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It all points to one clear path: I have to be something of value to him.
Let me rephrase that. I am something of value, but he has to see it. Or he’ll lose me.
My throat aches, but I have to be strong. As great as the orgasms are, he’s right. I’m a relationship girl. I do get attached, and he’s not going to change that about me.
He’ll figure out what’s important to him, or maybe one day he’ll realize what he lost.
Chapter 14
Spencer
“Well, it worked.” Miles blasts into my office, stoking my already foul mood. “I just got the fall lists from our top three accounts—a month early—and Heather has granted us an exclusive first-look photoshoot of the top items from their summer auction. It’ll be the cover of our June look book.”
“Don’t you knock?” I’m irritable, but Miles is undeterred.
“Antiques Today is Number 1! Take that, Link Sherlock.” He does a little fist pump.
“We were never in danger of not being Number 1.” Not as long as I’m here.
“Back still bothering you?” His eyebrow arches. “I saw Miss Winthrop is on your schedule for today.”
His eyebrow arch pisses me off even more. “It’s a back massage. Nothing more.”
“Oh, come now. You left a trail of fire in your wake when you pulled her out of the gala. Rick actually apologized to me for hitting on your girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Sorry, sorry… I know, no girlfriends. Only protégés.” He holds up both hands as he turns for the door. “I suppose travel is out until you’re recovered? No worries. I’ll work it out with Grafton.”
He’s gone and my jaw is tight. I flick a ball of paper after him, cringing at my lack of control. Joselyn is not my protégé. Calling her that makes it sound like I’m a lecherous old man, like my office has a casting couch. I’ve never slept with a woman who wasn’t begging for it, and I don’t groom them either.
As it stands with Joselyn, we’ve been home a week, and other than appointment-related messages, we haven’t spoken. She doesn’t sleep with clients. I don’t do relationships. We’re at an impasse.
Only, I’m pissed she’s taking some moral high ground. I broke my rule for her. Now she’s playing hard to get.
Fuck that, she yelped like a puppy riding my dick a week ago. She’ll come around soon enough. The phone on my desk dings, and I flick the button.
My secretary announces, “Miss Winthrop is here for your appointment.”
“Send her back.” Standing, I round the desk as I shed my coat and loosen my tie.
Pouring a tumbler of ice water, I compose myself. If she wants to play games, she’ll learn quickly I never lose.
The door opens, and when I see her, the ground shifts. Her hair is styled in a ponytail on her shoulder, sending red waves down her full breasts, which are straining against rust-colored scrubs. Her face is so fresh and glowing, but her blue eyes are all business.
It reminds me to get my shit together.
“Good morning, Mr. Carrollton.” She rolls in a massage table and assembles it near the windows. “How’s the pain today? Can you rate it on a scale of one to five?”
“First, you can call me Spencer. Let’s not be obtuse. As for my pain, it only hurts when I move in certain directions, and then it ranges from one to five, depending on whether or not I’m lifting something.”
Her full lips press into a thoughtful line, and she nods as she taps on her phone. “This is your second treatment. Based on how you feel this week, we can decide how many more are needed and the amount of time between them.”
I’ve already decided if she insists on continuing this act, it’ll be my last session with her, then I’ll take her home and spank her bottom. That fantasy makes me happy.
I say none of this aloud.
Instead, I lift my tie over my head and unbutton my dress shirt, feigning indifference. “How’s the client building going?”
