detest nicknames, especially when they are listed as phone contacts, but for some reason, this doesn’t bother me as much as it should.
I click on the contact and type out a message, well aware of Adriana’s eyes locked on my back as well as the three sets of eyes staring at me from the conference table in my office.
Whiskey and Rye, huh? What am I in your phone? Aged Scotch?
I place the phone into my suit jacket and take a seat at the head of the conference table again. As I do, my phone vibrates, calling my attention back to it.
What? You don’t like it? You can’t tell me that you don’t enjoy rye whiskey every once in a while. And no, it’s not Aged Scotch . I think you’re holding yourself up to too high of a standard.
I glance up at the men in front of me who are still staring in disbelief. I raise my eyebrows, and one of them clears his throat before he starts speaking about the acquisition of the Australian properties that is coming up in a few short weeks again.
I type out a quick response: Tell me what it is, Hadley.
Gentleman Jack.
I can’t help but crack a smile at her reply. I’m no longer invested in the conversation that’s happening in front of me at the table, but rather in the one on my screen.
A rather inexpensive whiskey, yet somehow mouthwatering all the same. It reminds me of leather, tobacco, vanilla, and cocoa. Are you calling me cheap?
I can imagine her smile as she reads that. A moment later another text message comes through: Not at all. I’m calling you rich and pretty.
I actually laugh at her reply. The men in front of me grow silent for a moment, and I look back up at them. “Continue.”
They nod as I send my last text to her: Pretty is not the word I would use, especially when it comes to you. Gorgeous is more like it. I’ll pick you up at eight. Be ready.
I turn my phone off and pocket it so I can attempt to concentrate on this damn meeting, but my mind decides to wander back to Whiskey and Rye. Whiskey just got that much sweeter to me.
The day passes slowly—too slowly, but when I check my watch again, it’s seven-forty. I grab my phone and turn it back on to text Jacobs before heading into the bathroom hidden behind the hard paneled walls of my office.
After I change and freshen up for the evening, I head downstairs to find Jacobs standing in front of my Magellan gray 750i BMW. He swings the door open for me, “Good evening, Mr. Brass.”
“Evening. I trust that you have the address of the apartment high-rise that I sent to you earlier.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well,” I say as he shuts the door and I settle into the cream-colored leather seats before he pulls into the Chicago traffic.
A few minutes later we’ve arrived at Hadley’s building. I grab my phone and send her a quick text: If you’re not down here within two minutes, I won’t lay a hand on you.
I wait for a response that doesn’t come before stepping out of the car and shutting the door behind me. I lean against the car and wait.
When I look up from my phone again, she’s walking out of the glass doors toward me. I pull in a deep breath of air when she steps under a streetlight. The light from above cascades down on her, making her platinum hair look angelic around her flawless features. Her hair isn’t straight this evening as it’s been every other time I’ve seen her. Tonight it falls in loose curls over her shoulders.
“You have no choice but to touch me now,” she says as she steps toward me.
I feel my eyes hood with need as they deliberately roam down her slight curves, which are hugged by a cropped white lace top and a long skirt with two particularly high slits on each of her thighs. She’s fucking gorgeous. I adjust myself in my slacks before I take the last few steps to get to her.
“I don’t see how I would be able to restrain myself with your wearing this.”
She purses her lips as I slide my hand around her exposed midriff. She jolts from my touch and the
I click on the contact and type out a message, well aware of Adriana’s eyes locked on my back as well as the three sets of eyes staring at me from the conference table in my office.
Whiskey and Rye, huh? What am I in your phone? Aged Scotch?
I place the phone into my suit jacket and take a seat at the head of the conference table again. As I do, my phone vibrates, calling my attention back to it.
What? You don’t like it? You can’t tell me that you don’t enjoy rye whiskey every once in a while. And no, it’s not Aged Scotch . I think you’re holding yourself up to too high of a standard.
I glance up at the men in front of me who are still staring in disbelief. I raise my eyebrows, and one of them clears his throat before he starts speaking about the acquisition of the Australian properties that is coming up in a few short weeks again.
I type out a quick response: Tell me what it is, Hadley.
Gentleman Jack.
I can’t help but crack a smile at her reply. I’m no longer invested in the conversation that’s happening in front of me at the table, but rather in the one on my screen.
A rather inexpensive whiskey, yet somehow mouthwatering all the same. It reminds me of leather, tobacco, vanilla, and cocoa. Are you calling me cheap?
I can imagine her smile as she reads that. A moment later another text message comes through: Not at all. I’m calling you rich and pretty.
I actually laugh at her reply. The men in front of me grow silent for a moment, and I look back up at them. “Continue.”
They nod as I send my last text to her: Pretty is not the word I would use, especially when it comes to you. Gorgeous is more like it. I’ll pick you up at eight. Be ready.
I turn my phone off and pocket it so I can attempt to concentrate on this damn meeting, but my mind decides to wander back to Whiskey and Rye. Whiskey just got that much sweeter to me.
The day passes slowly—too slowly, but when I check my watch again, it’s seven-forty. I grab my phone and turn it back on to text Jacobs before heading into the bathroom hidden behind the hard paneled walls of my office.
After I change and freshen up for the evening, I head downstairs to find Jacobs standing in front of my Magellan gray 750i BMW. He swings the door open for me, “Good evening, Mr. Brass.”
“Evening. I trust that you have the address of the apartment high-rise that I sent to you earlier.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well,” I say as he shuts the door and I settle into the cream-colored leather seats before he pulls into the Chicago traffic.
A few minutes later we’ve arrived at Hadley’s building. I grab my phone and send her a quick text: If you’re not down here within two minutes, I won’t lay a hand on you.
I wait for a response that doesn’t come before stepping out of the car and shutting the door behind me. I lean against the car and wait.
When I look up from my phone again, she’s walking out of the glass doors toward me. I pull in a deep breath of air when she steps under a streetlight. The light from above cascades down on her, making her platinum hair look angelic around her flawless features. Her hair isn’t straight this evening as it’s been every other time I’ve seen her. Tonight it falls in loose curls over her shoulders.
“You have no choice but to touch me now,” she says as she steps toward me.
I feel my eyes hood with need as they deliberately roam down her slight curves, which are hugged by a cropped white lace top and a long skirt with two particularly high slits on each of her thighs. She’s fucking gorgeous. I adjust myself in my slacks before I take the last few steps to get to her.
“I don’t see how I would be able to restrain myself with your wearing this.”
She purses her lips as I slide my hand around her exposed midriff. She jolts from my touch and the
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