Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“We’ll take a bottle of the Cab. Make sure it’s a good year.”
The server peers at me for consent, and I nod, then wave my glass, indicating I need another round myself. My phone buzzes, and I reach inside my suit coat, pulling it out. HR. Fuck. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to take this.”
I drain the rest of my bourbon and then find a more secluded spot to take the call. “What did you find?” I snap.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Blake,” Kayla, my head of human resources, begins, her voice tense. “I’ve reviewed his file a million times, and I still don’t know how it slipped through the screening process. All his information is fake—every reference is bogus, the phone numbers are disconnected, and the address on file is a sandwich shop in the West Suburbs.”
I grit my teeth, my grip tightening around my phone. “So, you’re telling me that my senior recruiter hired a kid with zero experience, zero references, and no valid form of identification?”
There’s a pause, the silence thick with tension. I don’t need to see Kayla to know she’s shaking. And she damn well should be.
“I’m not pointing fingers,” she rushes out, “but I was on maternity leave when he was hired. I never would have signed off on something like this.”
“Then who the hell did?”
“I—I don’t know,” she stammers. “Whoever covered for me from the temp agency? I can pull the records, find out who they sent—”
“Don’t bother.” My voice is clipped, my patience gone. “I’m heading back to the office.”
I hang up and return back to the table, my mood soured.
“Fun’s over,” I announce, glancing between them. “There’s an emergency at work.”
“Shocker.”
I don’t have the time or patience for his shit right now. “Enjoy yourselves. Eat. I’ll see you both back at the house.” Noah doesn’t spare me a glance and drinks his wine. “Watch it with the wine.” He finishes his glass and picks up the bottle to refill.
I stop at the valet on my way out, throwing a wad of cash and instructing them to have someone drive Noah’s car home and call for an Uber when they’re ready to go.
Chapter twelve
Georgia
Ican’t sleep.
Even the two glasses of wine haven’t helped. Jackson’s vulgar questions loop endlessly in my mind. Dinner was a disaster. After he left, Noah became a trainwreck. A switch had been flipped inside him. I tried to talk to him, get him to open up to me, but it had been fruitless. He harbored a deep hatred for his father. He finished the wine. Ordered most of the menu to spite him. Then I worried about the poor valet’s well-being when he explained Noah’s father had them bring his car home.
When we reached the house, he went straight to his room and slammed the door. The music instantly blared through the walls. I slipped into my room, hoping the day would be over, but I couldn’t succumb to sleep. Now, after hours of trying, I lay here, tormenting myself by replaying Jackson’s words in my head.
“Go to sleep, Georgia,” I demand, flipping on my side, but when I close my eyes, the only thing I see is him—his alluring stare, his mouth, his lips, his filthy words…
My nipples harden under my thin shirt. I graze my hand up my belly to cup my sensitive breast. Licking my lips, I imagine his hands and mouth on me, pinching, sucking. My lips part, and I drag my hand between my thighs, finding my panties wet. I insert two fingers, lost in thoughts of him. My back arches, and I let out a soft moan.
My inner walls are so slick and swollen that I replace my two fingers with three. Biting my bottom lip, I work myself into a fit of desire. God, I wish his hands were on me. I imagine his cock being back in my mouth, and my fingers get soaked even more. “After you sucked my cock, did you go back to your room and fuck yourself?” I’m close, nearly on the brink, and I pull my hands away, letting out a drawn-out huff. What the hell am I doing?
My skin is on fire. My sex pulsates with need and shame. I need to release this pent-up aggression, but this ongoing fantasy is only going to lead me down a dark path.
I turn onto my side and shove a pillow between my legs, hoping the pressure will relieve the achiness, but it’s no use. Grabbing my phone, I glance at the time. It’s almost one in the morning. Noah’s music still plays on the other side of the wall, but with how much he drank at dinner, he’s probably passed out.
I get up and slide out of my soaked panties, then open my bedroom door and walk down the hall. I stop in front of Noah’s room, pressing my ear to the door, debating whether to go in and shut the music off, but another argument, if he’s still awake, is the last thing I need. Instead, I head downstairs into the kitchen. Grabbing a glass, I fill it with ice, then pull a piece out and drag it down the center of my neck. The coolness is a brief relief against the heat building inside me. My lips part, and I lift my shirt to trace the ice between my breasts down to my stomach. I turn, resting my back against the fridge. That’s when I spot him standing in the doorway of the kitchen, his eyes fixated on me.