Dilf（A Secret Baby Bad Boy Romance）(256)
“I would hate for you to say something that you might regret later,” a voice says drolly.
Not a voice.
Apollo Kane’s voice.
Natalie’s staring at me, and me at her, and I can’t breathe and I’m hyperventilating and as Natalie dives for the phone to turn it off, I’m running and I can hear my skirt tearing, my strides are so long but I don’t care, I fucking don’t care, I have to hide, I have to go into the bathroom and hide and never, ever come out and they’re going to find me, dead, just a pile of bones and cute clothes and say sadly, “There lies Ashley the Associate Editor who literally died of embarrassment,” and my ghost’s cheeks are going to turn red when it hears those words.
As I sit on top of the toilet, snuffling pathetically, my arms wrapped around my knees, I have to wonder what I’d ever done to deserve this. If they ever invent a time machine, the first thing I’m doing is going back to this morning. I’m going to fucking hold the damn door open to the taxi cab and wish Apollo Kane a good day while he’s climbing into it. Because then I wouldn’t have had to apologize to him and he wouldn’t have promised to spank me and I wouldn’t have…
I wouldn’t have heard the plans to fire my fellow co-workers. To fire me.
I drop my head to my knees and stare dully down, eyes unseeing.
No, even a time machine couldn’t help me now. Me and my friends and even my co-workers that I’d secretly give decaf coffee to, just to fuck with their heads…we’re all fucked.
And I don’t have the slightest clue of what to do about it.
107
Apollo
#p#分页标题#e#
I stretch and roll my head from side to side across my shoulders. Fuck, what a day. It's only 6pm, but it feels like so much later. Usually, I have endless stamina and can work 20 hours a day without missing a beat, but today…
Today has been frustratingly draining and it isn’t hard to know why. You asshole keeps rolling around in my head, reverberating, echoing, but never dying out. Never growing quiet and disappearing like any normal echo would.
Well, Ashley Miller is no normal person. I even caught of glimpse of that while listening to, what she thought was, a private conversation between her and Natalie. She is infuriating and opinionated and not in the least impressed or intimidated by me and…
And sexy as fuck.
I push away from the piece of shit desk and grab my briefcase. It's time to go home, drink a glass of wine, call over Tiffani and four of her naughtiest friends, and fuck my frustrations away. I’d heard about a new BDSM club downtown, maybe I’ll take them all there and—
The elevator door opens with a ding, and there’s Ashley. She looks up at the ding of the door opening and the look on her face when she sees me says that she can’t decide if she wants to fuck me or strangle me.
Welcome to the club, lady.
I step inside and ask, “Ground floor?” She nods once, jerkily, and I punch the button for the ground floor, the descent to the next floor punctuated by Ashley’s heavy breathing. Is she…? I look at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s got her eyes closed and she’s breathing in deeply through her nose and out of her mouth.
It is…
It is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Who is this Lego cursing, deep breathing, cab-stealing woman? She’s this puzzle that I want to solve, a Gordian knot that I want to untangle, but before I can ask her out, she says simply, “I’m sorry for today.” She opens her eyes and she’s looking right at me, as if she can see through my soul. “I’m sorry for what I said to you, about being an asshole, and I’m sorry for stealing your cab.”
The doors open for the next floor down, but no one is standing there. I push the button to continue our descent, and Ashley keeps talking. “But it’s true, Apollo. You’re being an asshole. I refuse to believe—”
Maddeningly, the door dings open for another floor, but again, no one is there. I make a mental note to have my secretary call the elevator repair company and find out what the fuck is wrong with this elevator.
“I refuse to believe,” she starts again, “that you could’ve met everyone and looked over all of the numbers and really figured out what we do here and who’s important to keep around, after two hours of working here. I know they call you the Wolf of New York, but even you’re not that good.”
The doors, thank god, finally open on the ground floor.
“Stop being the Wolf of New York for a moment, and start feeling some compassion,” she says quietly, with dignity. “All of those numbers you’re chopping out? They’re people. They have bills to pay and mouths to feed. Start acting like it.”