She sure as hell hadn’t. I would have remembered that smoky voice made for firelight, crisp sheets, and screaming my name until she was hoarse. “That would be me.” I opened the door wider to stand beside my brother.
She paled until her freckles and overly made up cheeks practically glowed. “I was really hoping to speak with Jordan, but I can’t seem to get a hold of him.” She was almost as tall as I was, and yet again looking to bolt. Just like last night.
The woman from Purgatory. In my office, right now. Christ on a crutch.
I didn’t even know what, or who, I was looking for when I went into the club. I knew I wanted to forget—it was about all I cared about doing this time of year. Finding a warm body to lose myself in.
She’d fit the bill in every damn way. She was built like a woman should be—all curves and fiery grace. She didn’t care who had been watching her. She’d been lost in the music, then lost in me. At least for the span of two songs. Nearly as tall as me with an ass that fit against me like she’d been created for my body.
I’d never been so hot, so fast, for a woman in my life.
I was damn glad I was wearing all black right now so my semi didn’t fucking show.
“Jordan—the assistant of the Mr. Murdock you’re looking for—is probably already down at the party.” Parker gave me a hard stare, then turned his attention back to the woman in the doorway. “Can we help you with something?”
She lifted her chin and some of the color came back into her cheeks. “I’m from Kandy Kane Dreams.”
I huffed out a laugh. If the stockings fit.
Her eyes narrowed. “We’re your party planning company.” She concentrated on Parker’s face, her demeanor as professional as possible while dressed like an elf who belonged in Santa’s Fuckshop, a porn parody. “I’ve been working with Jordan on the plans for today’s party.”
Parker glanced at me.
I shrugged. I vaguely remember picking a company from the list my executive assistant gave me. The initial email to hire always went better if it was from me. Less haggling as well.
One thing my old man had taught me that had actually been worth remembering.
I pulled out my phone.
Parker crossed the room and unhooked his suit coat from the back of his chair. “Like he’ll hear his phone at the party.”
“He always answers my texts.”
Jordan might have been a pain in the ass most of the time, but he was a damn good assistant. And I was tired of dealing with the kind of female executive assistants I had previously employed. The first two had worn see-through blouses on the first week, for fuck’s sake.
The third—a battle-ax with steel wool for hair—had tried to keep
me regimented on a schedule that I’d never be able to survive. Then I’d found Jordan. He knew what to do before I asked him, didn’t give two fucks if I wore an Armani suit or jeans, and only gave me enough shit to make things interesting.
Oh, and he always answered my texts. No matter what time I sent one.
“I tried texting first,” Hot Elf said.
I glanced up from my phone to the woman who’d left me with a serious case of blue balls for the better part of a day. “You’re not me.”
“Very helpful,” Parker said out of the side of his mouth.
I shrugged. “If I go down to that party, I’ll be waving and leaving on my way out.”
Parker gave a long-suffering sigh. “Let me see if I can find him.”
“I’ll go with him.” The woman behind her piped up.
“No,” Hot Elf said quickly.
Parker held up a hand. “No, you both can stay here. I’ll be faster on my own.”
“But…” Hot Elf’s eyes widened.