My legs rest outside his, my arms noodles against the fluffy rug, and my head in the nook where his shoulder meets his neck. “Wow is right,” I say, copying his earlier sentiments. Well, the sentiment I thought I heard him say, but real or imagined, it’s the damn truth.
He chuckles beneath me, jostling me. “That good?”
“Don’t be fishing for compliments, Wolfe. You know it was.”
“Fishing for compliments? You Americans do love an animal idiom, don’t you? Goose hunting, compliment fishing, and I’ve heard others.” He hums as though he’s thinking, which is impressive because my brain is still coated in rainbow-sprinkled fog. “Oh, ‘elephant in the room’, which made me literally look around, and ‘hold your horses’ instead of ‘wait, please’, and ‘wouldn’t hurt a fly’, which seems rather ridiculous because why wouldn’t you kill a fly?”
At that one, I do find the energy to laugh. I lift up, blinking to clear my eyes. “Just don’t be a one-trick pony.” I’m baiting him, and he grins.
“Think I’ve already proven that’s not the case, haven’t I?”
“Touché,” I admit.
He throws my earlier words back at me too. “Oh, fancy and French, Miss Stryker.”
We both laugh at that. Two sex-exhausted, animal idiom-loving, fun-seeking people who definitely should not be together. But I can’t imagine a more ridiculously amazing way to spend the evening.
It’s been a wild night, but there’s one thing I know.
Dare done.
In so many ways, with the insertion of games and fun, laughter and seduction, we made the dare for a night out our bitch.
I just hope we don’t pay the price tomorrow.
Chapter 12
Colton
I have a morning meeting the next day, leaving Elle to arrive on her own. Not that I think she can’t handle that, and honestly, a separate arrival might even be the safer course of action, but I feel a twinge that perhaps I’m throwing her to the wolves.
What is it with the animal idioms in America?
Though tossing Elle to this Wolfe would be fine and dandy with me, I think as I smack my lips.
“Everything good?” The waitress has mistaken my taste for Elle as delight for the passable eggs and bacon breakfast. I’d hoped the fruit salad would be better, but it’s all honeydew and cantaloupe, my least favorite and in this quantity, virtually gag-inducing.
“It’s fine,” I say generously. It’s not her fault the food is mediocre at best. Nor did I choose this establishment.
No, my meeting location was the call of the man across the table from me.
"Any questions or concerns I could clear up, Mr. Wolfe? We’d really like to collaborate with Fox. We can really help streamline processes for you, and that’ll have a really positive outcome on the bottom-line figures.”
The man sitting across from me is wearing an off-the-rack suit that has not been tailored in the least, though it is freshly dry cleaned. His hair is swept to the side in an attempt to cover the increasing amount of pink skin visible through the thin strands. He uses corporate babble as if the words actually mean something beyond being trendy catchphrases. And most annoyingly, he says ‘really’ approximately every fifth word . . . for the entirety of his presentation. Really.
“I don’t believe so, Michael.” But then I think again. “Tell me how you got on my schedule.”
I’m not some elitist prick who thinks my time is simply too valuable to deal with the day-in and day-out of operations. They are my main purview, actually. But for me to meet with what equates to a cold-call salesman is not the best use of my time by any means.
“Of course. I met with Mr. Givens, and he seemed really keen on the potential impacts we could have by partnering together. He really helped grease the way for me with your assistant, who was really hesitant at first. But Mr. Givens assured her that I could really help Fox. And bing, bang, boom . . . here we are.”
Michael emphasizes his speech with finger guns, an American gesture if ever there were one.
Tom Givens. I had that discussion with him about his behavior only yesterday, so for this meeting to have already been on my calendar, it can’t be retaliation, though that’s my first thought. Instead, perhaps it’s a telling sign that Elle’s assessment was correct. Tom is a dinosaur douche canoe who’s unable to perform his job to even mediocre standards. Because this meeting has been a complete and utter waste of my morning, without even a good cup of coffee to show for it.
“Indeed, here we are.” Michael’s salesman smile melts at my dry delivery. “Please feel free to send your proposal to Helen. She is rather adept at knowing where my attentions are best spent.” The compliment to my assistant is in direct rebuttal to his complaint about her. “Good day, Michael.”
I don’t bother offering a handshake, not after I saw him lick the bacon grease off his fingers, but I do give the waitress a fifty-dollar bill as I pass her. “Thank you, Miss.”
She calls out after me, “Have a nice day!”
The trip to the office is quick, but not fast enough for my racing heart. I’m excited to go to work, not for the usual reasons but for Elle. I know she’s there, waiting in my office. No, not waiting . . . working. She’ll be busy this morning, just like I’ve been. But surely, she’s as anxious to see me as I am to see her?
I hadn’t wanted her to go last night, but I’d understood her reasons. Still, I’d kissed her senseless before putting her into the car I called to return her home. Which was her request, even though I’d offered to take her home in my Lotus.
“This has been perfect. Let me run off like Cinderella before the clock strikes midnight. It can be our fairy tale.” She grins as she says it, light laughter in her eyes.
“It’s two in the morning, Elle. Let me take you home. I won’t even get out of the car if you don’t want me to.” My argument hadn’t been enough.
“I dare you . . . to order me a car, Colton.” Her raised brow had said this was a test and I’d damn sure better pass it. She set the rules at the beginning of the evening, and if I didn’t uphold them, she’d know that I played dirty. And not in the good way.
So I’d relented. Letting her ride away in that car had nearly been my undoing, though. I knew my Lotus could chase her down and catch her by the first stoplight, but I hadn’t, wanting to prove that she could trust me.
And now, after a few hours’ sleep and a useless meeting, I’m ready to see her.
“Good morning, Mr. Wolfe.”
The voice calls out rather loudly as I approach the elevator, and I follow the sound to see one of the front desk workers eyeing me carefully.
Realization dawns. “Good morning . . .” I should use her last name, but I find that I can’t find it in the filing cabinet of my mind, which only serves to prove Elle’s point of my obliviousness. “Tiffany,” I finish lamely.
“Young.” At my look of confusion, she clarifies, though the disappointment in the set of her mouth is obvious. “Tiffany Young. I work for you. Well, not like other people do, but I’m in your leg of the org chart. It’d be nice to know you at least look at my name before signing off on Miranda’s annual evaluation.”