Page 125 of Finance Bros

Then maybe stop texting me at work?

Me

Someone’s fucking in the unisex. Should be us.

Ryan

Jesus. Stop.

Me

Can’t. My ass needs to be stuffed. Need to touch my dick.

Ryan

Who’s in the unisex?

Goddamnit, Ryan.It makes me crazy how impervious he is to me unless I’m literally sitting on top of him. He started this. He was talking about my ankles. How was I supposed to take that besides flirting? I try again.

Me

No clue. Are you hard?

Ryan

I’mtrying to work.

Me

Am I distracting you?

Ryan

Obviously.

Me

So are you hard or not?

Ryan

I’ll see you at lunch.

If I could find one sliver of myself that still hated him, I would put it to use for that text. But these days, I’m a bonfire of burning love—the operative word beingburning. This erection—this one-sided erection—is solid and insistent. It’s taking all my will power not to touch it in the middle of the workroom. The financial report on my laptop might as well be a faded Sanskrit scroll for all I can decipher it. My brain is parked in neutral, and my dick wants to plow full steam ahead.

Isla returns to the table with a flush on her cheeks and a faint sheen of sweat on her neck.

I glance around the room to see who else is back, but I’m too worked up to remember who was missing in the first place. I stop short of asking her if she was the one being screwed, because it’s pretty obvious she was. I’m jealous. Not of whoever had her, but of the fact that she just had a cock inside her from the looks of it.

“We’ll need to send a report to Stevenson by three. Where are you at with that?” she asks, and I swear to God, she hasn’t even caught her breath yet.

“Struggling,” I admit, pathetically.

She sighs. “Risk assessments are part of the job. Even if you don’t like analysis, you still need to develop a base level of competence. What are you not understanding?”

Oh,nowshe wants to teach me something? Great. Perfect timing, Isla. I wonder if anyone else’s mentor is as chronically checked out of mentoring as mine is.

“It’s fine,” I mumble. “I think I might need to work someplace quieter. Is there an office or a conference room I can use?” My ADHD and the constant activity in the communal workspace don’t go well together. Add in Ryan and covert bathroom sex, and I’m screwed in the worst way when it comes to learning anything.

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