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Fuck, does this guy ever sleep?
Next are all the calls and appointments I put off yesterday, but given my injury and a fresh sprig of Christmas Holly in my life, I figure a few days off is allowed.
I am the boss, after all.
I call Madison back, spelling out my instructions. Not surprised at his lackluster response, but at least I know the office won’t be bugging me for quite a while.
“So you want to find out the ownership status of a crummy apartment building and blow off the chief investor for the Paris deal?” he asks, double-checking if he’s heard me right.
“Yup. I want that building, and I want it today if possible,” I tell him, reminding him with a clipped tone that I am indeed the boss and he will do what I ask.
“I’m on it,” he says withsomeadded enthusiasm, making me feel a little easier in my mind.
I pour some coffee, lift the bread out of the maker to cool a little, and study the view as the dark gray dawn slowly teases the city into thinking there might actually be some sun today.
The only ray of brilliant golden light, lasting only a few moments, shines right through my window, and I know the same beam is shining on Holly upstairs too.
The front door chime puzzles me, and I hope I haven’t forgotten some other early morning ritual or interruption.
But it’s just housekeeping.
I remember now. I’m usually heading out by sun up, and the old couple I know by sight but not name look sheepish when I swing the door open.
They set to work silently and swiftly, clearing last night’s plates and food, tidying the few things out of place.
They look a little surprised when I ask for breakfastfor twoto be sent up and left at the door before I pour another cup for Holly and make my way back upstairs.
The place could be filled with a hundred staff, like the office, but my little upstairs rooms are off-limits to anyone but me.
And now Holly, too, of course.
I’m not surprised to see her sitting up in bed, her chest showing me just enough above the covers to make me forget about food, coffee, and anything else I was thinking about.
Flushing red, she looks down and gnaws her lip.
“Leave it,” I tell her with a grin. “I like what I’m seeing,” I tell her honestly, feeling my arousal springing to life again as her chest swells.
Her pebbled nipples saluting me good morning from under the custom French linen sheets.
“Never picked you for an early riser,” she coos, teasing me as her eyes widen at the growing bulge at the front of my robe.
“I thought you might have wanted to sleep in,” I remark, taking a seat at the edge of the bed and passing her the coffee, which she sips greedily.
“This is so good,” she beams after a few moments, making me tell her I couldn’t agree more.
And I’m not talking about the coffee.
“Work today?” she asks, looking a little worried. Like there’s still a part of her that’s used to people letting her down.
Like I might be looking at my watch, hinting it’s time for her to go.
But no. Never.
Not ever.
“You’remy day today,” I tell her, clearing the little lump of emotion in my throat that I hope she hasn’t heard.
I know I’m in love with her, all in. But I don’t want to get all fucking weepy every time I think about it.
