Page 7 of Dirty Little Secret

3

Holly

“Champagne?”

I smile at the young, dark-haired waiter and select a glass from the tray he’s holding. I turn my attention back to my boss, who is giving a speech at the front of the room. I hate work functions with a passion. Having to spend my time outside of work thinking about work hardly seems fair if I’m not being paid for it, but tonight, I appreciate the distraction from thinking about Andrew.

Our conversation ended abruptly last night after I confessed my attraction to him. I’m still not exactly sure why that particular comment pushed him too far. Was he okay with exchanging a bunch of dirty texts with me until I reminded him about his son?

I shake my head, both embarrassed and annoyed. Maybe I dodged a bullet because there’s no doubt in my mind that I would have let him go as far as he wanted to.

I wasn’t lying about my window being unlocked.

My phone chimes and I pull it out of my purse, expecting another apology message from Sara. She’s been texting me all day, begging for my forgiveness. I’ll give it to her eventually, but not before I make her stress a little longer.

Well shit. It’s not Sara after all.

Andrew: I feel like I owe you an explanation.

My cheeks burn as I consider my response.

Honestly, I’m embarrassed as fuck, and I have no idea how to respond.

Do I blow him off with a joke?

Tell him I was drunk and barely remember the conversation?

Do I tell him that this is a new number and I have no idea who he is?

Or I could be honest about how I’m feeling…

The tiny voice whispering that suggestion is met with an overwhelming internal silence as I consider the idea. What harm is there in laying my cards out on the table? If he was going to tell Nick, he would’ve done it already.

Fuck this.

I’m so sick and tired of pretending to be the boring good girl and lying about what I really want. I have a bad side that craves dirty and twisted things and I want to explore that side of me, and I want to do it with Andrew.

Me: The only thing you owe me is an orgasm.

I tuck my phone back in my purse and pretend to be engaged with the people around me, ignoring the little vibration my phone gives off when he replies to my text. When my phone vibrates again, my heart flutters with satisfaction as his name flashes on my screen.

He’s calling me.

“An orgasm, huh?” he hums when I answer.

His voice is even sexier than I remember. Tiny shivers creep over my skin, leaving me a shivering mess, and warmth pools between my thighs as I struggle to keep my composure. This is so wrong and so right all at the same time.

“Where are you?” he asks.

“I’m at a work thing,” I explain when I find my words.

“Can you go somewhere more private?”

My eyes fall on the double doors leading out to the courtyard that backs onto the boardwalk that runs along the water. It’s not exactly private, but I go with it, curious to see where this is leading. Glancing around me, I slip out the door when I’m confident I’m not being watched. Goosebumps prickle my skin as I gaze up at the thundery grey sky. Why the hell didn’t I bring a jacket?

“Okay.” I swallow my fear and focus on the conversation. “I’m outside.”

“Good, because we have a game to finish. Dare or dare?”

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