Tell Me You Want Me

My phone buzzes again: Dale’s here and we were wondering.

Dale is Wyatt’s father, rather protective but a supportive man.

I text him back quickly: The lawyers have it atm.

It occurs to me then that Suzette has yet to message. I’m quick to type a message but then I delete it. I try another that’s less … domineering.

I prefer for that role to be played in person. Just as I finish typing her a message asking if she’s home, a message comes through from my father, followed by one from her.

Suzette: Just laying down for bed and thinking of you. Thank you again for last night.

I ignore my father for a moment, choosing to message her: The pleasure was all mine.

She doesn’t waste time replying: You lie, Mr. Bradford. I enjoyed it immensely.

With a satisfied hum, I sit back and see my father’s messaged twice.

The lawyers will be fine with it.

Are you working this late? Please tell me you’ve cut back.

* * *

He’s been on me for years now to work less. With the team in place and fewer projects, although they’re costlier and more rides on their success, I’ve been able to slow down, little by little. Small steps toward a more “sustainable lifestyle,” as my father refers to it.

Just got back from a date actually. I text him the white lie. It’s not exactly truthful, but it will make him smile.

“Is that her?” Noah questions from the front. Again not using the intercom, and it takes me a moment to understand he means Suzette.

“Ms. Parks?”

“You have a smile for her. I can tell it’s her. I have one that was just for my wife.”

“Oh, calm down with that talk now, Noah,” I joke with him. “We’ve only just met—”

“I told you Ann and I … it was two weeks and then forever.” His voice holds a hint of reverie.

“Yes, I know the story well.” Noah’s worked for me for the better part of a decade now. As my driver and at times my assistant when needed. “One day … one day I’ll have that,” I say and then run my hand through my hair, thinking that one day seems to get farther and farther away as the years go by. “Ms. Parks is … we are only getting to know each other.”

“Is that what you kids call it nowadays?”

Letting out a brutish laugh, I turn my attention back to my phone.

There are emails and calendar notifications. My father messaged me about details of some buildings Wyatt is hoping to acquire, but he needs the capital first. My capital. As well as some questions about my date and whether it’s serious.

Another message comes through, this time my mother, wanting to know about the date.

I debate on answering them, but I let my phone sit in my lap, thinking of Suzette at the dock yesterday and how easy it was. I haven’t had that before. No one has ever fit so well, even if she fights me along the way.

As if she knows I’m thinking of her, a message comes through: I need to sleep.

Then you should sleep, my little minx.

I watch the phone with anticipation, knowing she’s typing something, but then deletes it. A moment passes and she starts again. My phone buzzes, with the messenger open: I like being your little minx, I think.

I like it too.

The moment I send my response, it doesn’t feel good enough. It doesn’t carry the weight of just how much I enjoy her simply being there. I follow up with:

When you sleep, I want you to dream of me.

Yes, sir.

Suzette

Adrian fills my mind every hour that I’m awake, and most of the ones where I’m sleeping. His text messages make my pulse quicken with excitement.

I can hear how he would speak the words when I read them. It feels like falling. In only a week’s time, I feel like I’m falling for him.

No one else at the office is fawning over him.

I’m often worked up and overheated, carefully avoiding him and the topic of him because everyone calls him the devil.

They complain about not knowing what’s going to happen and how they think every task is in preparation for someone else to take over. Then there’s me. I can’t stop thinking of how he put that ice between my legs, and the soft groans that he makes when he fucks me on his desk. Purposefully avoiding the obvious and doing everything I can not to worry. Because he told me not to, even though all signs point to the company being sold off.

It’s all ridiculous and overwhelming. If I wasn’t fucking him, I might have quit already … well, not if I couldn’t take the clients with me. Maybe. I don’t know. Like I said, it’s all too overwhelming, so I choose to believe him. I’m doing everything I can to listen and not worry.