Chapter 9

“Oof,” I grunt to myself as I settle into my chair on Monday morning.

Never have twenty hours done so much to my body. Wanting more in the morning turned into a double-dose of aggressive, intense sex with Thomas that left me so weak and unable to move that morning quickly became four o’clock Saturday afternoon before I could drag myself away, part of me still wanting to stay behind.

Twenty hours... and I’ve never been more grateful for having a Saturday night alone. I’m not too sure if my body could have taken another night of Thomas Goldstone.

Even today, my body aches in all the right ways. My nipples are chafing pleasantly in my bra from where Thomas almost gnawed them half off, my pussy still pulses with my heartbeat, and as I settle into my chair and pull up eight hours of chill-hop to let me just glide through the day, only one thought goes through my head.

When’s our next date?

I’m just getting through a weekend’s worth of bullshit emails when there’s a knock on my door and it opens to reveal Randall Towlee, looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. He’s freshly shaven, with a recent hair trim, and his suit looks like it just came from the dry cleaner’s yesterday.

“Hey, Mia, how was your weekend?”

“Not bad,” I reply carefully.

Oh, God, does he know?“How was yours?”

“Eh, same old, same old,” Randall says. “Listen, I know this might be a little weird, but last week during the meetings, I kept feeling a vibe in the air. You did too, right?”

Huh? Is Randall asking about me and Thomas? “I’m not sure—”

“I’m asking because I was figuring, since the group’s pretty much over with now, just a few once-a-week meetings... how about we go out and celebrate? Six thirty tonight? I know a good little bar that has your name on it.”

It’s hard not to thump my head on the desk. Seriously, I feel like I’ve just walked into the Twilight Zone.

Has something been dumped in the water of every man in Roseboro over the past few days? I’ve gone six months without a guy so much as looking at me, and now I’ve met two men, both of them handsome, intelligent, and more than well-employed, and they’ve asked me out.

Me.

The girl who spends most of her time buried in numbers to create meta-analyses that most folks couldn’t understand even if I could explain it to them.

The girl whose idea of ‘making an effort’ is to pull her hair back into a ponytail and who treats her hair like one of those tablet dress-up apps. Pink and green? Cool!

The girl who wears glasses, watches anime, and scream-sings trance metal music... in Russian.

But when I’m suddenly smacked in the face with the fact that both Randall Towlee and Thomas Goldstone seem interested in me, the choice is pretty easy.

“I’m sorry, Randall. I’m flattered, but I don’t mix...” I start before realizing that whether I’m trying to say ‘no’ nicely or not, I’m not going to be a hypocrite about it. Mix business and pleasure? Uhm, I mixed it three times between Friday night and Saturday afternoon, and I came seven times in the course of doing so.

I may not think Randall’s sexy at all compared to the human video game god that is Thomas Goldstone, but I’m not going to lie to him.

“It’s just not a good idea. Sorry.”

His face gets cloudy and his eyes pinch in, like it never occurred to him that I might say no. “Are you sure about that?”

“I’m sure,” I reply, surprised at the strength in my voice. “But I think we’ve done some good work on the hospital project. I’m looking forward to this week’s meeting update.” It’s an obvious redirect back to professional ground, but Randall doesn’t exactly take the hint.

“What are you working on now?” he says, leaning against the edge of my desk and eyeing me up and down, though he can only see to my waist since I’m sitting.

I feel like he’s trying to get under my skin. “Well, considering it’s nine in the morning on a Monday, I’m just going through my emails, getting a start on my week.” I hope he’ll hear that I’m busy, because while I’d kind of love to tell him to go back upstairs where he belongs, I can’t really kick a VP out of my office.

“You are always a morning person. One of the reasons I chose you for my team over some other analyst. You don’t start slow. You hit the ground running.”

Under normal circumstances, that’d be a compliment. But the way Randall says it makes it come off flirty. A few days ago, I probably would’ve been excited to have a cute guy flirt with me a little, but it’s different now, though I can’t explain to Randall why that is.

