“Jenna.”
“Nice to meet you, Jenna.” I take the corner at the end of the street sharply.
She turns toward me in her seat, and I glance over, finding her holding on to a cheeky smile. “Nice to meet you, Ty Christianson.”
I return her smile. My reputation still precedes me. Thank God.
When I get Jenna back to my apartment, I don’t waste time with further pleasantries. I literally rip the clothes from her body on the way to my bedroom and throw her on my bed, before ridding my body of my suit. The pressure within is building by the second, but I tell myself it’s the naked woman before me and the anticipation of what I can take from her that’s the cause. My body is bracing itself.
She’s sprawled on her back, studying me with rapt attention as I crawl onto the bed. I flip her over and force her to her hands and knees, before reaching over to my nightstand and grabbing a condom. She pants impatiently while I get the rubber on, and once I’m covered, I slip my fingers inside of her, testing her wetness, growling when I find her perfectly drenched. She whimpers, her hands clawing the bed sheets. She’s bracing herself. She should be.
I slam in on a punishing pound and force my mind blank.
THE LIFT OPENS AND I smile a big goofy smile.
“Wow, what happened to you?” Gina asks as I stride off the elevator and take my coffee.
“I got laid.” I arrive at my desk and take a slurp of my caffeine. “By a brunette hotty I met in a bar.” I look up to the ceiling, thinking. Oh yes, that’s right. “Jenna.” I grab a pen to start making some notes, thinking about all I plan on getting done today. I feel energized.
“So,” Gina says tentatively. My writing pen slows, and I peek up cautiously. She looks as wary as she sounded.
“What?”
“The wedding.”
“Oh, bollocks,” I say, dropping my pen. I keep forgetting about that little social occasion on the horizon. When I have to face her and resist ripping her head off. My lip curls at the mere thought of the cold-hearted bitch. “What about the wedding?”
“Your plus-one. I’m being pressed for a name.”
“Oh.” I start scanning my mind again for a woman to take, any woman, as long as she’s hot-as-fuck. “Jenna,” I say automatically, picking up my pen and tapping it on my desk. She’s hot, for sure, and she has a brain between her ears. She’s a good call.
“Are you going to let Jenna know?”
“I haven’t got her number,” I tell Gina, going back to my list, unperturbed by the little issue. It’s not really an issue. If I think I might want to fuck a woman again, I give her my card. “Put her through when she calls.”
“You sound sure that she will.”
I give her a tired look. “Of course she will.” I only have to remember the screams while I fucked her into oblivion to know that. She’ll be back for more. They always are. Except Lainey. “Anything else?”
“Yes, where’s my present?”
“Ah.” I hold up my pen, damning myself for forgetting. What can I say? I was sidetracked all day at work? And then I went out and forced myself into distraction. “Wasn’t a three-hundred-quid lunch enough?”
“Looks like it has to be,” she grumbles, rising from the chair. “Sal has a meeting with Adidas at three. He wants you there.”
“When was that arranged?”
She shrugs. “You’d have to ask his PA.”
Without thought, my jaw tenses. “Never mind.” I open an email from the finance department and start reviewing their estimates for the business’s running costs for the next financial year before I email Sal to find out what this meeting with Adidas is all about.
At quarter to three, I make my way to the conference room, a certain skip in my step. As I push my way through the door, I find Sal at the end of the room, stretching to reach the handle that’ll get the projector screen down. I chuckle to myself and stride over, taking the handle from his fumbling hands and pulling it down. “Thanks,” he breathes, staggering back. “Who hung this so high, anyway?”
“Maintenance.” I take a seat and grab a pastry from the platter in the middle of the table. “I emailed you earlier.”
“You did?”
I frown. “Yeah, to get the lowdown on this meeting.” It’s not like Sal to miss my emails.
“Sorry,” he grunts. “I must’ve missed it.”
I’ll cut him some slack, since he’s not got his end away for God knows how long. Poor fucker. I’ve had a brief taste of blue balls recently myself. It messes with your head. Makes you irrational. Makes you tetchy and lose focus. “Why’d you want me in on this one, anyway? Thought you said it’s in the bag.”
“It pretty much was.” He joins me, pouring some water.
“Was?”
“Taylorson Greeves is sniffing around.”
My face twists. “You’re kidding me?”
“Wish I was.”
“I thought we were the only ones in the frame? The guys Adidas wanted?”
“We were. But then the marketing executive got involved, and she joined Adidas from Nike a month ago. Taylorson Greeves took care of Nike, and she wants them to take care of Adidas now, too.”
“She?” I hitch a brow.
“She,” Sal confirms. “I have to re-pitch to her. Convince her we’re the right men for the job.” He looks at me seriously. “Got me?”
Sal is a man’s man. They like him. Whereas I am a woman’s man. Pyra Lingerie case in point. So I have to sit here, look pretty, and switch on my charm. “Got you. Pull a Ty Christianson.” I laugh as he nods, taking a bite of my pastry. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” I won’t point out that it’s hardly fair my partner utilizes my gift when it suits him. “Where’s the rest of our people?” I ask, just as the door swings open and an army trails in.
“Perfect timing.” Sal jumps up and claps his hands together. “Take a seat. We have a few minutes to recap and make sure we nail this.”
I watch as the staff files around the table, ten of them in total, and take their seats. It’s probably one of the biggest teams we’ve had working on a contract in the history of Christianson Walker. It’s a big deal, with the ad running at prime time on the UK’s biggest sports channel. We never lose out to Taylorson Greeves, and I’m not about to now. I’m good sitting here looking pretty. So I recline in my chair and get comfortable, coffee in one hand, food in the other.
Sal swings into action, rolling through the pitch and everyone’s role throughout the meeting. I listen tentatively, raising a few key points along the way that are well received.
I’m helping myself to another croissant when the door to the conference room opens. And the pastry falls straight from my hand, my hunger plummeting with it. My mouth is suddenly dry as a bone.
Lainey’s eyes catch mine, and I quickly look away before they capture me. My shaky hand takes the coffee pot and lifts, my mind willing some stability into the muscles of my arm as it carries the pot to my cup. This is fucking stupid. Get her words back into your head, Christianson. She wants nothing more to do with you. I have to look past how gorgeous she is and remember how cold she was. Remember the sick game she can’t help playing. I have to conquer this shit.