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Lacey: Him too. He was pretty hot.
Mal: Only pretty hot?
Lacey: Egomaniac.
Mal: You disagree?
Lacey: No comment. I have to get to this. I have an early call time tomorrow. And I'm about to choose between sleep and finishing this first pass.
Mal: You're not choosing sleep.
Lacey: How do you know?
Mal: Tell me I'm wrong.
Lacey: No comment.
Mal: Where do you want to meet Sunday?
Lacey: Come to my place.
Mal: And I'm the one booty calling you?
Lacey: At seven. Don't be late. Or early. I won't be done until 6:59.
She sends her address.
Lacey: Goodnight, tortured bad boy.
Mal: Goodnight, Lacey.
4
Lacey
My phone falls onto my lap. Right between my legs. If only it was buzzing. Not that I need extra stimulation.
My heart is still racing. My breath is still heavy.
My brain is utterly unable to comprehend Mal flirting with me. If I hadn't personally programmed my number into his phone, I'd think this was some practical joke.
My eyes refuse to focus on the footage. It's all here, finally uploaded. There's a lot of raw footage—nearly two hours' worth—but it's not as bad as more elaborate videos.
This is plenty to work with.
I already have an idea. A perfect idea. A perfect idea that will take every minute I have between now and Sunday at seven.
Which leaves absolutely no time for lusting over Mal.
For thinking about his hands on my skin, his lips on my neck, his voice in my ears.
I read over our texts again. That's flirting. That's definitely flirting.
I try to focus on the footage, but all I can see is me and Mal in that bed.
My tongue slides over my lips. My heartbeat picks up. My breath catches in my throat. That's not the celebrity client and the model in that frame. That's me and Mal, rolling around in bed. He's kissing me. He's pulling off my shirt. Unzipping my shorts. Flipping me over and holding me down.
Dragging his lips over my neck.
