W. L.
His initials, not Dad, because at work they were not father and daughter.
Rebecca groaned. She didn’t mind helping her dad, but the last thing she needed was another project on her plate, especially something that was all about the PR and not the actual charity. There was no pushing back on this kind of stuff, though. Lawyers who wanted to be partners took on extra things. And the daughter of William Lindt did not complain about added responsibility. She’d been taught that early on.
With a sigh, she got up and poured herself a cup of coffee and let go of any plans to go out tonight. If she had to make time to research charities next week, she needed to wrap up all her normal work tonight or it’d be hanging over her all weekend.
She started by making notes in the Ames file. Twice she caught her eyes drifting to the screenshots from the videos. She couldn’t see much of Daphne besides the rapt look on her face, but the tense, flexing muscles of the mostly naked contractor were hard to look away from. Rebecca usually found herself more attracted to men in suits, men who had a certain amount of polish, but maybe there was something to be said for a guy who was a little rougher around the edges and worked with his hands.
Love was a bad bet, but sex with a hot guy… That didn’t sound so bad.
She rolled her eyes at her R-rated thoughts and forced herself to finish her work. Before long, the sunset cast swaths of burnt-orange light over her desk, reminding her that she should be getting home.
To her empty apartment.
Where no one was waiting.
And no one would be getting naked with her.
She grunted and leaned back in her chair, rubbing the bridge of her nose. What was with her tonight? She couldn’t let Anthony’s words or these photos get to her.
She lived a busy life, was good at her job, had friends. She was comfortable being alone. If she felt pent-up sexual frustration sometimes, she knew how to handle things on her own. Frankly, taking care of things solo was more satisfying than the few awkward encounters with men she’d had along the way, and it saved her from having to explain the ugly, pitted scars on her leg—always a fun conversation. Her life worked.
Anthony hadn’t wanted to be alone, and look where that had landed him—in a messy divorce, crying over his dog. She wanted no part of that kind of drama.
With renewed resolve, she closed the file she’d been working on and shut everything down. This had been a good week. She’d won two cases. She’d gotten a few things in place for her father’s campaign. She deserved to b
e celebrating, not ruminating in her office.
A new plan formed quickly in her head. She’d pick up her favorite wine from the store down the street, get takeout and dessert from that fancy Italian restaurant that had just opened, and rent a new movie with a pretty guy to look at.
She wasn’t craving a date. She was just craving a break and a little indulgence. She didn’t need anyone else to give her that. She could handle it on her own.
She’d been doing it all her life.
Why stop now?
chapter
TWO
Wes Garrett peeked through the crack in the door to the apartment inside, eyeing the small group of women laughing and drinking champagne. One was wearing a party hat with a big light-up dick on it. He shut the door and leaned against the wall in the hallway. “I can’t believe I’m considering this.”
Suzie grinned wickedly at him, her lip ring glinting in the hallway light. “Don’t be such a prude, Garrett. What happened to that wild, try-anything-once guy I used to know?”
His jaw clenched. “Are you really asking me that?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “You know that’s not what I mean. I don’t want post-apocalyptic you. That sucked.”
“Ya think?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m talking about the you before everything went to shit. You’ve swung too far in the other direction.” She shrugged. “Walking the straight and narrow doesn’t mean not having any fun or, you know, a sense of humor.”
“Suze…”
“This is a good gig.” She pinned him with her gaze. “Three hundred bucks for two hours of your time. All you’re going to be doing is teaching drunk chicks how to cook simple things. You teach cooking every day. This is no different.”
He gave her a droll look. “I teach cooking to teenagers. I get to wear my chef’s whites. I don’t have to cook naked.”