bumps against the yacht’s fenders, I can just about make out Laurie’s shadowy silhouette standing on the swim platform. She holds an umbrella over her head and a folder clutched to her chest.
“Well, isn’t this a five star greeting,” I drawl, taking the umbrella handle from her and holding it above our heads. “You shooting for a raise, or something?”
She grins up at me. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to a raise.”
I laugh and fall into step with her as we head down the side deck. “How’s the sea sickness?”
“I’ve got it down to one cookie-tossing per shift, so there’s that.”
“Perfect. Not looking to go back to Vegas, are you?”
Her gaze skims up to the underside of the umbrella. “And miss this beautiful weather? Here.” She holds the folder out. “I need you to sign off on the budget for the staff Christmas party.”
“You know the rule, Laurie. There’s no budget for staff parties.”
“Good, because I just bought myself a new Audi as a Christmas present and stuck it on the company card.”
“Dammit. I better take the one I bought you back to the showroom, then.”
She opens her mouth and closes it again, settling for a sideways glare instead of a witty response. While she’s joking about the Audi, she’s not sure if I am. A valid thought, considering last year I flew her to New York and let her choose whatever she wanted from Tiffany’s.
Amused, I snap the umbrella shut and hold open the door to the casino for her. “Anything else?”
She glances around the casino to the servers wiping down tables and restocking the bar. “Uh, yeah. There’s a…brown stain on the carpet in the sky lounge. The cleaners can’t lift it with domestic products. Need me to call a specialist in?”
My attention is diverted over her shoulder, where Penelope dries champagne flutes behind the bar. She’s glaring at the rag like her life depends on it, but I don’t miss the shells of her ears turning red.
Fucking Gabe. Clearly he’s not a pro with the scouring brush. I pin Laurie with a polite smile and tell her, “I’ll handle it.”
She nods, crosses through to the double doors, and jabs a finger at me. “White leather trim, heated seats. Got it?”
I wink at her and watch her disappear. This is why Laurie gets shopping trips at Tiffany’s and premium cars. She doesn’t ask questions.
“Boss?” I shift my gaze to find Anna. She drops a box of Christmas decorations and saunters over. “New uniforms are in. What do you think?” She punctuates her question with a twirl.
My eyes fall absent-mindedly down her body and then over to Penelope. She’s got her back to me now, bending over to restock the mini fridge. My jaw tightens at the sight of her thong outline in those tight pants. Christ. How does this girl make pants and a shirt look sexy? Maybe I’ll get Laurie to order branded trash can liners and make the staff wear them instead.
She called Sinners Anonymous at four a.m. last night. Twice. Both times, her breathy silence crackled down the line, through my MacBook speakers, and tugged on my dick. I’d had too much liquor to drive over to her place and flash my headlights against her window, so I settled for sitting behind my desk in wait, fists clenched on either side of my whiskey glass. I was sure she’d call to moan about me bringing her to the crest of orgasm then snatching it away at the last minute, but no dice. Then again, she’s never actually called the hotline to moan about anything of importance, anyway. Only trivial things, like her running out of conditioner or how her neighbor farted in her living room but it’s too cold to open the windows.
I make half-hearted pleasantries with Anna, then stroll past the bar just as Penelope spins around with an empty crate. She drops it on the bar, meets my eye, and smirks.
Well, that wasn’t the reaction I was expecting. Not after I caught her red-handed helping Rory card count, and subsequently wiped her pussy juices along her mouth. She licks her bottom lip, as if looking at me makes the memory resurface.
Fuck. I’m going to have to double-lock the door when I get into my office.
Aware of Anna and Claudia’s eyes on my back, I swipe a steadying finger over my collar pin and flash her a pleasant smile.
“Hello, Penelope.”
“Hello, boss,” she replies, matching my plastic tone.
My attention drops to her hand, which is now sliding across the bar. When it reaches the salt shaker, she gives it a hard tap. It falls over, salt granules scattering over the surface. “Oops.”
On instinct, the line of my shoulders snaps taught. I run a palm over my jaw to conceal my initial annoyance, then force a mask of indifference.
How did I forget so easily? Last night, I told her my biggest secret—I’m superstitious. I suppose the girl could have gotten anything out of me when I was knuckle-deep in her pussy, and now I’m going to make her pay for it.
Our eyes clash. The simmer of irritation bubbles into something more electric. I haven’t felt this alive all day.
“I’ll have a Smuggler’s Club brought down to your office right away, boss,” Dan says, emerging from the stock room and slinging a rag over his shoulder.
My eyes never leave Penelope’s.
“Make it a vodka.”
