When I take a sip of milk, I get clumsy and wind up dribbling some down my chin.
Dane grabs a napkin and wipes the milk off my skin, then he rubs his thumb over the corner of my mouth.
I feed him too, but he doesn't dribble anything on himself. I kind of wish he would so I can lick it off. Seeing him this way, at ease and enjoying our brunch, makes me want him even more than I already do. Okay, pretty much everything he does makes me hot for him. Yeah, I'm still massively crushing on him, and it's still pathetic.
After our meal, Dane tells me he has work to do. I point out that it's Saturday, which means it's the weekend, but he dismisses that with a shrug and a grunt. I let him have his alone time, only because he fed me breakfast, literally, using his own hand and fork.
On Sunday afternoon, I call his suite instead of just going there like I did yesterday. He informs me he doesn't have time for a visit because he has tons of work to do. Jeez, will he never take an entire day off? I don't ask him that. We're not a couple, so it's none of my business.
Why do I have to keep reminding myself of that?
Sunday evening, I'm in the middle of cleaning the toilet, elbow deep in the bowl, when the doorbell rings. I jog through my apartment and pull the door open, realizing too late that I'm still wearing big rubber gloves. At least I remembered to put down the toilet brush.
Celeste Arnaud smiles at me. "Good evening, Rika darling. We need to have a chat about Dane."
"If you've got a problem with Dane, why not talk to him?"
"Because you're the only one who can get through to him."
Me? If she knew about our make-believe relationship, she wouldn't say that. Celeste believes Dane and I are a legitimate couple and that I have some kind of sway over him.
"Come on in," I say, moving out of the way so Celeste can walk inside. "My apartment is messy right now. I'm in the middle of cleaning up."
She walks past me, turns around, and glances at my gloved hands. "Yes, I can see that. If you still worked for Bonsoir, I'd make sure you had a cleaning crew to take care of those jobs for you. Hasn't Dane offered to do that? I pay him enough that he could afford to hire you an entire team of cleaners, housekeepers, cooks, and anything else you need."
She pays him that much? I have no idea exactly how much it is, but I get the picture that it's a lot. My fake honey has no obligation to pay for anything for me. I wouldn't want him to even if we were a couple because it would make me feel weird.
Celeste and I sit down on the sofa, and I take off my big gloves.
"Dane is very stressed," she says. "I called him an hour ago, but he didn't pick up his cell, so I tried the direct line to his suite. When he answered, he sounded...rough."
"What does that mean?"
"He said he hadn't slept much last night and he's too busy with work to talk to me. I asked what work he has to do on the weekend." She smiles a little, like what she says next is almost funny. "He growled at me, then said he's working on the 'bloody devices' that I 'commanded' him to create."
"Did you command him?"
She waves a dismissive hand. "I asked him to create two new devices. That should be easy for a smart, talented man like Dane. But he's clearly more stressed than I realized." She touches my knee. "He needs your tender loving care."
"Me? I have no idea what to do to help him." But yeah, I've noticed how stressed he is too. I did my best yesterday to make him feel better. What else can I do? We're not actually dating.
Celeste doesn't know that.
Should I tell her? Oh no, not in a million years. Dane would freak if I did that.
"I told Dane I'm sorry," Celeste says, "if I put too much pressure on him. But honestly, he should've told me he was struggling. Since he's not comfortable discussing the problem with me, you are the only one who might get through to him."
Can I? No idea. Should I try? Not sure.
The clock on the wall tells me it's nine p.m., which is way too late for me to dash over to Dane's hotel and do...whatever. I need to go to bed so I can make my early morning train to Stamford. For my new job. The one Dane insisted on getting for me. He made a few passing comments yesterday that suggested he and his new PA aren't exactly hitting it off like a house on fire.
After what Celeste has told me, I'm positive the friction between Dane and his new PA isn't Noah's fault. Dane is simply too anxious to get along with anyone.
Except me. We hit it off just fine.
"Okay," I tell Celeste, "I'll talk to him. But it'll have to wait until tomorrow. I need to sleep, or I'll be useless at my new job. I will stop by Dane's hotel after work."
"Perfect." Celeste pats my knee and gets up. "I know you'll straighten him out. Every woman understands how to help her man relax."
She winks.
"Uh, sure," I say, pushing up off the sofa. "Somehow I'll relax him. Maybe a massage will help."
Celeste slants in to stare straight into my eyes from inches away. "Maybe I wasn't clear enough. Dane needs sex. Relieve his stress with an orgasm, darling, not a massage."
Then she walks out the door.
Sure, the idea of getting it on with Dane makes me tingle all over, but I can't do that. Our "relationship" is a business arrangement. I want us to give each other fantastic orgasms, over and over, like Celeste thinks I should do. I want it so much that my sex is getting slick and hot just thinking about it. I want him.
Maybe a good night's rest will help me figure out what to do. Give in to my lust and seduce Dane, or talk him down off that emotional ledge---then rip his clothes off and ride him until we're both sweaty and satisfied.
I give up on cleaning and relieve my own stress the Celeste Arnaud way while I fantasize about Dane Dixon.
Chapter Ten
Dane
For the entire weekend, I hide in my hotel suite and struggle to come up with ideas for the new devices I promised Celeste I'd create. I made that promise months ago, and I still have no ruddy idea what I'm going to do. I used to excel at creating sex toys that would make women feel good, but now I can't think of even one thousandth of an idea.
Why can't you be as exciting as your toys?
Those words still echo in my mind on Monday morning when I head for my office. The call I received from Celeste yesterday keeps replaying in my thoughts too, and I wonder if I am as pent up as everyone seems to think. I never used to be, but the re-launch is fraying my every nerve.
"Good morning, Mr. Dixon, sir," Noah says as I walk past his desk. He smiles too. "Can I get you some coffee?"
"Yes, please. One sugar, no cream."
While he retrieves my coffee, I shuffle into my office and drop onto my chair. My shoulders sag. I brace my elbow on the chair's arm and rest my head in my raised palm, which forces me to slump to the side. I have no energy whatsoever, not for what I need to do today. Meetings, meetings, and more meetings.
Noah brings me a cup of coffee, setting it on my desk in front of me. "Anything else I can get you?"