Page 205 of King of Pain

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“Thank you, Meg. Truly,” I say finally. “This could be a breakthrough for him.”

She hums, looks up again, and gives me a much softer smile. “I hope it is.”

After Meg leaves, I sit down at my desk and blink at the door for a good ten seconds.

Was that… real?

She just casually orchestrated the kind of PR play that could catapult Chance into a whole new stratosphere of visibility—like it was just another Monday task between checking emails and booking lunch. I’m still wrapping my head around it when my phone lights up with a notification.

I pick it up and see the usual—emails, calendar reminders, Slack pings—and two text notifications fromChance.

Good boy.

I tap into our thread.

Chance:Hey babe. Just got to the airport. My Uber driver was one of those talkers. Yay me. Gotta get to my gate. Text later. Love you.

My grin widens as I open the second one.

Chance:I’m convinced traveling with a toddler is an extreme sport and these parents are doing it for some kind of adrenaline rush. Anyway, found my gate and caffeine. Text me after your meeting with Jaaaaason.

I shake my head, still smiling and fire off a reply:

Me:Have a good flight, baby. I hope there’s toddlers in the seats behind you, in front of you, and flanking you on each side.

Me:And I love you.

Four hours later, my phone buzzes again. I glance down mid-email and see that it’s a text from Chance. I pick up my phone, open the message and fumble my phone like a hot potato.

“Jesus!” I hiss under my breath as I catch it before it hits the floor.

Front and center: a photo of Chance’s dick.

Hanging out of his jeans.

At a urinal.

Followed a second later by:

Chance:Said to report back when I had to piss, so…

Me:Did you just take a dick pic at a urinal?

No reply.

Then my phone starts ringing.

I answer, already grinning. “I can’t believe you did that.”

Chance is laughing on the other end, absolutely delighted with himself. “I’m classy like that. Don’t act like you’re mad.”

Then he lowers his voice, soft and smug. “Youlikemy dick.”

I sigh. “Itisa pretty dick.”

In the background I hear the chime of an intercom and then:

“Welcome to Detroit Metro Airport…”