Right after work or later?
One thing I am sure of, I don’t want a late night dinner to turn into a convenient booty call. It sets a bad precedence.
I work late every night.
So what the hell that does mean? I either agree to a nine o’clock dinner or too bad? I don’t think so.
I text back, Sucks to be you. LOL.
Seriously, is this guy nuts? Who works late every darn night? It’s not healthy.
My phone beeps. How about seven?
Yes! I resist doing a fist pump in the air, but just barely. It feels like a personal accomplishment to get a workaholic to agree to an earlier quitting time.
Okay. I stare at the cursor, wondering if my response will end our communication for the morning.
Are you wearing new shoes today? ;-)
Heat flames across my cheeks as I recall him slipping the high heels from my feet yesterday. Yes. The red ones.
I bet you look hot.
I pause for a moment, weighing my response. Impulsively, I type, I do. There. That sounds like a confident, sassy woman, right?
I grit my teeth at the question in my mind. Of course, it sounds like a confident woman. What mousy, insecure chit is going to agree she looks hot?
My palms start to sweat as I debate typing something really sexy and outrageous to him. Oh God, I’ve got to get this man out of my head! I’ll never get any work done.
I slam the phone in a side drawer, determined to focus on the quarterly financial reports we’ll need for tomorrow’s possible investors. My resolve lasts for ten minutes, until I hear the telltale bing signaling a new text has come in.
Are you wearing anything else red?
Chapter Eight
Tony
I anxiously wait, staring at my phone. Did my last text go too far? Will she think I’m some weirdo pervert who wants to start sexting her? The growing erection in my pants feels like a scalding brand, confirming, yes, I am indeed such a pervert.
I tossed and turned for hours last night, unable to get Heather out of my mind. Spanking off while I washed away the bar fumes didn’t help much, either. Every stroke of my shaft had me picturing Saturday night again with crystal clarity. I want to feel myself sliding inside her more than I’ve wanted anything in ages. And I will have her.
The hot fist of her flesh will wrap around me, clasping the skin of my prick…
Bing! The chirp from my cell draws my eyes back to the glowing screen.
My shirt is red… and…
Desire pulses through me. Damn, what do those extra dots mean?
Yes? I send back, hoping to encourage her to elaborate. Ten minutes go by. Perhaps I should give up on waiting for a response.
Bing!
So are my bra and underwear.
A tingle washes across my skin as more blood surges to inflate my cock. Could her panties be a match to the lace ones she wore on Friday?
“Tony?” Deidra’s voice from the doorway startles me.
I place my phone on the desk, struggling to maintain some semblance of professional composure. “Yes?”
“Are you okay? I called your name three times.”
“Really?” I smile, forcing a touch of confusion onto my face. “Must have been too focused on my email.”
Her expression says she doesn’t believe me, but thankfully she lets it slide. “The COO and CFO at Parkerson agreed to a casual lunch meet and greet before tomorrow’s approach.” I nod, confident our suggestion of a buyout will be well received. “Also,” she continues, “reception called. Your nine thirty is here.”
I sigh, wishing I could text Heather and ask if her panties are lace. “Tell them to send him up.” Deidra leaves and I quickly text back that I’m going into a meeting and will write again, soon. I’d hate for her to think I was blowing her off.
The morning flies by and before I know it, the luncheon with the Parkerson group is upon me.
“And then he said, ‘We don’t fuck the camel, sir. We ride it into town where the whores are.’” Genuine laughter spills from Brian, as a red-faced Harvey laughs louder than the bad joke warrants.
“Good one, sir.” Brian pats the old drunk on his shoulder.
How Harvey, a raging alcoholic, positioned his firm to diversify and hold stock in three separate companies we’d like to buy is beyond me. I recognized the signs from the moment he sat down: ruddy complexion, lots of broken capillaries in his face, watery eyes, unfocused attention, shaking hands. The latter magically disappeared after his second martini.
Bile rose in my throat at the thought of this man being in charge of anyone’s finances. Just like my father, he’d lose it all and never wonder what happened, focused only on when he could get his next drink.
Before our meal arrived, Harvey had finished his fourth drink and showed no signs of stopping. His COO, Paul something, didn’t bat an eye, which told me his behavior of drinking in excess during working hours isn’t a surprise. Every question I directed Harvey’s way was answered halfway, as if he kind of knew what was going on, but I wouldn’t count on his accuracy for anything vital.