I hesitate before replying.
Magnus: No.
Her online activity speaks for her.
She’s surviving better than me.
The woman bought herself a car and moved on.
Ruby: Don’t send me stupid texts when you haven’t even talked to her. I don’t have the time.
I fight the urge to chuck my phone across the room, feeling like a kid who’s just lost his first crush.
Outrageous.
I’m The Magnum. CEO. Billionaire. Time to start acting like it.
Magnus: How fast can we do interviews?
Ruby: Depends. You’ve hired and fired all the good ones in this city, remember? Your quickest path to an EA who can take the heat is to get the one you had back.
It’s so much worse than that.
If I did any damn begging with Sabrina Bristol, it wouldn’t be hounding her to return as my EA. I can find anyone to check my email, shuffle my schedule, and deliver coffee.
What I can’t replace is her.
A few hours and a hangover’s worth of scotch later, I finally fall asleep on the couch, swallowed by dreams.
Our bodies are bare, but my duvet covers us from the chest down. She kisses with a passion and a tease that drives me mad.
I grip her tighter, tighter, holding on for mercy.
“No,” I grind out, my breath torn to shreds. “Not our first time.”
I shift us so that she’s flat on her back, under me.
“Oh,” she breathes.
The most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
Being in her isn’t enough. I need more, so I plunder her lips, shuddering when her nails rake down my back.
Suddenly, I’m sitting in my office chair.
Sabrina falls against me with my blazer tucked around her like a blanket.
The sex is over. I’m just holding her.
My idea, not hers, and I was always the guy who never cared about cuddling.
With her, I can never hold her close enough.
I can never drown myself in those kisses as long as I want.
I can never, ever find the time to show her what she means to me. I’ll need the rest of my life, and maybe several more.
Before I can whisper those words torching my throat—I love you—a hell sound comes blasting in my ear.
The phone rings, ruining the moment, but I don’t pick it up.
She kisses my lips. “Pick up, Mag. It could be Jordan.”
I kiss her chin. “He can wait.”
“What if he needs something?” she asks.
“It’s taken me way too long to get my girl alone—”
“Uh-oh. You just called me yours again.” Her smile is mischievous and her eyes sparkle, darker and richer than any Kona bean.
“I meant my EA.”
“Liar.” She shakes her head and grins. “I knew what you meant.”
I bring her face back to mine, running my tongue along her bottom lip with a fury.
“I did,” I insist. “Brina—”
“What if I’m already seeing someone else?”
“You’re not, you little she-devil.” I snake my hands up her sides and tickle her.
She giggles, shirking away from me.
“But what if I was?”
“He’d die a slow and painful death. A Marine never forgets certain tricks,” I growl, jealousy igniting in my throat.
“So fighting a total stranger is easier than admitting I’m yours?”
I sigh. “Fine, you’re mine.”
“You don’t seem happy about it.”
“You’re pure evil,” I whisper, taking her lips again.
“Maybe, but you love me.”
I don’t even deny it.
Then the phone goes off again and rips me from the dream.
I grab at it, hoping it’s her, but it’s a dumb robo-call offering a free trial for a dating service. Almost like it knew I had the hard-on from Hades.
No missed calls. No emails. No texts.
Just a gaping silence.
It’s over.
I sit up with a hangover, my mouth so dry I feel like there’s a cobra lodged in my throat.
My father, snake that he is, might be a better man than I am.
At least he never pretended to be what he wasn’t.
If I wasn’t following in his footsteps—having an illicit relationship with an employee, giving her reason to believe that this could be more—I wouldn’t have hurt Sabrina so bad it kills me.
I wouldn’t have utterly ruined myself.
25
Biker Boyfriend (Sabrina)
I want to scream.
It takes the King of Assholery days to decide he wants to talk, and once he does, the texts are relentless.
Also, completely insane. They’re uber-professional, like we totally didn’t share a whirlwind relationship slaughtered by him chucking icicles at my heart.
Looking forward to seeing you at the office next week, he sends.
You’re going to be very disappointed, Mag.
What a flipping bozo.
Magnus: How are you doing?
Delete.
Magnus: Have you reviewed the Palmer-Traficant Financial account? I’m eager for your feedback.
Nope.
I don’t answer any of them, and it’s kind of hilarious. I can almost see him breaking down the longer I stay silent. An hour later, his tone shifts to desperation.
Magnus: Sabrina, can we talk?
“No. You didn’t want to talk when we had the chance,” I mutter to myself.
Hours go by before my phone pings again.
Magnus: You won’t let me apologize?
Ha. Nice try. I don’t have to alleviate your guilt, Maggot.
I send Mom a quick text instead. Hey, my phone battery is dying. Don’t freak out if you guys call and I don’t answer. Love you.
I power the phone off and throw it across the room.
Paige had more work than she could handle this week. She subcontracted me to help with a web design at the small museum where she’s working now, while she follows up on what she’s really after—a foot in the door at an architecture firm.
For now, it’s as close as she can realistically get to doing art that pays a living wage.
The web design fee is a fraction of what I’m used to making. But that’s the real world, not the cotton candy Heron wonderland where I can make two hundred thousand smackers annually, all while flirting with a certain hot, arrogant boss who’s too good at ripping hearts out.
Fortunately, the web project helps keep my mind off Maggot.
Kind of.
He still crosses my mind like a thousand times a day, but at least instead of focusing on my pulverized heart, I can pour my energy into making kids’ smiles on a cultural outreach thing look even prettier online.
Then the raw image of us looking out on the Chicago skyline from his office snaps into my head. It was back when I started. He told me that even the slightest puff of marketing hocus pocus helps dreams come true.
Yep, that’s marketing in a nutshell. But Heron Communications focuses on making billion-dollar corporations more billions, rather than bringing dreams to life.
Honestly, I like helping these grinning kids and curators show off their sculptures more than helping rich shareholders of name brands get richer.
Oof.
I also decide that when I finish this, I’m going to overhaul my mom’s site. Her sales have been shockingly decent since Maggot’s last big purchase, and a high quality web presence might push her along. It’s the least I can do.