Текст книги "Оллмп"

Автор книги: Меган Куин

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Huxley: I noticed the yard was very well manicured. He does a great job.

Lottie: He’d appreciate the compliment. Now . . . ask me a question.

Huxley: You don’t want my answer to your other question right now?

Lottie: I’ll wait. Hit me with a hard one.

Huxley: Okay . . . have you ever been in love?

I stare down at my phone, reading his question over and over again. For such a robotic man, I never thought he’d ask a question like that. When I said hard, I meant something like “Who would you die on a sword for? Team Jacob or Team Edward?”

Side note . . . glitter dick, all day, every day.

But have I ever been in love? Now that’s a heavy question.

Huxley: I’m waiting . . .

And he’s relentless. I guess it’s only fair I answer.

Lottie: Have I ever been in love? Umm, that would be a no. A solid no. I’ve been with a few guys, dated, but no one has ever captured me. I’m pretty sure my heart will wait to fall for someone when I least expect it.

Huxley: How many guys have you been with?

Lottie: Is that your second question?

Huxley: Yes.

Lottie: Throwing away a second question on such a menial subject. I’ve been with five guys, and I’ll throw you a bone, only one of them has made me come. That one guy . . . was you.

My face heats up as I press Send. Dear Jesus, why did I say that? That wasn’t flirting, was it? No, I’m not flirting with him. That was just telling the truth, and knowing the kind of man Huxley is, he’ll be proud he’s the only one, because he’s an alpha and he thrives on information like that. It’ll help him open up to me more . . . hopefully.

Huxley: Clearly, you’ve been with some assholes. Glad I could make you come all over my fingers.

Ooof . . . okay, things are getting acutely sweaty over here.

The back of my neck feels dewy, my upper lip also seems to have a sheen to it. What an “attractive” reaction to a decently dirty text.

Lottie: You’re the only one, other than myself.

Huxley: If I give you one more question, will you give me one more?

Lottie: I’m intrigued. So . . . yes.

Huxley: Ask another question first. The naughty one?

Lottie: No. I’m saving that for last. I want to know if you’ve ever been in love.

Huxley: Never. No one has even come close to making me feel as though I could spend the rest of my life with them, as if I can’t go another day without laying eyes on them, as if I need them in my arms just to get a solid night’s sleep. I’ve only ever had surface-level relationships with the women I’ve been with.

Lottie: I wouldn’t have guessed that would be your answer. From the way you act, your clipped tone, your standoffish behavior, I would’ve sworn someone broke your heart.

Huxley: There was someone who fucked me in the head, but I wasn’t in love. I was more . . . attached for the wrong reasons. For business.

Lottie: Oh, I see. Well, that explains your need to keep everything business related between us.

Huxley: There’s a reason for everything.

Lottie: What’s your third question for me?

Huxley: You said I’m the only one who got you off, besides yourself. Tell me the best way you’ve ever made yourself orgasm.

Cue more upper-lip sweat. Because I know precisely, without a doubt, no question in my mind, which moment. But my answer is only going to puff up his chest more.

Lottie: It was the night you got me off. When I went back to my room, I fucked myself with my purple vibrator and came so hard, just thinking about how you commanded my body only moments before. And I realize how inappropriate that answer is, but it’s the truth. You worked me up that night. There was no turning back.

Huxley: Your body was easy to command.

I set my phone down for a second and take a deep breath. Okay, yes, the man is attractive, he has a way with words, and when he shows it, his personality is actually one I like, but I need to tread carefully here. Even though this is strictly business, a part of me believes if I let him, if I let him into my room, he wouldn’t think twice about it.

Lottie: It’s a thoughtful body, always wanting to include everyone.

Good God, what does that even mean?

Before he can respond to that, I quickly send him another text.

Lottie: Okay, so what’s the naughtiest thing you’ve ever done?

Huxley: Naughty in my eyes probably isn’t naughty in someone else’s. I’ve fucked women in some pretty weird places, but that’s just fucking. Naughty to me means crossing a line, a line that probably shouldn’t be crossed. Something forbidden.

