“Excuse me,” was muttered over a man’s shoulder as his dress-slack-covered ass—fantastic ass, mind you—moved past my chair and toward the doors. His face was too buried in his phone to realize he had just barreled through my lunchtime fun.
“Jesus,” I grumbled. “Does everyone in New York have to be so pushy? I mean, how hard is it to watch where you’re going instead of knocking into everyone?”
Dean tilted his head to the side, eyes focused toward the front of the restaurant. “I think that was Mr. Brooks.”
“What?” I turned in my chair and watched as my boss’s tall frame walked out of the restaurant and onto Fifth Avenue.
An incoming TapNext message icon lit up my screen.
“Yep,” Dean agreed. “That’s definitely him. I’d know that body anywhere. Broad shoulders. Sexy forearms. Perfectly toned ass. The things I’d do to that man.”
“Horny much?”
“Nah.” He waved me off. “I’m still recovering from having all the horny sucked out of me last night.”
“On that note,” I announced, standing from my seat. “I think I’ll go order another sandwich. Be right back.”
“I’ll be here, doll face.”
While I stood in line, I took a gander at what else Ruck had sent my way.
BAD_Ruck (1:25PM): Can’t wait. Enjoy your lunch, Rose.
Two things stood out in my mind.
1. I wanted to chat more with BAD_Ruck. Which was crazy, considering we had been introduced by a gargoyle of dickish proportions.
2. How had I not known Kline Brooks had such a tight ass? And more importantly, if his ass looked that good in pants, what did it look like without them?
“I found the perfect date for you Friday night,” my mom claimed in my ear as I walked out of my office to head home for the night.
I didn’t even have to think about it.
“No.”
I pulled the door shut behind me and walked slowly down the hall and around the corner to the main office space.
“She’s twenty-nine, long dark hair, well kept and attractive—”
“No.”
“Her name is Stacey Henderson. I don’t know if you’ve been at any social engagements that she’s attended in the past—”
Stacey Henderson? Oh, hell no.
She was well kept and extremely attractive. And an eleven in vapidity on a scale from one to ten.
“Mom. No.”
“She’s really excited—”
“Mom—”
“Said she had just the thing to wear—”
“Mom,” I snapped, finally speaking firmly enough to earn her attention.
“What?”
Excuse. I needed an excuse.
My marketing director’s back and bright red hair caught my attention from across the office, and the words left my lips before I could think of anything else.
“I already have a date.”
“Oh. Oh dear. Well, I guess I’ll have to call Stacey and cancel, then—”
“Yes!” I agreed eagerly. “Cancel Stacey.”
Her voice turned suspicious.
“Kline—”
“Gotta go, Mom. Have to touch base with my date.”
Convince her to go with me.
“Kline—”
“Loveyoubye.”
With a tap of my thumb, I hung up fast, hoping I wouldn’t find myself in too much hot water for ending the call so quickly but desperate enough to end the conversation that I didn’t care.
Thirty-four years old and, if anything, my mother was “mothering” me the most she had in my entire life. Wanting a respectable woman to take under her wing and claim as her own was a powerful motivator, apparently, compelling her to meddle like she’d never meddled before.
Most of the time I gave in, but living with Walter on a day-to-day basis was a pretty unforgettable lesson. The grumpiest cat in Manhattan—if not the world—lived with me, and it was all my mother’s fault.
I don’t want you to be lonely, she said.
We’re traveling too much to take care of him, she said.
You’ll love him, and he’ll love you, she said.
Ah, to go back in time.
There were days I actually avoided going home—to my apartment—because Walter lived there.
But that was a subject for another time.
I crossed the office quickly, my shoes slapping out a muted rhythm on the marble tile and a whistled tune flying from my lips.
Georgia Cummings.
My employee and the cure for my Stacey Henderson-themed nightmares.
She’d been working for my company for a couple of years now, but as I approached, I realized I’d never actually looked at her in all that time.
A glance here, a smile there, a professional exchange every week or so. But I’d never studied her body the way I was now.
I knew I hadn’t.
Because I sure as fuck would have remembered.
Petite in stature but curvy in shape, her body was a perfect pint-sized hourglass perched precariously on top of razor-thin five-inch stilettos.
Her goddamn calves looked like they had been carved out of granite, and the rounded cheeks of her ass grabbed on to my eyes and refused to let go.
She moved slightly as I got closer from behind, and she bent at the waist to do something in the filing cabinet in front of her.