Buy Me, Sir

But not the nerves.

The nerves are still right fucking there.MelissaI had to buy a dress today. I chose a pretty red number that fits tight at the bust and flares over my hips. Dean approved in the store this morning, and even Joe clapped. A definite win.

And so was the red lipstick to match.

I picked up the shoes and handbag at a discount store on the way back home, and they may have been bought on a budget, but I feel just fine as I head on through Delaney’s reception with a smile on my face.

Round two.

I’m really going in for round two.

I’ve had a smile on my face all day, and I’m happy. Lighter than I’ve felt since… just since.

It feels so strange to feel this light inside.

I count down the minutes in my assigned room on the first floor, my eyes twinkling through my last second mirror check, and then I’m up and away, heart pumping as I make the ascent to the top floor.

Mr Brown in suite seven tonight – Claude’s confirmation email told me so.

I count down the doors. Ten, nine, eight.

Seven.

Door number seven is in an alcove on its own.

It swings open as soon as I knock, and I’m not looking at the floor today. My eyes meet his in a heartbeat, my smile bright as he stands aside to let me in.

“Amy,” he says.

Black suit, white shirt, black tie. A ghost of stubble.

“Hi,” I say, and the flutters in my tummy are too much. I take a breath.

“You look considerably more at ease this evening,” he says, and there’s a smile there, just a hint. I can’t stop staring as he crosses the room. “Champagne?”

He pulls the bottle from an ice bucket before I’ve answered, pouring me a glass even as I’m nodding.

“Please.”

I notice the case on the bedside table. I notice how his scent lingers in the air between us. I notice the way he’s looking at me, as though he’s a cat about to pounce.

It’s familiar here, the layout of this suite is similar to the one previous. Virtually identical.

I drop my handbag on the dresser.

He already has a tumbler of water. “Cheers,” he says, and I raise my champagne.

“What are we toasting?”

“A long and mutually beneficial working relationship,” he tells me.

Long.

“To us,” I say simply, and his jaw tightens. He closes the distance to clink my glass, and stays there, his body so close to mine.

The scent of him makes me heady, and so do the bubbles on my tongue.

I want to kiss him, but I don’t know how.

I want to slip my hands inside his jacket and hold him close.

I want to feel the hardness of him against my belly.

But I stand still. Waiting. Wanting.

“I’m assured you’ve accepted a six-month exclusivity term,” he says. His voice is super professional. Guarded.

“Yes.”

“I trust you read the small print?”

I attempt to recall the bits I noted, but my mind is fuzzy. Excitement and nerves aren’t the greatest recipe for flawless recall. I tell him so with a smile, and hope that excuses my ignorance.

“Excitement?” He seems taken aback, even though his gaze is steady and his jaw is firm. It’s just something in his eyes, something I can’t put my finger on.

My cheeks are burning, and I don’t know what to say. I don’t have a smart quip to hand, or some sexy one-liner that makes me sound like a sex goddess. I don’t have anything to offer him but the honest truth, which is such a joke in itself given the route I’ve taken to get into his bed in the first place.

My eyes are on his, my throat dry as I cough up my answer.

I hope he can’t see my pink cheeks under my foundation. “I, um… I wanted to see you again.”

No. That’s not the truth. Not anywhere near.

I love you. I’ve always loved you. I can’t stop thinking about you.

I’m Melissa Martin, the girl who bought you a cupcake. The girl who ironed the shirt you’re wearing. The girl you bummed a cigarette to outside my school gates.

He reads people for a living, and I know it. I can feel how he’s reading me right now.

His eyes are dark and fierce, the steel of his jaw just as intimidating as it was in the meeting room weeks ago.

My confidence deflates, my breath unsteady as I dip my head. I’m back to staring at his feet, the mirror shine of his brogues so stark against the cream carpet.

I feel the heat of him. I feel his breath on my hair.

And then his fingers are under my chin, tipping my face to his.

“Flattery is unnecessary.”

My eyes widen. “But… it’s not…”

His stare could cut me in half and leave me bleeding on the floor.

I want him to kiss me. I want him to wrap his fingers around my throat and take away my ability to speak any more stupid words.