As I stare unabashedly a little longer, she starts to look damn familiar.
She reminds me vaguely of picnics, barbecues, Thanksgivings. Then, a Christmas party. A moment under the mistletoe, maybe.
Wait.
Hold the hell on.
Is that…?
No fucking way.
Another memory flashes before me of Ellie Snow. One of the times I babysat her.
THE END
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Harlow…
I move closer, jutting out a hip against the side of his desk.
Like he’s fighting not to but can’t resist, his eyes travel up and down my legs. Good thing I like wearing skirts as much as he likes looking at my legs. “Did Carlos get you that intro? To Fontaine?” I ask, prompting him.
“He’s still working on it.”
I smile, but it’s a small one so I don’t let on how thrilled I am that Carlos hasn’t quite come through. “Then, what are you doing tomorrow night?” I ask.
For a second, he startles. I’ve surprised him. Good. He’s the most pliable when he’s off-kilter. “I’m working,” he answers.
I shake my head, then pop up on his desk, perching my butt on the edge. “No,we’regoing to the Petra gallery. There’s an exhibit. Allison Fontaine is a silent partner in the gallery.”
It’s like watching a sunrise, the way his smile spreads, slow and unstoppable. “You’re too indispensable,” he says, like he’s amazed with me.
Good. I want to amaze him.
“I got us on the VIP list,” I add.
“You did?”
“I did.”
“You’re incredible.”
I go for the kill. Crossing my legs. Leaning a little closer. “I wanted to do this for you.”
His breath comes in a staggered breath. “Harlow,” he says, a low warning.
“We can go together,” I say, pushing more. I’m not letting this chance pass me by.
“Together?” He asks, like he’s never heard the word, never uttered it.
I slide my palm further across his desk. I’m at a sharper angle now. The kind that shows off hips, and curves, and breasts. All the places he wants to touch me. “Yes, like a date,” I say, and I should be nervous.
But I’m not. I’ve been working up to this moment for more than three years. I’m simply ready for my gift.