Perfect Chaos

“Have a good night.” Her hand lifts, and the whole of my torso rolls, fighting off the aftereffects of her touch. And as soon as I’m brave enough to check she’s gone, seeing her behind subtlety sway as she goes, I swing around to my best mate and glare at him.

“What?” Sal asks.

“What? Seriously? You’re asking me that?”

“You can’t fuck her,” he says flatly, knowing exactly where my man brain has been.

“I don’t want to fuck her.”

“Yeah, right.”

I can’t believe he’s done this to me. Hired the most beautiful woman on the fucking planet as his PA, knowing I can’t even sniff her. “You call yourself a mate? You’re bang out of line.”

He laughs. “Told you she was perfect.”

I groan, looking down at my phone when it starts flashing a call. “Oh, go away.” I smash the reject icon and slump over the bar. But through my lingering awe, I manage to surmise just how bad this situation is, and not only because I can’t touch her. Or think about her. My mate hasn’t gotten laid since the other month. And he’s married. I turn to Sal. “You told me you hadn’t thought about the fact that Moya hasn’t put out much lately.”

“I hadn’t. Not until you mentioned it, you nymphomaniac.”

“Fuck off. You’re telling me you haven’t thought about your new PA fucking your deprived, betraying brain out?”

“No.” Sal looks at me, offended. “I love my wife. Granted, we’re going through a sticky patch in the bedroom department, but I would never betray her. Never. Let’s get that straight.”

I sit back on a sigh. “I know you wouldn’t, but fuck, Sal. Why in God’s name would you hire something as tempting as that? And what the hell is Moya going to think when she meets her?”

“Moya’s fine.” He sniffs, glancing away. “I was totally professional during the process, as was Lainey. It’s you who’s the Romeo that thinks with his dick, not me. Why’d you think I interviewed her alone?”

“Because you’re an arsehole.”

He laughs. “No, because when I saw her headshot on her file, I knew damn well you would’ve picked fault with her CV, anything to put me off, just so you could fuck her with a clear conscience.”

I can’t argue. He’s right. I would have put him off, found any reason for us not to hire her. She’s that stunning. That alluring. For fuck’s sake. How am I supposed to concentrate, knowing that much sexiness is in the office?

“Anyway,” Sal goes on, ignoring my pouting face, “you’ve got Gina. She’s hot, and those great tits are there to admire daily.”

“Gina is Gina, you wanker. She’s a mate. I fucking hate you right now.” I wave for more drinks. “What are you having?”

“Beer. If I start on the hard stuff, I probably won’t make it home.”

I order myself another Scotch and my mate a beer. Because he needs to get home. To his wife. And I need to smack my wandering brain into shape quickly. She’s just another beautiful woman. It’s not like I’m not used to those.Sal gets progressively drunker, even though he stays with beer, and by ten o’clock I decide it’s time to put him in a taxi and send him home to Moya. After waving him off outside Long Bar, I stand on the curbside, trying to decide where to venture next. I pull my phone out to call one of the lads and track them down to whatever bar they’re in, but stall when something comes to me. I look over my shoulder, back to the bar, wondering if that black-haired beauty who caught my eye earlier is still there. My phone gets shoved into my pocket, and I reverse my steps, turning and heading back inside. Because if I’ve ever really needed a good fuck, it’s now.

Straightening the knot of my tie, I keep my eyes peeled and spot her in exactly the same place as before. Excellent. The rest of my night is quickly mapped out in my head. She catches my eye, and I flash her my most suggestive, sexy smile . . . but my feet grind to a stop when something past her grabs my attention.

Sal’s new PA.

My dumb heart kicks a little. Or was that a palpitation? Or . . . a ping? What the fuck, Christianson? She’s just another beautiful woman.

She’s still sitting at the bar, gazing at her phone, those long blonde locks cascading over her shoulders and fanning her breasts. And she’s still alone, only one drink on the bar in front of her.

“Thought I’d meet you halfway,” a sultry voice says, and I look to my side, finding the black-haired woman has made her way to me, and is now looking at me with take-me-to-bed eyes. “Drink?”

Now this is an easy question with an easy answer. But I’m stalling. Why? This woman is the guaranteed pressure release I so need. Sal’s PA is not a guarantee. She’s not even a possibility. I glance across to her again, and I find myself breathing in sharply when a man moves in to her side. He has a look on his face I know, because I use it often myself. Except Lainey doesn’t look at all enchanted by his obvious advances, more uncomfortable. And I can’t say I’m comfortable either, not by the weird pang of irritation, or by her obvious apprehension. The guy is getting too close. She doesn’t like it, and he doesn’t seem to be getting the message and backing off.