Monday
“Would you have sex with him?” I casually ask Hope.
Her face reddens quickly as her head rapidly shakes. “I'm a happily married woman.”
Rolling my eyes I sigh. “Fine. If you weren't a happily married woman, would you wanna have sex with him?”
She scrunches her sweet face giving me the answer I was wanting.
“Exactly.” I push the photo back across my desk. “Now please take Fido out back like Old Yeller.”
“Wow,” she whispers. She drops a hand on her hip. “You're in a mood.”
“I am not.” I am. I so fucking am. But it's not my fault I've got the shakes because the world's hottest massage therapist made me go cold turkey all weekend. Completely cold turkey. My vibrator doesn't appreciate being ignored. Vodka, however, was happy to help numb the pain.
“Are too.”
I drop my pen and begin rubbing the back of my neck. Somehow the muscles have knotted themselves up so tightly it feels like I've never had a massage in my entire life. Within the first couple of squeezes, I find myself wishing it was Klous' firm hands. It was impeccable the way he hit every tense spot on my back and between my legs. I swear he had a fucking GPS system to help. He had to. No man can be that good in the sack all the time without help! That damn Swedish God, who looks like something they built in a secret sex lab, has been the main focus of most of my thoughts since he zipped his pants and left my office. He hasn't even spoken to me since our little office tryst Friday. I shouldn't be surprised or hurt, which I'm not. I'm just...annoyed. Who barges into someone’s office, fucks their brains out, then doesn't call all weekend? That's rude. Unprofessional.
“It's a good thing you have that massage today,” Hope hums reaching for the photo. “You always come back in such a better mood.”
Getting the sex your life needs does that to a person. Especially a very stressed out CEO who was starting to get cobwebs. Thank goodness he blew the dust off before I needed one of those industrial fans.
Instead of commenting on that I move my squeezing to my shoulders. “Did you book-”
“The hotel for the conference? Yes.”
On a groan I shut my eyes, digging my fingers into the tension that's stiffening me up. This is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. I feel like I was hit by a freight train. Ha. I was basically fucked by a freight train. I can't believe I just said that.
“But-”
“I don't like sentences that begin that way. You know that.”
“I do.” Cautiously she continues, “But-”
“There it is again.”
“However-”
“That's like a but wearing a suit and tie.”
“However!” Hope huffs and I look up with a crooked smile. “We are booked in separate rooms.”
Perplexed, I lift my eyebrows.
“Well, you don't really take vacations-”
“There's not any time for vacation when you're responsible for breaking records and running an entire company that would collapse like a house of cards without you.”
Hope tilts her head. “I think you're over exaggerating.” When my eyebrows furrow, she continues, “My point was, you don't take vacations, which means I don't take vacations. So, I am turning this conference into a little getaway for all of us.”
“All of us?”
“I'm bringing Harry-”
“Which is why we're staying in separate rooms. Got it.”
Hope cradles the files to her chest.
“Would you have sex with him?” I casually ask Hope.
Her face reddens quickly as her head rapidly shakes. “I'm a happily married woman.”
Rolling my eyes I sigh. “Fine. If you weren't a happily married woman, would you wanna have sex with him?”
She scrunches her sweet face giving me the answer I was wanting.
“Exactly.” I push the photo back across my desk. “Now please take Fido out back like Old Yeller.”
“Wow,” she whispers. She drops a hand on her hip. “You're in a mood.”
“I am not.” I am. I so fucking am. But it's not my fault I've got the shakes because the world's hottest massage therapist made me go cold turkey all weekend. Completely cold turkey. My vibrator doesn't appreciate being ignored. Vodka, however, was happy to help numb the pain.
“Are too.”
I drop my pen and begin rubbing the back of my neck. Somehow the muscles have knotted themselves up so tightly it feels like I've never had a massage in my entire life. Within the first couple of squeezes, I find myself wishing it was Klous' firm hands. It was impeccable the way he hit every tense spot on my back and between my legs. I swear he had a fucking GPS system to help. He had to. No man can be that good in the sack all the time without help! That damn Swedish God, who looks like something they built in a secret sex lab, has been the main focus of most of my thoughts since he zipped his pants and left my office. He hasn't even spoken to me since our little office tryst Friday. I shouldn't be surprised or hurt, which I'm not. I'm just...annoyed. Who barges into someone’s office, fucks their brains out, then doesn't call all weekend? That's rude. Unprofessional.
“It's a good thing you have that massage today,” Hope hums reaching for the photo. “You always come back in such a better mood.”
Getting the sex your life needs does that to a person. Especially a very stressed out CEO who was starting to get cobwebs. Thank goodness he blew the dust off before I needed one of those industrial fans.
Instead of commenting on that I move my squeezing to my shoulders. “Did you book-”
“The hotel for the conference? Yes.”
On a groan I shut my eyes, digging my fingers into the tension that's stiffening me up. This is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. I feel like I was hit by a freight train. Ha. I was basically fucked by a freight train. I can't believe I just said that.
“But-”
“I don't like sentences that begin that way. You know that.”
“I do.” Cautiously she continues, “But-”
“There it is again.”
“However-”
“That's like a but wearing a suit and tie.”
“However!” Hope huffs and I look up with a crooked smile. “We are booked in separate rooms.”
Perplexed, I lift my eyebrows.
“Well, you don't really take vacations-”
“There's not any time for vacation when you're responsible for breaking records and running an entire company that would collapse like a house of cards without you.”
Hope tilts her head. “I think you're over exaggerating.” When my eyebrows furrow, she continues, “My point was, you don't take vacations, which means I don't take vacations. So, I am turning this conference into a little getaway for all of us.”
“All of us?”
“I'm bringing Harry-”
“Which is why we're staying in separate rooms. Got it.”
Hope cradles the files to her chest.
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