Beautiful Bastard (Beautiful Bastard 1)

Thursday she had on a perfectly ordinary V-neck blouse, but twice when she bent over to pick up my pen I got a good look down her shirt. Only one of those times was on purpose.

By Friday I thought I would explode. I hadn’t jacked off once all week and was walking around with the worst case of blue balls known to man.

As I walked into the office Friday morning, I was praying that maybe she would call in sick. Somehow I knew I wouldn’t be that lucky. I was horny and in a particularly bad mood, and when I opened the office door I almost had a heart attack. She was bent over watering a plant in a charcoal gray sweater dress and knee-high boots. Every curve of her body was on display. Someone up there really hated me.

“Good morning, Mr. Ryan,” she said sweetly, stopping me as I passed her. Something was up. She never said anything sweetly to me. I eyed her suspiciously.

“Good morning, Miss Mills. You seem to be in an exceptionally cordial mood today. Did somebody die?”

The corner of her mouth lifted in a devilish smirk. “Oh, no. I’m just excited about dinner tomorrow, and meeting your friend Joel. Henry’s told me all about him. I think we really might have a lot in common.”

Son of a bitch. “Oh right. Dinner. I’d completely forgotten. Yes, you and Joel . . . Well, since he’s a mama’s boy and you’re an overbearing shrew, you two should find a pretty solid love connection. I’d love a cup of coffee if you’re getting one for yourself.” I turned and headed into my office.

It occurred to me that it might not be in my best interest to let her make my coffee. One of these days she was likely to put something in it. Like arsenic.

Before I’d even sat down, she knocked at my door.

“Come in.”

She set my coffee down hard enough that some of it spilled on what she knew damn well was a custom-built fifteen-thousand-dollar desk, and turned to look at me.

“Are we having the scheduling meeting this morning?” She was standing near my desk in a pool of sunlight. Shadows draped across her dress, accentuating the curve of her br**sts. Fuck, I wanted to pull her tight nipple into my mouth. Was it cold in here? How could she be cold when I was sweating bullets?

I had to get the hell out of here.

“No. I forgot about a meeting downtown this afternoon. So I’ll be leaving for the day in about ten minutes. Just e-mail me all the details,” I replied quickly, heading for the safety and coverage of my desk chair.

“I wasn’t aware of any off-site meeting today,” she said skeptically.

“No, you wouldn’t have been,” I said. “It’s personal.”

When she didn’t respond I chanced a glance up and saw a strange expression on her face. What was that look? She obviously looked mad, but there was something else. Was she . . . was she jealous?

“Oh,” she answered, chewing on her lower lip. “Is it with someone I know?” She never asked questions about where I was going. “I mean, just in case your father or brother need to get ahold of you.”

“Well . . .” I paused, trying to torture her a bit. “In this day and age, if someone needs to get ahold of me, they can call my cell phone. Is there anything else, Miss Mills?”

She hesitated for a moment before lifting her chin and straightening her shoulders. “Since you won’t be here, I was thinking that I’d like to start the weekend early. Maybe do some shopping for tomorrow night.”

“No problem. I’ll just see you tomorrow.” Our gazes locked across the desk, and the electricity in the air was so palpable I could feel my heart rate increase.

“Have a nice meeting,” she said through clenched teeth, leaving and closing the door behind her.

I was relieved when I heard her leave fifteen minutes later. Deciding it was now safe to go, I gathered up my things and headed out. I was stopped by a man carrying a large flower arrangement.

“Can I help you with something?” I asked.

Looking up from his clipboard he glanced around before answering, “I have a delivery for a Miss Chloe Mills?”

What the—? Who the hell would send her flowers? Was she seeing someone while we were . . . ? I couldn’t even finish the thought.

“Miss Mills has gone for lunch. She’ll be back in about an hour,” I lied. I had to get a look at that card. “I’ll sign for those and make sure she gets them.” He set the arrangement on her desk.

Signing the clipboard quickly, I handed him a tip and mumbled a good-bye as he left. For three long minutes I stood and stared at the flowers, willing myself to stop being such a pu**y and to definitely not look at the card.

Roses. She despised roses. I snickered because whoever sent her these knew nothing about her. Even I knew she didn’t like roses. I’d overheard her telling Sara one day about how one of her dates sent her a bouquet. She’d immediately given them away, disliking the pungent scent. Finally, my curiosity got the better of me and I ripped the card away from the arrangement.

Looking forward to dinner,

Joel Cignoli

That foreign sensation slowly spread through my chest again as I crumpled the card in my fist.

Retrieving the flowers from her desk, I walked out the door, locking up behind me, and made my way down the hall to the elevator.

Just as the doors opened I passed a wide chrome garbage can, and without a second thought I dropped the vase and all of its contents inside.

I didn’t know what the f**k was going on with me. But I did know there was no way in hell she was going out with Joel Cignoli.

Seven

I spent the better part of Saturday running at the lake, trying to get some air, some distance, some clarity to my thoughts. Even so, the hour-long drive to my parents’ house gave me plenty of time to return to the tangle of frustrations in my head: Miss Mills, how I hated her, how much I craved her, the flowers Joel sent. Leaning farther back into the seat, I tried to let the soothing sound of the car engine calm me. It wasn’t working.