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I pull back my useless hand. Yes, be prepared, maybe with one or two, but . . . “With a whole box?” I didn’t mean to say that out loud. It’s none of my business.
Lainey rises before me, and my eyes follow her up, watching as she pulls her bag onto her shoulder, faffing with it unnecessarily. She doesn’t look embarrassed, more annoyed. “Are you about to slut-shame me, Mr. Christianson?”
I recoil, frantically searching my head for a counter. “No, of course not.” God damn me, who the fuck am I to judge? And now she thinks I’m a chauvinistic pig. I can’t blame her. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t—”
“How many do you carry then, Mr. Christianson?”
I shrug. “One or two. My wallet isn’t as big as your purse.”
“Too bad for you.”
I recoil, part shocked, part awed.
“Good evening,” she says, giving me a curt smile as she skirts past me, leaving me behind, still crouched on the floor. I frown and slowly rise, my mind off on a tangent. Well. That told me. But . . . how many condoms will she go through on her mission to find Mr. Perfect? I huff to myself. If she wants a true gentleman, a man who will treat her right, she shouldn’t need those. A decent man shouldn’t want to get her into bed first—an ironic conclusion coming from me, I know, but my dad didn’t take Mum to bed until he knew her inside out and his heart was pinging all over the shop. His words, not mine. He didn’t want my mother to think he wasn’t interested in her mind. So he talked to her. And talked to her. And he kissed her. And kissed her. Again, his words. I smile. You were a romantic old fool, Dad.
I head back to the elevators, spotting Lainey hitting the call button repeatedly. She halts the moment she clocks me and straightens, facing the doors. I say nothing as I come to a gradual stop next to her, mirroring her stance and facing the doors. It’s silent. Awkward. And as I glance out the corner of my eye, I find her stare now fixed on my chest. She’s remembering what’s underneath, and although I know it’s entirely wrong, I feel smug.
I cough, disturbing her, and she looks up. I raise my eyebrows, and she quickly looks away, returning her flustered attention to the elevator as the doors open. Then she scuttles inside in a rush.
I, however, take my time, strolling lazily into the lift and joining her. The doors close and we start to descend. I peek to my side, catching her staring again, before she darts her eyes forward. I’m still smug, but there’s a small part of me—the professional part—that’s reminding my ego not to get too inflated. She’s an employee. A no-go zone. Yet, right now, my rampant macho streak, and it’s a fucking big streak, is delighting in her inability to keep her eyes off me. I can look, right? Just don’t touch. No one has to know what I’m thinking. No one needs to know that my dick is pulsing behind the zip of my fly every time I’m in this woman’s company. “Any luck finding Mr. Perfect last night?” I ask casually, forcing myself not to ask if she plans on picking up her search tonight. With that box of condoms.
She laughs under her breath. “No, because he doesn’t exist, Mr. Christianson.”
“My mother wouldn’t agree,” I counter, and she glances up at me with a little frown. “My parents, they were the greatest untold love story.”
“Were?”
“My father died eight years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shrug her sympathy off, but say, “Thanks,” anyway. “Anything nice planned for the rest of the evening?” I ask, and immediately damn myself for it.
“Just meeting a friend for a drink.”
Is that code for meeting a potential Mr. Perfect? “Nice.”
“You?”
“Just meeting a friend for a drink.”
She flips me a tired stare, and I smile a dazzling smile, knocking her back a bit, making her blink and look away.
More silence. More tension. Lainey starts shifting from foot to foot, becoming more flustered with every second we’re trapped in the lift together. And when the doors start to move, she’s out like a shot before they’re fully open. “Have a good evening,” I call on a chuckle as I watch her rush across the foyer, following slowly behind and rearranging my groin area. My cock has taken on a mind of its own, throbbing with need, and I’m slowly accepting that trying to convince it to do otherwise is a waste of my time.
When I break out of the doors, looking left and right a few times, Lainey’s nowhere in sight. I hum to myself, thoughtful, as I make my way to my car. A whole fucking box?
As I pull out of the car park and join the traffic, my phone starts ringing. I glance at the screen on my dash and smile. The bed I so desperately needed to fall into is forgotten at the sight of Pamela’s name. My dick is now aching, and I need to let loose. “Good timing, sweetheart,” I say when I answer. I take a left and slow to a stop at some lights. “Where are you?”
