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Frowning, I hurry into the car. This night just keeps getting stranger. Pulling out my phone, I text the one person who can help me understand: Anna.
Houston, we have a problem.
7
"Wow." Anna says, leaning against the bar.
"Yeah I know."
She shakes her head. "I mean damn."
"I know." I take a long sip of my drink. I'd called an emergency best friend session at our favorite bar, Andre was happy to drop me off. We'd barely gotten our drinks before I managed to spill everything that had happened. In graphic detail.
"So," Anna grins, "was it awesome? I mean I'm getting that picture, but I just have to know if Derek Conway is a beast in bed."
For a second I'm once again pressed between Derek and the window, his cock deep inside me. My body shivers in a visceral response to the memory. "Yeah," I say. "It was awesome." Awesome is putting it mildly.
"How do you feel?" Anna asks, flagging down the bartender for another drink.
"I honestly don't know." I run my finger through the condensation collecting at the bottom of my glass. "This was probably the least professional thing I could ever do. Besides yelling at him. I mean, I really need to sell him a house. I need this job."
Anna nods. "Well, he didn't fire you."
"That doesn't mean he won't. And I don't know what this even was—what he wants now. How am I supposed to act tomorrow when I show him the house that I haven't even picked yet?"
"You're right," Anna laughs. "I hate to say it, but I'm glad I'm not in your shoes right now."
"Yeah."
I take another sip of my drink, grimacing. I don't even know what it is that Anna ordered me, but I don't like it. I probably shouldn't drink myself silly anyway. On top of everything I'm already dealing with in regards to Derek, a hangover isn't going to help.
"So are you going to fuck him again?" Anna asks casually.
I nearly choke on the ice cube in my mouth. "What?"
"If he's that good, I think you should go for it."
A sigh works its way out of me. "He is that good, but I don't think I should risk my career for another chance at good sex."
"Great sex," Anna clarifies.
"Fine, great sex. But if the positions were reversed you would take that chance?"
She grins. "You know I would."
"Yeah, you would. You also hate your job though."
Anna works at a huge celebrity PR firm, and not only are her bosses assholes but she spends her days working with the most vapid people imaginable. Not actual celebrities, but the people who think they are. I'm not surprised that she would welcome the chance to start over.
Anna doesn't know how bad things are with me in terms of money because I haven't told her. If I had she'd offer to help me, and I don't want that. But if Derek fires me or Jeremy decides it's not working out…well, I might have no choice but to ask for help.
"I should go," I say. "I have to prep for tomorrow and I can't be hung over."
"But we just got here."
"I know, I'm sorry." I wrap her in a hug. "This weekend after the deal is done we'll celebrate, okay?"
"Okay." She toasts me with what's left of her drink while I drop some cash on the bar to pay for me. "You know everything is going to be fine, right?"
I look at her, her characteristic smile absent. She looks worried and serious, and I wonder if I've let too much slip. "Of course," I say, grabbing my bag. "I'll text you."
"If anything else happens I want all the dirty details!" She yells it after me as I'm making my way outside and I get more than one intrigued stare. Thanks, Anna.
I feel bad for lying. I don't really need to prepare for tomorrow. I mean I do, but I'll do it at the office since I'm not meeting Derek until four. Just thinking about money makes me feel sad and worried, and it's not fair to Anna to turn into a moping mess. Especially when I haven't told her. Thinking about money also reminds me about the bills I got that I ignored. I shouldn't ignore them anymore.
After changing into something more comfortable and getting some water, I grab the stack of mail that's been piling up. Mostly junk, partially bills. I've paid the rent through the end of the month, and I've long since dropped most of my subscriptions. The only things I have now are my cell phone and Wi-Fi, plus all my utilities.
I guess there's really no point in avoiding them anymore. I try not to cringe at the amounts as I open the bills one by one. I log on to my accounts and pay them in the order I always do: phone, internet, power, water. I check my bank account after every bill, and the falling numbers form a pit in my stomach.
The final tally? Barely a hundred dollars. That goes down to zero if I choose to eat and pay the minimums on my credit cards and student loans. If my decision wasn't made before, it is now. As amazing and un-fucking-believable as Derek was, I can't do this. If I don't sell a house, I'll be homeless by the time I get another job and get paid. The overwhelmingness of that thought exhausts me.
As I go to bed I feel a sense of loss. There was a small part of me that was hoping for more with Derek, that we could do that again. I roll the memory of earlier today through my head, focusing on the details. If that's all I have, I'm going to remember it.
The memory makes me wet, and soon I'm coming on my hand as I remember him fucking me. It was easily the best orgasm I've ever had.
It will have to be the last one with him, too.
8
I finally get the office training I've been missing. Gretchen, one of the receptionists, walks me through all the computer systems that I don't already know and shows me where the mundane things like ink and copy paper are. I get my Sunset Realty ID, a new email address and Gretchen orders me a nameplate. Thankfully, everything doesn't take more than a few hours, and I have time to find something for Derek.
So he doesn't want the windows now? Fine with me. That really opens up the search options. I try to include things he mentioned that he wanted—large kitchen, natural light, lots of square footage. It takes a while, but I finally find one I think will work on the border of Studio City and Sherman Oaks. It's not quite as modern as what we looked at yesterday, the architecture a graceful and updated French style.
While the original kitchen isn't nearly big enough, the most recent owner was a very popular chef and had the place renovated to include practically state of the art cooking facilities. And Derek did say
he liked to cook.
I schedule the showing, then go to text the address to Derek. I stop just before doing so. The idea of contacting him after what we did is... difficult. My hands are sweating when I hit send.
Breathing out, I go and make myself some coffee before I leave. I'm leaving earlier than is strictly necessary, but this house is further away, and I want to have some time before Derek gets there. Gretchen wishes me luck as I head out the door.
An hour later I pull up to the house; there's construction tape across the entrance to the driveway. What? A small sign indicates that the driveway is being repaved. I see someone standing near the front, so I guess it's okay to go inside. There was a showing scheduled in the three o'clock hour, but I'm hoping that the other realtor will be fine with me looking around and preparing.
I circle my car around and park along the street in front of the property, behind the car of the people I assume are already inside. There's a queasy feeling in my stomach. There wasn't a note anywhere about construction. Knowing how skittish Derek has been about all the houses, he may use this as a reason to say no.
As I walk up the driveway, I see that the person I saw is still standing at the front door. That's odd. And then, as I get closer, my stomach plummets.
Derek is standing on the front step.
I stop walking. I try to keep my mouth from falling open. What on earth is he doing here so early?
He looks up and sees me, suddenly grinning. If it's possible, in the last day I've forgotten just how stunning he is in person, how much smaller my ribs seem to get when he smiles like that. A surge of anger and panic follows. I won't have a chance to do my walkthrough or all the mental prep I was planning on to keep him out of my head. Now he's here and very very in my head. But I guess now that he's seen me I can't turn around and walk away.
He slides his hands into his pockets as I finish walking up the driveway, and I can't ignore the way his eyes take me in—from head to toe and back. I manage to clear my throat. "You're early."
