Buy Me Sir(70)

A click box to confirm the agreement.

I click without hesitation.

Dean stares at me. “You really want to sign up to this shit for six months?”

“You’re kidding, right? I’d sign up for sixty years.”

He shakes his head. “I’m being serious, Lissa. Who knows what crap can happen in six months?”

My belly flutters at the thought.

A lot.

A lot can happen in six months.

I’m counting on it.





Chapter Twenty-Four





Alexander



I spend my entire working life facing people down without so much as breaking a sweat. I never lose a stare-off, haven’t done in all my years in the courtroom.

I don’t do nervous. I’ve never done nervous.

But tonight, as I check the knot of my tie is positioned just fucking so, I’m definitely feeling a shiver of trepidation.

I don’t know why this one night is even registering on my radar. It should be nothing more than a dirty little fuckfest, no different to any other time I’ve reached in my pocket and paid generously for the experience I want.

But her lucky stone is in my trouser pocket. Her pretty eyes are in my head.

The promise of a second round on her tight little cunt has my dick standing to attention before I’ve even fastened up my cufflinks.

I feel the ridiculous urge to buy her something. A beautiful bouquet of orchids like the ones downstairs. Belgian chocolates maybe.

But cliché gifts seem cheap and unoriginal, and a girl like Amy is anything but cheap and unoriginal. I have a half a million shaped dent in my bank account to prove it.

I take a bundle of notes from my safe and slip them into my jacket pocket, Claude’s ridiculous compulsory tip sorted.

There’s a niggle in my gut as I say goodbye to Brutus, and that niggle won’t let me cross the threshold.

I already know what I’m going for as I head upstairs. I input the code to my cabinet and my eyes sweep immediately to the second shelf down. A polished fire opal, its colours so glorious in the light.

This stone transfixed me, captured my eye at an auction in Dubai almost a decade ago.

I had to have it, at any cost. I paid well over the fucking odds for it, but I didn’t care. I felt nothing but relief as that gavel came down.

It’s a fitting gift.

I wrap it in a burgundy silk handkerchief, slipping it into my pocket along with the cash.

The niggle in my gut is gone when I face my front door for the second time.

But not the nerves.

The nerves are still right fucking there.



Melissa



I had to buy a dress today. I chose a pretty red number that fits tight at the bust and flares over my hips. Dean approved in the store this morning, and even Joe clapped. A definite win.

And so was the red lipstick to match.

I picked up the shoes and handbag at a discount store on the way back home, and they may have been bought on a budget, but I feel just fine as I head on through Delaney’s reception with a smile on my face.

Round two.

I’m really going in for round two.

I’ve had a smile on my face all day, and I’m happy. Lighter than I’ve felt since… just since.

It feels so strange to feel this light inside.

I count down the minutes in my assigned room on the first floor, my eyes twinkling through my last second mirror check, and then I’m up and away, heart pumping as I make the ascent to the top floor.

Mr Brown in suite seven tonight – Claude’s confirmation email told me so.

I count down the doors. Ten, nine, eight.

Seven.

Door number seven is in an alcove on its own.

It swings open as soon as I knock, and I’m not looking at the floor today. My eyes meet his in a heartbeat, my smile bright as he stands aside to let me in.

“Amy,” he says.

Black suit, white shirt, black tie. A ghost of stubble.

“Hi,” I say, and the flutters in my tummy are too much. I take a breath.

“You look considerably more at ease this evening,” he says, and there’s a smile there, just a hint. I can’t stop staring as he crosses the room. “Champagne?”

He pulls the bottle from an ice bucket before I’ve answered, pouring me a glass even as I’m nodding.

“Please.”

I notice the case on the bedside table. I notice how his scent lingers in the air between us. I notice the way he’s looking at me, as though he’s a cat about to pounce.

It’s familiar here, the layout of this suite is similar to the one previous. Virtually identical.

I drop my handbag on the dresser.

He already has a tumbler of water. “Cheers,” he says, and I raise my champagne.

“What are we toasting?”

“A long and mutually beneficial working relationship,” he tells me.

Long.

“To us,” I say simply, and his jaw tightens. He closes the distance to clink my glass, and stays there, his body so close to mine.