Page 34 of The Suit

“Do you think we’ll be done this week?”

I peered up at Blake who’d been standing at my desk for five minutes asking variations of the same question. “I’ve told you; I don’t know. I don’t know! We haven’t heard back from the court yet. I can’t get hold of Maynard to update him, something he’ll lose his shit over, so no, I have no fucking clue when we’ll be done, or when we can leave. The Restin case can be wrapped up today; I just need to sign the paperwork. We need to work everything else from here for the meantime, so please move the meetings to teleconference.”

“I have done already,” he said with an edge to his voice I didn’t have the energy or inclination to acknowledge. “By the way, did you have a tantrum or something on Friday?”

My eyes shot up, “What? No. Why? What does that mean? I don’t have tantrums.”

He pursed his lips, then continued, “I had a note on my desk saying the entire office looked like it had been ransacked. There were books everywhere, and they put them all back.”

Which would explain why they’d all been replaced. I’d come in on Saturday to finish some work, only remembering the books I’d left scattered all over the floor as I crossed the threshold of the building. When I’d found the place as neat and tidy as it usually was, I’d thought I’d imagined it, even when the bite of the bruises was still prickling in my bones.

“Oh, I knocked them over,” I replied as indifferently as possible, and Blake’s eyebrow raised in question. “It was late, I was reaching for a book on the top, and when I pulled it out one other caught and then they all came down.”

His eyes widened with genuine concern. “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine. Thank you. I’ll apologize to whoever left the note. Who was it?”

“You’ll apologize?”

I didn’t care for that tone either.

“Yes. They didn’t need to put them back for me. Who was it?”

He shrugged. “Janitors, I assume.”

“Okay, well, if you could get me their extension, I’ll call. And also some coffee if you’re not too busy.”

“Beulah, what is going on? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I snapped. “I just want some coffee.”

“I’ll get you a double then,” he snapped back, turning on his heel and storming out, without closing the door.

I rolled my eyes at his dramatics, then got up to close it behind him, but before I reached it a figure stepped in, wafting with him the scent of vetiver and leather; one which immediately set my traitorous pulse racing, and my pussy clenching hard at the memory of what he did to it.

Oh fuck no!

When I’d first set eyes on him a week ago, he hadn’t changed since the time I’d previously seen him the day we graduated. But now, standing in front of me a mere sixty hours had passed, and he looked completely different. Taller, broader, more defined; devastatingly handsome with a weekend’s worth of stubble hiding his strong jaw and chiseled cheek bones. I tried to stop myself from wondering how soft it would feel against my thighs while his tongue lapped between my legs, but I wasn’t quick enough.

He was wearing a different suit today, one of midnight black that fitted his sleek frame in a way that made my mouth water. Today his eyeswerepiercing. Today his eyes really did bore right through me until I swear they could read my mind along with thoughts he had no business knowing.

None at all.

The oxygen in the room was rapidly thinning the longer neither of us blinked, like the world’s worst game of chicken.

This was not happening. Shut it down, Beulah. Shut. It. Down.

“Spit it out, Latham.”

He chewed on the inside of his mouth, in a wholly un-Rafe like gesture, then pushed one hand into his pocket. The other, I noticed, was holding a Tom Ford store bag. How nice for him to have time to go shopping.

“The other night…”

“What about it?” I interrupted, needing to get this over with, just like I’d needed him out of my office on Friday night, like I needed to not feel his hot breath on my cheek, feel him still pulsing inside me summoning every emotion I’d ever felt to ravage me from the inside out, before they took me with them.

“The other night…” he repeated slowly, his eyes never leaving mine, “we didn’t, I didn’t… I’m sorry.”

I frowned, totally unclear what the apology was for, unless he’d come to say he regretted it. Which would seem entirely pointless, because obviously I did too.

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