time."
"Well, I'm very sorry. My brother Francis is... Well, I should have know. Anyway. So, is this Kayla a friend from work, or an old school friend?"
Er, what ?
Oh, shit. It hit me, like a frickin Boeing 747 on the runway with me underneath it: Friend from "work"? An "old school friend"?
This guy thinks I'm in my twenties!
I did what any girl in my position would do. I lied.
-2-
"Um, yes, she's an old friend...from work. I mean, she's a friend from work. But we were also friends at school. Yeah, um, years back, yeah." Stop. Talking!
Conall picked up on my nervousness. "And what line of work would that be?"
Line of work. Line of work. Think. Think. Think! "Secretary. Yeah, secretary for"—thinking on my feet, nothing to do with financial software, or banks, or New York—"Bloomingdales. I mean, an executive in Bloomingdales."
"Oh, that must be fun. I thought someone who dresses like you must know about fashion." Did he just rake me up and down with his eyes? And you gotta believe it, it felt like it was his hand on my naked skin!
"Yeah, I've been there, um, a few years now. Lots of fashion stuff to do. It's not only 'secretarying' but a bunch of other stuff."
Secretarying? Oh, God. I was so screwing this up.
"Well, I'm sure it's fascinating."
Change the subject change the subject change the subject! "And you? You're into that financial software and stuff, right?"
"Um, yes, I finished up my degree at Oxford, then worked for a big software company for a few years. A friend of mine had been in the business quite long and asked me to consult on a few deals. Well, within six months I was raking in the big money and he kept me on as part of the team. I get a commission for each deal."
I didn't even ask him how much he'd lost personally as part of this sale... Besides, I was too busy counting up the numbers in my head. Oxford Degree, so that's, what, four years? Then a "few years" at this software company. Let's be generous: three years. No, two. Then six months closing deals. And how long ago had that been? So let's just say another year, at best ! So three plus three—no, it was four... No, start again: Oxford, four—
"Leora?" He chuckled. "You looked like you were doing calculus in your head or something."
Shit, don't tell me I was moving my lips while I was working that out! (I do that, you know.)
"Um, should we get out of here?" he asked.
Oh yes please.
-2-
I texted Leroy to move along now and get outta there. I had my own ride.
We took a cab to, ahem, the frickin Marriot !
"Oh, you didn't get the Presidential Suite?" I asked as a slur after he let me into the "more modest" Executive Suite. I'd stayed in a few suites myself, of course. But somehow, being here, with an older man... Well, it felt different. It's different when mommy's paying for your suite. It's a whole new world when Mr. Sexy Rich Guy is escorting you into one. (Was he rich?)
The whole place smelt of "new." A bottle of unopened wine sat on the main table, two glasses next to it. Damn. He was a frickin player!
"Have a seat," he said, gesturing to the settee. Red, of course. They wouldn't put a frigid little blue thing in the Executive Suite, now would they?
I was so out of my league here. And I knew it. (I also knew that my skin had cooled from the damp sweat which had broken out all over my body. But that wasn't because of nervousness or the temperature...)
"I'm just going to freshen up," he said.
Shouldn't that have been my line?
I did the only thing I could do. I texted Kayla!
Leora: Help! Dude is like FUCKING hot but about THIRTY!
Kayla: Nice! Have fun!
Leora: No, u don't understand! I'm freaked! I'm at his place! I think he wants to...
Kayla: Finally!
That wasn't helping much. OK, breathe. Take it easy. Sit back...
His bathroom door opened. Freshen up indeed... His hair was wet and ruffled. "Wine?" he asked.
Wine. One glass equals one-hundred-twenty-three calories. Not to mention that I could get this guy arrested for
"Well, I'm very sorry. My brother Francis is... Well, I should have know. Anyway. So, is this Kayla a friend from work, or an old school friend?"
Er, what ?
Oh, shit. It hit me, like a frickin Boeing 747 on the runway with me underneath it: Friend from "work"? An "old school friend"?
This guy thinks I'm in my twenties!
I did what any girl in my position would do. I lied.
-2-
"Um, yes, she's an old friend...from work. I mean, she's a friend from work. But we were also friends at school. Yeah, um, years back, yeah." Stop. Talking!
Conall picked up on my nervousness. "And what line of work would that be?"
Line of work. Line of work. Think. Think. Think! "Secretary. Yeah, secretary for"—thinking on my feet, nothing to do with financial software, or banks, or New York—"Bloomingdales. I mean, an executive in Bloomingdales."
"Oh, that must be fun. I thought someone who dresses like you must know about fashion." Did he just rake me up and down with his eyes? And you gotta believe it, it felt like it was his hand on my naked skin!
"Yeah, I've been there, um, a few years now. Lots of fashion stuff to do. It's not only 'secretarying' but a bunch of other stuff."
Secretarying? Oh, God. I was so screwing this up.
"Well, I'm sure it's fascinating."
Change the subject change the subject change the subject! "And you? You're into that financial software and stuff, right?"
"Um, yes, I finished up my degree at Oxford, then worked for a big software company for a few years. A friend of mine had been in the business quite long and asked me to consult on a few deals. Well, within six months I was raking in the big money and he kept me on as part of the team. I get a commission for each deal."
I didn't even ask him how much he'd lost personally as part of this sale... Besides, I was too busy counting up the numbers in my head. Oxford Degree, so that's, what, four years? Then a "few years" at this software company. Let's be generous: three years. No, two. Then six months closing deals. And how long ago had that been? So let's just say another year, at best ! So three plus three—no, it was four... No, start again: Oxford, four—
"Leora?" He chuckled. "You looked like you were doing calculus in your head or something."
Shit, don't tell me I was moving my lips while I was working that out! (I do that, you know.)
"Um, should we get out of here?" he asked.
Oh yes please.
-2-
I texted Leroy to move along now and get outta there. I had my own ride.
We took a cab to, ahem, the frickin Marriot !
"Oh, you didn't get the Presidential Suite?" I asked as a slur after he let me into the "more modest" Executive Suite. I'd stayed in a few suites myself, of course. But somehow, being here, with an older man... Well, it felt different. It's different when mommy's paying for your suite. It's a whole new world when Mr. Sexy Rich Guy is escorting you into one. (Was he rich?)
The whole place smelt of "new." A bottle of unopened wine sat on the main table, two glasses next to it. Damn. He was a frickin player!
"Have a seat," he said, gesturing to the settee. Red, of course. They wouldn't put a frigid little blue thing in the Executive Suite, now would they?
I was so out of my league here. And I knew it. (I also knew that my skin had cooled from the damp sweat which had broken out all over my body. But that wasn't because of nervousness or the temperature...)
"I'm just going to freshen up," he said.
Shouldn't that have been my line?
I did the only thing I could do. I texted Kayla!
Leora: Help! Dude is like FUCKING hot but about THIRTY!
Kayla: Nice! Have fun!
Leora: No, u don't understand! I'm freaked! I'm at his place! I think he wants to...
Kayla: Finally!
That wasn't helping much. OK, breathe. Take it easy. Sit back...
His bathroom door opened. Freshen up indeed... His hair was wet and ruffled. "Wine?" he asked.
Wine. One glass equals one-hundred-twenty-three calories. Not to mention that I could get this guy arrested for
Similar Books
