Page 84 of Must Have Been Love

“I figured it would be casual. Like you wouldn’t want to waste too much time feeding me. You only get one night in bed with me after all.”

It’s his turn to scowl. It makes me want to lick his face.

“First of all, having dinner with you isn’t wasting time. You don’t want to be pretty womaned?” he asks, wincing at using the movie title as a verb. “Well I don’t want to either. I’m not a fucking trick, Skyler. I’m not taking you out for a meal to pay you for sex.”

Oh, he’s annoyed now. For some reason that makes me feel better. And psychologically, I know it’s not a good thing but I’ll worry about that later.

“And second?” I ask, my voice low.

“Second?” he repeats, frowning.

“You said first of all. Which implies a second.”

“So you’re not going to point out that I’m not a trick paying you for sex?”

I manage to swallow down a laugh. “Have you ever used a prostitute, Hudson?”

“No.”

“Then why would I think of you as a trick? First of all, you couldn’t afford me.”

“And second?” He turns my words back on me.

“Second of all…” I say, trying to think on my feet. “Maybe I don’t want to share you. Maybe I want it to be just the two of us and nobody else. Maybe I have plans for you tonight that involve neither of us wearing anything and me screaming your name so loudly that the whole hotel starts to shake.”

A slow breath escapes his parted lips.

“Why the fuck are we arguing about this?” he asks. “I’ll just decline the party invite. It’s fine.”

“No.” I shake my head. “We’re going to this party. And then you’re going to owe me big time.”

“How big?”

“Huge,” I say. Because I’m still pretty-womaning it.

“Okay.” He nods. “But I’m still paying for your dress.”

“No need,” I tell him. “I’m looking forward to embarrassing you with some completely inappropriate choice of clothing.”

There’s that smile again. “Good,” he tells me.

I reach out, tracing the waistband of his stupidly expensive pants. “And by the way, it’ll be so inappropriate that you’ll have a hard on all night.”

* * *

HUDSON

“The projections show the investment will be fully recouped within ten months,” Ria, my chief financial officer says to the shareholders around the boardroom of our penthouse offices. Once upon a time this was my domain. I’d be here every day, the first to arrive and the last to leave, as a matter of principle.

I loved the adrenaline shot that came with working in the center of Manhattan. I made more money than I ever dreamed of, and I was the person that everybody in this office looked up to.

Now all I can think about is when will this fucking interminable meeting end.

My phone beeps and I pull it out of my pocket. Skyler’s name appears on the screen, along with a notification that she’s shared a photograph with me.

And because right now I couldn’t give a shit about whether the investment gets paid back in ten or twelve months I discreetly open up the message.

Then I thank the fucking lord I was discreet, because staring back at me is the woman I’ve been obsessing over. She must have just stepped out of the shower, because she’s completely soaked, her hair laying in a mahogany sheet down her back, her face shining bright. She has a towel wrapped around her, and nothing else.

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