Page 35 of Tempting All The Way

“Xavier, another new one, mate? You must be a real prick to work for,” Hunter says, walking into my office.

“What can I say? It’s hard to find good help these days.” I shrug.

“Well, that one seems like she has a brain. I’d keep her around if I were you.” He points over his shoulder towards the door.

“And you can tell this from spending less than a minute with her?” My eyebrows raise in question.

“It’s my job to read people. I can also tell that you’re sleeping with her. Which I should tell you, in my professional opinion, office romances never work out.”

“When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. What have you got for me?” Hunter throws a manilla folder down on my desk. “I fucking knew it,” I curse as I stare down at images of Andrew Mathers’s wife sipping some kind of fruity cocktail on a beach with a guy half her age. And let’s just say these images leave zero doubt that the two are intimate.

“What’s left of the money is in this account here,” Hunter says, flipping the document.

There are pages of statements and withdrawals. “Whose name is this?” I ask, circling the name of the account holder at the top.

“That would be Geogio Celsti, the lover boy from the photos.”

“Okay, thanks, Hunter. This is enough to get Andrew off on the charges.” I stand, buttoning my jacket.

“Anytime,” he says, following my lead. I walk him to the door and watch as he stops at Shardonnay’s desk. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Mitchell. Until next time.”

“Thank you, you too.” She smiles politely back at him. As Hunter continues to the bank of elevators, Shardonnay turns to me. “Do you need something, sir?” she asks.

“I’m good,” I say, turning around and shutting myself inside my office.

Chapter Seventeen

The devil boss:

Where are you?

For someone who doesn’t like me, he sure does message me a lot. Although, I guess, he does seem to like parts of me—parts of my anatomy anyway.

Well, I’m not his booty call tonight. It’s Saturday and I’m letting my hair down and having a girl’s night with Lucy. I haven’t been able to get out of her what’s triggering her desire to get white girl wasted. But I’m sure, after a few drinks, she’ll start talking like she’s sprawled out on her therapist’s couch.

“Here’s to bad decisions that lead to good times,” Lucy screams over the pumping music as she holds up her vodka soda.

Clinking my glass with hers, I pull her into a hug. “I knew there was a reason I kept you around, LuLu. You always come up with the best ideas.” I laugh.

We’re on drink number four—or is it five? It doesn’t matter. I just know that she’s about to start talking. As if on cue, she grabs my hand and drags me to a sectional lounge. We both fall onto the seat, holding our cups in the air while attempting to not spill the contents. I end up with vodka running down my arm.

“You know what I hate about men?” Lucy slurs.

“They stink?” I ask.

“No, Dominic McKinley, that is what I hate about men,” she says.

“Really? What is it that you hate about him?”

“Everything, his perfect face, those perfect pecs, and the drawings up his arms that I want to lick. Argh, he’s so awful, Shar. Like seriously the worst human ever,” she says.

“Sounds like he’s a dream. Maybe give him my number.” I lift my eyebrows up and down, and she frowns at me.

“He’s also a stalker, like an obsessed psychopath.” She sighs.

“Wait… what do you mean? Are you scared that he’ll do something to you, Lucy? Because we can get a restraining order or something.”

“What? No, he’d never hurt me. He just wants toconsumeme.” She laughs.

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