Lottie: I’d agree with that.

Huxley: So then, the naughtiest thing I’ve ever done was undoing your robe and slipping my fingers inside your sweet cunt.

Blinks.

Swallows.

Nearly chokes on own saliva.

Okay, what’s happening? What is actually happening? Is he flirting? Is he just being blunt? What’s going on in that head of his? Inquiring minds want to know, because his answer is blowing my mind right now.

Lottie: There has to be something naughtier than that. Like, you know, taking someone on your office desk, or maybe whips and chains? I don’t know, I can’t be it.

Huxley: I crossed a line that night. You’re forbidden, off limits, part of a business deal, and I lost control. I allowed myself to give in to temptation. Be happy I only touched your pussy, because if I would’ve had it my way, that robe wouldn’t have stayed on. I have a meeting. I’ll see you for dinner.

I set my phone down and slowly look up. How the hell am I supposed to have dinner with him now?

“Steak and arugula salad with candied pecans, fingerling potatoes, peppers, gorgonzola cheese, and a balsamic glaze. Enjoy,” Reign says before leaving us to our plentiful salads. We had steak last night, but this looks different. Thinly sliced steak and potatoes in a salad . . . I’ve never heard of such a thing, but I’ll be honest, I’m here for it.

When I got back to Huxley’s house, I went straight to the tub, where I took a nice long bath and used one of my vibrators to take the edge off from the text messages. There was no way I’d be coming to dinner all worked up. Nope, I edged myself off and then let the warm water soak into my tense muscles until I was utterly relaxed.

By the time I got out, Huxley was rushing me with a text saying dinner was ready.

I threw on a robe—and a thong, for obvious reasons—and charged down the stairs to where Huxley was sitting at the table wearing a navy-blue button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows and the top two buttons undone. Talk about someone who wears business clothes well.

“This looks so good,” I say while moving the food around on my plate, mixing everything together.

When I glance at Huxley, he looks tense once again, stiff as a board.

“Uh, everything okay over there?” I ask. What could he possibly be angry about now? It never ends with this man. I thought we’d made peace, that we were getting along. But with every dinner, it feels like two steps back.

“Why are you wearing that?” Huxley asks, his eyes falling to the robe.

“Uh, I was in the bathtub again when you texted. I got dressed quickly in the nearest thing. Don’t worry, I put on underwear this time.” I wink, as if that’s supposed to help.

Reign comes back into the dining room and says, “The kitchen is cleaned and set. If you just leave your plates in the sink, the morning staff will tend to them. I’m going to catch my daughter’s recital.”

“There are flowers in the pantry fridge for her,” Huxley says. “Enjoy your evening with your family.”

“Thank you,” Reign says with a smile and then takes off.

“He has a daughter? I didn’t know he had a family.”

“He does. It’s why I eat early, so he can get back to them.”

See . . . there he goes again, being thoughtful. Are you annoyed? Because I am.

After a few moments of silence, Huxley asks, “Are you going to ask your questions?”

“Oh, yeah . . . sure,” I say. “Umm, let me see. A question, a question.” I tap my chin as nothing comes to mind. Not a single freaking thing. All I can think about is the way his steely eyes shot to my robe as he asked why I was wearing it. Dark, sinister, as if he was about to rip the damn thing off my body with his teeth.

“We can skip the questions for tonight,” he says with a firm tone.

“No, no, just give me a second. Uh, what . . . uh, what can you cook?”

“Cook?” he asks, brows raised.

“Yeah, are you a cook in any way? Any dishes you lay claim to? Anything you’re super proud of? Like, let’s say JP is having a backyard barbecue and everyone has to bring something homemade—what would you bring?”

“JP would have it catered,” he answers.

“Play along,” I say.

“I don’t really cook, but if I had to make something, I’d grill, because that’s the only thing I’m decent at. So, if I were to bring something, probably burgers Reign prepared for me, and I’d grill them.”

