“I appreciate that you’re always willing to lend a hand. Thank you, Vanessa. You’re a good girl. Your mother would be proud of you. We need to have lunch one of these days. There are some things we need to discuss as we get closer to December.”
Unexpected tears pricked my eyes at the mention of my mother. I nodded in response, and cleared my throat. “You name the day, and I’ll be there.”
“Good, good. Well, off to deal with the numbers. We’ve got a big target to hit, and I know we can do it.”
Archer tapped the doorframe twice before he left. It was the same move he’d made every time he’d left my office since I’d begun working there. It was a strange little comfort knowing that I could always count on those two taps as a period at the end of our conversation.
The next knock on my door was equally welcome—and a heck of a lot less stressful: Elle.
“Hey, hey, hey, girly. You got news for me or what?”
I jerked my head toward the door. “Close it, and I’ll fill you in.”
Elle pressed the door shut and strutted to my guest chair. “You did it, didn’t you?”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because your shit isn’t in a box, and Archer just bounced out of here like he’d discovered his hair had grown back. I know you, and if you hadn’t figured this out yet, you would’ve caved and told him. So?”
“I did it.”
“Hells yeah, baby. I knew you could.” She planted her elbows on the desk and leaned forward. “Did you have to get on your knees and beg, if you know what I mean?”
I covered my face, the heat of a blush burning my cheeks. “No. No, I did not.”
“Then how…?”
I looked at the clock. It was closing in on eleven, and it would take me fifteen or twenty minutes to get to Con’s. Could I explain all of the craziness that had gone on last night in less than forty minutes? I guess I’d find out.
Elle’s mouth was hanging open when I finished my rushed explanation.
“Holy mother of all things unholy. Are you flippin’ kidding me?”
“Not even a little bit.”
She blew out a breath. “I don’t even know where to start. Except, wait. Yes I do. Let’s turn Lucas Titan’s dick into a weenie roast.”
The visual flared to life in my mind. “Gross. Can you please not say things like that?”
Elle smirked and looked down at her watch. “You better get going, and I’ll handle changing your plus one on the two invitations, change your RSVP on the other, and see what I can do to hunt down an invite to the last one. I’ll just say I’m your social secretary, which is mostly true anyway. But you have to swear to fill me in on every little detail.”
“I’m meeting him at noon; I doubt there are going to be any details worth hearing about.”
“Sweetheart, you’ve clearly never had a nooner then.”
I pushed away from my desk and stood. “True story. I better go.”
She hugged me hard. “Give ‘em hell, girl.”
“Done.”
“And don’t let him bully you about Titan. You do exactly what we talked about.”
“What did we talk about again?” Our conversation had been so rapid and filled with Elle asking about Con’s dick size that I lost track of whether we actually came up with a solution for how to handle the Titan situation.
“You lie. That’s what you gotta do.”
“Glad we have a viable plan.”
I checked my watch. 11:56. I had a feeling she’d be punctual, so I waited by the door like a chump and watched the seconds tick by.
Frustrated with myself, I ducked back into the break room and headed toward my desk. I forced myself to sit and study the new tat I was drawing. It wasn’t for me—and not just because I didn’t have much dermal real estate left to cover. It was a little too feminine. Charlie would probably love it, but I was reluctant to offer it to her. It wasn’t really her style. Although maybe her style was changing now that she was getting more serious with Duchesne. I really hoped that girl knew what she was doing.
A knock on the back door of Voodoo interrupted my thoughts. Which was probably for the best, because Charlie’s personal life was no longer any of my business except as a friend. Bittersweet maybe, but again, for the best. She’d never quite fascinated me like the woman knocking on my door—the woman I wanted to demand explanations from about why that slick son of a bitch had touched her like he’d had a right to. But I wouldn’t. Instead, I beat back the urge to grab my tattoo gun and brand her with my name.
She wasn’t mine.
And let’s face it; she’d never be mine. I might get a few stolen hours here and there, but it could never be anything more. My choices had ensured that. So I’d live with them and jack off to the memories of Vanessa in my bed. First, I had to make those memories.