I smirk at her, watching her face for signs. She's picturing it, I know. She's wondering how we both got all up inside the Congresswoman at the same time. Not everybody wants to try it, but it's amazing. The look on her face, with Dillon and I both plunged to the hilt inside of her, her knees jutting out to either side, her head thrown back, her eyes practically rolled up in her head…
Well, that was a gifted photographer, that's for sure. I can’t imagine how he got the angle right.
And right now, Hannah Bonham, the conservative CEO of Riordan Publishing is imagining all of it, right there in her pretty little ginger skull.
I shift in the leather easy chair, waiting for her eyes to track down toward my package.
“So… I'm going to be very good for you…” I start.
“Yes!” she snaps, her eyes suddenly focusing back on mine and away from my crotch, which is a pity. “You guys can act like normal, upstanding, relatively moral billionaires. You think you can do that?”
“Shouldn’t be too hard,” I yawn. Now I'm just telling her what she wants to hear. If this is the only reason that I'm here in the office, I feel like I can leave now. I bet you I still get eighteen holes in before lunch, if I call ahead to the Gold Coast club.
“So… The Copper. Eight o'clock, tomorrow,” she mutters, looking down at her phone. I see her hands flex as her thumbs move the screen back and forth. Then she looks up at me, waiting.
“I'm sorry… what?” I ask, sensing that I'm missing something.
“The Copper!” she drawls out, frustrated. “Eight o'clock. Remember?"
Remember? How would I remember something that hasn't happened yet? But at the risk of pissing her off even further, I nod.
“The Copper, of course. Can't believe that slipped my mind. I'll be there.”
“Damn straight you will,” she mumbles. “Bella isn’t the kind who’s gonna stand around waiting for you either. Don't pull any of your bullshit billionaire games on her, you got that?”
What is she talking about? Did I really zone out that long? But now, I have to admit I'm a little afraid to ask questions.
“Absolutely no games,” I assure her. “Bella's going to have the time of her life, I promise.”
“That's good,” she sniffs. “And it'll be good for you too. Bella's not one of those bimbos you like to parade around the front your yacht for the cameras. She's brilliant, you understand? One of my oldest friends. You should consider yourself lucky she's agreed to date you after all of your shenanigans.”
Date me? Is that what this is supposed to be?
I just smile like a good boy, nodding and waiting for her to get tired of pushing me around like I'm a mouse she caught and dragged inside or something. I just want her out of my hair, so I can go back to fantasizing about what life will be like when this is all behind me.
Because no matter what she says, in three weeks I'm not marrying Google. I'm divorcing this business entirely. I'm out of here, with or without Dillon. With or without anybody's blessing or so much as a bon voyage.
Wait a second… did I just agree to going out on a date? Who is this Bella?
Chapter 27
Bella
; What's awesome about being a writer is the sheer slackness of it. Words come out of my head, plop, and magically appear on the page, swoosh. I don’t even type. I dictate everything. Just a bunch of blah blah blah, all grammatically corrected by the software, sprouting on the page like little fairy footprints.
That's the theory, anyway.
In reality, it is not just a bunch of creative a-ha moments one right after another, stretching out for days on end. It's actually like ninety-five percent turning in meaningless circles while pelted with darts of self-doubt. That’s all punctuated by brief periods of actual work, and then I fill the rest of my waking moments with anxiety.
Actually, my sleeping moments too. I have dreams like you would not believe.
But still, it's not digging ditches, right? As my grandma would say, you gotta remember to be grateful. Cannot complain so much. Just think of the starving children in…
Oh, who am I kidding? It's tough. That's what I'm saying.
These are the thoughts that I've been thinking over and over again for the past day, stretched out of my sofa, balancing between doing one thing and doing another thing. Should I be getting dressed or undressed? Should I be eating or exercising? Should I be sleeping or awake?