I open my mouth and snap it closed again before I suggest she stop wearing skirts that look like she’s been poured into them. The issue isn’t what she wears. It’s in the cesspit that is my brain. How can I try to be a brother to her when I want to fuck her from here to Lands End?
“You just told Brin you worked through your lunch,” I say, remembering the conversation. “That says to me that you have enough to do.”
“I do.” She inclines her head. “Things that Jody left for me. Things she’d diarized. But you’ve got to do your bit, too. Whoever heard of a CEO chasing his own damn laundry? You, boss man,” she says, pointing my way. “Me,” she adds with a tap to her chest, “here to do your bidding.”
“My bidding?” My answer falls from my mouth far quicker than it should, the thoughts accompanying it pure fucking filth.
“Yes, Mr. Whittington. I’m happy to assist however you see fit.”
Her words are like a lick of warmth against the lining of my stomach. Fuck me. Was that a come-on?
Stop being a cock, the little angel on my shoulder says. It’s got a dirty fucking mouth, that angel.
“So Mr. Boss man,” she says stepping closer, “what can I do for you?
“I’m the same person as I was,” I grumble. “Just a bit older.” A lot wealthier.
“A little crankier.” She comes to a stop a couple of feet from the other side of my desk. “What did you want me for?”
I force my eyes to remain on hers as a dozen wants prickle on my tongue.Get on your knees, open your mouth, and stick out your tongue.“Last month’s P & L account.”
“What about it?”
“I haven’t gotten it yet.”
“It should be in your inbox,” she replies breezily. Too breezily, maybe. Was she hoping for a different kind of request?
“Well, it’s not.”
“Well… I sent it yesterday.”
“I also need a hard copy.”
“There’s nothing about that in the book.” She looks mildly confused.
“What book?” I find myself frowning.
“Jody’s instructions. The first Monday of a new month, the report comes to me. I’m to reformat it and forward it on to you. Which I did.”
“I need you to print it out.”
She makes as though to stand on the tips of her toes.
“What are you doing?”
“Seeing if your fingers had all fallen off. Your laptop has a print button, right?
“Don’t be a smart arse.”
“Then stop staring at it.”
“What did you say?”
“I said you started it.”
I give my head a shake. I must be fucking losing my marbles. “The report?” I repeat.
She glances behind me to where my personal printer sits on the cabinetry.
