Page 15 of Playing Flirty

I shook my head. “I can barely walk in those.”

“But it gives you that lift and makes your calves look amazing.”

I shook my head again. “I don’t understand.”

Neema walked over to Shaun, who was now rummaging through our kitchen cabinets in search of some Earl Grey.

Splaying herself across the counter, she spoke in a low, sultry tone. “Good evening, Patrick. I have a delivery for you.” Pretending to open her nonexistent coat, she turned to me and beamed. “You’re the delivery!”

“No. No. No. Absolutely not.” I was dizzy with the rate my head swung from side to side.

The goofiest smile appeared on Shaun’s face, but there was something in his gaze that struck me.

Desire.

A gnawing ache clawed at my chest.I wanted someone who looked at me like that. I needed it.

Shaun bit his lip, and Neema leaned in, nearly kissing him before spinning to face me. “You see? Now he’d do anything I want.”

“Anything,” Shaun echoed.

“It’ll be great,” she promised. “I’ll pick up some lingerie for you. I know you don’t have any.”

I was not going to argue about that.

Leaving Neema and Shaun to complete the fantasy they had started, I went to bed. In the safety of my duvet cocoon, Istared at the coat strewn across the back of my chair. My cheeks heated at the mere idea of it.

But thatdesire.

I was going to do this.

It was going to work.

Round 6

My hands fiddled with the belt for a few seconds while I tried to convince myself that this would all be okay. But when that didn’t work, I tightened it around my “great waist” and squeezed the remaining air from my lungs. I had to trust Neema. She was a fashion stylist and dressed people for a living. If she had her way, she’d throw out every item in my closet. Finding my style was one of her career goals.

Neema coated my lips in ruby red and stepped back before spinning me around toward the mirror. My thick, wavy hair cascaded down to the center of my back, framing my curvy figure and round face. My lashes looked longer, my cheeks rosier, but the scatter of freckles on my nose was still there. The small mole on the underside of my jaw was also still there.

I was still me. The same person Patrick didn’t seem too interested in. Bitter disappointment started in my stomach and shot out to my extremities.

Neema squeezed my shoulders. “You look hot.”

“I can do this,” I said with a nod, summoning confidence, and when it failed, my nod turned to a headshake. “Can I do this?”

“Damn right, baby girl. I’ll drop you off on my way to Shaun. I don’t think you should be getting into a taxi looking like this.”

By the time I stepped out of Neema’s car, my legs were wobbling and not because of the high-heeled shoes, although I couldn’t say they helped my stability. Patrick’s office loomed ahead of me. The lights were out on most floors, proving almost everyone understood work-life balance. But not Patrick.

The doorman lifted his hand and waved. “Miss Jones, it’s lovely to see you.”

Blood flooded my cheeks, and I hoped it wasn’t obvious I was wearing nothing but skimpy lingerie beneath my coat.

I held up the brown paper bags of takeout, as if trying to prove I was here for something other than surprise office sex. He tapped his key chain against the scanner, and the door opened.

Scurrying ahead, I was overly aware of the click of my heels on the tiles and how they seemed to be in time with my ever-increasing heart rate.

Patrick’s office was on the seventh floor and had a beautiful view of the city. When he started working here, we’d buy food from two local takeaways—he’d get butter chicken curry and I’d get ramen—and we’d picnic on the rooftop. I inhaled the mixed scents coming from the paper bags and remembered those moments.

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