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“Not sweetness?” She laughs. “Wait until you see the dress I’m wearing for dinner tonight. It’s pretty darn sweet. Should I come up?”
I pause for a split second. If all of this is true, I can’t bring her to dinner with me. I don’t play that way. I’d better confront her now. Sever the limb. It’s going to be painful no matter what, why fucking wait?
“Yeah. I’m in my office. Sixty-eighth floor.” I don’t bother saying goodbye. The mere sound of her voice when I just heard the voicemails feels like a million knives in my belly.
Five minutes later, I hear a tap on the door. I press the control panel and buzz her in. I’m now sitting behind my executive desk.
I need the barrier.
Clover swooshes into my office with her beguiling grace. My heart literally aches. She’s breathtaking.
Mine.
A soft-pink dress effortlessly floats and skims her body, ending mid-thigh. It’s classy, subtly accentuating her curves except for the plunging v-neckline which reveals a darker-pink bustier.
The one she wore in the elevator.
Oblivious to my turmoil, she twirls around on silver platform sandals. The skirt of her dress rises almost to her waist, a delicate gust of air teasingly reveals a glimpse of her lacy thong. The fabric dances around her, fluttering and caressing her skin. Her every movement is delicate choreography. An enchanting ballet that thoroughly captivates my attention and momentarily clouds all judgment and reason.
My body reacts. As furious and confused as I feel, I love this woman. I don’t believe she’s capable of such a heinous crime.
I need to bury myself in her body. Be as close to her as humanly possible.
My cock’s straining against my zipper already.
Clover Callahan is mine, and I’m going to have her.
Right here. Right now.
Even if it’s the last time.
Chapter thirty-one
Clover
The Same Day
I glide into Joar’s office on top of the world, a surge of confidence pulses through my veins.
I’m going to knock Joar’s socks off.
Fuck him senseless.
Maybe let him put his socks back on before dinner.
Ha!
One of the “glass is half full” parts of losing all your clothes in a fire is shopping.
When you’re able to shop in New York City, the glass is full and overflowing.
This morning, knowing he’d be in meetings until the dinner we’re attending, Joar handed me his black AMEX and encouraged me to replace the charred remnants of my six-hundred-square-foot walk-in closet. With the help of a stylist Ronni recommended, I spent the day browsing designer shops on 5th Avenue. Having someone solely focused on making me look good was a welcome respite from the drudgery of paperwork and insurance investigations I’ve faced for the past two weeks.
Now, I have a new wardrobe which declares, “I’m rebuilding my life with style, grace, and a touch of extravagance.” It’s been a whirlwind day that’s left me feeling a sense of empowerment and endless possibility.
And yes, I’ve spent a fortune.
Tonight I’m wearing an exquisite soft-pink dress that I carefully selected for this special occasion—my Jacoby International debut with Joar. It exudes elegance, femininity, and allure. The ethereal fabric gracefully drapes over my curves, falling just above my knees. Its neckline plunges provocatively to reveal a hint of the surprise I bought for my man—the identical bustier to the one I wore in the elevator when we first, uh, got together.
