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CORY

That morning, I got into the office at eight. It was early, but I had some work I wanted to catch up on. There were bankers who came in at seven, so the building was open, and I didn’t have to worry about setting off any alarms.

I rode the elevator up to the third floor, got out, and strode to my office. Taking a moment to look down on the street below, I tried to get my head in the game. I was still having trouble shaking the image of Petra, apron wrapped tightly around her waist, serving me donuts. I knew that she didn’t work the morning shift, or rather, that she was in the back of the house during the morning rush. Therefore, I was in the habit of going to her place around three.

I would scoop up a box of pastries for the office and a cup of stale coffee as an excuse to talk to her. Gavin and Patrick said they were going to talk to her that morning, and knowing what I did about bakery hours, I surmised that the meeting had already happened. I wondered how it had gone. Was Petra onboard with the plan? Did she understand what it was Donovan was offering her, and did she have any ideas about how to use the funding?

For starters, I would clean up the store front. First impressions were important, and that bakery gave a very bad first impression. After that, a bit of modernizing in the interior would serve to make customers comfortable. There was nothing wrong with the food, but maybe a coffee upgrade would help move the donuts. People liked the two together, and having a signature brand of coffee might encourage customers to buy other things.

I didn’t know a lot about running a restaurant and even less about running a bakery. But I had enough conversations with Petra to know that she was experienced in that matter. If it hadn’t been for bad luck, she would still be the owner of her own place. It only seemed fair to help her regain the title.

I had actual work to do that didn’t involve daydreaming about a woman I had just met. Turning my computer on, I navigated to the accounting software and began going through a series of reports. But each time I zeroed in on a figure, Petra popped into my head.

Not only was she beautiful, but she was quirky. The colorful streaks in her hair spoke of a woman who knew how to have a good time. I wondered what it would be like to take her out on the town. Did she prefer jazz, or was she into rock and roll? I would have to find out. I could work that question into my next conversation with her. We were friendly, and I knew that she understood my attraction.

I thought it was mutual. She never shied away from talking to me. Instead, she seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me better. We hadn’t repeated that hug from the time I’d brought Patrick and his mother with me, but I could tell that she didn’t regret it.

I wished that I had been more receptive at the time. I tried to remember what she felt like in my arms, but all I came away with was the feeling of confusion as she pressed her chest to mine. It had been so sweet, but fleeting. I would stop at nothing to recapture the moment. Sooner or later, I was going to ask her out. I just felt like I needed a little bit more time to win her over.

I was finally getting into my work when my calendar buzzed me. There was a nine o’clock meeting on the fifth floor that I was supposed to be at. I had completely forgotten, and it was only blind luck that I was at the office that early.

Grabbing my phone and my laptop, I headed up. Luckily, the warning buzzed me with enough time to get settled. The rest of the participants were just coming in for the day, and a few of them were late. It was a meeting of all the investment bankers to go over the goals for the quarter. There were presentations to sit through about the previous quarter and projections for the next year. I hung in there, trying to focus on all the information.

It was the type of thing that I didn’t necessarily need to be in on, but they wanted everyone to hear the same speech. The CEO of the company was in attendance, so everyone was on their best behavior. Ordinarily, investment bankers can get pretty rowdy. But they played it safe and kept their language PG for the duration.

When it was done, I lingered for a few minutes to talk to some of my colleagues. Everyone was interested in Donovan.

“I heard he’s going to run for mayor,” someone said.

I just shrugged. Donovan didn’t explicitly say that was privileged information, but he hadn’t made any sort of public declaration yet. I figured I would err on the safe side and not give anything away.

“Do you know something?” another man pried.

“I can’t say,” I admitted.

“That means he is planning to run,” a woman guessed.

“I can’t say,” I repeated myself. “But I can tell you that I went to school with him, and he’s nothing like his dad.”

“Good thing,” a few of them laughed.

“We don’t need another Lancaster in the mayor’s office,” the woman stated.

I wanted to urge her to give my man a chance, but I didn’t want to show my hand. It was really Donovan’s problem. I was just his friend, not his campaign manager. I could see he had a lot of work to do to overcome his father’s failings. If he pulled off a win, it would be unexpected. It became clear to me how important this revitalization project was to him. If he could deliver some real, tangible benefits to the city, then maybe people would forgive him for things he had nothing to do with.

I walked back to the elevator, laptop in hand. Throughout the meeting, I had been thinking about Gavin. Was he back from his meeting with Petra? Had it gone well? I was dying to learn the outcome, and I didn’t think I could wait.

Instead of going back to my own office, I swung left and headed down the opposite corridor. Gavin’s office was just beyond the conference room, but he was busy when I arrived. There were other people with him, the entire PR team by the looks of it. Two women and one man stood behind Gavin while he navigated something on his computer.

“Sorry,” I said, reaching out to close the door.

“Hey, Cory.” Gavin looked up. “I gotta talk to you.”

“Later,” I allowed.

“What are you doing for lunch?” he asked.

“I’m free.”


Tags: Sofia T. Summers Erotic