This strange, long-forgotten sensation twinges in my gut. Guilt?
“Is Sabrina okay?” Ruby asks with an all-too-knowing sigh.
I look up. “How did you know it was her? She’s fine. Replace the office intern or don’t at your discretion. I have a conference call soon.”
Ruby nods but her lips are a straight line. She walks out, closing the door behind her.
I tap my keyboard with one hand for a few seconds, thinking of what to say.
I hope your parents are okay, I type back. Do what you can from your mobile devices for now, and get back as soon as you can.
I smile, knowing I can’t let the email end without a jab.
P.S. You never answered my question. Does the damn dress fit?
That’s the last email for a while. I have a conference call with Jazzle Razzle Designs followed by another update with Woof Meow Chow.
My email pings with another email from Sabrina halfway through the second call. By the time I have a chance to look at it, she’s back at her desk outside my office. I can see her through the slip of frosted glass next to my door.
The dress is perfect. It fits like a glove. I’m beginning to wonder if you’ve stolen my clothing for measurements.
I’ve attached a picture, so you can see.
Now who doesn’t have time to sign off?
I click the attachment and the image pops up.
My jaw nearly hits the goddamned floor, racing my dick to the ceiling.
Miss Bristol looks more like Miss America. Sequin-covered purple satin dips into her cleavage, drawing attention to her assets in this classy outline. And damn, what fine, supple assets they are.
I can’t stop staring.
I need to stop staring.
Hot, jealous anger I’ve got no sane right to darts through my blood.
The very notion of all those pervy CEOs at the conference eye-fucking her makes my gut clench.
Mag, what the hell do you care? I wonder.
Yet I do, and I know why.
The dress is the same purple shade as the one she wore in the park that fateful day, and it cuts into a “V” in the front but trails in the back. Her chestnut hair, tied up in her normal casual ponytail, serves as the perfect contrast to the formal dress.
This woman’s beauty is so intrinsic she doesn’t have to try. An angel, heaven sent, finding her worthy halo of fashion with a little help from yours truly.
Let’s face the facts.
Anything she does is an inquisition for my cock.
A rhinestone chain dangles over her shoulder, and at the bottom of the picture, her hand clasps the train...with a subtle, but not too subtle middle finger clearly sticking out.
Damn her.
I know she’ll be my personal apocalypse, and that dress may have been a bad decision. I’ve set myself up for a dagger to the face.
It piques my interest, though, and I can’t help but wonder what’s hiding under all the soaring scoops and sharp cuts.
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” I snarl to myself. “You’re not him. Not your sleazy father. You go down that road, you tango with fire, and there’ll be nothing left but ashes and ruin.”
I rarely speak at conferences.
I’ll do it occasionally, sure, because it boosts credibility, it’s good PR, et cetera, et cetera.
Doesn’t mean I like it.
Normally at these events, I try to just listen to overconfident blowhards spouting their success stories. I take good notes—or rather, have them taken for me.
And then I do the opposite.
Their strategy, with few exceptions, sucks.
It’s an exercise in what not to do. Still, I like being up on all the approaches being marketed to marketers right now, so I can give my clients every single reason why they don’t work.
Adzilla is about finding weaknesses in my competitors and splitting them open like lobsters.
Usually.
This year, it’s not as cut and dry.
All because I can’t take my eyes off Sabrina Bristol.
Her black slacks could be painted on and the spaghetti strap blouse shows too much skin. Her ass is as tight and round as a plum, and in those pants, it’s impossible not to notice. The silk fringe around the low-cut neckline of her shirt dances under the air vent, tempting fate.
I want to yank that shirt down and find out if the hand-sized melons underneath are as perfect as they seem.
But part of me also wants to take my blazer off and button it around her. Because you can bet if I’m looking, every other male executive is, too, and men like this crowd are used to taking what they want.
Fucking Phoenix and its warm weather. It’s still in the seventies here.
The layers and sleeves she normally wears to the office are easier to ignore, but at least I’m not chilled to the bone here.
She pokes me in the side, a movement so unexpected I almost jump.
“What?” I roll my eyes and shift so I can whisper only to her.
“I just wondered if you needed a pad or pen,” she says.
“A pad?”
“He said to take out a pen and paper or your laptop,” she whispers. “Since everybody else is busy scribbling away or pounding on keys, I thought you might need help?”
I give her a smile. “I could recite this bullshit in my sleep.”
She’s right beside me. How has she not noticed me staring? Or has she?
Focus on the session and you won’t have to worry, idiot, I tell myself.
If only these speakers weren’t so goddamn boring.
Somehow, I manage.
“What’s the plan?” Sabrina asks after the session ends.
“We should probably get dinner, then go back to the hotel to clean up for the formal tonight,” I say.
“Oh, no.” She wrinkles her nose. “Fancy food again?”
I fight back a laugh. “You could call it that.”
Her head tilts back and her chin is in the air.
“So, finger foods. Right. I’m going for tacos soon so I don’t starve.”
At this point, I lose the battle and my laughter escapes. “Are you riding with the rest of the crew or with me?” I hope she says she’s coming with me. “If you want to come along, we’ll stop at Taco Colita.”
“Taco Colita?” She blinks.
“One of the finest taco joints Phoenix has to offer. It’s savory and spicy and delicious. Nothing fancy, just flavor that’ll knock you on your ass. I promise.” I do, and my mouth starts watering.
“How spicy?” I love the little wrinkle of concern on her face that kindles into a smile fit for the Valley of the Sun. “Never mind, sold. I like a surprise and I’m not the type who runs from a little heat. This is my first time here, so show me what’s good.”
I nod, this drumming beat behind my ribs.
She’s so different from any girl I’ve ever dated—curious, grateful, ready to soak in life without expecting everything to be handed to her.
Hit the brakes.
I’m not dating her. She’s my employee.
“I’ll crash first for a little bit if you don’t mind,” she says with a yawn.
“You’re not crashing. I just invited you to taco nirvana. You’ll thank me later. You don’t want to be groggy from a nap at the event tonight,” I tell her.
She smiles, thinking, and bites her bottom lip.
“Okay, Heron, you’re on.”