“Of course. And you helping me with Angela and the money stuff before you head off again is real nice.”
He shuffled past me toward the door, waving me to follow. I did, shrugging on my leather jacket and running a hand through my hair.
And wondering why my father thinking I was alone and unhappy struck an emotional chord I wasn’t used to.
10
Fiona
I wondered what I’d need to do to wipe that arrogant smirk off of Max Devlin’s face.
Had a woman ever seduced him? Given him wicked smiles while flirting outrageously? Offered up a dozen sexy promises, each one filthier than the last?
I’m the best bad decision you’ll ever make.
If I’d taken control last night on that fire escape, with the anti-Prince Charming and his dangerous, bad-boy appeal, could I have rendered him speechless? Could I have stripped him of his posturing and reduced him to a man that was merely greedy for me in all the ways I was greedy for him?
It wasn’t that I couldn’t picture it. I’d pictured it all last night as I tossed and turned in bed, my body aching with the unmet desires Max had stoked in me.
On my hands and knees, crawling toward Max. Fisting my fingers in his shirt and yanking his mouth to meet mine. Kissing him roughly as I worked down his zipper, reached in, and gripped his huge, thick—
“Fiona?”
Maybe if I had Max gasping my name, he’d realize I wasn’t the princess he thought I was. Maybe if I licked—
“Fiona, are you okay?”
I blinked. Touched my jaw, which was hanging open. I dragged myself around in my chair blearily, like I was waking from a dream.
My amazing legal secretary, Judith, stood in the doorway with a concerned look on her face. “Sorry about that,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “I must have been daydreaming.”
I checked the time. It was after 5:00 pm, I was buried in work, and I’d been staring out of my office window like the world’s horniest lawyer.
“You daydream?” she asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you distracted in all of my years with you.”
I smiled nervously, casting a glance over to the laminated piece of paper sticking out of my work bag. “I definitely daydream. I just hide it well, I promise.”
She didn’t seem to believe me. “Well. Anyway. I left everything you requested on your desk for the meeting tomorrow. I’m heading out, okay?”
I reached over, touched the files in question. “Bless you. You are amazing.”
She smiled once before leaving. And as soon as she disappeared from sight, I dropped my head in my hands and let out a shaky exhale. The total lack of sleep last night must have affected me. All day, my focus and motivation had wavered, hovering just out of reach. Sleepless nights weren’t uncommon for me, as any former law student can claim.
But this Max Devlin-fueled insomnia seemed to be the cause of me literally drooling while staring out a fucking window.
Say the word, princess. I’d be happy to worship at those pretty feet.
I reached for my work bag, revealing my contract, which I’d had laminated this morning in direct response to my feverish sex daze.
Given my upbringing, I had as much of a sailor’s mouth as any member of the Quinn family. I was no stranger to dirty words. Apparently, I was a stranger to dirty words being spoken to me, with a skill and expertise that had my skin buzzing with electricity.
Sparks, maybe.
But I shook my head, smoothing my hands over the paper. It might make me the ultimate office-supply nerd, but I’d had it laminated because it was important to me. As I read my own words, I remembered my goals: I will not engage in any physical affection, including but not limited to kissing, hand-holding, and, of course, sex until I can guarantee his commitment.
Max’s open honesty about his disinterest in relationships was a breath of fresh air. At least with Max I knew, fully, where he stood—and how far away he was from being the type of man I wanted in my life. This was almost definitely plain old arousal. He was sexy, confident, and had a mouth made for sin. A compelling distraction for any woman, including me.
I placed the contract back into my bag, grabbing a stack of sticky notes and my favorite pen as I walked over to my wall of calendars. My organization here in the office was more digital by design of my industry—evidenced by my carefully color-coded email system—but I was still a stickler for a paper calendar on the wall. Nothing helped me better to see both the big issues and the minor hiccups than staring at neatly positioned dates, timelines, and action items.
This aspect of my personality was another element my family didn’t understand, but they tended to forget that by the time I was old enough to make lists, I was keeping track of our lives when my parents couldn’t. Lou and Sandy Quinn were enthusiastic helicopter parents, devotedly curious about their children’s lives and cheerfully excited about everything we did, even if it confused them. But their parental hovering didn’t always extend to what they called the “boring” parts: doctor’s appointments, school meetings, field trips. They maintained their own tour calendar and release schedule with a chaotic spontaneity that used to give me stomach aches.
Meanwhile, I’d carefully tape up family calendars, meeting reminders, and chore schedules. I ensured Roxy and I went to the doctor and washed the bedsheets in the guest bedroom when I knew visiting musicians would be coming to stay at our house. The wildness of my childhood was fun. The wildness of my childhood was also panic-inducing. Only when I spent the night at friend’s houses or ate lunch at the homes of other families did I get a picture of clean houses, meals on a schedule, both parents working jobs that didn’t require crowd-surfing at two in the morning in a dingy club.
My preference for lists and hyper-organizing had been called adorably obsessive by friends, family, and coworkers alike throughout my entire life. And yet how else could a person force the anarchic universe into some kind of livable experience without goal setting?
When my cell phone rang a second later, I picked it up, fully expecting it to be my sister. And it was. “How was the sex swing?”
“Life-changing,” she replied. “However, I literally cannot walk today, so pros and cons.”
“Edward Cavendish III remains a man of many surprises.”
“He certainly is creative.”
In the background, I heard the familiar strains of the Distillers, which meant she was at her shop.
“Did Mom and Dad call you?” she asked.
I leaned back against the wall, one arm across my waist. “They did. They called to thank me for coming last night. It was nice. Last night was really good for me.”
In fact, right before she hung up, my mom had said, “We know how busy you are, Fi. We’re missing you, is all.” I wasn’t sure if she was finally picking up on my frustrations or what, but they didn’t often acknowledge how different my work and life schedule was to theirs. Or that my busyness was just as valid as their own.
“I suggest more Roxy and Fiona nights in the future,” she said.
“Please and thank you.”
There was a shuffling sound, then a door closing. I imagined she was closing herself off into the small back office. “I heard some Red Room gossip today directly from the tattoo chair.”