WHIT
I am so screwed.
What the hell happened to Connor’s little sister? She used to be the kind of awkward that was endearing. All legs and nervous hands, the tip of her lips, and the color in her cheeks, was quick to rise but fleeting. Where did that girl go? Who put the saucy siren in her place?
She looks like a modern-day Brigitte Bardot. Is it not enough that I’ve been torturing myself with images of her riding my fingers that she has to turn up looking like the office pervert’s wet dream come to life. Was she poured into that skirt? And that blouse. It was the kind of garment that looked demure at first glance and pure temptation the second, molding to her curves with every movement. I was oddly glad to see years of braces hadn’t fixed the gap between her front teeth. It’s like the pearl between the oyster of those full lips. Something I think she prefers not to show.
How old is she again?
It’s me. I’m the office pervert.
I am so, so screwed.
“What you are is fucked.”
I turn from staring at the closed door, wondering if I need to murder my brother for reading my thoughts before realizing I must’ve said that out loud. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter as I pivot, rubbing my hand across my chin. “Can that womannotkeep her nose out of my business?”
“Who, Jody?”
“No, Mum,” I grate out. “And that was a rhetorical question.” Mimi is just a kid. A kid with the body of a goddess and the kind of behavior that reminds me of an eager-to-please puppy. That is some fucked-up combination and far too tempting to have daily in my office. I’ll bloody wank myself to an early grave!
“So it looks like you’ve got yourself a new secretary.” El clears his throat as I swing around to glare at him. “If you don’t want her…”
“Fuck off.”
“Don’t let Jody catch you diminishing her title.” Brin settles lower in his chair, crossing his long legs at the ankles. “She’s not a secretary. She’s keeper of big knob over there. He wouldn’t know his arse from his elbow if she wasn’t about.”
“Do you two have no work to do? I mean, do you actually work here? Or do you just swan in each day in a sharp suit and a winning smile because that’s all you’re good for?”
“Cheers, bruv.” Brin slides a loving hand down his lapel. “This one’s from your tailor. He did a good job, right?”
I don’t answer. Just glower.
“I thought we were meant to be having a meeting? A meeting before the meeting, as it were,” El says in an even tone.
“It’s a wonder we get any work done because of meetings,” Brin mutters.
Ignoring them both, I make my way around the desk, swipe up my phone, and drop into my leather chair. The call connects as I swing around to face the window and my view over the Thames and London beyond.
“Mum, how are you?” This travesty needs to be undone. “Yeah, busy. You know how it goes. You’re right, idle hands are the devil’s playground.” And don’t I know it. “What did I want? I just wondered if you were free for lunch today?”
Steel fist in a velvet glove, my arse. The woman is as subtle as a brick through a plate glass fucking window.
* * *
I stand as my mother glides into the courtyard restaurant and watch as she waves away the maître d’s outpourings of assistance as though the pair are old friends. As she weaves between the tables in a cloud of gardenia perfume, flowing skirts, and tinkling bracelets, it’s hard to ignore the attention she attracts, particularly from the opposite sex. She might be in her sixtieth year, but she’s still a very striking woman.
“Sweetheart.” I try not to wince as she carelessly drops the Birkin purse I’d bought her last birthday to the floor.
Note to self: ten grand’s worth of handbag gets the same treatment as a grocery sack.
Hands freed, she presses them to my cheeks and a smacking kiss to my forehead. There’s no point complaining. This has been her standard greeting for me forever.
“Thank you, Stefano.” The server pulls out her chair, and she takes her seat before sending him a radiant smile over her shoulder. Smoothing her shiny coffee-colored hair, she doesn’t notice the man turn pink with pleasure. She never does. It’s just her way. She makes everyone feel seen. Appreciated. This earthy loving is written into her DNA and part of the reason she always gets what she wants.
Not this time.
“Just the usual for me,” she says, waving away the offer of a menu.
