Perfect Chaos

She’s a beauty. A total babe. An absolute, dazzling, shimmering, beautiful goddess. She’s a fucking deity. I’ve seen some attractive women in my time, but this female here is . . . striking.

Her head suddenly flicks up, her eyes moving away from the menu and landing on me. My dick twitches. And my mind puts her under my hard, naked body in my bed.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Her eyes—so blue they look fake. I’m lost in them. And then she smiles and finishes off this rapt twat. I swear, it’s never happened before, but my knees just went weak, and I’m sitting down. Where the fuck would I be had I been standing when she flashed me that gorgeous smile? On the floor. That’s where. And I would take her down with me.

Too busy appreciating what’s before me and what I could do with it, I nearly miss the fact that she’s stood from her stool and is making her way over to me. Fucking jackpot.

Yanking my eyes away from the stunning face still smiling at me as she sashays over, I turn to Sal, ready to give him a pep talk on being cool. That woman is going to be in my bed very soon, and if he fucks it up for—

“Mr. Walker.” The female voice that comes from leftfield—smooth, low, and sexy as fuck—causes all kinds of weird shit to happen in my trousers. Weird because she just referred to my mate, my partner, by his name, and it still turned me on. I feel my forehead go heavy with my frown. She knows Sal?

“Lainey,” Sal sings happily. “Fancy seeing you here.”

What. The. Fuck?

I jump up from my stool and move back, feeling like I need some distance. “Lainey?” I ask, trying to gather myself, straightening out my suit. I do a quick rewind through the past few minutes’ conversation to locate what I’m hoping is a cock-up on my part. Lainey? I look at Sal. “I’m pretty sure you just referred to your new PA as Lainey.”

“I certainly did.” Sal nods, eyes still on . . . his new PA?

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

“You must be Sal’s partner.” A lovely, delicate hand extends toward me, and I look at it. I just look at it. And my mind instantly puts that hand around my cock. And starts to thrust it up and down. And I’m groaning. “Hello?” she prompts.

I jump back again, ignoring her offering and looking at my best mate. My mouth twists, the situation now as clear as daylight. The fucker. Sal hitches a knowing eyebrow at me and takes a swig of his beer, and I brace myself to face our new employee. Employee. That word needs to remain at the forefront of my mind. She works for us. Works for me. I don’t have many boundaries but steering well clear of staff is one of them. It’s a rule. Clients, yes. Potential clients, yes. Business associates, yes. Any woman . . . as long as she doesn’t work for me. Simple. Sal knows this. Supports this. Insists on this. It’s another one of our cardinal rules.

I take a deep, steady breath and take her hand. Her soft, perfect hand. “Pleasure,” I say, meeting her eyes. Fuck me, my whole world just narrowed into a tunnel of torturous fantasies. Ones I now know I can never make a reality. I want to cry. “Ty Christianson.” I cough and subtlety reclaim my hand, placing my arse back on the stool before my stupid legs give.

“I know who you are,” she says, smiling that lovely fucking smile. I swear, she’s a goddess, breathtakingly beautiful, but her beauty broke the fucking scale the second I learned she works for me. For fuck’s sake. I look away and signal to the barman again. I need something stronger than beer. Of course she knows who I am. Everyone does.

“Scotch,” I order. “Neat.”

“Just thought I’d say hello,” Lainey goes on when my back’s turned.

“Hello,” Sal replies, holding up his beer. “You look . . . nice.”

I roll my eyes and accept my Scotch, knocking it back in one swift, needed shot. “Another.”

“Thank you,” Lainey replies graciously. That voice. I can hear it groaning my name, and my hand goes to my groin to discreetly control the blood rushing to my cock. Get me out of here!

“All set for tomorrow?” Sal asks.

“Yes, can’t wait. Eight?”

“Perfect,” Sal confirms.

“Great. I’ll leave you to your drinks.” Her hand rests on my shoulder, and I freeze, refusing to turn around and acknowledge her. But my eyes do turn and land on some pretty, perfectly painted nude nails resting on my suit jacket. I can feel those nails sinking into my naked back. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Christianson.”

“And you.” I barely force the words past my thick tongue, so I have no hope of being polite and facing her. “Welcome to Christianson Walker.”