Her Billionaires(88)

like this. The shower head hung on its hose now, the spray aimlessly pointing here and there, Bob resting on its side, half dead, buzzing uselessly against a metal drain circle it could never make come.

She slouched down and pulled her knees against her bare, wet breasts. Hands combing her long, wet hair, she sighed.

When she really could have both Mike and Dylan right here, right now, like this, what on earth was she doing with such pale imitations? Was that part of Josie’s point? Reality was scary. Far safer to whack off in the shower and imagine it all.

Reality, though, had given her this—the most intense shower experience of her life. Drawing on what she knew was real, was possible, was achievable had made her—well, it had made her want the real thing.

God damn it.

She hated when Josie was right.



The phone rang. His phone never actually rang these days; just texts. The ring tone was so unfamiliar he ignored it the first three times, then realized what it was. A comedic moment of bumbling to fish the phone out of his pocket, then he answered.

“Hello?”

“Mike?” Laura. Ah, Laura’s voice. It had been a week and they were trying to find a time they could all get together. Fall was approaching and ski prep was in the first slow, languid stages. Ad campaigns and supply orders and a host of issues he’d never dealt with as just an employee were keeping him busy on the mountain. Man, did her voice sound nice.

“Hey, there,” he answered, voice going low and sultry. Lots of parts of him felt sultry suddenly. Good thing he’d already run a quick six miles today.

“How’re you guys doing?”

“Dylan’s working out right now. Lifting. I don’t know much about his schedule beyond that.”

“Where’s he lift?”

“At the Y in Cambridge.”

“That’s not far from my apartment.” He’d never seen her apartment, he suddenly realized. His admin brought him a spreadsheet with a bunch of numbers and pointed to a place for him to initial. Tucking the smart phone between his shoulder and cheek, he listened while he scribbled.

“Yeah? Maybe you can go catch him and outlift him.” Laughter greeted that one.

“I’m pretty fair at it, but no way I can match him.”

“Can you bench your weight?” Few women could.

“Nope. Close, but nope.” She hesitated. He could feel some sort of change in the conversation’s tone, from light-hearted and just touching base to something more guarded. Was it something he said? Weightlifting didn’t seem to be emotional minefield territory, so he doubted it was that. Why did everything these days have to be so rife with issues? Breathe, Mike. Breathe. Just wait her out.

His silence provoked her. “I can bench about fifteen pounds less.” Again, that weird hesitation. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and pointed a delivery guy with boxes on a dolly to his destination. This sort of split attention drove him nuts. Focusing on one thing at a time was key to feeling more grounded, and right now he needed to be centered. Whatever was going on in some subtext he didn’t understand with Laura, he needed to be on his game.

“I used to bench double my weight,” he added, then stopped short. Weight! That was it. They weren’t talking about abstract numbers here. She thought he expected her to say how much she could bench? Which would clue him in to her weight? Women really were that sensitive some times. Diffuse it, Mike. Diffuse it.

“Dylan can bench about a thousand pounds,” he said, grinning.

“What?”

“Yep. Carrying that ego around...” She laughed. Score.

“It’s almost a fourth partner,” she joked back. Warmth spread through him, unexpected and welcome, his throat thick with emotion. If she was going to make threesome jokes, this was deepening nicely. Jill had told him a long time ago that she began to really accept their relationship when she could wisecrack about it.

“Hey, Mike? The wax guys are on the line—they said there’s a problem with the order,” his admin, Shelly, interrupted. Full-figured, energetic, and highly opinionated, she was only nineteen but had been in the back office for three years, practically running the show. Now she tapped her foot and managed somehow to convey urgency and ignore him all at once as she worked on her smart phone. “Seriously,” she added. “They won’t talk to me. Only you.”

He held up one finger in Shelly’s direction. “Shit,” he muttered. “Sorry, Laura—I’ve got a work problem here.”

“A work problem? As in, you have no snow and can’t work?”