The sad thing, I realized as I climbed into bed and turned on the TV, though, was that it hadn’t helped.
It wasn’t just about an orgasm that I’d needed.
Because as I tossed and turned in bed, the need was not abated. If anything, it just seemed to keep building.
Which left me with one conclusion.
It wasn’t that I was just in need of release.
It was that I needed Brock to give it to me.
And that, well, that just couldn’t happen.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Miranda
“Is everything alright?” Cam asked after walking into my office and closing the door.
There was no such thing as privacy, what with the whole office being glass, but at least the sound didn’t carry when we wanted to share a couple stolen bits of conversation.
“Ah, I mean, yes. As alright as they can be, I guess. Why?”
“Because your shoes, purse, and that hideous necklace don’t work together,” Cam said, giving me a small, familiar smile to help ease the sting of the words.
“I…” I started, glancing over at my bag, then down at my shoes.
I mean, there was nothing wrong with them in and of themselves. And a normal person likely wouldn’t have seen anything off about them. But this wasn’t a normal person. This was Cam. The man who knew what kind of panties I bought and dental floss I liked.
He knew when an outfit choice was a manifestation of something else.
“The necklace is a security thing,” I told him, shrugging. “I am under direct orders to wear it every day from now on.”
“Oh, that is truly unfortunate.”
“I know, right? It’s fine for a one-off, but daily?” I said, grimacing.
“How have things been going?” he asked, coming closer to sit in one of the chairs across from my desk as he often did, settling his clipboard on his knee as he’d done a thousand times before.
“Bizarre, I guess. The security expert is making me remodel my balcony. My guest room is now outfitted with hideous monitors. But, yeah, it’s… okay.”
“Randi,” Cam said, leaning forward a bit, giving me raised brows. “This is me,” he reasoned.
To that, I let out a sigh.
“In the vault, right?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“I want to bang my private investigator,” I told him, feeling the weight fall from my shoulders almost immediately at getting a chance to admit that out loud.
“Um, duh,” Cam said, leaning back in his chair with a big smile. “I mean, you have eyes, don’t you?”
“He’s stupidly attractive. Couldn’t you find me an aging, blading, chain-smoking private investigator? You had to find the one who looks like he moonlights as a model?”
“I mean, of course, I tried very hard to find the ugliest one for you. Alas, Brock’s crew is considered the best there is. Which is exactly what you deserve.”
“What did the other two look like?”