Bastard In Suit(21)

I can still taste you.

Are you awake?

Hailey?

My stomach goes all fluttery. I punch in a response. Erase it. Try again.

I’m absolutely shit at flirting. I start a new text. Change my mind. Back space, back space, back space. Jesus this is hard. I’m here, I type in finally, pressing send. It’s the best I could do.

What are you wearing? He fires back.

My grin widens. Not underwear. None left.

I’ll buy you a lingerie store.

The fluttering in my stomach picks up speed. I imagine Duke on the other end of the phone, smiling a little bit perhaps. It’s not at all the persona he shows face-to-face, but this flirty guy? Yeah, I could fall for someone like that.

I type back quickly. At this rate, I’ll need the whole chain of stores.

Take my suggestion and go without.

There’s a long pause as I try to figure out what to respond. He jumps in. I’m picturing your pussy right now.

My throat makes some kind of strangled groaning sound. Jesus. I refuse to repeat last night’s behavior, but I’m already wet. Get some sleep, I text.

Tease.

I chew on my lower lip as a million responses come to mind, all of them too intimate, too personal. I want to invite him into my bed—not this bed, but a bed, or suggest we head back to the office to pick up where things left off. I want to say I wish we were sleeping together or that I miss him, or even that I really enjoyed this morning’s punishment—and pleasure.

Instead I type: Don’t let the bed bugs bite.

I prefer to do the biting. Night.

My stomach does a full-on flip. I press my cellphone against my chest, heart racing. Is it possible Duke is actually…dare I think it…interested in me?

Truly interested?

That might be the most frightening possibility of all.





Chapter 12





I arrive at work ten minutes early, my plaid skirt pressed, make-up carefully applied, hair pulled into a professional up-do. I adjust my glasses, square my shoulders, and exhale before walking through the glass door. Once inside the lobby, I freeze. Breathe it all in.

A giant Kingston Industries sign hangs over the reception desk, where a petite blonde woman smiles in welcome. Forrest and Jake are seated in the lobby, each in a suit and tie.

Jake’s trousers hang from his thin frame and he looks somehow even worse than he did yesterday. His dark circles under his eyes have bags now, and his skin is pale and clammy looking.

He’s shaven, but it’s patchy, like he wasn’t paying much attention when he used the razor. He even has what looks like a small scab over by his jawline.

“Bout time,” Jakes says, frowning.

The receptionist stands. “You must be Hailey.” Without waiting for a response, she hands me a key card and an envelope. “Mr. Kingston would like me to show you to your offices.”

Offices. Damn, I like the sound of that.

My excitement is tampered only slightly by the fact that Duke isn’t there to welcome us on board. Obviously he has better things to do. It’s just, after last night’s texts, I wondered if things might be different between us.

More personal.

But no, this is still work, I remind myself firmly.

We follow the receptionist to the elevator, where we travel in silence to the third floor. Duke is more than a dozen floors above, in an office that makes me blush just to think about. We weave through a series of workstations, mostly cubicles, where a diverse collection of employees are hard at work. Phones ring, keyboards tap, soft music filters through the air. No one bothers to look up or acknowledge us. Huh.

Somehow I expected a warmer atmosphere.

We’re led to a small room at the back end of the third floor. At the door, we’re asked to sign in via thumbprint.

A hidden scanner whirs and clicks. Holy shit, the security in this place is state of the art.

Inside, three workstations have been set up to include a desk, phone, bookshelf, and file cabinet. Fancy, but not over the top like Duke’s office. A common seating area at the back of the room features a sofa, two chairs and a coffee station that is already set to brew. Two large windows overlook Lake Michigan and Navy Pier.

“You’ll want to pull the blinds midday,” the receptionist says. “It can get quite warm in here.”

She exits the room, leaving the three of us standing in the center, spinning around to take it all in. I slide into my chair and roll it up to my desk, running my hands over its smooth wooden surface. I find a Day-Timer, fancy pens, a calculator, and a new laptop.

I flip open the screen and follow the instructions on the Post-it note to log into to the company’s corporate computer network. It’s loaded with passwords and warnings and levels of access, most of which we won’t be able to reach. It doesn’t matter.