“Turn back around.”
I wheeled back around, feeling the chilly air agains the wet of my juices before a moan ripped from my lungs. He moved inside of me, reminding me of everything I missed, everything I ever needed. When the first cl**ax rocked me I knew I was losing it. Moaning, crying out. His moans matched mine.
His fingers cut into the tender flesh of my h*ps as he released, filling me. Pieces of him mixing with pieces of me.
We pushed out of the bathroom. Me tugging at my dress, he looping his overnight bag over his shoulder, pointed toward the exit. Most people avoided our gaze altogether. Maggie was near the concierge desk and flashed me a wink that made me whisper ‘oh my god’.
I looked up into his blue eyes. Embarrassment and shame made me want to die right there. “Just how loud were we?”
His eyes smoldered. “Loud enough.”
My whole face tingled as I squeezed my eyes shut. “They know...they’re looking at us...”
When it came out I wished I could take it back. Whenever we fooled around at the office and I brought up concerns about other employees gossiping about it he’d comment they’d be out of there so fast their head would spin. He had enough clout that he’d make anyone looking at us sideways regret not averting their gaze and I didn’t want anyone to get in trouble because we couldn’t contain ourselves.
But the look he wore wasn’t the one he used when he was on the warpath. The look was playful and heart meltingly sexy. He gripped my hand with a smile.
“Let them talk.”
****
I knew it was gonna be one of those days before I even walked through the revolving door at the Whitmore building. One of those days that made you wonder why you got out of bed in the first place. A kind of day where the stars align and everything that could possibly go wrong does.
It started off with Jacob letting me sleep in because I was so tired. This whole thing could have been a segue into something sexy considering the reason I was so exhausted had everything to do with nakedness, wetness, and awesomeness. Instead, I woke up alone, freaking out for a minute and thinking I’d dreamt up that he was back. Unfortunately, I still jerked awake an hour past the time I needed to be up to make it to the big midweek meeting Missy headed up; right when people were getting used to me being in the trenches and shunning special treatment, I went and did something I knew I would never get reprimanded for.
And that was just the beginning.
After I was late, I had not time to whip up coffee so I decided to swing by Starbucks on the commute and after getting the cabbie to wait, realized exactly why I never did Starbucks on the way to the office. I got dangerously close to giving the paparazzo who seemed intent on turning the wait into a photoshoot the middle finger. Instead of anything newsworthy, he got lots of grimaces, grit teeth, and glares.
Naturally, I only got a sip or two in before a pothole sent my cup backward, drenching my silk blouse in my venti quad shot white chocolate mocha. I tried looking on the bright side, knowing I had some spare shirts in my office and buttoned my blazer to hide the brunt of the damage--and then I saw the swarm of paps gathered around the entrance. Before I could get out a, ‘What the--?’ I heard the drawl of none other than her.
Rachel Laraby.
I should have just turned around, slid back into the cab, and told the driver to take me home, but I just drew a harried breath and proceeded toward the impromptu conference, telling myself that maybe in the span since Rachel Laraby had last made herself known, she’d done some maturing. Hopefully excelled at a life lesson called Acceptance: Getting Over Jacob Whitmore and My Unhealthy Obsession With Ruining His Fiancé.
In fact, I was gonna scoot past all the flashing bulbs and go straight inside. She wasn’t my client or my concern anymore. I was two feet away from the entrance when my name rung out over the clamor.
“Leila, do you have a minute?”
If it was a pap, I would have ignored it altogether. I was good at just going about my business as far as their questions were concerned. If I was at a premiere, that was one thing, but in general, their questions were along the lines of rude things like how Jacob was in bed and my thoughts on the subset of PR fans who had a theory that the reason I was never on the show was because I was only there to answer phones and look pretty because my fiancé was the CEO of the company.
I refused to dignify either of those questions with a response, but since all attention was centered on me, the lack of an answer or acknowledgement would give them something new to talk about.
The huddle parted like the Red Sea, revealing Rachel at the forefront. She looked amazing per usual, pairing a chic blood red dress with her mahogany locks. Her green eyes were intensified by gold hoops in her ears and sweeping strands of gold at her neck. She didn’t even finish her once over, emerald gaze drinking in my stain before her lips spread a little wider as a couple of cameras flashed. Great.
“I was just talking about the new program I’m pitching to the board,” she continued. Her feline like features narrowed with amusement as I frowned.
“What program?”
She raised an eyebrow. “We talked about this, remember? I mean, it was the product of our conversation.”
Heads snapped back in my direction. Nicely played--now the company would look bad if I didn’t go along with whatever new plot she’d cooked up.
I hated to lie, or give Rachel Laraby an inch, so I just shifted and cleared my throat.
She seemed disappointed that I didn’t embarrass myself by saying, ‘Huh?’, but she recovered, corralling the attention back to her.
“The program is called Reach. I was inspired when I followed the story of one of Whitmore and Creighton’s troubled clients, Mia Kent.”
Confusion and wariness took the backseat in favor of indignation. This is her play? The saint?
I couldn’t be the only one that saw right through that. But as they all faced her with wide eyed adoration, I knew that she was reaping the rewards of being America’s Sweetheart. The beautiful, troubled figure that the world couldn’t help but root for.
“As an actress that has struggled with addiction, I know all too well how in need Mia truly is.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder, nodding in my direction. “I’m just glad I’ll be able to help her and I’m so grateful to Leila for offering me this opportunity.”
She’s insane. Completely insane.
The company’s PR executive saved me from literally melting down, charging through the doors and informing the photographers that they were trespassing. Monique Leferve rivaled Jacob in the kicking ass/taking names department and she moved them back the appropriate amount of feet in record time.