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Picking up the handcuffs she’d just bought at the Velvet Box, she slipped them into her perfectly respectable Coach purse. Then she grabbed the bakery box holding a bag of chocolate chip cookies and the chocolate pecan bourbon pie she’d made. It had been a lot of work, but it was totally worth it, as in her experience, chocolate pecan bourbon pie was almost always the dessert of choice for the overly efficient, pit bull assistant types who guarded their bosses like they would the fine china they’d inherited from their great-aunt Agatha. And since she was pretty sure Dalton had one of those, she had come prepared.
After sliding out of the driver’s seat and locking the door, Harmony straightened her perfectly respectable royal-blue Ann Taylor wrap dress and strutted across the parking lot in a pair of black lace-up Christian Louboutin Megavamps. She had handcuffs, fuck-me shoes, and no underwear—what else could a man want?
With her black Coach hobo on her shoulder and the pie in hand, she used the shiny new building directory to locate Dalton’s office. She took the elevator to the top floor—of course he had a top-floor office—and stepped out into a lobby of sorts. A woman with gray hair artfully scraped back into a bun sat at a desk in front of a set of double doors. Her nameplate proclaimed her to be Eleanor Sanchez, and she was a pit bull assistant if Harmony had ever seen one.
The only problem?
Harmony hadn’t taken her age into consideration. Efficient females over fifty tended to be lemon meringue fans. Still, the chocolate bourbon should do the trick … unless she was Baptist, in which case Harmony’s whole plan was up shit creek.
Eleanor’s eyes snapped up from the computer she was sitting behind and she stood up, a huge smile dawning on her otherwise serious face. “Lyric, so good to see you again.”
Harmony wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “So good to see you too, Eleanor. You work so hard for Dalton and this whole organization that I just wanted to thank you. So I brought you a chocolate pecan bourbon pie.”
“Well thank you. That sounds … interesting. I’m usually more of a lemon meringue fan, but I’m up for trying something new.” Eleanor’s face screwed up. “Those stupid tabloids. Don’t listen to them. It’s a free country and you can go wherever you please.”
Lyric had never been one to read tabloids, but Harmony would pass the reminder along just in case things had changed.
“Thanks.” Harmony smiled and hoped that was all she needed to say. God willing, the woman wasn’t a fan of Lyric’s Crab Nebula podcast, because Harmony could only fake being a good girl for so long, and she sure as shit couldn’t fake being an astrophysicist at all. “Can I have a minute of his time?” She pointed to the double doors.
“Yes, just a minute though … lots going on today.” Eleanor put the pie down on her desk and opened the door for Harmony. “Go right in.”
This Lyric thing was even better than she thought—no warning from Eleanor meant she had a clear shot to ambush Dalton. Yippee.
Harmony couldn’t help admiring the expansive view as she stepped into Dalton’s office. The entire back wall of the office was windows, and he had an amazing view of downtown Fort Worth.
Dalton was on the phone and typing on the computer, and he hadn’t noticed her standing there, so she shut the door quietly behind her. Then turned the lock just as quietly.
“What morality clause? This is the NFL. If they required us to have a morality clause, we’d have no players left.” He gritted his teeth. “I know, Barry. I’ll have a talk with him. I understand that we don’t need the bad press.” There was a pause during which Barry was no doubt yelling at Dalton. “I’ll take care of it. That’s right. Thanks.” Another pause. “I’ll see you in five.” He slammed the phone down.
“Bad day at the office, honey?” Harmony placed the handcuffs and the white sack filled with chocolate chip cookies on the desk. “I guess you don’t have time for either of those.” She sat on the corner of his desk, letting the front of her wrap dress fall open. “Or for this, either.”
Dalton’s eyes roamed up her legs, lingered on her upper thighs and then breasts and finally made it all the way to her face. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“I guess playing hooky for the afternoon is out?” She dangled her left leg off the desk, which made the dress open further. “Since you’re such a busy boss man?”
His eyes went to her thighs again, and he licked his lips. “Right now, I really wish I wasn’t.”
“Yeah, me too.” What was wrong with him? He wanted her and she wanted him. They were adults. “Do you have a girlfriend or something?”
She sat forward, waiting for the answer. He hadn’t said anything yesterday, but he was a guy and they were funny about honesty. God knew she’d been burned more than once.
“No. And before you ask, I’m not married either.” His eyes stayed on her thighs as he leaned back. “I guess we should have sorted that out yesterday. Are you in a relationship?”
“No. Do you think I’d be nearly naked on your desk right now if I was?” Still, he got points for asking and being a decent human being. “Then why aren’t we naked right now?”
“What is it with you and sex? Seems like you’ve got a one-track mind.” He grinned, and damn it, both of his dimples popped out. Handsome men shouldn’t be allowed to have dimples. It was overkill, especially since she couldn’t help thinking about how much she wanted to lick them. “Don’t you want to get to know me? I have layers.”
“Yes, and you’re wearing way too many of them.” She leaned forward, and her boobs nearly fell out of her dress. “I, on the other hand, am only wearing one.”
She had on a bra, but that was beside the point.
He shook his head. “I’m beginning to think you only want me for my body.”
“Wow, it took you two whole days to figure that out?” She looked around. “I guess common sense didn’t come with that MBA.”
“You’ve been checking up on me.” His smile widened.
“The Internet is very handy.” She picked up the handcuffs and twirled one bracelet around her finger.
