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She flips on her flashlight, displaying Jimmy’s ostentatious office.
“Does he seriously have his name engraved into his own desk?” Addie asks beside me, her tone dry.
“Maybe he’s a proactive boss and has reminders everywhere in case anyone gets early-onset Alzheimer’s and forgets his name.”
“I think that would be a blessing if I had to work for him.”
Sibby travels farther into the office, looking around at the several filing cabinets.
“Where does he keep the jumpers?” she asks. Another snort from Addie.
“Jump drive,” I correct, though I’m not even sure why I bother. I’ve told her what they’re called a million times, and she still calls them that.
“They could be in his desk. It has his name on it in case you’re confused about where it is.”
“I’m not confused, silly,” Sibby giggles.
Addie and I look at each other, grins on our faces. Sarcasm gets lost on her sometimes.
We watch Sibby approach his desk, the cherry wood gleaming, not a speck of dust in sight.
Everything has its own place atop it, arranged neatly and positioned in straight lines. Either Jimmy or his cleaning service has OCD.
She tugs on the top drawer, groaning dramatically when it sticks.
“He locks his own drawers?” she whines.
“Just pick the lock,” I tell her calmly, praying she doesn’t throw a tantrum and start stabbing the leather computer chair with the letter opener.
Sighing, she rifles through her jacket pocket before pulling out her kit and getting to work, grumbling to herself the entire time.
It takes her all of fifteen seconds to get it unlocked, and I’m tempted to ask her if it was as big of a deal as she made it out to be. But I’d rather not risk her getting angry. There have been quite a few dishes broken over the last month—unnecessarily. She has no idea how to regulate her emotions, but it’s something I’ve been working on with her.
She slides open the door, finds a basket of drives and gets to work by replacing them with mine while stuffing his in her coat pocket. Later, I’ll pick through them on a spare laptop to see if there’s anything of value.
Next to me, Addie unzips the puffer jacket and nearly rips it off, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. She glances at me, and then crosses her arms.
“Don’t stop on my account, little mouse.”
“I feel like you’re making it super-hot in here on purpose,” she grumbles, reaching forward to turn down the heat.
“If I wanted your clothes off, I would just remove them myself.”
She arches a brow. “You’re saying you currently don’t want them off?” she challenges.
The tips of my mouth curl, and I make sure to keep my gaze slow and blazing as I sweep it down her body. If she thinks the car is overheating her, I’ll show her how hot I can make her with one look.
She flushes brightly, red staining her cheeks as she shifts, those thick thighs clenching. My cock hardens painfully in my jeans, picturing them wrapped around my head instead. She likes to try and suffocate me between them, but I would gladly die between her thighs.
“Quit being inappropriate,” she snaps, her caramel eyes wide.
She’s so goddamn beautiful, it hurts. Especia
lly when she’s angry.
“Impossible,” I murmur, but I leave her be for now, turning my attention back to the screen.
Sibby places the basket of drives back in the drawer, softly shuts it, then relocks it with her picks. Afterward, she heads for the door.
