I land at my desk and start to power through my emails, set on tidying up my inbox and getting up to date before I spend the rest of the day finalizing the Pyra Lingerie pitch. I’ve fired a million emails off to a million people by the time Gina arrives.
She stands in my doorway with her hands on her hips. “Okay, Tyler. I’m quitting unless you tell me what’s going on with you.”
“You’ll never quit.” I laugh, holding out a stack of papers to her. “I’m too good to you.”
She approaches and claims them. “You look . . . off.”
I laugh some more. She has no fucking clue. I haven’t had an orgasm in the last two days. Two. Days. That’s gonna fuck a man over when he’s used to shooting his load twice a day. My body’s confused. It’s screaming, Get me off! Jizz is congealing, man. Get it out!
“I’m fine,” I grumble, clicking send on the email I’ve just tapped out before casting my eyes to Gina’s chest and getting an eyeful before she can point out my lack of admiring again.
“So,” Gina says casually. Purposely casually. My eyes drift up from her chest to her face. She’s trying to appear all casual, too, fingering the Post-It I slapped on the top of the papers I just gave her. “I had the pleasure of meeting Sal’s new assistant.” Her eyes meet mine, studying me.
I cough and crack my neck as I speedily—and guiltily—snap my attention back to my computer. “That’s nice.”
“Hmm.” I can feel her suspicious eyes on my profile, but I refuse to acknowledge them. I’m not feeding her interest. Besides, there’s nothing to feed. “I’ll get your coffee.”
“You do that.” The door closes behind her, and I glance up, my fingers pausing on the keys of my computer. My assistant never misses a trick. She has an eagle eye and a sharp brain. Nothing gets past her. I mustn’t give her any reason to believe there’s something untoward going on in my head. I don’t need reminding that I’m on dangerous ground.
At nine o’clock, Sal pokes his head around my door. “We’re waiting for you.”
“What?”
“It’s Wednesday.” He frowns when his prompt of what day it is obviously goes over my head. “Weekly rundown?”
Of course. Every Wednesday at nine since we formed Christianson Walker, all staff sit around the conference table and everyone gets up to speed on business. It totally slipped my mind. I rise from my chair but pause mid-lift. “Will . . .” My words fade when I realize how entirely stupid it would be for me to ask if Lainey will be in attendance. Not just stupid, because every PA at Christianson Walker attends the weekly catch-up meeting and always have, but stupid because I might clue Sal into something that I really don’t want him clued into.
“Will, what?”
My arse falls back down to the seat. “You know, I’m gonna sit this one out. I’m up to my eyes in the Pyra pitch. I want to get it wrapped up. Gina will take notes and bring me up to speed.”
Sal’s smooth forehead creases. “In seven years, you’ve never missed a meeting.”
“Yeah, I have.”
“For a holiday or something, yes.”
“I’m busy.”
“You’re always busy.”
“Jesus, what’s with the interrogation?” I laugh, half amused, half irritated. “Just have the meeting without me.”
“Okay, okay.” Sal holds his palms up in acceptance, backing out of the door. “You okay? You look . . . off.”
I roll my eyes. Isn’t everyone being observant today? I am off. Because I didn’t get off. “I’m fine.”
“What time did you leave the office last night?”
“Nine.”
“Productive?”
“Very,” I confirm, pointing across to the coffee table where all my sketches are still waiting for me to tweak. “I’ll show you later.”
“Or you could come to the meeting and show me now?”
My teeth grind. There’s no way I can be in the same room as Lainey. Not until I can be sure my eyes won’t stray and my brain will behave. “I’ll see you later.”
I hear Sal sigh his acceptance as he starts to pull my door closed.
“Hey, how’s Lainey getting on?” The question is out before my mind can pull the words back from my mouth.
“Brilliant,” he replies, annoying me. I wanted him to rant and rave about how shit at the job she is before going on to tell me that he plans on firing her stunning arse this moment. “I’ve found a gem in her, that’s for sure.” The door closes and I swear my motherfucking head off.
IT’S FRIDAY. I HAVEN’T HAD an orgasm since Monday morning. My balls are screaming at me. I’ve watched porn. I’ve thought of Pamela’s tits. My cock has been my pride and joy for so long, but right now, we are not on speaking terms. Or spanking terms, for that matter. It’s a fucking catastrophe. I honestly can’t seem to control my direction of thought. Lainey. Lainey, Lainey, Lainey. And my body seems to gravitate toward Sal’s end of the floor whenever I put myself outside my office space. I’m literally tormented by a force that’s taking everything in me to lock down, and the only way I’ve been able to do that is by remaining at my desk.
But now I need coffee, and my damn PA isn’t answering. “Where the fuck is she?” I slam my phone down and immediately dial Gina again. No answer. So I try again, and when it rings off once more, for the hundredth time, I call her mobile. That rings off too. “Fuck’s sake,” I curse, standing up from my desk and straightening myself out. The king of ejaculation—me—has become a prisoner in my own fucking office.
Running a hand through my hair, I round my desk determinedly. “I’ll get my own coffee,” I mutter to myself, opening the door warily. I peek outside, finding Gina’s desk empty, obviously, and then gaze down the corridor to check the coast is clear. I’m good to go. I hurry on my way, and I very nearly make it to the kitchen without being intercepted, but then Callie rounds the corner up ahead.
“Ah, Ty, I’ve got some snippets from the track being produced.” She stops, but I do not, keen to fetch my coffee and get back to my office.
“Well done.”
“I’ll keep you abreast as things develop?” she asks on a frown as she watches me scurry past.
“You do that.” But don’t use the word breast again. I fall into the kitchen and eye the wretched coffee machine on a scowl. I will not be defeated by a fucking coffee machine.
Glancing down at my three-piece, a gorgeous bespoke silver-gray work of art, my scowl deepens, and I start to rethink my plan. Where’s my fucking assistant?
I look up when one of the lads from the design department walks in. “Hey, Ty,” he says brightly, grabbing a cup from the shelf and placing it under the spout. I watch as he simply presses the button for his selection—a latte—and leaves the machine to pour his coffee. “We missed you at the meeting on Wednesday.”
“Busy,” I grunt, collecting my own cup.
“Ah, that’s right.” He winks. What’s he winking at? “Up to here in sexy lingerie, I hear.” He gestures to his head on a cheeky smile.