I shouldn’t be this hot and hard already, not after this morning, but I am, and I’m unraveling, and—
I climax so hard that my cum streaks the black marble of the shower wall. After my heart and breath settle, I cup my hands to collect water from the rainfall showerhead to wipe it away.
I finish off with an ice-cold rinse.
I’m hoping I can work it out of my system. The issue must be that it’s been so long since I really went out and spent time with new people. The sheer impossibility of Morgan wanting anything to do with me is a comfort.
I rinse out my hair and redress. As I step out onto the roof deck for a minute of fresh air before I head back down, the woman with the honey-colored ponytail sees me and tells me to have a great day.
“Thank you again for earlier. I’m sorry about Morgan.”
“It’s fine,” the woman says. “Far from the craziest request I’ve gotten.”
“Well, you made a great selection.”
“I just followed directions. She remembered exactly which rack they were on and everything, which made it easy. But I’m glad you like them. It’s a great color on you.”
“O-oh. Thank you. You have a great day as well.”
I can’t think of anything else to say because my head is spinning. Morgan Hunter, CEO and billionaire, saw something in a luxury spa shop and thought ofme.
Chapter 22
MORGAN
I usually take calls in my room, but it stinks of omega right now, so I claim one of the hotel’s many meeting rooms. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the city, but they might as well be blank drywall for all I care.
I pace along the length of the table, phone in-hand and on speaker, only half hearing the voice of the head of operations for the company we acquired last year.
There’s a knock at the meeting room door, and a turn and glare through the glass. A group of business professionals in suits shrink back slightly, despite the fact that I’m still wearing my bikini and coverup. The bravest says something about having a reservation, voice muffled by the glass between us.
I flip them off. They get the message.
I interrupt the operations head, telling him in no uncertain terms that I’m fucking done with his excuses.
My phone vibrates in my hand with a new text from the senior project manager, who’s also on the call.
I thought we were playing the long game?
Not anymore, I type back, not missing a beat as Icontinue reaming the ops guy.
When I bore of it, I hang up.
With that call taken care of, I’m theoretically free to return to my day. Instead, I make another. Might as well get shit done when I’m in the mood for it.
The call rings through to the product manager of one of our lower-performing drug lines, and I inform him that he has two quarters to get the numbers going in the right direction or I’m offloading the entire product line to the highest bidder.
I hang up and am about to make another call when one comes in from Giovanna Heath. I sigh and answer it.
“Did Eileen call you?”
“Morgan, darling, howareyou doing?”
I sigh again and sink into one of the leather office chairs ringing the conference table. I kick out and pivot to face the city view.
“I’m fine.”
“Morgan…”
