“I’ll see you at the service tonight, Genevieve.”
After I hung up, I clicked on my calendar. Sure enough, there was an appointment for a new client consultation with a Ms. More on Friday. And it was noted as a referral from Bob Baxter. I had to hand it to her. Normally I would call someone who refers a new client, flush out some information on the referral. But Genevieve was smart. She knew there was no way I was calling Bob Baxter. There was no such thing as a ten-minute call with that man. He would have had me on the phone for three hours and made it impossible to decline a dinner invitation before I hung up, too.
Unable to concentrate, I decided to go to the gym for a while. Running and lifting always helped me clear my mind. Around mile three on the treadmill, my head was still spinning. Flashes of my life were flickering through my mind randomly.
Soraya’s eyes fluttering open this morning snuggled in my bed. Smiling as she found me looking at her.
Genevieve and I popping open a bottle of champagne in the office the night our asset management portfolio reached a billion dollars for the first time.
Soraya, kneeling, looking up at me as she slid that ball of silver around the head of my cock.
Walking into Genevieve’s office after arriving back early from a business trip, ready to celebrate another closed deal. Finding her kneeling, taking Liam’s cock down her throat.
I ran faster and faster. But the faster I went, the faster the flash just played in my head.
Watching Tig’s needle pierce my skin and the ink bleed over Genevieve’s name.
Liam and I, arm in arm, watching as they hung the first sign at our office three weeks after graduation.
My mother. My mother. Frail, lying in the hospital bed, trying to pretend she was fine.
What the fuck?
I ran faster.
Soraya’s feather tattoo.
Genevieve sitting on the corner of my desk.
Liam running next to me on the treadmill.
I looked to my left. Fucking Liam was running next to me. The vision was so clear, for a heartbeat I really thought it was him.
When I finally stopped, I had been running so fast, it took me a full five minutes to catch my breath. Leaning down with my hands on my knees as I panted, sweat dripping from everywhere, I squeezed my eyes shut. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Just when everything finally started to seem so simple, why did it suddenly feel complicated?
I had no idea at the time, but the feeling was a premonition of things to come.
***
I WASN’T A HUGE DRINKER, never took drugs. Sex was my only vice. And when I was stressed out, I needed it even more. Like a fiend.
I knew I shouldn’t have been thinking about fucking Soraya on the way to a wake, but I couldn’t help myself. She looked absolutely stunning in that little black dress. She’d done her hair up, even though I knew she didn’t like it that way. She probably felt that she needed to hide the colored tips again. She looked nervous, too. Fuck me, if that rare vulnerability she was exhibiting didn’t make me want to screw her senseless even more. The divider separating us from the driver was completely closed, and that wasn’t helping. The temptation to lift her onto my lap was getting stronger by the minute.
She must have been reading my mind when she said, “You look like you want to attack me, Morgan.”
“Would you lose respect for me if I told you that despite where we’re headed tonight, all I can think about is slipping your panties off and letting you come on my face?”
“I already know you’re a dirty bastard. So, that’s not surprising. But this just might be a new low for you,” she joked.
“Something you’ll figure out about me…when I’m under stress, I get particularly horny. Sex diverts my mind from whatever is bothering me. It’s really the only thing that helps.”
“I see. Are you looking for my help, Mr. Morgan?”
“Don’t call me Mr. Morgan unless you’re going for a submissive vibe, in which case I’ll be more than happy to take you over my knee right now. We could play that game if you want.” My thoughts trailed off as I became mesmerized by her slightly parted lips. “God, I want to fuck your mouth right now.”
She seemed to squirm in her seat. “Do you now?”
“Yes. And go down on you. We can liken it to stress eating.”
She burst into laughter.
“Glad you think it’s funny because I am ten seconds from burying my face underneath that dress.”
“We can’t. We’re going to be at the funeral parlor any minute.”
My voice sounded thick and needy as I slid my hand underneath her dress, caressing her thigh. “Not if we agree to be late.”
“You’re serious?”
Instead of answering her, I picked up the phone to call my driver. “Louis, we’re not quite ready to head to the funeral home. We’d like you to just drive around for a while. Circle back here in about thirty minutes.”
“No problem, Mr. Morgan.”