The Bride (The Boss 3)

“Mmm,” I said, wriggling away. “And morning breath, so don’t get too close. Come on, tell me what my assignment is. What’s this all about?”

He went to the wing chair beside his ridiculously overblown—and this is coming from someone who worked in the fashion industry—shoe collection. He took a pair of gleaming, mahogany-colored crocodile loafers down, as well as a pair of Berluti leather ankle boots.

“Whoa, whoa,” I said, holding out two fingers in the shape of a cross. “You can’t wear those. You made one of your magazines go cruelty free, remember?”

“Valerie made the magazine go cruelty free. I was just along for the ride. Do you want your assignment or not?” he asked, slipping his foot into a navy sock.

“Fine.” I leaned against the wall and yawned.

“Since you’ll be going out for lunch, I’ll have to revise my plan. I was going to ask you to edge fifteen times, then come by my office and give me your sopping wet panties and let me get you off. But I don’t want to intrude on your lunch with Holli. So, why don’t you come back from lunch, edge fifteen times, and then call me so I can give you permission to come?”

He might have phrased it as a question, but he spoke in my Sir’s tone of voice. It was a command, and it thrilled me to my toes.

“Yes, Sir!” I bounced on the balls of my feet, coming fully awake. There was no chance I’d get back to sleep now. “How do you want me to do it?”

He considered as he pulled on his boots. “Just your fingers, I think.”

“Penetration?” That was an important distinction. Sometimes, I wasn’t allowed.

“I don’t see what the harm would be. I’ll probably be working late, so give yourself a good seeing to.” He stood and came to me, and slowly stroked the backs of his fingers down my cheek, across my jaw, to my throat. My breath hitched, and my nipples hardened beneath the shirt.

“I’ll just need my tie.” He smirked and slipped it over my head before stepping back, leaving me wanting.

He put on his tie and his sleek suit jacket and checked himself over in the mirror. “Not bad. Sleeves are bit tight, perhaps.”

“You look fine,” I reassured him. He seemed to find his slight post-chemo weight gain distressingly conspicuous. “Everyone is going to be so glad that you’re back.”

“That remains to be seen.” He chuckled and gave his jacket one last tug to straighten it. He picked up his loafers—for changing at the office—and as he walked past me, he dropped a kiss on my forehead. “When you call, do make sure you’re wet. I want to hear it over the phone.”

* * * *

Even though I’d just seen Holli in New York before I’d flown home for Christmas, I was beyond excited to meet up and tell her my amazing news. She was going to freak when she found out I was getting married.

The truth was, between the two of us, I’d always imagined Holli would be the one to get hitched. And I’d expected it would be to someone who got rich from something to do with the internet. Or Pixar.

We’d had so many conversations where I’d resolutely declared that I would never get married. She was going to be shocked.

When I arrived at the restaurant—a trendy bistro near the High Line—Holli was already there, seated at a table for four in the center of the floor. Holli is a fashion model, and her recent career explosion meant that now when she went places, she got recognized. She loved it, hence the middle-of-the-room table. Everyone could see her that way.

And people really were noticing her; I saw a busboy step from the alcove near the kitchen to surreptitiously snap a photo with his iPhone. Holy shit, my best friend really is famous.

“Sophie!” Holli hopped up from her seat, all arms and legs in her tight jeans and fitted black blazer. A thin chain suspended thick silver teardrops around her neck, and her hair—still growing in from the pixie cut she’d sported a year ago—was curled behind her ears. “I missed you!”

“I know. A year, and then ten days? Definitely too long.” I hugged her, a little tighter than usual. “Where’s Deja?”

“She’s on her way. Her a-hole boss kept her over,” she said with a roll of her eyes. Then, quickly, she clarified, “Rudy. Not, you know. Your a-hole.”

We took our seats, and I scanned the menu, but I didn’t want to decide on food. I wanted to tell her my awesome news.

Since I couldn’t, I asked how her visit home had been. Her stepbrother had recently eloped with his girlfriend, whom the family did not approve of. And they’d chosen Christmas day to announce that they were expecting.

“So, it was a great year to introduce Deja to everybody.” Holli wasn’t being sarcastic. She beamed brightly. “My mom was so busy finding backhanded ways to call Patricia a slut, she never even bothered to bust out her racial micro-aggressions at Deja. But what about you?”

“Christmas went fine,” I said, tilting my head. “Mom hates Neil—”

“You knew she would.” Holli sipped her water.

“I did. And um… I wanted to wait for Deja to get here, but I feel like I’m being dishonest if I keep going without telling you the biggest news.” I dangled my bare left hand in front of me and wiggled my ring finger. “It’s being sized. But I’m getting married.”