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7
Preston
I kick back in my office chair, resting my hands behind my head. What’s Carolyn up to? I had half a mind to text her immediately after our interlude in order to book a second one, but I decided to let her get some rest. After all, I definitely want to enjoy that curvy body again without seeming like a desperate creep.
As a result, it’s Monday now and I should be working, but instead, I’m fantasizing about the beautiful woman. What is Carolyn doing? Is she wearing naughty lingerie? Is she sore from our interlude at the hotel? Shit, I’d love to know.
Suddenly, a knock sounds on my door and my elderly secretary pokes her head in.
“Mr. Cahill,” Jackie says. “I’m heading out for the night, unless there’s anything else you need.”
Oh shit, is it five thirty already? When I glance at the clock, I make a mental note to give my secretary a raise. She’s been with me for twenty years already, and deserves it.
“I’m good, Jackie. Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She hesitates in the doorway. “You sure? I can stay longer if there’s more to be done.”
I shake my head and grunt before sighing.
“No, I’m good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
With that, my secretary nods and departs before closing the door. I’m left with a heavy silence, and when I move to the floor to ceiling windows to look outside, it seems like all of New York City is going home. People scurry on the sidewalks as they exit skyscrapers, eager to reunite with their families.
Shit, why am I still here? I’m the head of a huge conglomerate, but at the same time, I have good people in my employ. They know how to run this place as well as I do, and besides, it’s getting late. As a result, I grab my coat and call a car. My penthouse beckons. There’s a hot meal in the oven, and my stomach rumbles hungrily in anticipation.
But when I get home, the seared swordfish steak doesn’t appeal and instead I decide to pour myself a bowl of cold cereal. Pathetic, but that’s what bachelors eat on occasion, right? As I gulp Wheaties at the kitchen counter, I pull out my phone, idling surfing around a bit. There’s some news that I’ve already read, and the stock markets are already closed for the day. My fingers bring up Carolyn’s number and I stare at it for a moment. You know what? I’m going to text her.
Hey, sweetheart. It’s Preston Cahill. Saturday was incredible and I hope you enjoyed yourself as much as I did.
I’m always a straight shooter, and it’s something people either love or hate about me, but I don’t like to waste my time or anyone else’s. Fortunately, my phone buzzes not a minute later.
I had a great time too! I wasn’t sure if you’d actually text me.
At that, I smile.
Why wouldn’t I text you? I reply.
Carolyn types and erases a few messages, dots appearing and disappearing for several moments as she tries to think of the right words to say. Technology is really something and I wait with bated breath. Finally, the new message pops up on my screen.
No reason really. I’m happy to hear from you, that’s all, she responds. What are you doing?
I look down at my sad excuse for a dinner and grimace before deciding to embellish a little.
Just finished working out. Drenched in sweat rn.
Hey, it’s sort of true. I worked out this morning, so I did get a work out in today. Meanwhile, Carolyn sends a winking emoji.
I couldn’t imagine wanting to work out after a shift at the ice cream parlor because I’m usually dead tired. When I get off work, I just want to watch movies in my panties.
Holy shit. Carolyn has to know what she’s doing to me, right? There’s no way she’s not trying to get me hot and bothered. My fingers fly as I text her back.
Sounds like a good enough night to me. Any time you want company just let me know, sweetheart.
I’m free Friday evening if you are.
Hmm, seems like Carolyn’s quite straightforward too. Good, I like that. I send a quick email to my secretary asking to reschedule a conference call with Tokyo stat. Jackie’s not going to be happy about it and neither will the investors, but a man has to have priorities, and a girl like Carolyn is a top priority. Hell, I haven’t stopped thinking about her since I first saw her at my daughter’s wedding, and I can’t help but think that her crappy boyfriend breaking up with her at that moment was a sign that I needed to make a move.
Friday sounds good, baby. 6 p.m. okay for you?
She texts back, Yes, but Preston what should I wear?
Ideally, nothing by the end of the night, is my lewd thought, but I can’t say that. Instead, my thoughts wander, thinking of potential date options. There are any number of fancy restaurants in the area that have months-long waiting lists, but I could pull strings and get us a reservation with a snap of my fingers. Hell, if I wanted to, I could whisk her away to Rome in my private jet for some delicious, authentic Italian food.
