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He holds up a hand. “Think about it. If not, I have other candidates in mind that I would like your feedback on.”
Doubt wars with confidence. The idea of turning over the company that I helped build to someone else has a knot forming in my stomach.
“I—I’ll think about it,” I tell him.
He nods once. “Good. Why don’t you take the weekend and think about it? We can discuss further on Monday.”
“Monday,” I agree.
“Enjoy your weekend, Garrett.”
My weekend. Vegas with Ames. Shit. I glance at my watch. I need to get going if I’m going to get home, pack, and get to her house.
I say goodbye to Meric and walk to my car in a distracted stupor. Now I have two goals this weekend.
Distract Mia. And consider what my future is with Arabesque. I’m good. But am I that good?
The smell of jasmine tickles my nose.
Mia.
It’s not the first time her scent has invaded my dreams. But the curtain of hair I bury my nose into—when I expected my pillow—is enough to have me peeling one eye open, wincing as the bright sunlight pours through the windows and practically blinds me.
My stomach rolls, and visions of a club here at the casino flash behind my eyelids.
Mia dressed in a dark purple skintight dress and pressing a shot glass into my hand. Losing ourselves in the chaos of the dance floor. Her laughter followed by another shot.
Fuck. So many shots last night.
I haven’t drunk like that since the last time we were in Vegas together. Now, with sledgehammers pounding sense into my temples, I remember why.
What I don’t remember? How the hell we managed to stumble back to the room. But we must have since she’s currently tucked against me in bed.
Used to the brightness finally, I pry my eyes open and focus on Mia’s dark hair where it fans against creamy bare skin.
Bare??
Sitting up quickly, I dislodge the cocoon of blankets around us.
“What the hell?”
The shirt I put on last night is gone, as are the rest of my clothes. Where the hell are my boxers? My pants? And where the fuck are Mia’s clothes?
One shapely cheek peeks out of the sheet as she wiggles her ass against my hip, seeking warmth. My gaze travels north, past the curve of her hip and smooth stomach, and keeps going. Masochist that I am, I can’t stop from tracing the fluid lines of her body until my gaze locks on the globe of one breast partially hidden by her arm. The dusty pink nipple is puckered in the room’s cool air, and my mouth waters as I picture leaning down and tasting her with my tongue.
“Shit, get it together, perv,” I mutter, tossing the covers over her to hide the tempting vision she makes. “Fuck.”
My hands come up to run through my hair, snagging as I drag them through the strands.
“What the—” Untangling my hand, I bring it into my line of vision. My eyes widen at the thin, shiny band that currently encircles the ring finger of my left hand.
My attention darts from my finger to Mia. Her left hand is buried under her pillow, but I don’t let that stop me. Leaning over, I yank at her hand and tug it free while attempting to keep the blankets in place.
“Hey!” She comes up slapping my arm away, the blanket slipping down to expose one breast again. “What the hell?”
Like a heat-seeking missile, my gaze snaps to her breast, rising and falling rapidly with her breath. Her nipple pebbles, and I barely bite back a groan as I sink my teeth into my lip. Slamming my eyes shut, I gesture with the hand not currently wrapped around her left wrist.
“Mi—” Her name is almost a moan.
