Page 36 of A Billion Dollar Romance
Much as I wanted to take her home, fuck her on top of my–her–precious first editions, we had both agreed to the terms. This was a cold business deal, even if she made my blood boil with need.
And that wasn’t her fault,I reminded myself.Stop being an ass.
“I thought that you’d be busy with the James Martins in your bag there,” I said, attempting a sincere smile. I looped her hand into my elbow once again, feeling it rest there lightly.
I preferred her fingers tangled in my hair.
“Right,” she said, a slight pout on her lips.
I preferred that pouting lip between my teeth.
“And,” I added, “let’s get lunch, Monday. Come by my office at noon.”
“Of course,” she said, her face closed.
Lunch was safe. Daytime, work clothes. Coffee and sandwiches.
But fuck, if I didn’t love the way she tasted tonight.
Like champagne.
Like mine.
CHAPTER18
Edie
“I sawa picture in the paper of you and Mr. Martin,” Peter said, one hip cocked against the edge of my desk. His hands were wrapped around a large mug of green tea. “At the Ballet Silent Auction.”
“I didn’t know you read thesociety pages,” Margaret said from behind him. “Here I was thinking your nosiness was limited to the hallowed halls of this office building.”
“You should know by now not to underestimate me, Mags,” Peter said back, placid. Her face soured at the nickname. I obviously wasn’t as brave as Peter was: she’d only had one cup of coffee so far. “Regardless. You looked nice. You looked nice together, too. I didn’t get it before, but…” He shrugged. “Don’t let what people are saying get to you. They’re just jealous you get to go to Ballet Silent Auctions.”
I grimaced, and managed a “thank you.”
Theyweretalking, around the office. No one had said anything to me–I’d been right, they wouldn’t dare–but only because they thought they knew that I was sleeping with the boss.
Iwasn’t.
But you did,said the small, insistent voice that tugged against my ribcage even as I held my head high in the communal break room.
And you want to again.
“Besides, we know the truth,” Margaret said, nodding at my computer. “You’recertainlynot getting any benefits from your office relationship.”
I sighed, frowning at my screen. I was proofreading–the most tedious of all tasks in the department. It was my third proof in the past week, but it felt like my thousandth.
“I’ll let you get back to it,” Peter whispered. “Margaret, lunch later?”
I tried to look like I wasn’t listening, like I didn’t expect or hope or want to be invited, not knowing what would be worse, to be excluded so obviously or–
“Edie, want to come?”
To be asked, and have to decline.I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment.
“I can’t,” I said, turning to him with what I hoped was a regretful smile.What would that even look like?“I have lunch plans already.”
“Oh, adate,” he smirked. “Well, maybe tomorrow.”
