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“What the hell are you talking about?” I demanded, feeling both angry and flustered. “Why would you send me that text? It’s highly unprofessional.” As were every single one of my thoughts surrounding him.
“I can read your texts in the group text with your friends on your tablet.”
My heart fell back down into my gut. Of course he could. The damn tablet was synced with my phone. That had never even occurred to me when I was texting with my friends. He had seen everything. “A gentleman wouldn’t have read what I wrote.”
“I didn’t mean to. It just popped up when I was moving the tablet. Besides, whoever said I’m a gentleman?”
The train slowed and without a grip on the pole, I pitched forward and collided with a man’s back. I hooked an arm around the pole and tried to decipher what Michael was actually saying. “You seem like a gentleman. Or you did, until this. Savannah said you were very polite with her.”
“I was trying to put my best foot forward. But I can be a really dirty bastard if I want to be.”
He was killing me. I closed my eyes. Which only goes to show you how mad I was for the man and his cock because no one in their right mind ever closes their eyes on the train. I told myself not to say it. Just don’t. If I said it and this went in the toilet, I could potentially lose the commission if he no longer wanted me selling Becca’s clothes.
But we all know that I said it.
“I love a good dirty bastard,” I said. “Even a dirty bastard that reads a woman’s private texts.”
“You pretended to be another woman,” he pointed out. “For weeks.”
I could not argue with that. “I did.”
“So I guess we’re both a little naughty, aren’t we?” he said, his voice sounding low and gruff next to my ear. “Get off at the next stop and come back to my place. Did you eat dinner yet?”
I shook my head, then realized he couldn’t see me. “No.”
“I’ll order something and open another bottle of wine. Then I’ll go down on you.”
I mean… was there really any reason to say no?
“It sounds like an offer I just can’t refuse.”
“I agree. See you soon?”
I was already shoving my way toward the door so I could maneuver off the train the second it stopped. “Yes.”
As I ran down the platform to get back on in the opposite direction, I sent a text to my friends.
STOP TEXTING. I forgot my tablet at Michael’s and HE CAN SEE ALL OUR TEXTS WHEN THEY POP UP.
Oh shit, was Leah’s immediate response.
Dakota just sent me approximately seventeen laugh cry face emojis.
Savannah sent a gif that was a woman snapping her fingers and underneath was written “Oh, snap.”
That had me both rolling my eyes and laughing as I jumped on the train going back downtown.
Isla texted last.
Only you.
That’s all she wrote.
But she was right. I was the only one this would happen to. I was the Bridget Jones of our friend group. And not because I was British.
My giant handbag was pressed against my thigh. I’d made a stop at a favorite boutique in SoHo that had candles in brilliant scents and now my bag weighed about three hundred pounds. But I would lug the bastard around all night if it meant I got to have sex with Michael.
He better not be overpromising. I was fully prepared to demand the pleasure he had offered.
