Page 76 of Catfish

She forgets to add “asshole” or “fuckhead,” but her brown eyes silently let me know that she isn’t appreciative of me crashing her interview.

Too damn bad.

Em dismisses me by swiveling her chair back to face Reagan. “Anyways, Miss Shelton, how long has your business been operating?”

“Over two years, I run it with my cousin.”

“You did a spectacular job at Mayor Montgomery's anniversary party. The wine glass pyramid, the lighting, I really thought the band was a nice choice.”

Way to lay it on thick, Em.

Reagan lets out a soft chuckle, one that slowly creeps up my spine.

Shit, I can just imagine it while she’s underneath me as my lips tease a sensitive spot on her neck.

As if she can sense my inner thoughts, Reagan crosses her legs as I take a seat in one of the empty chairs, getting a perfect look of them before sitting.

“I’m not sure I’d say that,” she offers. “Security was—”

“It wasn’t your fault a hooker broke up the party,” Emmy chimes in, waving a hand in the air to dismiss the whole event I planned and orchestrated. “Besides the amount of pink, which, my God, where did you find all of it by the way?”

Reagan smirks, plush lips beckoning my attention. “A small shop in North Dakota.”

“North Dakota?” Em repeats with amusement then chuckles. “Well, the decorating was perfect. Food was amazing.”

Reagan raises a brow. “I didn’t know people stayed long enough to try the appetizers.”

Emmy leans towards her. “The food is the best part of a party.”

Oh, geezus fuck.

"Miss Shelton," I impart, not able to take anymore of Emmy's ass kissing. "We're looking to possibly have someone on my campaign to organize dinners, my political events, someone with attention to detail, and no room for errors. Were you the one who hired the security at the Montgomery's event?"

Her eyes swift over to me, surprised by my bluntness at first, but then she quickly relaxes. "Half and half. The mayor had his, and we hired our own."

“And do you know which one it was that failed to stop the incident?” Em starts clicking the top of her pen over and over again, demonstrating that she’s going to lose her shit—after Reagan leaves.

I watch Reagan’s body language closely. Will she fidget, shift her crossed legs, or clear her throat? Instead, she impresses me and tightens her jaw—pissed off.

“No.”

I lean back about to open my mouth again for another question, but Emmy opens hers instead. "We have our own security," she offers. "We won't need a second, so not a problem."

“You handled it well enough,” I relay. Reagan’s gaze returns to me, obviously not happy to relive or speak about the event I fucked up for her. “I believe that most people would freeze in that sort of public setting.”

"That's right," she states slowly, her voice transforming into a sweet cooing sound. The kind that a woman uses when she's about to point out a fact then rip your face off. She fixes me with a "you're a bastard" sort of look then continues, "You were there, Mr. Lockwood. May I ask how you got in? Since I planned the event, I knew every single person on that guest list. If there was a hole in the security company that I hired, I'll need to make sure not to use them again."

I can’t help the pull at my lips. She is everything I fucking imagined in my head. Everything she was through text messages.

Headstrong, reassured, fucking alluring as all hell. Something I’d like to get lost in for a week and never come up for air from.

“I walked in, Miss Shelton,” I inform her with a straight-laced face.

“And did you pass men with white or black uniforms?”

“Both.”

She tears her eyes from me and back to Emmy. “Good to know.”

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