Page 26 of Bad Love

After today, I'll probably never get thatchance.

Disappointment tickles mystomach.

"You coming to this meeting?" I ask Rena when I get to ouroffice.

"Wouldn't missit.”

I glance toward the staircase when I hear malevoices.

My breath sticks in my throat when I see him. Today Hunter's wearing jeans and a button-down fitted enough to follow each muscle and hard plane of his torso. His hair is dry, instead of damp like it was at the Charlotte, and I can't decide which way it looksbetter.

They head into the conference room, and I blow out a longbreath.

"See you in there?" Rena prods, lookingamused.

"Yeah."

When I do walk into the conference room, my hands are full with a file box topped by my coffee. My gaze meetsHunter's.

"Need a hand?" he murmurs, and I nearlystumble.

He's gorgeous, sure. But I've seen other men as attractive as Hunter. It's not his lines and angles. It's the flesh and blood. It's what puts him together. His energy, his humor, hisunstoppableness.

He looked sexy yesterday in the hoodie and jeans, those knowing brown eyes lightening to caramel as if they could see every guilty thought in my head. But forget the clothes. They're like wrapping paper at Christmas. Distracting butmeaningless.

I'm instantly reminded of his body over of me when he knocked me out of the way of theelevator.

Notmeaningless.

Hard and real and strong and unlocking cravings I’d thought I’d tucked away a long timeago.

Cravings that are rising up as if they’ve been denied for far toolong.

Heat rises in my cheeks. "I'm fine. Thankyou."

I feel Daisy's eyes onus.

"Kendall, this is Nelson,” Hunter says, switching into business mode. “He can get the historical data youneed."

The man in question smirks, and I get the impression he doesn't care if we succeed. "Nice plants," he says flatly, looking at the greenwall.

If Hunter looks like how I’d picture the president of a frat, this man looks like theirmascot.

Are they friends? What does Hunter see inhim?

Not your problem. "Right. Let's getstarted."

This isn’t about Hunter or Nelson. It’s about sellingvibrators.

I reach into the box, grab something, and thunk it on the table. "Here's your product. The Red RocketII.”

The men's smirks falter. Every pair of eyes goes to the vibrator standing on the middle of the conference table, the tip waving as if there’s a breeze from thedoor.

"And the competition in the samemarket."

Ten more follow until there's a line of pink, purple, and black sex toys down the table. Long ones, longer ones. Smooth ones, ribbed ones. Ones that look like cocks—a word I’ve never said in my life, but after reading hundreds of reviews over the past few days, I almost feel like I could utter without stammering—and ones that look likeflowers.

Yeah. If I felt out of control a second ago, I'm back incharge.

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