“Wow,” I say with a laugh. “That was a very wealthy response.”

He barely smiles as he says, “I’ve lost touch with some things after being in the business for so long. Cooking is one of them.”

“What’s another thing you’ve lost touch with?” I ask.

“Is that your second question?”

I nod. “Yeah, that’s a good second question.”

He lifts his water glass to his lips and says, “What have I lost touch with? Probably everything a thirty-five-year-old man does. Dating, cooking, hobbies.”

“So, you’re all about work, then?”

“That’s what happens when you’re in a position like mine. It consumes you.” He looks over at me, eyes intrigued. “Have you ever had something consume you?”

I’m assuming that’s one of his questions, so I give it some thought. “Are we talking consume my time, or consume me as a whole, like work has consumed you?”

“Consumed you as a whole.”

“Hmm . . . I hate that I know what my answer is because I wish something else would consume me.”

“What is it?” he asks.

“Angela,” I answer. “She’s consumed me but not in a healthy way. The relationship I’ve had with her has been toxic. At times, she’s made me feel important, special, only to throw me away as if I didn’t matter.” I shake my head. “I’ve allowed her to have too much of my headspace, and I wish I could find something else that would consume me, something that would make me forget everything that happened between me and her.”

“You still think about how she let you go?” he asks.

“Yes, all the time, because that’s the reason I’m here right now. And I don’t mean that to be offensive to you, but this is very unconventional. So, yeah, I just wish I could let it go, not give her any more of my time. Any more thought. I just need to find something that will take over that headspace, you know?”

He slowly nods.

“And even though I love working with Kelsey, I don’t want my headspace to be taken over by work. I want it to be something healthy. Something that brings me joy. I guess I’m still trying to figure that all out.”

Huxley’s tongue drags over his teeth and he pushes his salad to the side. What’s he doing? He pushes his chair out, putting space between him and the table. In a commanding tone, he says, “Come here.”

“Uh . . . what?” I ask.

His laser-sharp eyes meet mine. “I said come here.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to teach you something, something to help with that consuming feeling you’re trying to fulfill.”

“Oh,” I say. Simple enough. I stand from my chair, but before I can even set my napkin down, he grabs hold of my hand and pulls me over to between his legs and up against the thick wood of the dining room table. “What the hell?” I say as he sits me on the table in front of him. I squeeze my legs shut and adjust my robe so as to not reveal anything. “What are you doing?”

“You want something to consume you? You want those thoughts out of your head? This is how you do it.” His hands go to my thighs, and realization finally kicks in. His eyes stay on mine as he says, “Say it right now that you don’t want this and I’ll go back to eating my salad. If not, I’m going to eat you.”

Oh.

Dear.

God.

Mixing business with pleasure, always a bad idea. Huxley has said it so many times, but how on earth can I deny the satisfaction of having him make me come again? After the texts, the tense conversations, the revealing questions . . . how can I say no?

There’s no chance.

I want to be consumed.

I want to forget.

I want to move on to something that isn’t going to make me feel bad, but rather make me feel completely satisfied.

“Why do you want to do this?” I ask him, wanting to figure out where his head is at.

“I’m a giving man, Lottie, but my offer doesn’t last forever. There’s a time limit. It’s either a yes or a no.”

I bite my bottom lip while staring down at this man. I can practically feel him between my legs already, that coarse five o’clock shadow rubbing on my inner thighs, while his delicious mouth presses against my arousal.

I want it.

I need it.

I don’t want him anywhere else.

I nod, giving him the go-ahead, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he says, “From your mouth. I want to hear you say you want me between your legs.”

I wet my lips, my heart racing a mile a minute.

“I want you, Huxley, between my legs. Your tongue on my clit. I want to come on your mouth.”

His eyes darken and his hands slide up inside my robe and to the waistband of my thong. He drags it down and I lift up to help him pull it all the way off me. He drops it to the side, almost seeming insulted that I’d wear such a thing to dinner.

