His back is to me, as he reads through business emails of some kind on his phone in my living room, and I find myself chewing at my lip nervously, my mind a whirlwind. I mean, would it really be so bad?
YES!
The voice in my head screams, shaking me from my idle day-dreaming and making me realize with a blush that I’ve been staring at Hudson’s back for the past five full minutes. YES, it would be bad like ruination of public image bad. I mean sleeping with the guy in charge of donating campaign funds? It’s not illegal or anything, but they’d fucking crucify me for that in the papers.
I can almost see the headlines now, something like “Silly Little Rich Girl Predictably Bangs the Guy With Money. Bows Out of Campaign”.
No, fuck that. What I need is to get images and thoughts of me banging Hudson out of my head, now.
Of course, the pathetic amount of time it’s been since I’ve been involved in banging of any kind makes me groan, and I know that’s part of the problem. I mean there was Chet - yes, Chet, like something out of a fucking Archie comic - but that was over six months ago, and even then it was barely a thing.
It was barely a thing so much that when I heard the whispers about him fucking his intern like a walking cliche, I remember feeling more sorry for whatever college poli-sci major had to lay there and fake it now that I wasn’t doing it than I did for myself.
Erika, my ‘brand manager’ (God I hate that title), of course want’s me to get back together with him, and is always talking about how much of a ‘complimentary companion’ he is for a ‘power-woman’ like myself.
Yeah, because ‘complimentary companion’ has ‘sexy’ written all over it. And again my mind instead thinks of the hard-bodied, cocky Hudson. Hudson with the tattoos and the obnoxious bad-boy chip on his shoulder. Hudson with the dangerous glint in his eye and the fucking missile hanging between his legs. I’m pretty sure it would give Erika an aneurism if I announced that he was going to be my new ‘companion’ of any kind.
I’m still mulling all of this over in my head when Chelsea comes over later with takeout sushi.
“So what do you think, Hudson?”
I grumble into my yellowtail maki. I don’t know if I’m pissy because she’s decided to include him in what was going to be a sister get-together, or that she’s somehow getting along with him swimmingly. Or maybe I’m just generally feeling on edge because of the Hudson situation as a whole.
“Your ex sounds like a dick, Chelsea,” he’s saying as he takes a bite of salmon. He sees me staring at him and grins as he makes an extra big show of sensually slurping the piece of fish between his lips while Chelsea is looking down at her own food. I make a face at him, which only gets him grinning more and my own pulse beating faster.
“Aw, thanks Hudson!” I’m still making my stink face at him when Chelsea looks up and sees me, before she turns and nods her head at Hudson. “You know, you can always come hang with me if my sisters being a bitch, Hudson.”
He chuckles right along with her as I stuff seaweed salad into my mouth and look away. It’s not flirty between them - she’s acting like more of a kid sister and him more like a conspiratorial brother than anything like that - but it’s still getting under my skin. It’s as if their closeness brings out some sort of bizarre jealousy in me, which is stupid because I don’t want or need to be close to Hudson.
Keep saying that to yourself and maybe you’ll start to believe it.
I’m interrupted from battling my inner dialogue by Chelsea poking me in the arm with a chopstick. “We should ask his opinion on your ex, Ray.”
I blush as Hudson arches an eyebrow at me, a grin teasing his perfect lips. “Ex-boyfriend, huh?” Yeah, I definitely haven’t mentioned Chet to Hudson.
“Let’s…not?” I’m staring daggers at my sister, but she’s either not getting the hint or just ignoring them anyways.
“Oh c’mon! I bet Hudson has a ton to say about you and Chet.”
I groan inside as Hudson grins wickedly at me. “Chet?” His cocky, smug mouth cracks even even wider as he winks at me. “Oh, yeah, I think I’ve got loads to say about ‘Chet’.”
“See?” Chelsea gives me a sassy look as she reaches past me for the ginger.
“I’m sure you do,” I say icily.
“So, Chet, huh?”
We’re cleaning up the kitchen after Chelsea leaves. Hudson rinsing out wine glasses and me drying them. It’s weirdly domestic, and probably the last thing I could ever imagine spending my Wednesday night doing with billionaire playboy Hudson Banks.