Her face is a light with passion as she speaks. Her eyes are glittering as she’s telling me a beautiful secret.
She looks gorgeous in the late afternoon light, wearing a pale blue summer dress with her hair pulled up into a messy bun to keep her neck and shoulders cool.
“You sound like you should have been a writer. Like you should have been the one creating those universes,” I remark.
Her expression becomes tense for a moment before she tilts her head to the side, and her mouth curves into a small smile.
“Perhaps. Maybe in my next life I’ll be an author.”
“Why not this one? What do you need to study to become an author?” I ask.
“I’ve already studied English Literature, actually, and a few other courses, all moving in the direction of becoming a writer,” she shrugs.
“Really, then what’s stopping you?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Life, I don’t know,” she mutters. “It’s not like I’m doing anythinginterestingat the bookstore anyway. I just track the sales and inventory, source new books, and deal with the customers. I’m pretty good with filing and spreadsheets and that sort of thing. It’s not like I’m sitting there writing beautiful stories,” she sighs.
“Why don’t you, though? You clearly want to,” I push.
“I think I’m going to jump in the pool and cool down,” she says, eager to change the subject. Blair stands and sets her emptyplate at the side of the table. “Lunch was amazing, thank you,” she smiles, then hurries away from me and my questions.
I never got the answer I was looking for. I still don’t know why she never pursued her dream of writing.
But within moments, I am no longer wondering about what stopped her from carrying on down that path because she’s pulled the pale blue summer dress over her shoulders and tossed it onto a sun lounger, and now she’s standing next to the pool in nothing but a white bikini that leaves very little to the imagination and my cock has gone rock hard beneath the table.
I groan as I watch her walk around the pool toward the steps. She doesn’t sway her hips intentionally or walk like a woman who knows someone is watching her. She looks shyer than anything else, and if I were to guess, I’d say she probably isn’t even used to wearing such a revealing bikini and would have preferred a full piece. She is modest in most of what she does.
Lucky for me, there wasn’t a full range of options in the closet for her to choose from, as my sister never wears anything but bikinis.
She slips into the water, letting out a soft moan of pleasure as the coolness embraces her body. My cock throbs harder, and I groan in dismay. I want to join her in the pool, but obviously not in the state I’m currently in.
So, I have to settle with watching her from the table while I busy myself with the fresh orange juice and nibble from the fruit platter.
Thank goodness things between us have been getting better. She’s much more relaxed around me. In no time at all, she will feel completely at home here, and maybe she won’t want to leave after that.
***
Late one afternoon, after another lovely lunch with Blair, I am walking past my office when I hear a soft knock as if someone has bumped something. I pause, cocking my head to the side and staring at the closed door.
My instincts spoke as I stepped toward the door and pushed it open.
Blair jumps in fright when I walk in on her, elbow deep in one of my drawers.
“What are you doing?” I blurt out, shocked to find her in here.
“What amIdoing!?Me?! Why don’t you tell me whatyou’ve been doing!”she shouts angrily, shoving some papers toward me, pushing them across the desk.
“And this!” she shouts, practically throwing a notebook at me.
“Blair,” I stammer, watching some of the documents fall to the floor. Reports from the private investigator that I printed out to read at night while I was looking into her.
“Where I went to university. What I studied. Who my parents are. Where I grew up. What the hell is this!?” She’s furious. Shy little Blair has flared up like a wildfire, and she is not holding back at all. “Explain what this is!” she demands, her voice high-pitched with strain as she bends down to pick up the notebook that landed on the floor in front of me. She opens it randomly.
I clench my jaw, looking at the coded breakdown of the business behind our legitimate business. The bratva business. The hidden one.
“I’m not stupid, Simon. This is money laundering stuff. This isn’t legitimate, legal stuff. And…” She runs to my computer and hammers her fingers against the keys. “And this!” she snaps, turning it toward me so I can see an email she’s read. One she should never have been exposed to.
“You’re in the mafia.” Her voice is quiet but dark with accusation. “That’s why you’re so rich and powerful,” she mutters.
