I want her on the counter.
Her jeans at her ankles.
Her tits in my hands.
Her cunt pulsing around me.
"You there?" he asks.
"No. Thinking about your girlfriend naked."
He rolls his eyes. He's having none of my shit.
"She—"
"Hates you."
"She hates what I represent."
>
His blue eyes stay serious. He studies my expression like his life depends on it. "She hates you."
I shrug. Maybe she did, once. But it's been forever. It's all water under the bridge.
"After seven years?" I ask.
"Apparently." He runs a hand through his wavy hair. He inherited Dad's wild hair. I've got Mom's straight dirty blond locks. Though hers come from a bottle these days. "You gonna tell me why she hates you?"
"There are so many reasons. Could be any of them."
He laughs. "True." He turns back to Leighton. "You have any insight into why Chloe hates Dean, baby?"
"Does she need one reason?" Leighton offers.
Ryan chuckles.
"I can see why you love her," I say.
His cheeks flame red, but he shakes it off. "She's gonna shadow you tomorrow."
Uh-uh. Chloe isn't following me around. Not in that tight black outfit she wears. Not with that short hair brushed behind her ears. Not if I have to keep it in my pants.
"Yeah," he says. "She is. You agreed. She's yours for the day."
"When did I agree?"
"You said I could hire anyone. I did."
"An apprentice?"
"You have an issue with her skills?"
"No." If she's half the artist she was in high school, she's better than any of us.
"Her attitude?"
That's a trap. "No."