Page 64 of Tender Offer
My heart drums in my chest, nervous that the security guard standing next to the stainless-steel turnstile will call me out for acting sprung. His lips thin, setting his wide chin into a tight line. I don’t make eye contact as I press the key card Dayo gave me into the scanner and enter through the parting doors.
Suspicion is not a look I want to wear. The only bomb I’m carrying is the nerves that are about to explode out of my ass. It would make for a nasty cleanup in this black jumpsuit, but at least security wouldn’t notice.
After a stare-off with the metal door, I tap my card to the pad, careful not to look over my shoulder at Bruce Banner in a navy suit. The weight of the closing barrier pushes me into the cement hall. It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
I know Dayo is somewhere in the command center laughing his head off. I haven’t lived down the side-eye I got when I insisted Preston and I are friends.
Are you planning to stand here all day or bring him lunch?
I stare at the key card in my palm and the short distance between me and the elevator. Preston gave me access so I could come and go. It’s not a big deal, except it is.
Everything will become real once I own up to what I won’t admit: There’s a force pulling me back to him. I dodge and fight, but its magnetism is impossible to overcome.
Yesterday gave me clarity. It was the only day Preston and I didn’t communicate since his tender offer to earn back my heart. I missed speaking with him, missed our texts. He had to fly to Manchester unexpectedly yesterday morning and said he wouldn’t be home until earlier today.
Waking up to “Good morning, Puff” had me kicking my slippers without an ounce of shame. When I’m caught up in the moment, I don’t play out all the ways going there with him again will lead us back to the same fate. We have more experience under our belts now that we’re older. We also live separate lives that don’t revolve around each other, and on different continents.
I’d be a fool to assume a long-distance anything would work, especially with a billionaire whose schedule is booked a year in advance. But I’m here—with turkey neck, smothered okra, greens, and cornbread—willing myself not to overthink it and go with the flow.
I steady my to-go container and walk out of the elevator with my head and top knot high.
On instinct, my hand lifts to knock on his door, but then I remember the code for the keypad. A tiny light flashes green, and I step into his musk-filled suite wearing a smile that falls to the floor when my jaw does.
A woman with a Nia Long pixie cut and the features to match is squatting on his desk in red heels. Her chocolate brown eyes, which hold the thrill of arousal, hypnotize me in place. I don’t realize she’s completely naked underneath the fur coat she’s wearing until she rolls her nipples between her fingers. She gasps and bounces harder on the surface-mounted dildo on wood coated in her cream.
“Preston.” Her tongue drags over her teeth, and the muscles in her flat stomach contract as she grinds her hips over the black silicone.
The dick alone is a sight to see. Judging by her short, toned legs, she’s petite, but she’s riding it like rent is due.
“Join me. I like to share,” she pants, lifting one of her large breasts to her tongue.
Another moan snatches me out of my thoughts, hitting me with a swift uppercut. There is a woman in Preston’s office riding a dildo on his fucking desk. The shock wanes, trading places with anger and humiliation. I let my guard down for him to hurt me again.
“Pass,” I say in a clipped tone. It’s hard to ignore her bouncing on a fake dick like a pogo stick at two in the afternoon, but I manage. I toss the food container onto the coffee table.
The main door of the office opens. Preston steps through with his brows raised to the ceiling. His mouth opens to speak to the woman summoning him with a red nail and a smirk. Then he sees me.
Turns out I’m not the liar; I am the idiot.
Hurt, confusion, and what looks like curiosity enforce my scowl. A boulder closes my throat, trapping the questions I don’t want to ask.
Why is there a woman pleasuring herself on his desk?
Are there others?
Am I not enough?
“Madison.” Preston’s voice strains. He mirrors the step I take.
“Thought you might be hungry,” I say to the container I left on the coffee table. “But I see you have company.” My eyes dart to his desk ornament and return to the floor. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“Puff, wait.” He trips over his feet to reach me. “Please.” I tense at the hand around my arm, clutching me for dear life.
“Let me guess. It’s not what I think. Who the hell are you?”
“The man who’s trying to win you back, who’d never hurt you intentionally. I didn’t ask her to come, and I don’t know why she’s here.”
The huff I toss calls bullshit. “You expect me to believe that?” I yank my arm away and point to the woman on his desk who’s too lost in an orgasm to be bothered with us. “She’s still here.”
