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The last time Kieran went down on me, he had a beard.
That was weeks ago.
Lately, it’s been one minute of foreplay in the form of a swipe of his finger over my clit, three minutes of thrusting before Kieran comes, and ten minutes with my vibrator after I get back to my place.
“I have one,” I bounce back.
He laughs, and time in all its infinite wisdom stops. Even Rolly looks in our direction to see where the glorious sound is coming from.
I take another drink.
“Let’s start again,” he says through a lingering chuckle. “You said something about the world needing fewer men. What was that about?”
“That was about one John Smith.”
That is my boss’s name, but Roman can’t track me down based on that. That’s assuming that he’d want to track me down. For all I know, he’s in here drowning his sorrows because his girlfriend left him.
I laugh out loud at that.
What woman in her right mind would leave him?
Roman’s brows pinch together. “Was that a joke?”
“No,” I sigh. “My boss passed me over for a promotion today.”
“Bastard,” Roman snaps the word off his tongue.
I’d call John worse, and I have, but I did that on the trek here in the sweltering New York City heat.
I’m all cursed out, for now.
“He gave the job to one of his cronies.” I edge my manicured, pink-tipped nail along the rim of my glass. “If that’s what you call an old friend who has much less experience than me.”
“I call it favoritism.” Roman finishes his drink. “John Smith made a mistake.”
For someone who has no idea what I do for a living, I admire his commitment to taking my side.
“I think it’s time to look for a new job,” I say half-heartedly.
I’ve been working at Packton Properties for four years. The senior project manager’s job should have been mine. Once John’s BFF was put on staff, my chance for any advancement went up in smoke. You’d think that eighty-year-old men would be ready to hang up their hats and hit the retirement path, but not John and Jim.
“If you have a background in law, I’d consider offering you a position with my firm.”
That has to be the smoothest humble brag I’ve ever heard. I don’t take the bait because my only experience with the law was a warning for crossing against a light when I was seventeen. I’ve stayed on the straight and narrow for the past ten years.
I take another sip of my drink, waiting for Roman, the gorgeous but not modest attorney, to ask for my number. My ego hopes he will, even though I can’t share it because of Kieran.
I am many things, but I’m not a cheater.
He takes a look at his enviable watch. “It’s been an experience, Miss Marks. I hope the employment situation sorts itself out.”
“I’ll sort it out.” I catch his eye one last time. “Thank you again for the drink, Mr. Hawthorne.”
“Roman.” He taps his fingers on the top of the bar. “It’s Roman to you.”
He stands. All six-feet-two-inches of him are breathtaking.
I’ll never see him again after today, so I take one last, very long look at him.
“Until we meet again,” he says, buttoning his suit jacket. “Good day, Miss Marks.”
Taking a deep breath, I turn back to my drink and whisper, “You made it a very good day, Mr. Hawthorne.”
Chapter 2
Bianca
There are two life rules a woman should never break. Don’t go to bed hungry. I mean it - you’ll overeat at breakfast. The other is don’t let desire take the wheel.
Keep your wits about you at all times.
I could have followed Roman Hawthorne out of Rolly’s Pub this afternoon, but I waited the requisite five minutes before I waved goodbye to Rolly. He blew a kiss to the couple taking seats next to me, but I’m sure they appreciated it.
When I got home, I made myself a mocktail because limits are a girl’s best friend. Then, I opened my laptop, typed in Roman’s name, and ogled everything that popped up on Google.
That amounted to a whole lot of corporate stuff.
Mr. Hawthorne works in estate law and has a partner named Thomas Harrell. Their shared bio speaks of their time at Harvard Law School.
I’m semi-surprised that Roman didn’t drop that impressive bombshell on me.
The rest of the information on the website of Hawthorne & Harrell is generic dribble about their mission statement and ode to do well by all who pay them an exorbitant fee to handle their dying wishes.
I’m paraphrasing, but that’s the gist of it.
I put my laptop on the coffee table and swallow the mocktail in one gulp.
It does nothing to chase away the buzz running through me.
I’d call Kieran to come here to take care of me, but the subway ride from his apartment in Brooklyn will take longer than our encounter.
