“Liv, we’re going out tonight to replace Mr. Hot Dark and Handsome. You need to dress.”
I glanced around to make sure none of my coworkers was close by. I’d told Gwen everything about that night with Devon, of course. Well, I’d left out some of the dirtier sex parts. “Not so loud. And the spike heels aren’t necessary. I’m looking for quality, not quantity.”
“Okay, maybe that’s me,” Gwen mused. “I need to get laid. I guess I’ll wear the heels.”
“What about, um, Mike?” I asked.
“Who?”
“Mike. I think he had a motorcycle or something?”
“Oh, God no.” I could practically hear her shudder over the phone. “I heard him use the word bitches. Done. That bad-boy motorcycle thing only goes so far.”
I shook my head. At this rate, Gwen was going to singlehandedly crush every eligible male in the Bay area. “Maybe he didn’t mean it,” I said.
“He said it,” Gwen said easily. “He’s done. And Liv, wear something nice. I don’t want to look at you and think you’re still pining.”
“I’m not pining.” I wasn’t. Pining was what you did for a guy who had made you promises, a guy you had something in common with, a guy you’d talked to about something other than sex or his criminal history. You pined for a man who had taken you on dates and let you imagine having babies with him, not a man who had let you get on your knees for him and then whispered filthy things in your ear and come in you twice before taking off, probably to prison.
Damn, just thinking about that made my lower belly ache. That had been the hottest night of my life. I needed to replace him. But I wasn’t pining.
Gwen was saying something else, but I looked up and saw Corey, one of the client service managers, coming across the open office space toward my cubicle. I ducked as if being caught in a crime. “Call you right back,” I whispered to my sister, and hung up.
“Olivia,” Corey said, looking at me through his stylish black-rimmed glasses. “Great, you’re still here. We need mockups of the Jelly Bread concepts.”
“I did that,” I said. “I had them all printed up and put on the board for the presentation tomorrow.”
“There are only three of them there.”
“Yes, well…” I tried to sound polite about it. “Those are the three you told me to do.”
“No, no. I never told you to do three. I need all eight of them on the board. I’m sure that’s what I said. Why would we only need three?”
How the hell would I know? He’d told me to do three; I could even see that he knew it, since his gaze wandered away from mine and he ran a hand through his artfully styled hair. “I can do the others in the morning,” I said.
“The meeting is in the morning,” he shot back. “This is Jelly Bread. It’s a big job. They’re going to freak if there are only three.”
I bit my lip. Jelly Bread was a new product being launched by a major bread company—bread that was already infused with the flavor of jam. It sounded gross to me, but the company was spending big money. I’d been at Gratchen long enough that I already know how this would end, so I gave in. “Okay.” I closed my purse and opened my desk drawer again. “I’ll go do it.”
“Perfect. And some of us have put in a sushi order at the place around the corner. Go pick it up in twenty minutes, okay? And don’t forget the wasabi this time.”
As he walked away, I quietly texted Gwen. Have to stay at work. Tonight’s off.
You’ve got to be kidding me, she texted back. What is it this time? Filling out courier slips? Getting coffee?
Both of those things had actually happened. Corey needs me to help with a presentation for tomorrow. It’s a big deal.
Tomorrow is Saturday and Corey is an asshole, she texted back. I’m trying to get you some dick here.
I made a few lame apologies and stuffed my phone back in my purse. I didn’t even like to think about dicks at the office. I worked with mostly men, and that was just… no. Even though I’d seen a couple of them notice me. They were probably nice guys—when they weren’t making me stay late for no pay and sending me for their sushi orders—but I was in the market for a different kind of dick, should we say. Rough, expert, and unapologetic. Preferably attached to Devon Wilder, but since he was out of the question, I’d have to look for second place.
I turned my computer back on and headed for the printing station, resigning myself to another night of work. Gwen was right. Next time we went out, I’d wear heels. It was time.
Twelve
Devon
Shady Oaks looked exactly the same as it had two years ago. Considering it looked exactly the same as it had in the 1960’s, this wasn’t a surprise. Shady Oaks was proof that everything changes is a lie.