Chapter 7
Stepping out of the shower, I was very aware of Mitch’s naked presence right behind me. In the changing room, I grabbed a fresh towel from the cubbyhole and, after wrapping it around myself, handed him another.
Spying my knickers still lying on the floor, I hastily stuffed them into my handbag. But Mitch didn’t remark on it. He began drying himself methodically, putting up one leg, then the other, on the bench seat, while I watched him out of the corner of my eye.
‘Are your clothes still upstairs in the office?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘Nah, lying in a pile outside the door.’
Mitch tucked his damp towel around his waist and went to fetch his clothes, and I took the opportunity to wriggle into my bra while his back was turned.
I kept my towel wrapped around my waist for modesty.
But I wasn’t sure why I was bothering, since I’d been naked in the shower with him.
Even though I didn’t catch him looking at my breasts or butt, he’d no doubt caught a glimpse.
And he’d definitely seen my pussy. Correction.
He’d seen Richie’s fingers driving in and out of my pussy and me having a massive orgasm.
Yeah, that hadn’t come up in conversation.
He might file it away to use as ammunition at a later date, so I didn’t want that hanging over my head. I had to do some damage control.
Hastily buttoning my shirt and thrusting my feet into my shoes, I unravelled my damp bun, finger-combed it and tied it back tightly into a ponytail.
As Mitch put on his shirt and suit pants, I peered in the mirror and wiped away streaks of mascara from under my eyes with a tissue. Weirdly, us getting dressed together felt more intimate than what had happened with Richie. I didn’t know what to make of that.
I leaned against the counter, watching Mitch as he sat on the bench and tied his black leather business shoes.
He’d raked his hand through his damp hair so it was spiky on top rather than smooth.
It gave him more of an edge. He reminded me of a freshly washed tiger—a tiger with a pretty face and a hot body—and I needed to keep my distance.
‘I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to Mia about this,’ I said.
Mitch glanced up. ‘About you and me?’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘No, about me and Richie, of course.’
‘Ah, right,’ said Mitch, continuing to tie his shoe. He yanked at the laces and tied a tight bow.
‘I don’t make a habit of fraternising with the guys, believe me,’ I said to fill the ensuing silence and drive home my point. ‘What happened with Richie was a one-off.’ He didn’t need to know it was actually a two-off.
Mitch stood and faced me, his smooth brow wrinkling, cheeks flushed from our scorching shower. God, he was hot—in his suit, out of his suit, either way, the guy was gorgeous. No wonder Mia had flung herself at him and bonked him senseless.
‘I’m confused,’ he said. ‘Mia “fraternises” and quite freely too, it seems.’
‘That’s just for the interviews,’ I explained.
‘To make sure she hires the right person for the job. She doesn’t touch any of the guys afterwards.
She and her partner have an open relationship, and he knows what goes on at the interviews.
But even if she has a good time with someone, it never goes anywhere after she’s hired them because of their arrangement. ’
Mitch blinked, looking a bit startled. ‘Oh, right,’ he said slowly. ‘That’s good to know…’
Did he think he and Mia would be an item after the shenanigans upstairs? Whatever he thought, it was better that he knew the deal.
‘…And don’t worry,’ he continued, making a zipping motion across his lips. ‘I’ll keep schtum about you and Richie. Don’t want to rock the boat.’
‘Thanks,’ I said in relief. ‘Well, I should go. Mia’s probably made copious notes about how fantastic you were that I’ll have to decipher.’
I rolled my eyes, but smiled to let him know I was kidding, and Mitch grinned genially. He seemed to be back to his relaxed self after I’d broken the news about Mia being off the market.
I picked up my handbag. ‘You can see yourself out, right? Head to the ground floor in the lift and push the green exit button.’
Mitch nodded, and I strode quickly to the door. My hair was starting to drip uncomfortably down my neck, and I wanted to get home and dry it.
‘Primrose?’
I turned enquiringly, glad Mitch was continuing to use the name I preferred and not my stuffy nickname. ‘Yes?’
‘Any time you need help with your asexual desires, feel free to hit me up. I got the impression from you moaning my name with Richie that you might enjoy it. We can make it a one-off, of course.’
Mitch smirked, and I felt the blood drain from my face. Fuck, he’d heard me.
Not deigning to reply, I yanked open the door and, all things considered, made a dignified getaway.
It was pouring when I came out of the building, so my hair got even wetter.
I hadn’t brought an umbrella to work either, and by the time I dashed to the Tube, hunching over my handbag to protect my laptop, I was soaked through.
What with my see-through shirt displaying my bra straps and my knickerless state, I felt like a right trollop.
As I made like a sardine, jostling elbows and breathing armpits on the steamy Piccadilly Line, it was only the thought of a hot, relaxing bath and dry clothes that kept me sane.
Plus the fact that my small one-bedroom flat in South Ealing was only three stops from Hammersmith, and a two-minute walk from the Tube station.
It was for emotionally fraught days like this, when I felt like my brain was splintering, that I’d clearly been thinking of when I’d signed the rental contract.
Now I congratulated myself on being a forward planner.
Not long after, I was peeling off my wet clothes, leaving them puddling on the floor and sinking into a steaming bubble bath.
It had been an intense day, both for sex and for water, but strangely enough, not combined.
And involving different people. I broke off a large chunk of Green it really was.
Fine, I replied. I’ll log on in fifteen. I need to eat my soup first.
Her message came back a minute later, prefixed with a teeth-clenching emoji: Don’t burn your mouth or dribble!