Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
I was not Conrad Schaeffer. I didn’t want Flynn to take the deal because he had no other offers. I wanted him to choose Fortress—choose me—because he saw how good it could be.
Me: I WANT to help, Flynn.
Me: Besides, when we work together, it goes so much faster, which means I get to take you to bed sooner.
Me: And I told you I have to be in the office Monday morning for strategy meetings with the head of marketing about one of our other clients. I have to leave tomorrow night. I want to see you as much as I can.
Flynn didn’t reply for so long that I sighed and typed out something that would guarantee a response.
Me: AND the boss-and-naughty-employee vibe really works for me… Mr. Honeycutt.
Flynn’s rolling dots took days off my life.
Firecracker: You make a compelling argument.
Firecracker: I have a whole to-do list I need you to take care of for me before you leave for the day, Jonathan.
Firecracker: I want you to rim me. At least twice. I want you to fuck me over the bar. I want to ride your dick while you sit at the chair in my office. I want you to do that nipple thing you do, because it never feels as good when I try to do it to myself.
Oh, shit. Just like that, I was sporting a semi in my basketball shorts, right on the circular stone driveway in front of Wellbridge House. Generations of Wellbridges were no doubt turning in their graves over the mental images I was getting of me worshipping Flynn Honeycutt’s nipples.
Not that I gave one single damn.
Me: That’s funny, Mr. Honeycutt, because the list of things you want to do to me is more like a list of things you want me to do to you. And that’s a very ambitious list for one evening.
Firecracker: Tsk, tsk. Are you a complaining, naughty employee to ALL your bosses?
The idea of being like this with Conrad Schaeffer was physically revolting, and I knew Flynn knew it, too, the asshole. I imagined him grinning down at his phone like the cat that ate the canary, and I chuckled.
Me: No, sir. Eager to get started, sir.
Firecracker: Excellent. Then I’ll expect you to report for duty right after the softball game. Oh, and Jonathan?
Me: Yes, sir?
Firecracker: Don’t bother showering. I’ll only get you sweaty again.
I clutched the phone to my chest and grinned like a lovesick teenager.
I wanted Flynn to trust me completely. With everything. But knowing he at least trusted me with his body and his desire, his humor and his sweetness, felt like a rare and precious gift from this man who hated relying on anyone for anything.
And that was why this past week had also been absolute heaven.
I didn’t take it for granted.
“Jonathan! Jonathan, darling!”
I closed my eyes and stifled a groan as my mother’s voice sounded from way too close behind me. My dick deflated instantly.
My mother had backed off after our little chat a couple of weeks ago. She hadn’t contacted me while I was in New York, hadn’t asked questions when I picked up my car last week, and hadn’t asked where I’d been when I came back from Ogunquit on Friday. I knew Brantleigh was still staying in the house because I’d seen him at breakfast a couple of times, but she hadn’t attempted to arrange any further dates between us. She’d even asked Rosalia to make me a salad to bring to Jace Honeycutt’s potluck… which seemed like cheating, but what did I know? And when I’d met her on the front lawn early last Wednesday morning—she’d been on her way to do yogaerobics with Madeline Pond while I was coming back from Flynn’s to shower and jump on a video call—she’d compressed her lips firmly but hadn’t asked where I’d been.
I’d hoped we’d turned a corner in our relationship, but I could tell by the tone of her voice now that my reprieve was at an end.
“Mother!” I pasted on a smile as I turned to face her. “Aren’t you looking lov— Uh.” I blinked and frowned as I caught sight of her ensemble. “Very Edwardian?”
She beamed from beneath the brim of an enormous feathered hat, and when she clasped her large shallow basket in both hands, the rows and rows of lace on her long yellow dress quivered.
“Thank you, sweetheart. I’ve come out to collect some roses. You can walk with me.” She threaded her arm through mine and led me along the crushed-seashell path toward the side garden, where roses grew along lattice archways and topiary trees as tall as me flanked an enormous stone fountain. “You remember that I’m hosting the Honeybridge Botanical Society Luncheon today, of course.”
I was positive she’d never mentioned it, but I nodded warily. “Alright.”