Page 10 of Calamity Rayne Knocked Up

“Your reading glasses, sir?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, my damn martini glasses.”

The door to his office opened, and a flustered Sophie walked in carrying a tray full of stemware. “I put them in the mini-fridge to chill.” Every curve of her twenty-something, perky body was displayed in the skin-tight burgundy dress she wore.

“Next time, leave them where they are.”

“Yes, sir.”

She bent to open the fridge and both I and Remington silently tipped our heads toadmire her perfect heart-shaped ass. Jeez, did the girl live in a Pilates studio?

Bet her ovaries were fine…

She set two frosted glasses on the bar beside the shaker. “Would you like me to mix you a drink, sir?”

I rolled my eyes. Just what Remington needed, another pretty, young thing to fawn over his every desire. Was she even old enough to handle alcohol? Apparently it didn’t matter that Remington was approaching his seventieth birthday.

“That’s all for now.”

She backed out of the room, her expression demure and her body language inviting.

As soon as the door closed I scoffed. “Please don’t sleep with her.”

“While you enjoy broadcasting your private business, Meyers, mine is not up for discussion. I’ll keep whatever company I want.”

“She’s barely twenty, Remington.”

“She’s twenty-three.”

“And how old is Miles?”

He frowned. “I haven’t a clue.”

“Exactly. Why do you even know her age?”

“She told me.”

“Because youasked?”

“What’s your point?”

“It must get tiring always having to pour their milk and cut their meat.” I was surprised she didn’t add on a few months and say she was twenty-three and a half.

He filled the shaker with ice. “You’re being especially judgmental today.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Why couldn’t he be satisfied with his long-term girlfriend, Odette? I liked Odette. She was normal. Very different from his batshit crazy wife who he kept stashed far away in the south of France.

He poured vodka over the ice, capped the shaker, and rattled it loudly. Poking at me, he smirked. “She did tell me she’s a Sagittarius.”

“Oh, my God.” Horoscopes were not the way into a man like Remington’s heart. “And you kept a straight face?”

He glanced over his shoulder, filling the martini glass with the accuracy of James Bond. “I’m a gentleman, first, and a critic, second, Meyers.”

“You’re a horny old man who likes pretty toys.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” He crossed the room and handed me a martini.

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