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Her eyes widen comically. “You…you want me to join your orgy?”
I shake my head. “It’s not an orgy, Stacia. Just be there at nine, and I’ll explain everything.”
A sigh escapes her. “I…sure, okay.”
Mentally, I fist pump. “So, about that pizza and movie?”
She nibbles on her plump lower lip. “Uh. Let me shower first?”
“I’ll order while you do—meat lovers?”
“You know it. With ranch, please.”
I lean in as if to kiss her, but think better of it. “Sounds good. Come down whenever you’re ready.”
Chapter Eighteen
Stacia
Sitting next to West last night on the couch after he delivered the best orgasm of my life was nothing short of pure torture. Every single time he shifted, his hand would brush my thigh, and a flurry of tingles would zip through me.
Don’t even get me started on the fucking sex scene in the movie. I don’t know what we were thinking watching Forgetting Sarah Marshall, but regrets were had.
Oh, and the fact that he’s the owner of Virtual Kitty—talk about a total mindfuck. I’ve spent the last thirteen hours fluctuating between outrage at not knowing and desire as I remember the way his body felt moving inside of mine.
I’d venture to say West Larson and I are the walking definition of it’s complicated.
And now, this morning, I’m standing buck-ass naked in front of my closet, debating what on earth to wear to this weird not-orgy meeting.
It’s at his office, so I should probably dress up. I settle on a black bodycon dress. It’s tea length with lace trim and long sleeves. Sexy, yet elegant. I slide my feet into my royal blue velvet peep-toe pumps—the very same ones I was wearing the first time I ever laid eyes on West. How fitting.
At eight forty-five a.m. on the dot, I leave the house and drive over. Nerves rattle my stomach the entire way as I wonder what on earth this could be about. Oh, God. What if it’s a live audition for VK? What if he’s expecting me to have sex with someone or pleasure myself while he watches?
My panic builds until finally, I tell my inner worry-monger to shut up. “West wouldn’t do that,” I say aloud, speaking it into existence. As soon as the words leave my lips, a calm washes over me. Because deep down, I know that’s not why he’s called me here.
So, the question remains—why?
My GPS guides me to the uptown area, full of high-rises—well, high for Mississippi—and parking garages. “You have arrived at your destination,” the mechanical voice tells me as I approach a gleaming glass building. There are signs directing me where to park and I follow them, parking on the third level.
From there, I wind through row after row of parked cars until I find the elevator. Inside, there’s a directory listing the names and floors. Easton Inc. is at the very top.
Nerves war with the calm I found on the drive over as the elevator car climbs. My hands are clammy and a single bead of sweat works its way down the back of my dress.
I wipe my hands on the front of my dress just as the door opens, revealing to me a stunning lobby. Glass outer walls make you feel as if you’re standing in the clouds. Everything in the space is modern and sleek, from the polished concrete floors to the polished navy reception desk and inviting cream-colored chairs. Hell, there’s even a gold chandelier dripping in crystals hanging over the center of the room.
“Oh, hello,” a honeyed voice greets me. “May I help you?”
I glance up to see a tall, thin woman waltz into the room. She’s pale, but in that stunning Snow White sort of way, only her hair is blonde and her eyes are the palest blue I’ve ever seen. Simply put, she’s a knockout and belongs on a runway, not in an office, even one as pretty as this.
“Yes, I have an appointment with Wes—Mr. Larson—at nine.”
“Stacia?” she asks, glancing down at something on her side of the tall desk.
“That’s me.”
“Great. He’s not quite ready, but if you’d like to have a seat right over there, I’ll let you know when he is.”
I nod and traipse over to the closest chair, sinking down into it, sighing as the cushion forms around me.
“Would you like coffee while you wait?”
My mouth waters at the thought. “Yes, please.”
She asks how I take it and smiles when I tell her half coffee and half cream.
I slide my phone out of my bag as she heads off to wherever their coffee machine is. I send a quick text to Mom and one to AJ before aimlessly scrolling through social media.
The lobby is so quiet that I damn near throw my phone across the room when the sound of raised voices penetrates silence. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?” Colton barks, sounding angrier than I’ve ever heard.
