As she says this she tosses the summer-weight coat she had been carrying folded over her arm to me and thrusts her purse into my arms. I catch all of it with practiced ease and slip the coffee cup into her hand.
Something about her expression seems...off. Sandra isn't one for big smiles and keeps her emotions tightly under wrap, but I've spent the last year studying her. Something's going on. My mind spins into overdrive. It's not about the meetings, or else she would have emailed me at some point this morning or during the night. Some personal issue, maybe? Her husband doesn't like the long hours she puts in. That could be it.
I swallow. She'll tell me the reason if she thinks I need to know. Still, this isn't the first time my meeting-confirmation efforts have been completely wasted. The frustration almost doesn’t touch me. “Should I clear your schedule for the entire day, or just for the morning?”
“Morning," she says, then glides into her office and takes a graceful seat behind her desk.
It takes me less than five minutes to hang her coat and bag in the closet and step outside to shoo the crowd away from the double doors. Bryce gives me an exaggerated pout—this means he'll have to hang around the office for at least the next couple of hours in case she reschedules—but I just give him a tiny shrug. I'm just the messenger.
"Catherine." Sandra's summons isn't a question. It comes as soon as the glass doors swish closed behind me. I step over to her desk, picking up a small notepad and pen from my desk on the way. It's extremely rare for Sandra to give me only one instruction at a time.
“I’ve cancelled the morning appointments. Would you like me to start rescheduling them now?”
She doesn't acknowledge that I've spoken. Instead, she reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out a pair of reading glasses, which she perches on the edge of her nose. Reads something on her computer screen.
The silence reigns for several moments.
Then she shatters it with an announcement that makes my stomach twist with panic.
Chapter 3
Jax
The dumb blonde I brought home last night—it's not a joke, by the way, she's got nothing but static between her ears—pouts at me with puppy-dog eyes. I’ve got to get her out of here.
“Do I have to go?” She stretches her arms above her head, arching her back over my pillow. Her whine disgusts me. Alisha? Alisa? Her name is useless information to me. She won't be staying long. Her smoking body, topped off with a gorgeous pair of tits, was her ticket in. Unfortunately for her, that ticket expired this morning, right about the time I woke up.
“Yes.” I toss her dress from last night at her. She doesn't like that much.
She was still sleeping when I went to work out with my new trainer. The guy knows what he’s doing, I’ll give him that, so it’s no surprise that I hated his goddamn guts by the end of it.
“You're a prick,” she spits, throwing her long legs over the side of the bed.
“I never said I wasn’t.”
In the mirror I can see her shoving herself back into her skintight dress. The sight of it does nothing for me now. Last night was all about convenience, and she was very convenient. Too bad for her, she thought this was the start of something much, much bigger.
That’s what they all think.
But fuck if I’m going to get conned into some big, romantic love affair, especially with someone like Alyssa here. Even if I had feelings for her—no, I can’t even say it without my mouth curling into a sneer. Having “feelings” for women is a surefire way to lose control over your life, over your reputation, everything.
Mine is too valuable for that. On the scale of ten billion in net worth, at my last count.
I turn to face her as she stands up from the bed, my arms crossed over my chest. My workout gear is soaked. All I want is a shower.
Yet I don’t see her leaving. Instead, I see her putting on an expression like she’s searching for something. Damn. She really is that stupid.
“Where…” She’s making a show of looking for her panties, a worthless scrap of lace that I had down around her ankles within three minutes of walking in the door. Don’t act shocked. She wanted it as much as I did. Well, maybe not exactly. Maybe she was in it for more than a hard fuck and just a hint of bondage, my tie around her wrists. But I wasn’t.
“By your left foot.” They’ve been there the whole time. If she was hoping to entice me back into bed, she’s going to be disappointed. She only needs to be a little bit smarter to realize that this display is worthless.
She bends and scoops them up, her tits almost popping out of her dress, then straightens up, stepping into the panties and sliding them back over her sculpted ass.
I’m about to ask her if she needs help finding the door—we’re in the penthouse, after all, and it’s probably too huge for her tiny brain—when my cell rings in its spot on top of my dresser. I answer it before the first ring is over.
“Hunter.”