Roman-1(Lane Brothers, Book 5)(128)
“Hannah, darling, where is the sitting room?”
In the penthouse on the Upper West Side, I think smarmily, dropping her luggage with a thump.
“No sitting room. There’s a bathroom, two rooms, the kitchen, and the couch.” Think shoebox. For a three-year-old’s pair of shoes. “Make yourself at home while I go Lysol my eyes.”
As I wash my hands and splash water on my still burning cheeks, the solution comes to me, and I practically dive for the phone. One hand washes the other, right? I mean, if I can do favors for other people, it stands to reason I can expect a little help with this situation.
“No,” Amber says ten minutes later after I’ve laid it all out for her.
She’s saying no? After I bailed her ass out of the fire? Well, hell, no! I have a job and a life of strict rules to follow. I cannot live with the constant chaos that has suddenly beset my life. I’ve worked too hard to get things exactly the way I want them, and I cannot go back to the way I was before.
That way lays danger and a shotgun wedding followed by an equally messy divorce. No, I’m done taking risks.
“You want to come over and repay the thousand dollars you borrowed?” I ask, listening to her groan and enjoying it with a sadistic delight I didn’t know I was capable of.
“Shit. Bring her over tomorrow,” Amber finally snarls, and I end the call with a grin.
This day has been an absolute nightmare, but I have finally won. Tomorrow my life will be back to its orderly regimen, with nothing to show for the chaos except one slightly embarrassing encounter with the oh-so- heavenly Gregory Lucas.
Chapter Four
The next day I take Nana to Amber’s place and get to my desk with a minute to spare. I’m feeling in control again, and as I make coffee, go through emails, and start putting together the research I’ve done on Lucas ships for Jordan, I feel a lightness that has been lacking.
You probably think I’m a heartless bitch for the way I’ve been acting, so I’ll explain. After years of studying I graduated college with a degree in Philosophy.
Great to be interested in something enough to spend four years of my life studying it. Too bad it hasn’t landed me my dream job or cut the mustard when it comes to paying the bills.
Another useless something I picked up in college was my husband. He who shall not be named (Tom). I spent two miserable years of my life supporting him on a lousy tour director’s salary before I got fed up and gave him an ultimatum. Find a job or leave.
Needless to say, it hadn’t worked, and he’d moved back to his mother’s place, and by the time the divorce was through I’d been paying him to stay out of my life.
I decided the day the judge ordered me to fork over alimony that I was done making decisions with my heart instead of my head, and that from that point on I would always maintain a strict standard.
It’s been working well for the last three years. Sure, I am a little bored, and sometimes I’m lonely, but it’s a small price to pay not to repeat my mistakes. So yeah, Nana living with me and turning my life upside down is not an option. Anyway, Amber owns her own business and can take Nana to work with her. I do not have that option, unless I want her to blind Jordan on Naked Thursdays.
“Good morning, Hannah Newman.”
My heart stops and starts beating double time as that gravelly voice washes over me like a soft caress. I spent a good portion of last night dreaming about him, his body, his tongue, and what he can do with them. To me. So when I look up and meet his eyes, I know I’m blushing guiltily.
“G-good morning,” I squeak, taking in his gray, tailored suit and ruffled blonde hair.
Lord have mercy, the man is nice to look at.
He smiles, a predatory show of white teeth and sparkling eyes, and lowers himself to the corner of my desk. I am ruffled and nervous and so conscious of him on a sexual level I feel everything under my skirt come to screaming life. My thighs clench as I remember last night’s dream, and I find myself watching his mouth raptly.
“So, that dinner?”
What? No, no dinner, I scream silently when my inner slut stretches to lazy life.
“I told you,” I say on a sigh. “I don’t—”
“Fraternize. Yes, I know,” he murmurs, looking at me from below his lashes. “But I find myself unwilling to let you suffer that way any longer.”
The gall.
“Look, Mr Lucas—”
“Greg, please,” he insists, chuckling at me as I do a great fish imitation.
“Mr Lucas. This is not appropriate.”
“So? Nothing interesting ever came of appropriate.”
No, nothing interesting ever does, but that’s not the point. I cannot do this and work with him in any reasonable capacity if I ever find out what he is capable of in bed.