The Pact (Winslow Brothers 2)

Tuesday, May 7th

Flynn

The intercom buzzer on my desk phone trills as soon as I place the receiver on the hook from my phone call with the CEO of Tuff Co., the leading vinyl flooring producer in the country, and I scribble my note about equipment setup in their new Texas plant on my notepad quickly so I don’t lose my train of thought.

Talk to Jim about thermodynamics repercussions for ventilation system

Tuff Co. has, for the last twenty years, operated their vinyl plants out of northern China, but because of some changes in logistics and politics, they’ve decided to bring everything stateside to the tax-friendly state of Texas. I’ve been brought on as a consultant to help work through all the kinks involved in an intercontinental move, including climatological considerations on their state-of-the-art machinery.

It’s almost painfully boring, if I’m honest, but it also allows me to keep a residence in Texas on their dime. Since that’s one of the next markets I’d like to expand into with my real estate investments, I took the job.

“Mr. Winslow, your…wife is here to see you.”

I nearly laugh as Valerie stumbles over the word “wife,” but I don’t think it’s in good taste to make fun of an elder, and my assistant was thirty when I was born. Lord only knows why she clings to working for a silent bastard like me when she could retire with her well-off husband and travel the globe, but for whatever reason—perhaps fifteen years of loyalty—she puts up with me every day.

I don’t bother telling Valerie to send Daisy in; after this many years together, she knows what to expect.

Several moments later, the door cracks timidly open, and Daisy peeks her head in, her curls leading the way into the room. “Hi! Am I interrupting?”

I shake my head and wave her in with a hand, so she backs her head out, opens the door farther, and steps inside. “Am I too early? Or are you ready to head to lunch?”

“No, I’m good,” I reply, standing to shut off the monitor on my computer and hitting the button to forward all my direct calls to Valerie’s desk for the time being.

I round the desk and lean in to kiss her on the cheek, and she bounces on her toes awkwardly, accidentally knocking her chin into my teeth.

“Ope! Whoops! Sorry.” She’s strangely nervous, and my dick reacts like he’s one of Pavlov’s dogs. It’s twisted as fuck, but Daisy’s anxiety has become a distinguishable precursor to a very satisfying orgasm.

If Valerie didn’t have the hearing of a bald eagle mid-hunt, I’d toss Daisy up on my desk and work whatever’s bothering her right out with an orgasm. As it is, the best I can do until tonight is to distract her with food—the second-best calming agent in my Daisy arsenal.

“Come on. Let’s go get some food.”

She nods at that, her vibrant green eyes dancing in the sunlight of my office. “You have somewhere in mind?”

I nod. “Head out and hit the button for the elevator. It takes forever sometimes. I’ll just grab my phone and keys and meet you out there.”

“Okay,” she agrees amiably, turning for the door and taking a step.

She’s almost out of reach when the urge to have just a tiny part of her overwhelms me. With a quick snap of my elbow, I grab her just above the waist and pull her back, her body twisting on the balls of her feet and falling soundly into the bulk of mine.

Wide eyes and lips in a tiny circle of surprise, she looks up into the center of my gaze just as my mouth comes down on hers in a crush. Open and easy, she meets my tongue with her own in the sexiest fucking dance. She tastes like the black cherry gum I’ve seen her chew, and my dick jerks against the fabric of my dress pants. My hand sinks into the spiraled curls at the back of her head, and I tilt the angle of her mouth to go deeper.

One second leads to two, and before I know it, two seconds lead to thirty. When I finally regain the sense to pull away, her whole face is glazed and relaxed in a way I know would only be better if she’d had my cock in her cunt.

“Ready for lunch now?” I tease, and she giggles softly before nodding her forehead against my chest.

“Uh, yeah. I think I’m ready now.”

“Good,” I praise with a squeeze of one cheek of her ass. “I’ll meet you at the elevator.”

She nods again, this time hustling out of the office without my interference. I round my desk back to the side by the windows and open my top right drawer to grab my keys and phone. Right next to those, I see the letter I pulled out of the mailbox at the apartment this morning—from USCIS.