“And tongues were involved…”
Nope. Not admitting anything. “Yeah. Between the girl I know and the boss she kissed.”
“And you must’ve liked it enough to talk to me about it.”
“Not me. Her.”
She steamrolls on. “If you didn’t care for it, you would’ve cut things off.”
“I’ll tell her that.”
“She already knows. ’Cause that’s how you were with all the guys you’ve dated.”
“What? I’m not, like, unfeeling!”
“Didn’t say you were,” she says kindly. “But you don’t like to waste energy on someone you’ve decided isn’t worth it. You cut your losses and move on. If I hadn’t asked you about the trip, you wouldn’t have told me about breaking up with Rick until later. Anyway, I think it’s admirable that you don’t squander your time and focus that way. I could seriously learn some stuff from you.”
She’s overestimating my…cold-bloodedness. I just haven’t met anybody I developed enough feelings for to care so deeply about. But when I do, I plan to get serious and marry the guy.
“Anyway, all I’m saying is if you want to do more than just explore Emmett’s esophagus with your tongue, it’s not going to hurt your rep. That’s all.” She taps the countertop with her fingers. “I would totally take advantage of him if I were in your shoes. The best time to do a hot dude from your office is right before you’re about to quit. That way, if things don’t go well, you don’t have to see him again.”
She makes great points. If I go to work for Marion Blaire, I definitely won’t run into Emmett again anytime soon.
Sasha has no clue how tempting her suggestion sounds. Especially after that mind-destroying sex and my filthy dream involving Emmett and other positions we could try to see if the last night’s orgasm was a fluke.
My hormones scream it is totally replicable—and I should do him again.
Chapter Nine
Amy
I’m in the lobby at four twenty-five p.m., waiting for one of the elevators to come down from the upper floors they’ve been at—some poor suckers are working the weekend like me—and grateful for the modern technology that enables me to effortlessly get to the thirty-fifth floor. If I had to climb that many stairs, I’d just collapse right here and cry.
The lobby is empty except for a few people who have the employee pass to bypass the main lock. Security’s off today because expecting security to work on weekends is cruel and unusual, although expecting everyone else to do it is apparently totally fair.
I mentally chastise myself for being petty. The office is in the nicest part of the city. Nobody’s going to come in to rob us on a weekend. Not that anybody tries to rob us during the week, either.
I pull out my phone to check messages. Nothing from Dad or Emmett. But there are over one hundred unread texts from Rick.
I’ve already made myself clear. There’s nothing left between us that requires this many messages.
Out of morbid curiosity, I open the conversation thread.
–Rick: You can’t do this to me!
Sure I can. This one came almost immediately after I told him I’d pick my career over him. He must’ve been glued to his phone to reply so fast.
–Rick: Our relationship can’t be tossed out like garbage.
–Rick: Do you hear me?
–Rick: I can’t believe this! Do you think you’re going to get a nicer and more understanding boyfriend than me?
Wow. Doesn’t he get tired of saying the same thing over a hundred times? He should at least consider copying and pasting to spare his thumbs.
–Rick: And I’ll prove it right now. I’ll give you another chance.
Seriously pathetic. Besides, he has to have some inkling that he isn’t as into me as he claims. Every time we manage to go out, he’s more interested in taking selfies and photos of the restaurants and food and posting them online than he is in me. He also makes sure to write a descriptive sentence or two and add all the appropriate hashtags. Half our time is spent updating his Pulse feed. That is not the behavior of a man who’s into his girl.