end our call with a smile.
“Okay,” I whisper to myself, flexing my fingers. “Where were we? Oh, yes. Blake had his head between my thighs.”
Amazing how easy it is to write a sexy scene when there’s somebody in particular who you wish were doing those things to you …