Awkwardly, I stand and go around the other side of my desk, heading for the door to put some space between us. My voice is bright and falsely high as I say, “Yep, as Mr. Goldstone said, gotta get out there and sell those cookies!”

I’d actually laughed at that one the first time I’d heard Thomas say it. Comparing our work to the Girl Scouts probably isn’t politically correct, but it’d struck me as funny.

Randall walks toward me and pauses in the doorway. “You’re sure?”

I nod. “I’m sure. Thank you for the invitation, but I’ll have to politely decline.” It’s as gentle of a letdown as I can give because I want to be crystal clear.

“Let’s not let this become unprofessional.”

“Don’t worry,” I reply sweetly, so saccharine that a Tic Tac wouldn’t melt on my tongue right now. “I won’t.”

He leaves, and I sit back down, wondering what fueled all that. I mean, first off, asking me out? I just don’t get it.

I’m not some uber-hottie. If this were Scooby-Doo, I’d be Velma, not Daphne.

So why are two guys who are certifiable studs making moves on me?

So,how was your day?

I glance at the text message, grinning. Of all the silly things to be doing, I’m at home, it’s eight o’clock at night, and I’m swapping texts with Thomas.

OK. U know how much I luv my little cave. New music mix today had me jamming.

Oh? Who?

I laugh, shaking my head. U don’t wanna know. Total geekdom.

I happen to like the fact that you’re an unabashed geek.

Really? Y?

Because you’re smart. Smart is sexy.

I feel a tingle between my legs, and I smile, letting my free hand drift down my shirt. Yup, I’ve got high beams going too.

Even if I dye my hair?

What do you mean?

I like to put streaks in my hair. I change it almost every week. I cut two inches of Bright Blood-Orange-Red out for the project meetings to look professional. I might be a little salty about it still. ;)

Hair doesn’t make you professional. And I’d take you salty or sweet.

He adds a tongue emoji and I can’t decide for a moment if that’s cute or cheesy. I decide it’s a bit of both and that I like it because it reminds me of his tongue licking me all over.

I know. So . . . U don’t mind?

Not at all.

Whoa. I grin, a bit surprised because I’d expected him to be a bit more traditional and prudish about my wild hair, but maybe I should’ve given him more credit because he has been inordinately accepting of my vast musical taste and anime chatter. I type again, looking for ideas. So... what’s your favorite color?

Depends. What does the old jelly bracelet code say?

Oh, the flashbacks that brings up... and if you choose the color, you get what that means?

No, Thomas sends back. I’ll get what I want either way.

I should be turned off... but I’m not. If anything, his swagger and confidence have me even more turned on.

Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.

Speaking of what I want, he says, shifting back to the full spelling he uses from time to time, like he’s back to being ‘professional’, tomorrow morning, come to my office.

Uhm, that doesn’t sound like the smartest plan?

That’s putting it mildly. I can’t just waltz into his office like nothing has changed. Hell, Kerry will be able to read it all over my face as soon as I step off the elevator, and the last thing he probably wants is gossip about the basement girl coming and maybe coming in his office.

That was an order, Miss Karakova.

Why?

Our next date. It’s a political fundraiser down in Portland, and I need you fitted for the event.

Wait, next date? He didn’t even ask, he just... Is my cocktail dress not good enough?

Not for this. You need a full-length gown, and I have a stylist coming in. They’ll do the fitting tomorrow, and Friday night’s the fundraiser. We’ll discuss details tomorrow after your fitting.

I have a chance to say no. I mean, he didn’t ask, he’s just demanding. But I could still tell him no, especially about something big and public like this. He’s assuming that I want to go with him, and that I... OK. What time?

9:15.

OK. Then let me get my beauty sleep tonight. See you in the morning?

You’re already beautiful, but sleep tight. Goodnight, Mia.

Goodnight . . . Tommy.

He doesn’t reply, which I take as a sign of approval. I didn’t mean to call him Tommy when he made me come that next morning, but once I did, it just fit. Like it was something just between us.