Page 26 of Big Bad Bully
At this point, just being around each other seems to be torture enough for both of us.
“No.” I blow out my breath. “I’ll be the intermediary for now.”
Annabeth fails to mask her surprise.
“I’m Best Man,” I say, as if that explains things.
Of course, Annabeth doesn’t understand these human ceremonies any better than I do.
“Mr. Blackthroat wants me to liaise with the human side.”
“You, sir?” Annabeth doesn’t manage to hide her incredulity. She knows I was behind getting Madi fired because she executed my orders for the full security investigation I ordered. She knows I only surround myself with wolves. I’d rather have a wolf at my back than a human any day. I don’t work with humans unless I absolutely have to. No humans work on my floor or my department.
“Me. As homage to our luna.” The only reason I’m explaining this for a second time to someone outside the circle of me is because I trust and expect Annabeth to protect my interests.
“Ah. Of course.”
“All arrangements should be charged to my personal gold card. We’re looking at the week of the wedding.”
Annabeth nods. “Taking the company jet?”
“Yes.” The one with enclosed sleeping beds.
I know nothing about bachelor parties, but I’m suddenly picturing the party starting on the jet. Champagne flowing. Music pumping. Aubrey removing her clothes like a stripper who pops out of a cake.
No. No, no, no. That’s so wrong. Aubrey will not be the bachelor party entertainment. No one will be watching her strip.
Unless it’s me. In the private sleeping pod.
“How long will you stay?”
“You determine what is ideal.” Now I’m picturing Aubrey in a white string bikini, her skin sun-warmed on the beach. Her nutmeg and honey scent would carry a salty taste. My dick starts to harden.
I clear my throat and try to push the image out of my mind. “We’ll need a few days to enjoy the beach, as well as the nightlife.”
“Understood. Number of guests?”
“Ms. Evans will provide a list.” I walk away before Annabeth sees me tugging at my tie to cool my neck.
Irritation spikes as I enter my office.
The desire to make the annoying human pay for being so colorful. So larger than life. So fucking all-consuming eats at me.
I pull my phone out and hit her number.
“William White the Third.” She bites off the consonants in my distinguished name, loading it with sarcasm.
My cock gets hard picturing her tossing her hair and smirking like calling out my full name is some kind of insult.
“Cafe Girl.”
“Is that what you call me?”
“I don’t call you anything. But you can call me ‘boss.’” She did take a commission from me, after all.
She scoffs. “You’re not my boss. I’m an independent contractor. And I haven’t even started.”
“That’s why I’m calling. I need to know when you’re starting.”
