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Three more weeks until she’s off-limits.
Officially.
Although I could argue she’s always been off-limits.
I’ve simply been content to ignore that fact over the summer.
“I’ll see if she’s available,” Hawkins says, picking up his phone to call Esme.
I thank him, playing the part I have all summer in his presence. But I’m not worried. Esme’s always available for me.
After a brief conversation, Hawkins places the phone back on the receiver, then addresses me. “She’s in her suite getting ready for tonight. You can find her there.”
“Thank you.” I start to turn.
“Oh, and Lieutenant Lawson?”
I pause, glancing back at him, his military training obvious in his formal posture, along with the way he keeps his dusty brown hair groomed, not so much as a single tendril falling over his collar.
“She’s scheduled to leave for tonight’s event with Mr. Gates in about fifteen minutes.” He narrows his gaze on me. “Be sure to conclude your business before then.”
I study him for a beat, the warning in his stare striking me as odd.
Has he figured out the truth?
He keeps Esme’s calendar. Is aware of all her comings and goings. If anyone were to put the pieces together, it would be Hawkins.
Or Adam.
But I don’t have time to dwell on the idea, although I should take this as a warning.
Even when addicts are cautioned about the potential dangers of their continued drug use, they can’t find the willpower to quit.
Just like I can’t find the willpower to quit Esme. Not yet anyway.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I assure him as I make my way from the administrative wing and toward her private suite.
I knock on Esme’s door, but don’t wait for her to answer before I slip inside. The second I do, she turns from where she stands by the far windows, all the air leaving my lungs at the sight of her.
Her hair is pinned in perfect waves, the style reminiscent of a 1940s Hollywood starlet. Her lips are a bright red, the smoky shadowing applied around her green eyes making them pop, appearing even more sultry than they normally are.
But what has my boxer briefs feeling unusually snug is the emerald dress she wears. The silk material clings to every curve before falling to the floor, a slit running the length of a single long leg.
“Esme…” I exhale as jealousy squeezes my chest.
This isn’t the first time I’ve experienced this emotion. It’s plagued me quite often over the course of the summer, especially whenever I caught footage of Esme and Jameson together. Listened to people speculate about a royal engagement in the near future.
Tonight, it hits me harder than normal. Not because I hate the idea of anyone seeing how incredible Esme looks in this dress.
But because I want to be the man on her arm. Want to kiss her in public. Want to dance with her as everyone gushes about what a beautiful couple we make.
Instead, Jameson gets to do all of that while I remain on the sidelines, forever her dirty little secret.
“You’re stunning.”
She blushes under my appreciation as she saunters toward me and drapes her arms over my shoulders.
“And what’s this pressing issue that couldn’t wait, Lieutenant Lawson?” She smirks, happy to play the game we so often do whenever I show up unexpectedly.
