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Jesus. The guy Andy wanted to introduce Lexi to was forty, was missing teeth and smelled like old cheese. Not that there was anything wrong with that- and she was just guessing about the cheese because she’d only ever seen a picture, one Brad effing texted her- but he’d also asked Lexi over the same text since Andy had given the guy her number on the sly, if she’d like some of the big sausage he was packing. The guy wasn’t a butcher. He worked at a freaking bakery.
Of course, Brad denied the whole thing to Andy and Lexi had deleted the text the second she got it. She hadn’t responded and she’d blocked him. He seemed to have got the hint. He told Andy he would never do any such thing. He was a nice guy. How the heck Andy could believe that was beyond her. Maybe the whole thing was a joke. The thing that rankled most was that her sister thought she was that hard up for dates that she’d give her number to Brad in the first place.
SAM: Dicked. Dicked. Dicked. DIIIIIIIIICCCCCCKKKKKKKEEEEDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
SAM: Hard.
SAM: A lot.
SAM: It would improve your mood.
SAM: Climaxing with a guy during sex shouldn’t be a unicorn experience.
SAM: Just sleep with him and get it over with.
SAM: Report back to me after immediately.
SAM: DICKED!
Lexi blew out a frustrated snort and jammed her phone into her desk right after she’d turned it off. God. She felt worse than ever. Sam was impossible and her sister thought she was a hopeless case when it came to men.
Lexi leaned back in her chair, intent on focusing her mind and getting the hell back to work, but all she could do was sit there with her hands resting on the keyboard, her eyes staring blankly at the screen. She wasn’t seeing the credit card statement she was trying to reconcile.
She was seeing Curtis James. She was trying very hard not to imagine what he looked like underneath the expensive suits he wore. Even with that evil, taunting, asshole, know it all, insufferable, knowing smirk, Curtis James was still hot. He was the Achilles heel she didn’t even know she had until she tore it and now, she was never going to be able to walk properly again. She couldn’t stop seeing his eight-pack dripping wet from the pool, or lower, the exciting bulge straining against his wet trunks. Yes, she’d seen it. No, she couldn’t un-see it. No, she couldn’t un-taste him. No, he didn’t taste like tuna sandwiches or like the nasty end of a trashcan. Yes, he tasted better than the ten-thousand-dollar wine. Yes, she was fucked. No, that didn’t include getting dicked, as Sam so nicely put it.
She thought she was used to him. Used to evading him, detesting him, staying two steps ahead, banishing him from her mind, mentally tormenting him with horrible and absurd nicknames. She thought she’d purged him before he needed to be purged.
She’d thought wrong.
All of a sudden, her inbox dinged, shaking her out of her trance. She blinked at the screen, hoping it was something she could use as a distraction. It was a distraction, alright, but not the welcome kind. She groaned when she saw who the email was from, clicked on it, and read the single sentence, written in bold.
You’re required in my office. I have travel plans I need to discuss with you. Please be there before eleven.
She glanced at the clock at the bottom of her computer screen. It was ten fifty-nine. The Trust Fund Baby strikes again.
CHAPTER 12
Curtis
Curtis thought he’d give Lexi time to stew, steep and burn in the flames of her own want and desire. He figured she’d come crawling to him, swallowing her pride and begging.
It. Didn’t. Happen.
He realized, as the days ticked on, that it wasn’t going to happen. He was far from wearing Lexi down. He wanted to sit back in his desk and not just slow clap her play but applaud her. Lexi Wellington was a force to be reckoned with and reckon he would. It was clear she didn’t just need a nudge in the right direction. She needed a shove right off the damn cliff.
She entered his office right at eleven, pushing the door open without knocking and shutting it behind her. She kept her head held high, regal, and proud. She was all business, her eyes landing on his face, hard and cold, lacking any of the warmth that seeped into them on the previous weekend. Her lips were pursed, and her cheeks were flushed, but only because he had a feeling she was aggravated that he was cutting into her time to be doing something else productive.
She was dressed in a yellow silk number. It was gorgeous but completely professional. A button-up with short sleeves that she’d paired with a black cardigan. It fell to her knees, the buttons going down right to the hem. She’d paired it with a set of low-heeled black pumps, also very office worthy. Her hair was done up in a neat roll at the back of her head, with no strands escaping. She didn’t speak playful. She screamed dignified. She wore a don’t fuck with me expression on her face in lieu of the heavy makeup she didn’t need. His cock, of course, leapt at the sight of her.
