Page 22 of Power


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Me: I have the right to it.

Fay Evans: You have the right to me during work hours. Unless you’re texting me after hours to pick up your dry cleaning.

The audacity of her thinking she can talk to me like this. Yet I’m hard as hell at her boldness.

Me: It’s your job. Unless you would like to find work elsewhere.

The three dots appear, and I’m desperate for her reply. Then they disappear, and panic curdles my stomach. If she even tries to quit, I will drag her ass back—

Fay Evans: Why would I do such a thing? Who would bring pastries to your meetings? Shame you didn’t try one. They were deee-lish.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to make my driver turn around so I can show up at her door and spank the shit out of her. She won’t be serving anyone else those damn pastries if I have anything to say about it.

Taking a deep breath, I do the right thing and shove my phone into my suit pocket, even though I want her to know she’s on the verge of having my handprint marking her cheeky ass.

If she thinks she’ll get away with that sassy talk, she’s wrong. But before I decide how to set her straight, I need to get home and take care of this raging hard-on.

Chapter nine

Fay

“That’llbefourteeneven.”I snag the money from the guy and push his round of shots toward him as I work my way down the packed bar. Bev’s is always slammed on Friday nights, and tonight is no exception. I take the order from a group of girls celebrating a birthday and line up the row of shot glasses. My pocket vibrates as I hand them off, and I fish out my phone, reading the message.

“Seriously?” Does he have anything better to do than work? I reply to his message with a thumbs up and take another order. “What can I get ya?”

“Can I get five blow jobs?”

“Yep.” I’m pouring shots when I get another text. Handing the shots out, I peek at my phone. I shake my head, respond, and shove my phone back. Before it’s even in my pocket, it vibrates again.

“That’ll be twenty-five even.” I look at my screen. He’s being all kinds of special right now. I fire off a reply, and he shoots one back.

“Who you texting? Booty call?” I roll my eyes at Mindy and put my phone away.

“Far from it. My boss.”

“Your boss? Why is he texting you at ten o’clock at night?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s high or something.”

“What? Give me that.”

“Mindy!” I yell when she snatches my phone.

“No way. What’s your passcode?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not!” Ugh, she gives methelook. The infamous Mindy look that means she’s up to no good. “Fine.” I spit off my passcode, and she unlocks my phone, reading the text.

“How cute, he apologized to you.”

“I know, but why?”

“Maybe heishigh.”

“Right?”

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