Page 88 of Our Little Cliche
Fuckable in that suit.
Oh.
As if it wasn’t satisfied moments ago, my dick wakes instantly. And then I think my brain must start short circuiting because the series of noises that fly out of my mouth are those that no sane person would perform—I begin coughing on my champagne like I’ve just attempted to drown myself in it, dropping my phone to the floor in the process.
Message side up.
We can’t have anyone seeing that! Especially Quinn, who’s sitting on the right of me, and a few others from the company. My eyes begin to water from the fit of coughs, and despite the frog in my throat worsening, I try to reach for my phone to no avail.
Bentley all of a sudden jolts upright, cloaks me from behind, launches me from my own seat and begins some kind of ritual in a forwards and backwards motion very aggressively.
The Heimlich.
Is he…
Is he trying to…
Revive me?
I don’t know how he’s even lifting my feet from the ground if I’m honest. I’m well over six foot and two hundred forty pounds the last time I checked. The old man is half my size and a fucking fossil—a dirty, smelly, old dug up, prehistoricfossil.
The commotion causes a scene, and a few people leap off their chairs to aid me, others gather from nearby tables… including the event photographer. Which I didn’t need. News flash, I’m not actually choking! But I might just die if they see my phone face up on the floor by my feet with a text message from myemployeeabout myfuckableappearance.
Quinn stands, throwing his hands over his mouth, then the vein bulges from his neck yelling God only knows what to Bentley. None of it makes sense in the form of verbal words, but I can imagine what they might be:Nooo, not my bestseller! The money! If he dies I’ll be broke, again!
“I’m good, man. I’m good,” I repeat the sentence a few times with a random cough in between, but he doesn’t hear me so I just accept my fate being locked in a bear hug. While I’m being swept across the floor, my eyes find Holly, who looks as if she doesn’t know whether to laugh at theshituationor cry with shame.
I eventually stop beingrevived, and Bentley slaps me on the shoulder. “Are you okay now?”
I mean, yeah. I wasn’t dying.
Through a very withdrawn smirk, I say triumphantly, “Yes, thank God you were here to… save me.” I tap him on the back inthe most sincere way that it’s almost too sarcastic. “Thank you, dear friend.”
“Ah, don’t mention it. I’ve saved a few folk in my time. Back in the War of?—”
Oh, here we go again.
I tune him out, and now that everyone is looking at me I clear my throat, resuming my seated position. Even though Bentley was already talking, not that he noticed, Quinn then addresses me with haste. I kick my phone under the table to finally hide the still very clear, very obviousHolly Catemessage blown up on my screen, which had another message being composed.
“What the f?—”
He pans the room, lowering his head shamefully, but not his eyes as they stay on mine.
Shit. He saw it, didn’t he? He knows I’m fucking my employee… his employee. Shit. Fuck. Oh, I’m so screwed.
“What the fuck happened, Stone? Are you alright?”
My stomach flips, turning the champagne into a bubble bath.I can’t take this anymore.The hiding is worse than a full time job, and it’s only been a day. I hate it. I fucking hate it. “Bubbles went down the wrong hole is all,” I brush him off, almost emotionless. In shock, maybe?
Please don’t ding, phone. Please don’t ding.
“Good. I thought you were a goner,” he grumbles, scowling but relieved.
“So did everyone else, apparently.”
“Are you alright, Mr. Stone?” Holly steps in, standing closer to Quinn than me, for good reason. Her eyes tear from mine to the phone before meeting mine again and glowing with a playful spark, but only in a way that I’d know. Little miss clumsy is all of a sudden professional poker face.
I give her ayou know what you didlook, and her twinkle intensifies, once again making my cock hound the zipper of my pants.
