Two Wrongs (Meant To Be 1)

“Hey!”

I’m in the hall, breaking into a run when magic fingers comes out behind me. “Stop. Right now.”

Shit.

I stumble right into a huge yellow mop bucket, the slick soapy water sloshing onto the linoleum floor. My shoes are like ice skates, but I miss most of the mess and hop ahead of it.

“Stop. Right. Now.” He bellows, his voice bouncing along the walls as I turn at the end and see the light of the front door. I toss one quick look back over my shoulder to see him hit the sloppy mess on the floor.

His feet slide, his arms dart out trying to right himself, hands on the walls but it’s no use.

The last thing I see is him tumbling, all six feet whatever of sex and well-dressed Neanderthal, ass over teakettle onto the wet floor, swearing and telling me to stop.

CHAPTER 6

Natalie

I make my way through my office, hands out like a mummy, fumbling for the Keurig. And once I manage to get my first sip of Irish Cream Dark Roast, the memories of the night before start to become a little clearer.

The impossibly sexy, tall, dark meal of man-meat from last night has me metaphorically standing on my head. How could me, Miss Magic Wand and no results, have an orgasm from the flick of a finger and the brush of his lips on my ear?

I don’t know. But the wetness that’s still steaming between my thighs proves that it did and he’s the first to ever have that honor and I don’t even know his name.

I shake off the thoughts and get settled in the conference room. Jamie, my co-worker and partner for this consulting gig, is flicking through the PowerPoint, making sure there are no glitches before we get started.

I riffle through the forms in front of me to get my bearings. Today it’s an intensive anger management session for a partner of a huge law firm, a fancy-schmancy divorce lawyer.

God, I hate divorce lawyers. My mother’s did his damndest to ruin my father’s life.

And from what I’ve read in the file, it looks like today’s guy is going to need to need a full-on chill out sesh…or else.

HR Defcon 1 Emergency, basically.

With a name like Tor Saman, it’s not a surprise.

The plan is that Jamie will do the presentation while I observe, then I do the post session eval and either sign off on the employee for HR or give them my report and recommendations.

So when it comes right down to it, this guy’s career is in the palm of my hand.

Which is wild. The name of the company I work for is Two Wrongs Anger Management. Catchy, sure. But effective? I’m not sure. Still, though, it pays the bills but my secret desire to turn my love of eating fine food into my profession is ever present.

“Nat.” Jamie points toward the screen. “You ready? You have your forms, checklist, evaluation docs…”

“Yeah. Yeah…” I answer, fumbling in my laptop bag and tugging out a folder, spilling the pages all over the table in front of me. “I just have to—”

“Girl,” he says with a flick of his hair and a get-it-together tsk sound. “You are a hot mess. You know that?”

“I’m a hot something, that’s for sure.” I stall, the click of the doorknob drawing my attention then I finish quickly as our client comes in the room behind me. “Even better, I lost my wallet last night. Luckily, I have my passport for the flight.”

I turn, looking down, trying not to let my deep abiding hatred for divorce lawyers get the best of me, and the first thing I see…

…are the shoes.

Black. So shiny the lights in the ceiling ricochet back, making me blink.

There’s a low sort of growling sound, and as I look up, make eye-contact and my ovaries go into spasm. I clutch my belly, half doubling over, letting out a hissing exhale as Jamie shoots me a WTF look.

“Cramps,” I whisper-hiss and wonder how I’m going to get through the next four hours.

The session is a fuzzy, smudgy blur. I keep crossing and re-crossing my legs, squeezing my thighs together, salivating and making these little baby-sparrow-like chirping sounds whenever he looks at me.

Thank God Jamie covers my short parts of the program while I’m having my psychiatric event. I sit glued to my chair at the conference table, staring at the blank screen on my open laptop and praying that when I wake up from this daydream, I’ll still be employed.

Tor gives a few sharp answers when Jamie asks him questions, but other than that he says nothing. His eyes are on me the entire four hours of our program.

By the end, I’m as exhausted as if I’ve run a marathon. My heart is racing, palms sweating, and my panties?

Toast. Wet, soggy toast.