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Next time?
Yes, of course there’s going to be a next time. I’ve given up trying to fool myself. I have zero control around her. As I consider that, I instantly decide that for the next two weeks, I’m going to live in this fairy-tale world with her, pretend we’re in a magical place where hurt and backstabbing don’t exist. After our two weeks, it’s life as usual, and that life does not include Londyn Harding.
“Your business was with Luis Laurent?”
I push back in my chair and study the longing and admiration in her eyes. “How did you know that?”
“I just heard.” She smiles, and looks down, her thoughts a million miles away. “He’s only my idol.”
“I’d imagine he is. Wait, is that why you were at the club? Were you hoping to get bought—”
She grips the arms of the chair again, effectively cutting me off when she says, “No, no, nothing like that. I didn’t even know he’d be there. Well I should let you get back to work.” She stands, and flips her hair from her shoulder but my stomach tightens as another thought hits. What if she’s in some kind of trouble. “Cason?” she says, her frown deepening.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t normally have so much free time on my hands. I’m not sure what to do with myself. If there is any way I can help you...”
“Why don’t you head out, explore the city.” I push from my chair and go to my window. “Come here,” I say, looking for an excuse to touch her, as weak as that makes me.
Her heels tap on the floor as she comes my way. I take her shoulders and move her in front of the window. Standing behind her, I press my mouth to her ear, and breathe in her scent as I point. “See that café right there?”
“I’m not sure I do,” she says, her voice a bit breathless as she scans the city below. She bends forward, presses her forehead to the glass. Her sweet ass bumps my groin, and my pulse beats a little harder in the base of my neck as she fiddles with the top button on her blouse, like she needs to occupy her hands.
“Right there,” I say and step closer, until our bodies are touching. “The one with the bright orange sign.” She nods and I add, “They make the best croissants.”
“You want me to get you a croissant?”
“Get us some,” I say.
“You paid an awful lot of money to hire an errand girl.”
“I know,” I say and run my hands down her arm. “How well did you pack?”
“Just a few outfits, pajamas...”
I groan as my cock thickens, remembering how I removed those pajamas only a couple hours ago.
“I’d like to go out on the boat later,” I tell her.
She turns to face me, our bodies merely inches apart. “You have a boat?”
“Yes, and I’d like to take advantage of the nice weather. Did you pack appropriate clothes for boating?”
“Not really.”
“Why don’t you go shopping, get what you need. Charge everything back to me.”
Her shoulders sag, the glow on her face dimming at my suggestion. “Okay, it’s better than sitting around here twiddling my thumbs, I guess.” Her gaze moves to my laptop, a longing in her eyes. “Are you sure you don’t need my help with anything else?”
“Positive,” I say.
She gives a curt nod, pushes past me and walks out of my office. I stand there for a few minutes, and my insides turn. Yes, I get it. She’s a brilliant woman, capable of doing more than running errands for me, but I can’t—won’t—task her with anything that involves my business. That would make me the stupidest man on the planet. I sit down, and the sound of the front door clicking shut pulls me from my reverie.
I grab my phone and text my sister back. She knows I always spend the holiday in Cannes, secluded from the real world, so I have no idea why she’s asking about my plans when they’ve been established for years. I wait for an answer but when none comes, I dial her number. She answers on the fourth ring.
“Hey, big bro, what’s up?”
“I should be the one asking you that question.”
