It’s been four weeks since the night at the hotel with Shay. It feels like four lifetimes.
I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind. She lurks in my thoughts all the time, always ready to distract me with a memory of her smile, her laugh, her moans.
Her loud, lusty moans as I fucked her.
The bar where she walked up to my table is the place I’d visit several times a week after work to decompress. I’ve avoided it since.
I know what would happen if I saw her again.
I’d take one look at those gorgeous green eyes, and my fate would be sealed.
So, to protect us both, I drink at a different bar now. I sit alone, people-watching, pretending I’m not secretly hoping she’ll walk through the door.
It’s a good thing I’ll never see that woman again. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else.
“Excuse me, Mr. McCord. Sally Hutchinson is on line one for you.”
The voice of the receptionist whose name I can never remember comes through the intercom on the phone on my desk. Irritated by the interruption, I jab my finger onto the speaker button. “Take a message. I don’t have time to talk to her.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but she insisted. She says it’s urgent.”
Sally Hutchinson is the executive headhunter my brother Callum hired to find me an assistant. What could be so fucking urgent? What constitutes a recruiting emergency? The pool of candidates willing to work for the notoriously grumpy Cole McCord suddenly shrunk from zero to minus one?
Irritation makes my tone hard. “I said take a message.”
I can almost see the receptionist wilting in her chair when she responds, her voice going from merely hesitant to downright meek. “Um. It’s about, um, the opening for your assistant? She says she found someone perfect.”
Perfect? Sure. I almost laugh out loud. But as that’s not something I do, I growl instead.
The receptionist whispers, “I’ll take a message, sir,” and hangs up.
If only people obeyed my orders without question, the world would be a much better place.
