Perfect Chaos
What? I throw a shocked look at Gina’s back, trying to douse the rising jealousy. She had a date on her lunch break? Talk about every opportunity. “That’s nice,” I mutter, prompting Gina to turn at the door. I shrug.
“Late twenties. Hot.” She winks. What’s her point? Yeah, so I might not be in my twenties, but she can’t tell me I’m not hot. And anyway, late twenties? I silently concluded Lainey must like older men. The guy I saw her with on Tuesday was pushing sixty, easy. So she’s trying all age pools, is she? Has she tried mid to late thirties? My brain spasms, and I grab my coffee and have a slurp.
“Finally,” Gina breathes. “The woman you want is taken, and you can’t have her anyway.”
I flip her the finger as she shuts the door, leaving me with my racing mind. Another man? I see condoms again. Lots of them. And my annoying fixation just got an extra dose of intrigue. And some more jealousy for good measure. I’m a fucking pussy.ON MONDAY, I WATCH AS Sal studies the sketches spread out on my desk. “These are fucking brilliant,” he says, picking up my personal favorite—the one of a woman fully dressed in a lovely pencil dress, a classic mac, and some heels. She’s stepping off the curb, bag in hand, flagging a cab. You can see her gorgeous lingerie through her clothes, giving the viewer the power of X-ray vision. “‘You can tell from her poise,’” Sal says, reading the tagline.
“Can’t you just,” I muse, admiring my work. Sal’s right. It really is fucking brilliant. “The girls from Pyra are due in next week. I’ll have it polished up like a diamond by then. A brilliant, flawless fucking diamond. Women can’t resist diamonds.”
“Want some help?” Sal gets up from the chair and heads back to his office.
“No, I’m good. I’ve actually enjoyed putting pencil to paper again.” In between my meltdowns, I add in my head. “Drink after work? Celebrate?”
“I’m taking Moya out.” Sal waggles his eyebrows. “I’m on a promise.”
Ah, so that explains his better mood. I laugh and throw my pen across my office, and it bounces off his arm. “I should hope you are, you poor bastard.” Lord, it’s been a whole week since I’ve had any form of release, most of it spent working on the Pyra contract as opposed to working a woman over. Truth be told, after my performance with Pamela last Tuesday, I’m a little worried. My balls ache, and it definitely isn’t helping with my frustrating situation. I need to remedy that. Tonight, I will remedy that.
But then something comes to me. “Hey, did I say I’d babysit and forget?” It’s possible. I’ve stumbled through the past week in a daze.
“Nah. The in-laws volunteered,” Sal says, laughing when my shoulders drop in relief. “But Moya does want you over for dinner soon, remember?”
“Remember.”
“Great, catch you later.”
“Have fun tonight,” I call, laughing when he fist-pumps the air. He’ll be in a good mood tomorrow.
I knuckle down and start scribbling a to-do list and then email the girls at Pyra, telling them how much I’m looking forward to seeing them again. I hold back on telling them how much I’m looking forward to blowing their minds, too. I smile as I click send and quickly flick through the rest of my inbox to check there’s nothing needing my urgent attention before I get back to my drawings.
There’s a knock on my office door. “Come in,” I call, putting my screen in sleep mode before starting to tidy up the piles of papers sprawled all over my desk. The door opens, just as I knock my pencil to the floor. “Shit.” I push away from my desk and dip to collect it up. But my hand freezes before it reaches it, along with the rest of my body. Whoever’s just entered hasn’t spoken to tell me who they are, but they don’t need to. The sudden sizzling atmosphere does that all by itself, as does the damn tingling of my skin. I leave the pencil exactly where it is and slowly lift my head. She’s closed the door—closed herself in my office with me. And no one else.
Lainey starts to wander toward me, slowly, deliberately, and my seated form straightens gradually as she gets closer until I’m bolt upright and she’s at the foot of my desk. Our eyes are glued the whole time. Good God, the tension is palpable. The sexual tension. Throbbing. Along with my wayward cock. What’s she going to say? Is she finding this unbearable, too? Am I the only one in this god-awful situation that’s in all kinds of chaos? Because, frankly, she seems more composed than I am. And that . . . irritates me. And beguiles me.