“So, about that dance?” He gestured to the mass of partiers, their movements getting sloppier as the night progressed and the alcohol kept flowing.
“Maybe next time.” I patted his arm. “I need to get home. I’ll be working all weekend. Have to stay frosty for our case.”
“Well, can I drive you home?”
His persistence should have been adorable. Instead, I was irritated. On edge. Desperate to feel some sort of release. What was it they called it in my lit classes? Catharsis. I needed clit catharsis.
“I’ll get a cab, but you enjoy your night. I’ll call you next week.” I turned on my heel, leaving Eric in my wake as I retrieved my coat. The coast was clear, no sign of Kennedy.
At least the coat check boy didn’t seem to recognize me from just a few moments before, likely thanks to my disguise. Masks—everyone in New Orleans wore them, but they were obvious about it only during Mardi Gras.
I slipped into a waiting cab and closed the door. Pulling the mask off, I tossed it next to me and settled back into the seat. I glanced up the stairs to the front doors of the ballroom. Kennedy darted out, still a lady killer in his tux and mask.
“Go,” I told the driver.
Kennedy scanned the cab as it started moving. I gave him a too-sweet smile, and the slight quirk of his lip told me he’d seen it.
He may have won the round at the restaurant, but this one belonged to me.
Chapter Eight
Kennedy
I hadn’t worked on a Saturday in several years. But the 8 a.m. email from Scarlett—which I read at 10 a.m. when I woke up—had me out of bed and in the shower in record time.
Did I have to jerk off to her last night instead of getting the real thing? Yes. Would I get the real thing sooner rather than later? Yes. And something told me finally getting all of Scarlett Carmichael would be the hottest thing I’d ever experienced.
I got ready, paying a little extra attention to my shave, though I didn’t bother with my hair. It did whatever it wanted no matter how I tried to style it.
I drove to the office, the streets relatively tame, as the partiers were still asleep or just waking up from the previous night’s fun. The business district was relatively quiet, though beads littered every street, even those nowhere near a parade route.
The Stone & Porter building was eerily silent, and I rode the elevator alone. Entering the foyer, I hoped I’d find her at the office alone. The things I could do to her—maybe even on Guy Porter’s desk—made my cock unruly in my pants.
“Down, boy,” I muttered under my breath as I spotted Carey and someone else who wasn’t Scarlett in the conference room.
I pushed through the door. “Where’s Scarlett?”
I recognized the other man, Graham, Scarlett’s paralegal. Shaking hands, I said, “She got you working on the weekends?”
He smiled, the friendly wrinkles around his eyes making him seem almost fatherly. “I like to keep an eye on her whenever I can. See if I can help.” He shrugged. “But this time, I don’t think I can offer much. I like to think she relies on me. But Carey here has a way with the computers, and that’s what she needs.”
“That and something to remove the stick from her ass.” I laughed.
Graham didn’t seem quite so amused by my little joke. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about her like that around me.”
Carey whistled and made a bomb exploding noise, complete with hand motions showing me detonating on the conference table.
My cheeks heated as Graham’s friendly smile turned into a stone-faced look of contempt.
That escalated quickly. Backpedal time. “I didn’t mean . . . I was just—”
“You have any idea what it’s like to be the only woman in a firm dominated by men?” He pulled to his full height, eye to eye with me. “Any idea what sort of character it takes to walk through those doors every morning and not only do a decent job, but do an excellent job? All the while knowing that the partners you work for still think you should be getting them coffee and taking dictation?”
“I—”
He shook his head. “Of course you don’t. But you might want to think about that before you shoot your mouth off about Ms. Carmichael.”
Graham clapped Carey on the shoulder, though he kept his eyes on me. “Keep up the good work and keep an eye on this one, Carey. Tell me if he gets out of line with our girl.”
“Yes, sir.” Carey nodded.
“Good man.” Graham gave me one more withering look before striding out and heading toward the elevators.
My heart pounded like I’d been running laps around the conference room.