“Yeah.”
“Well, he was angry, but he wasn’t that pissed off, you know?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he wasn’t hassling me for his phone back all the time like normal, and he wanted to go to bed really early last night.”
I frown as I listen.
“I felt like something was off, so I checked the hiding spot to see if his phone was still there, and it was. Then I had this strange thought to check the SIM.”
Aaron chuckles, already knowing where this story is going.
“The little shit had taken the SIM out and put it into an old phone.”
“Oh, crap.”
“I barge into his bedroom, and sure enough, he is on his phone, and it is hidden under the covers. I snatch it off him and lock myself in the bathroom while I go through it. He’s banging the door down, so I know there is something on there that he doesn’t want me to see.”
My eyes widen as I listen.
“Get this,” she sneers. “Pure little Chanel has been sending him nudes too.”
I frown.
“This fifteen-year-old little girl is built like a fucking Penthouse Pet.”
We chuckle.
“Oh, it gets worse,” she continues. “While I’m looking through his phone, a new message comes through from her.”
“What was it?”
“I got a Brazilian like you wanted. You like?”
My mouth falls open.
“Can you believe that message?”
Unable to help it, I burst out laughing.
“I would find this funny, too, if it weren’t my child,” she whispers as she sits down at her desk.
“Then Brad had a complete meltdown and told me that if I call Chanel’s parents, I’m effectively committing social suicide for him as his whole reputation will be ruined and that he’s never going to school again.” She hits her computer keyboard with a hard bang.
“That’s true,” Aaron replies. “You can’t call her mother.”
“So it’s all right for her to call me, but I can’t call her?” she stammers.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I probably wouldn’t call her mother either.”
“Well, what would you do?” she asks.
“I’d buy him a box of condoms, that’s what I’d do.”
She stares at me, wide eyed.
“Because imagine if he got her pregnant,” I add.
“Oh my God.” She drags her hand down her face. “I can’t deal with boys. They are so stupid.”
“The amount of testosterone in a male teenager is ridiculous,” Aaron replies casually. “I was jerking off four times a day when I was fifteen.”
Molly and I wince.
“Four times a day?” I stammer.
“Don’t girls do that?” He frowns in surprise.
“No,” we both gasp.
“Men are gross.” I fake a shiver in disgust.
The phone on my desk rings. “Hello,” I answer.
“Hello, Emily, this is Sammia, Mr. Miles’s PA.”
What does she want? “Hi.”
“Mr. Miles asked me to let you know that you have a meeting in his office in an hour.”
“I’m very busy today. Can you tell Mr. Miles that, unfortunately, I won’t be able to make it?”
“He told me that your attendance is mandatory, and he’s already spoken to your manager to get clearance.”
I roll my eyes. Stupid twat. “Fine. I’ll be there. Thank you.”
Knock, knock. I tentatively knock on Jameson’s door.
“Come in,” his strong voice calls.
My stomach flips with nerves, and I open the door. Jameson sits alone at his desk. His eyes rise to meet mine.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, please take a seat.”
I drop to the chair as I clasp my hands together with white-knuckle force.
His eyes hold mine. “How are you?”
“Good, thanks.” I drop my eyes to the desk. I’m not looking at those beautiful blue eyes. He’s like the snake from The Jungle Book—one look in those hypnotic suckers, and your panties drop to the floor.
“Look at me, please,” he commands.
“What do you want, Jameson?” I snap. “I don’t have time for your games.”
“I want you to look at me.”
I drag my eyes to his.
“Why don’t you want to look at me?”
I stare at him for a moment. “Because I just find your face really . . . punchable.”
He smirks and leans back in his chair, clearly amused. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, it is.” I look around his office. “Can we talk about work?”
“Later. Right now I would like to talk about your tantrum on Friday.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“She’s my masseuse.”
“Like you said, it’s none of my business.” I glare at him, my resting bitch face in full swing.
“I was going to call you last night.”
Now it’s my turn to be amused. “Don’t waste your time. I wouldn’t have answered.”
He runs his thumbnail back and forth over his bottom lip as he watches me, as if fascinated. “Why are you so snarky?”
“I’m not snarky. I’m just not about to put up with shit from an entitled asshole. You may be a CEO here, but . . .”
He sits back and raises his chin as if angered. “Finish what you wanted to say.”
“No. I’m good.” I clench my teeth together to stop myself from elaborating.
“I may be the CEO here . . . but what?” he demands as he swivels on his chair.
“I wasn’t angry with you on Friday. I left in the middle of the night because I was confused . . . about a lot of things. I was going to talk to you when I was thinking clearly because I didn’t want to be a drama queen.”
Our eyes are locked.
“And then I came to your office, and you treated me like a two-bit whore that you ejaculated in the night before.”
He clenches his jaw.
“I’m nobody’s whore, Jameson, least of all yours. No job is worth my self-respect.”
The air crackles between us.
“So excuse me if the privilege of sucking your golden CEO dick doesn’t excite me any longer.”
He rubs his thumbnail back and forth over his bottom lip as his eyes hold mine.
“Were you on the debating team, Ms. Foster?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I snap, annoyed.
“You make a good argument.” He licks his bottom lip as he tries to hide his amusement. “Impressive.”
I roll my eyes. Sarcastic asshole. God, he infuriates me so bad. I get an image of myself diving over the desk and punching him in the nose as hard as I can. It would wipe that smug smirk off his stupid face. I’m not even joking; his face really is punchable.
“Please,” I mutter under my breath.
“Please what?”
“Please stop insulting my intelligence. Run your meeting so I can get back to work. You’re wasting my time.”
Knock, knock.
“Come in,” Jameson calls.
Tristan puts his head around the door and looks between us. “Are we on?”