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I get up from my desk and walk to the full-length windows that overlook Manhattan. It’s hard to think that the man who’s responsible for my existence, and responsible for fucking it up, is gone.
A part of me feels… I have no idea what I feel. I don’t feel sad—he didn’t do anything to deserve my grief. But I don’t feel anything at all.
Where’s my mom? What happened to her after my father died? Was she still with him when he got sick? Or did she get the courage to leave him long before that and found her freedom?
Is she still alive?
I have too many questions, so I shove them all away and turn my attention back to work. The retreat is creeping closer and every year, I try to use it as a deadline—if I can get the projects in by then, I can go away and enjoy my time with the board of directors without worrying about work too much.
My mind drifts to Rachel. Emma suggested I take her with me. But that’s a bad idea—what will she think I want with her if I ask her to join me? Maybe she’ll be able to keep things platonic between us. Maybe she’ll be able to treat this like a business relationship.
Rachel is professional.
But that doesn’t mean that I can be. After our night together, I can’t think about her without picturing her naked. I can’t think about her without wondering what else she’s been through and who she really is. I want to know her. More than just sleeping with her again. Although, I want that, too.
I groan.
An email from Rachel drops into my inbox as if thinking about her has summoned her.
In the email, she’s placed a few more concepts for clothing for the retreat and added an invoice.
I pay her immediately before I pick up my phone and call her.
“Blake,” she says when she answers the phone. She sounds out of breath.
“Am I interrupting something?” I ask.
“No, I just finished at the gym. Sorry.”
I want to know where she gyms. Maybe we can work out together. I can cover costs for her with Emma—
Stop it.
“When can we set up a meeting to discuss your designs for the retreat?” I ask instead, sticking to business.
“As soon as you need me,” she says.
God, does she have any idea how much her words tug at me? I need her right now. Right here. I want all kinds of things with her I can’t have.
“How does tomorrow sound?”
“Perfect.”
“Lunchtime. It will be my treat.”
She hesitates. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Blake.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Damn it, she’s right. I can’t keep her at arm’s length and invite her to lunch or dinner at the same time.
“After lunch, then,” I correct. “Let’s make it two. You can come to my office.”
“That’ll be good,” she says, and we end the call.
I’d much rather have her at my place, but then I’ll end uphavingher at my place. And that won’t do. So, seeing her here is the best way to do it. We’ll just discuss clothing, anyway. It won’t go into anything that it shouldn’t.
Although, when it comes to Rachel, I can get creative. Fucking her right on this desk, for instance, would be a fantasy come true.
If she’s on her back, naked on my desk calendar, I can eat her out over September and October. And then I could flip her over and fuck her right across December.
