“I did. A perfect gift for CJ.” A smile crosses my lips as I think of CJ and her nerdy addiction to novelty T-shirts, but the grin erases itself when I glance back down at my phone.
Lucy. Lush, but loony Lucy.
I really should block her number.
But if I did that, she would show up on my doorstep, crazy leaking out of every pore, and I would need a damned crowbar to pry her off of me. Briefly, I wonder what Bruce’s John McClane would do in a situation like this, but then decide he wouldn’t let it happen in the first place.
Just the fax, ma’am, and yippee-ki-yay-motherfucker.
Lucy: Hey there, G-Man. What are you up to?
I roll my eyes at the nickname I can’t stomach then fire off a quick reply.
Busy.
Nothing shuts down a textual flirt attempt like a one-word reply. I’ll just keep Die Harding it through the day, like John McClane would if he were the badass CEO of a sexy-as-sin lingerie company.
I delete the text and shove the phone into the pocket of my jeans.
Ex-girlfriends have a way of coming out of the woodwork at the least opportune times, proving my long-standing belief that any relationship that lasts for more than a few weeks is a Big Mistake. Gigantic with a capital G.
Lucy, for all her sexy curves, filthy mouth, and willingness to tackle any challenge in the book on exotic sex positions, is proving to be the biggest mistake of them all.
The trouble is, I’ve always been a sucker for the crazy ones. They’re just really good in bed.
Okay, fine, that’s a lie.
I’m a sucker for all the ladies. Blond, brunette, redhead. Crazy, sane, smart. I love women. We’ve had a solid mutual appreciation society going on for years.
Until Lucy came along, and the focus-sucking vortex of her growing obsession with me served as a stark reminder that I don’t have time for distractions in any shape or form. I don’t have a minute to spare on a romantic relationship. Not with my business at stake. My industry is in a massive state of flux, and I need to concentrate on keeping the company train rattling along at full speed.
That’s why I’m seeing CJ.
She’s my secret weapon, the key to making sure Adored moves in the right direction, despite the suitors waiting in the wings for my baby, doing their best to tempt my shareholders.
Absently, I run my hand over the silky bow, frowning as my fingers slide across a card. Plucking
it from the bag, I turn it over—In case you change your mind about wanting more than the shirt.
I smirk. So Olive found a way to get her number into my hands after all.
But I'm a good boy and have been since things ended with Lucy a few months ago.
A very good boy, who has no use for a beautiful woman’s phone number.
Though a quickie would take my mind off of this upcoming board meeting, and Olive did seem like the kind of woman who would be fine with a one-night stand—flirty, but not raring to sink her claws into me . . .
I grab my phone again and tap out a message to Olive.
Graham: Anything in particular you think would change my mind?
Almost immediately, my phone pings again.
My eyes practically pop out of my head when I open the multimedia message. Olive is one bold woman. One bold, busty woman.
I blow out a long stream of air, reminding myself I need to stay strong.
I type out a reply.