Page 127 of Point of Contention
“Ms. Blake,” he said after the first ring, his voice deliberately low and sexy. “Care to join me upstairs?”
I sucked in a breath at the way his words sent goosebumps out over my skin.
“Don’t tell me you’re contemplating.”
“No,” I whispered. “I can’t.”
“I’m the boss, and I say it’s time for your break.”
“Cabot.”
“Rylan.”
My cheeks heated and a rush of warmth shot south. Distracting myself, I picked up the individually wrapped black and white cookie. “Why the cookie? I’ve never heard that sugar helps hangovers.”
“It’s my favorite kind.”
I smiled at this new little tidbit about him.
“Take the Advil. Drink the juice. I’ll be here if you change your mind.” Cabot ended the call and I sighed loudly.
The man was relentless.
But, though I wanted nothing more than to rush up to his office and lock myself inside, I had to be responsible.
Certainly, one of us had to be.
Grumbling at my own stupid logic, I peeled open the blister pack and chased the pills down with bitter green juice. This better work, because if I had to have this headache all dayandI didn’t get to climb onto my man’s lap for a midday hangover remedy, life truly was unfair.
The rest of the week went much like Tuesday, minus the hangover because we’d both agreed to no more late-night wine adventures.
Each day, I worked on whatever odd jobs Blanca and her associates found for me, eased my way back into the good graces of everyone I’d let down, mended friendships, and avoided the alluring and relentless advances of one disarming and dangerous CEO. In fact, I avoided the entire seventy-fifth floor and steered clear of his elevator, even though he’d given me permission to use it.
If I caught a whiff of him, there’d be no stopping me.
Eight hours was a long time to focus on work when you knew there was a sexualdeviantjust two floors above who wanted to do incredibly delicious things to you, but I made it through each day, rewarded each night when we went home together.
Toourplace.
And he got to have his way with me.
By Friday night, when we ordered take out on our way home and got into our pajamas before the sun had even set, then curled up together on the couch to watch my favorite show, I realized for the first time that maybe, regardless of who he was or how we’d met, we might just be a regular couple.
With… not so regular tastes.
Chapter Forty-Three
Cabot
Friday evening, stretched out on my couch—ourcouch—with Rylan settled between my legs, we were halfway through a rerun ofChicago Firewhen she sat up abruptly and looked back at me over her shoulder. “Do you have a library here?” Her gaze flicked around the living room, then back at me. “Or just the impressive one in your office at Reed Tower?”
My lips twitched into a smirk. “You thinkthat’simpressive?” Raising one eyebrow I nodded toward the hallway. “Yes,wehave a home library. Would you like to see it?”
Rylan bit down on her bottom lip, nodding rapidly as she quickly disentangled herself from my legs and the blanket, then stood and wiggled her fingers at me. Rising to my feet, I took her hand, then led her down the hallway that broke off to the right of the living room, directly opposite of the hallway that led to my bedroom, the room Rylan had dubbedourplay room, and my home office.
This hallway held my gym, a couple guest bedrooms, and what I hoped would be Rylan’s new favorite room of the penthouse.
Standing outside the library, I opened the door and stepped aside so she could enter first. I wanted to watch her as she took it all in.
