Someone giggles, and I turn as Parker Kent enters the room in his boxers with two women draped over him. The violet haired coat hanger has managed to find her pants, and her... sister? The blonde cuddled up to Parker’s left side is almost a dead ringer for the other. He grins and whispers something that makes her giggle all over again.
Twins? Oh puh-lease. I roll my gaze to the ceiling. God, let me get through this assessment without stabbing Parker Kent in the dick with a thumb tack.
He doesn’t even look up as he drags Violet—let’s call her Violet. It suits her— close to his right side and the trio saunter to the door.
“Sorry we had to cut this short, ladies.” He leans against the door, both women trapped between his body and the hand currently palming wood. And not the wood in his boxers; the very prominent wood that’s evident even from where I’m standing on the other side of the room. No, the door. His hand is on the door while he seductively bites his lip. “I was hoping we’d have time for a repeat of last night.”
“Maybe we could do it again,” Blondie says breathlessly, her body arching toward him.
“Yes, call us, Parker,” Violet croons. “We’re down for whatever you want.”
“Maybe I will.” He rubs his thumb over his lower lip and leans in to kiss Violet’s mouth. “You two really are sensational.” He cups Blondie’s jaw and nibbles her lip. “Thanks for a great night.”
“No. Thank you,” they reply in breathy unison.
Ugh. I turn on my heel and glare out the window. I’m losing brain cells watching the man operate. I can feel them dying. No amount of coffee is going to bring them back. He’s so despicably transparent.
The door clicks shut on their final goodbyes, and I school my features into something friendlier. Or at least professional. Can’t give Malcolm any more reason to consider my suitability at Global. Not that it’s my dream job, but I’m good at it. Normally. I will not allow Parker Kent to be the exception. I will not leave this apartment without securing his business.
A deep breath in, and I turn to face Parker Kent. Billboard Terrorist. Womanizer. Hottest man on the planet. Other than Thor.
“Hey there, I’m Parker.” He stretches out a hand, the muscles in his arm flexing as his gaze does a circuit of my body. His molten chocolate eyes widen and stutter when they hit my chest and again at the hem of my skirt before finally coming to a stop on my face. And hey, at least he takes a second to look me in the eye before he dips down to my breasts again. “You must be the assessor Malcolm promised me.”
“That’s correct. I’m Bree Jackson.” I slide my hand into his. Funny. I expected it to be slimy, but much like a snake his handshake is warm and dry. His eyes on the other hand are anything but beady as his gaze finally settles on my own.
“Nice to meet you.” He smiles openly. Charm oozes from his almost invisible pores. Like a forcefield. Or a tractor beam. One that’s attached to my nipples and making them point straight toward him.
Dropping my hand to my side, I step back. “If you need a moment to get dressed, I can start on the paperwork.”
“Dressed?” Parker says the word slowly as though it’s a fresh new concept.
I nod enthusiastically. For the love of all things sane, put some clothes on. Don’t you know that body causes women to lose their minds and their transportation? Christ, his wide shoulders and thick pectoral muscles look like they’re carved out of marble. Flat brown nipples take up prime real estate. There are ridges in his abdomen that I could fit my fingers into, and those lines that lead down, down, down... Hewn from freaking diamond.
Oh shit. I’m looking at him. Staring. I may as well open my mouth and let my tongue roll out like a red carpet. Swallowing, I focus on his face. He smirks as he rubs his hand through his bed tussled hair.
“I take it you haven’t been filled in on the details,” he says.
“No.” I adjust my grip on my leather case, suddenly wishing I’d taken the few minutes I’d used to buy coffee to read the email Marissa sent as well. I’d just assumed, considering the clients I usually deal with for Global have extensive art collections, or billion-dollar homes, or luxury vehicles. Apparently I’m an ass, but really it was his fault. If it wasn’t for that stupid billboard I would have been at my desk on time and I would have had a chance to go over the notes before starting this meeting.
A deep burly laugh rumbles through the man. His shoulders shake and his chest vibrates. Damn, those are the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen. Blinding. His laughter cuts off but his enjoyment of the situation shines from his eyes. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab a shirt,” he says. “Then we can discuss the pussy assassin.”
I gape. I know I’m gaping as he walks away because I’m pretty sure I manage to catch a fly with how wide my mouth is hanging open.
Did he say pussy assassin?
As in his penis?
I’d heard he’d named it. Even had the name trademarked. But I figured that was one of those ridiculous rumors some gossip columnist perpetuated in order to sell magazines. Who the hell nicknames their penis anyway?
Especially something that sounds like he’s planning on murdering vaginas. My own vagina lets out a shriek as I watch his taut backside disappear out of sight. No. No. No. He has to be talking about some weird artwork, doesn’t he? A cat with a spear or something. A priceless statue or painting. I drop onto his leather couch and pull my tablet out of my briefcase, click on the email from Marissa and speed-read it. Oh God. It really is his penis.
I’m here to insure his penis.
What am I supposed to do? Get down on my knees with my measuring tape? Take it for a joy ride to check out its performance? I cross my legs as a hot flush starts in my nether regions.
Could he be any cockier?
Grab Trademarked here.
Other Books
Find all my books on Amazon.
The Line Up
I Dare You
The Fourth Guy
The F Word
Breaking Bro Code
Bad Boys Need Love Too Duo
Trademarked
Dating Dutch
Tangled Desires Series
Prick Tease
Lady Killer
Cocky F@#ker
Maximum Rush
Casey Brothers Series
This Radio Love
It’s Holy Matrimony, Baby
The Misters Series
SUGAR
Catching Mr. Right
Keeping Mr. Sweet
Sexy Bad Titles
Sexy Bad Neighbor
Sexy Bad Daddy
Sexy Bad Boss
Sexy Bad Valentine
Sexy Bad Escort
Sexy Bad Halloween
No Jerks on Monday