Fuck.
“What time?”
“Nine. After that you’ve got back-to-back meetings and let me just say, it took weeks to schedule in your eleven o’clock with Aaron Steele. Weeks.”
I take in her glare. She’s pissed off and rightfully so. Aaron Steele is notoriously difficult to nail down for a meeting. Raking my fingers through my hair, I say, “Okay, let me take a look at the calendar and see what I can move around and what I can’t.”
Her eyes widen before narrowing at me. “Is this your new form of Asshole Monday? Finding ways to give me heart palpitations? Because if it is, I’m stating right now that I’m not a fan. I’ll take your moods over this any day.”
“It’s one day, Jessica.”
She huffs out a breath and shakes her head at me in disgust. “One day in Ashton-land is the equivalent of a week in most people’s lives. You don’t cancel appointments, let alone entire fucking days. What the hell has gotten into you?” A look flashes across her face and her eyes widen again. “Jesus, is this for pussy?”
I stand. “You’re being melodramatic now.”
She doesn’t take her eyes off me as I walk around the desk. “Fuck me, I never thought I’d see the day that Ashton Scott cancelled work for a woman.”
Grabbing my phone off the desk, I ignore her. “I’m heading out for about an hour. I’ll take a look at the calendar and let you know what I want moved around.”
Frown lines crease her forehead. “You’re leaving? You just got in. It’s only just past eight—”
“I’ll be back in an hour.”
I exit my office to her yelling after me. “I’m getting to the bottom of this when you get back.”
Her words filter through my thoughts but are quickly replaced with images of Lorelei.
Naked.
In the throes of an orgasm.
Fucking beautiful.
I’ll meet with Brentley and Steele to
morrow, but no other meeting will take precedent over seeing Lorelei.
* * *
“What can I do for you, Ashton?”
I eye the real estate agent standing in front of me, taking in the unironed fabric of her dress and the dishevelled appearance of her hair and face. So unlike the Margie Brown I know. It would seem the rumours I’ve heard are correct. Margie is losing her touch. Disappointing because she’s the best agent I’ve ever worked with. It’ll be hard to replace her. “Can you tell me what properties you have available on Willow Street currently?”
“In Pott’s Point?”
I nod.
“There’s only one at the moment, and I doubt it’s a property you’d be after.”
I ignore the irritation her statement stirs. “I didn’t ask you to think for me, Margie. Which building is it?”
Her nostrils flare at my hard tone, but she doesn’t acknowledge her annoyance. “It’s the rundown dress shop on the corner of Willow and Blair. Tiny building that no one seems to want. It’s been on the market for three months now and only one other person has shown any interest.”
“Who?” I demand.
“You know I can’t divulge that, Ashton.”
“It’s never stopped you before.”