everyone else stays out and leaves me alone until I get my shit together. I wish I had a conference call to losemyself in, but I have nothing on my calendar until the ten-o’clock foundation board meeting and I took care of everything for that on Friday. Damn my blasted efficiency.
It occurs to me then that he’ll be able to tell I’m not on the phone when the red light for my extension isn’t on. I pick up the phone and press the button for an outside line and then hit the mute button before placing thereceiver on my desktop. Whatever it takes to avoid him.
I dive into my email, which includes a long one from our publicist Liza, outlining the four million interview requests Flynn has received since winning the Oscar. He did several of the big ones yesterday, but there are many more who want him. I print a copy of the email to give to him when I see him so he can choose what he wants to do—andwhat he doesn’t. There will be far more in the latter category, as he’s been burned by the media so many times that he’s extremely choosy about who he talks to.
I can’t say I blame him, especially after the recent feeding frenzy that erupted when Natalie’s painful past was sold to the highest bidder. Natalie’s father murdered the unscrupulous lawyer who sold her out to the media. I’m still tryingto get my head around that part of the story and how her father killed the lawyer for besmirching the man who attacked Natalie. Speaking of fucked up…
How she can be the generous, thoughtful, beautiful person she is after what she endured as a teen is admirable, to say the least. They are so blissfully happy together, despite what they both went through before they met. She’s absolutely perfectfor him, and their story gives me hope that someday I might find the man who’s perfect for me.
One thing I now know is that man will not be Hayden Roth. And I’m fine with that. A tingle of sensation between my legs takes me right back to the early hours of Monday when he was deep inside me as I writhed under him, seeking relief from the almost painful pleasure of his possession. And just thatquickly, I forget all about my plans to forget all about him.
Dropping my head into my hands, I focus on breathing, on thinking about anything other than him . I hate him. I love him. I want him. I hate him. I love him. I’m a hot fucking mess over him, and I hate that most of all. I don’t go crazy over men, and I never have. It isn’t like me to obsess over one of them when there’re so many tochoose from. So what is it about Hayden that makes me nuts?
Before Monday morning or since then? Before Monday, when I thought of him—far too often—it was always his eyes that got to me. One minute so icy blue and the next minute hot and passionate, and then just as quickly, wounded and fragile. You have to know him, really know him, to ever catch a glimpse of his wounded or fragile side, butI’ve seen it. I know it’s in there while the rest of the world mostly sees the ice.
Since Monday, I’ve got a whole new set of images to add to my mental library, none of which will be helpful to my forget-he-exists campaign. As much as I loved it as it was happening, I wish with every fiber of my being that I never slept with him. This crush or obsession or whatever you want to call it was badenough before I knew what it was like to kiss him and touch him and…
A moan escapes from my tightly clenched jaw. I can almost feel the intense stretch and burn of him burrowing into me, ruthless and relentless and yet somehow tender at the same time. It had been earthy and erotic and dirty and sexy, and God help me, I want more of it. Maybe it would be enough to be his fuck buddy if it meantgetting down and dirty with him once in a while. Wouldn’t that be better than nothing?
No, it wouldn’t be better.
Someone knocks on the door, forcing me out of my increasingly desperate thoughts to remember I’m at work. Hoping it’s not Hayden,
It occurs to me then that he’ll be able to tell I’m not on the phone when the red light for my extension isn’t on. I pick up the phone and press the button for an outside line and then hit the mute button before placing thereceiver on my desktop. Whatever it takes to avoid him.
I dive into my email, which includes a long one from our publicist Liza, outlining the four million interview requests Flynn has received since winning the Oscar. He did several of the big ones yesterday, but there are many more who want him. I print a copy of the email to give to him when I see him so he can choose what he wants to do—andwhat he doesn’t. There will be far more in the latter category, as he’s been burned by the media so many times that he’s extremely choosy about who he talks to.
I can’t say I blame him, especially after the recent feeding frenzy that erupted when Natalie’s painful past was sold to the highest bidder. Natalie’s father murdered the unscrupulous lawyer who sold her out to the media. I’m still tryingto get my head around that part of the story and how her father killed the lawyer for besmirching the man who attacked Natalie. Speaking of fucked up…
How she can be the generous, thoughtful, beautiful person she is after what she endured as a teen is admirable, to say the least. They are so blissfully happy together, despite what they both went through before they met. She’s absolutely perfectfor him, and their story gives me hope that someday I might find the man who’s perfect for me.
One thing I now know is that man will not be Hayden Roth. And I’m fine with that. A tingle of sensation between my legs takes me right back to the early hours of Monday when he was deep inside me as I writhed under him, seeking relief from the almost painful pleasure of his possession. And just thatquickly, I forget all about my plans to forget all about him.
Dropping my head into my hands, I focus on breathing, on thinking about anything other than him . I hate him. I love him. I want him. I hate him. I love him. I’m a hot fucking mess over him, and I hate that most of all. I don’t go crazy over men, and I never have. It isn’t like me to obsess over one of them when there’re so many tochoose from. So what is it about Hayden that makes me nuts?
Before Monday morning or since then? Before Monday, when I thought of him—far too often—it was always his eyes that got to me. One minute so icy blue and the next minute hot and passionate, and then just as quickly, wounded and fragile. You have to know him, really know him, to ever catch a glimpse of his wounded or fragile side, butI’ve seen it. I know it’s in there while the rest of the world mostly sees the ice.
Since Monday, I’ve got a whole new set of images to add to my mental library, none of which will be helpful to my forget-he-exists campaign. As much as I loved it as it was happening, I wish with every fiber of my being that I never slept with him. This crush or obsession or whatever you want to call it was badenough before I knew what it was like to kiss him and touch him and…
A moan escapes from my tightly clenched jaw. I can almost feel the intense stretch and burn of him burrowing into me, ruthless and relentless and yet somehow tender at the same time. It had been earthy and erotic and dirty and sexy, and God help me, I want more of it. Maybe it would be enough to be his fuck buddy if it meantgetting down and dirty with him once in a while. Wouldn’t that be better than nothing?
No, it wouldn’t be better.
Someone knocks on the door, forcing me out of my increasingly desperate thoughts to remember I’m at work. Hoping it’s not Hayden,
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