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“She works for me. I’d be happy to allocate her to your case.”
Aurora trails off, looking closer at me. She’s wearing dark eye makeup today, giving her an even sharper look.
She drums her fingers against the table, her wedding ring making a clack-clack-clack noise.
“You can have her phone number,” Aurora says. “But you have to be careful.”
Aurora’s tone tells me she knows or has guessed part of it.
She knows I’m attracted to Alice.
If the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth is anything to go by, she approves.
Or maybe she’s just relieved I’m human, the same as most of her other clients… perhaps she thinks my so-called secret love life is finally bleeding into our work together.
“Speak plainly,” I say.
Aurora leans forward. “It seems pretty clear to me you’ve got a romantic interest in Alice. We’ve worked together for years. I can read you better than most.”
“True.”
“Am I wrong?” she asks.
I sit back with a shrug, reminding myself to play this casually. But, unfortunately, I can’t allow myself to let out even one-tenth of my need.
The steaminess of my dreams.
The joy is screaming at me from the future.
The simple unbelievable happiness of walking up behind my woman and wrapping my arms around her, tenderly kissing her on the cheek, telling her I want her, need her, and I’ll never want or need anybody else.
“Just give me her number,” I say bluntly.
It’s not often I use my position to make demands. I’m not a where-is-my-latte sort of guy and never have been.
But now, it works.
Aurora takes out her cell phone.
She reads out Alice’s number.
And I wonder just what I’m going to do with it.
CHAPTER 4
Alice
I sit next to Natasha, wondering where I was when Weston was in the office recording this video.
Depending on the time, I was in my cubicle sorting paperwork or running errands for one of the senior members of the team.
Now, after another day of the grind, Natasha and I stare at the laptop on the coffee table.
Everything in our apartment is old, cruddy, and miserable, but I’ve learned to deal with that. Ever since Mom passed a year ago, I’ve come to accept things won’t ever be the same.
She left no life insurance. We have no savings.
But that’s not the reason for this darkness clouding me.
It’s Weston’s words, his eyes staring almost angrily at the camera.
“Kennedy is a woman I had an interest in. So, when those douches started insulting her, I couldn’t stand by and let it happen. For the record, they threw the first punch, but it still doesn’t make it right.”
I stand, walking across the threadbare carpet into the kitchen.
“Want a drink?” I call to Natasha, struggling to keep my voice steady.
Ever since seeing him in person, I’ve struggled not to disappear into silly fantasies of him.
Last night, I guiltily slid my hand between my legs, rubbing at my sore-soaked sex as I imagined him leaning over me, his eyes locked on me like nothing and nobody else existed.
The dream was hopeless.
There’s no way I’d be able to confidently lie beneath him, being sexy for him, driving him to lust the same way Kennedy clearly does.
But it didn’t stop the orgasm from shattering inside of me, making my mattress shake with more intensity than any ever has before.
“It’s so unfair,” Natasha says, her voice sharp, ignoring my question.
“What is?”
She walks over and leans against the kitchen partition. “Kennedy gets to be with him, but I don’t.”
Natasha watches me closely as she speaks, with shades of the head cheerleader in her expression. She hasn’t been nasty for years, but she went through a phase when she was around thirteen, playing the Queen Bee and acting like a real jerk.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say that phase is returning.
Can I blame her?
Mom’s death has broken us, though I’ve somehow put myself back together.
No, not somehow.
For Natasha.
“Yeah,” I murmur indecisively, pouring myself a glass of water.
“Would you be able to arrange a meeting with him?” Natasha goes on. “I bet if I saw him in person, I’d be able to show him how much better I am.”
I almost scream at her to shut up. It’s bad enough thinking about Weston with a stranger but outright torture to imagine him with my baby sister.
“I’m just an intern. I can’t do anything like that.”
“But I’m right, aren’t I?” she presses, flicking her blonde hair. “I’d be able to, you know, woo him.”
“Woo him?” I say, going for a teasing note and failing completely. “I didn’t know you were some Victorian lady all of a sudden.”
She laughs, the Queen Bee mask disintegrating. “There’s lots you don’t know.”
“Hot cocoa?” I ask, hoping this moves the conversation along.
She nods, and then we talk about her courses for a while. She’s going to community college to train to be a hairdresser while working part-time at a convenience store.
