Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“We’ll have fresh shots. This is just a mockup. Gunnar’s busy with the baseball season, but we’ve secured time next week for promo photos.”
I wince, imagining the photo shoot.
I could see myself walking into that shoot, telling everyone to leave, closing the door, and stealing a few minutes alone with the model. Pressing him against the wall, grinding against him, kissing him until we’re both intoxicated.
I shake those thoughts away. “That all sounds fantastic.”
“We have some projections on how we think the campaign will grow the new line,” Matthew says.
After he shares those, Theresa jumps in. “These trends align with the market research supporting the Bespoke acquisition.”
Matthew hums, twirling a pen in his fingers. “If the deal goes through—”
“When the deal goes through,” I correct.
He smiles. “When it does, we’ll have everything in our portfolio for a man’s wardrobe. We can develop a marketing campaign around that.” Matthew’s eyes light up. “Everything a man needs,” he muses.
Theresa smiles a little devilishly. “Or perhaps . . . We dress men all the way.”
Matthew points at her with a smile. “That’s better.”
I smile. “Yes. That’s a winner.”
At last the meeting ends and I go to my office, slam the door, and lock it. Then, I flip open my laptop, feverishly call up the calendar, and check for details for the photo shoot next week.
I stare at the calendar square. It’s a slice of chocolate cake. A glass of fine scotch. A pair of front-row tickets to my favorite concert.
Gunnar will be at the warehouse studio a few miles from here, wearing Rafe Rodman underwear, smiling that sultry smile for the camera, looking all sexy and mine.
I let out a tight breath. I could find an excuse. Hell, I’m the CEO. I don’t need an excuse. I could walk into the studio, say hello, drink in the sight of him.
“Fuck,” I mutter, sinking into my chair and spinning to stare out the window.
Would I seriously do any of those things?
I grit my teeth and shove every scenario away. For the rest of the day, I bury myself in phone calls with business partners and investors. I don’t look at the calendar again until evening rolls around, and even then it’s only to check my schedule.
I’m due in London in a few weeks to see my bankers, who will be overseeing the Bespoke acquisition. Christine needs to go to London soon too. I have promised her some introductions to business associates.
With a harsh breath, I check the dates once more. I don’t have any meetings on the day of the proposed shoot. I’ll just be in the office, thinking of things to inspire me . . .
I could pull it off. Just nip in, see him, then leave.
My hungry heart clicks open the thirst trap image once more—the first one he sent. The invitation.
Come and get me.
Desire claws at me like it did the first time I saw it. But now, I feel so much more than red-hot physical desire for Gunnar. More than lust.
That’s the problem. I care too deeply for him. And I don’t know what to do about it.
38
SURPRISE ME
Gunnar
A Week Later
On a warm late-September night in San Francisco, the Dragons destroy the San Diego Devils, putting us one win away from a playoff spot. I trot off the field with my teammates, high on possibility as I strut into the clubhouse, high-fiving Zane at his stall.
“Tomorrow,” I say to my buddy. “We’re going to bring it.”
He fist-bumps back. “Let’s do it.”
I strip out of my dirt-streaked uniform, toss it into the laundry bin, then make my way to the showers, washing off the game.
As I’m getting dressed Zane wanders over to my stall, buttoning his shirt. “You want to grab a bite to eat? Holden and Declan are in too,” he says as he finishes the last button.
I do love hanging out with my teammates, but it’s eleven o’clock. I have my first photo shoot for Rafe Rodman tomorrow before the game. We’ll be taking shots that will be in the pre-production materials. Teasers for the big campaign.
“Nah, I need my beauty sleep,” I tell him. “I’ve got the shoot tomorrow.”
Zane’s eyes flicker with curiosity. “You think he’s going to be there?”
“You never know.” I wish I could strip the hope out of my voice, but I can’t because I’m dying for him to show up tomorrow. “I shouldn’t want to see him,” I confess.
Zane knows all the details. When I walked away from Rafe at the San Francisco Ferry Building two weeks ago, I grabbed lunch with my friend and told him what went down. I asked him to be my accountability partner. To help me stay strong. He said yes, but that it would be damn hard for him because, in his words, he’s a love supporter, not a break-up supporter.