Exposed, I press my hands behind me, my robe still cinched tight at my waist, and I watch as his hands slowly crawl up my inner thighs. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at me; instead, he’s fixated on my center, slowly pushing my legs farther and farther apart until I’m completely open to him.

I don’t have to smooth my hand over my pussy to know I’m already wet. Just the thought of him being near me, in this position, turns me on.

His hands glide inward until his thumb gently connects with my clit. He passes over the nub a few times, a satisfied grin tugging at his lips. “Wet, just as I expect you to be when around me,” he says as his thumb makes circles. “Were you wet at the pregnancy class when you were pulsing over my thick cock?”

Jesus Christ, no man has ever talked to me like this.

“Yes,” I answer honestly. “I was.”

“Did you play with yourself when you got home?”

I suck in a sharp breath as he places a kiss on my inner thigh. “I’ve played with myself every night since I’ve arrived at your house.”

His eyes meet mine. “I don’t hear you at night.”

“I make sure of it,” I say.

“Don’t.” He stops his fingers. “If you play with yourself at night, I want to fucking hear it. I want to hear your moans. I want to know that you’re satisfied.”

“Would you want to watch?”

His mouth presses another kiss, and another. “Yes. I’d watch.”

“Would you masturbate while you watched me?”

“It would be difficult not to, but no.”

“Why not?” I ask. His mouth is so close, I want to scream, but he goes to the other leg, his tongue lightly dragging over my pussy for a brief second before tending to my other thigh. I groan in frustration. He’s worked me up in a matter of seconds. It usually takes me a few minutes, but not with Huxley, not with the way he commands my body. Well, and the text messages from earlier. Just thinking about how I’d caused him to tug on the ties of my robe . . . makes me hot.

“I wouldn’t touch myself because the only way I’d want to come is inside of you.” And then his mouth descends on my clit and my back arches, the tie of my robe dangerously close to coming undone from my abrupt movement.

“Oh God, Huxley . . . yes.”

His tongue moves over my clit, circling it, applying just enough pressure to drive me mad.

“You taste like goddamn honey.” He sucks my clit into his mouth, pulling, teasing, making every bone in my body feel like mush.

“Jesus.” Before I can catch my breath, he slips two fingers inside of me. “Fuck,” I yell, hoping Reign was the last person to leave tonight. Knowing Huxley, he wouldn’t be doing this if someone else was in the house.

Simultaneously, he curls his fingers up inside of me, hitting a spot that makes my vision go black as his tongue rotates over and over my sensitive nub.

There’s rhythm to his movements, a precise synchronization that’s building my orgasm fast and hard.

My legs go numb, and my shaky arms can barely support my weight. Huxley notices and gently pushes me back with his hand until I’m lying down, my pussy at the edge of the table, right in front of his face. And he takes advantage of the position, because he spreads my legs even farther, holds them both in place, and then his mouth laps me up.

Over and over and over.

He takes no breath in between.

He doesn’t attempt to kiss me anywhere else.

Instead, he’s focused on my clit and my clit alone.

It’s my undoing.

The pressure builds at the base of my spine, delicious, swirling pleasure. My vision fades to black, forcing me to shut my eyes and feel what this conceited yet commanding man does to my body. I’m swept away, brought into another world where I can’t feel anything but the distinct pleasure of Huxley between my legs.

“God, yes, Hux. Please don’t stop. Please.”

He doesn’t.

He doesn’t even falter.

Instead, he adds more pressure to my clit before moving his hands to my inner thighs, where he spreads my lips with his thumbs, granting him undisturbed access.

And in this position, he takes advantage.

His tongue swirls.

“Fuck, yes,” I yell, my arm going over my eyes.

His tongue pulses.

“Oh my God.” I grip my hair.

His lips suck.

“Holy fuck, yes, Huxley, yes.”

The pressure builds and builds and builds until . . .

“I’m coming. Oh, fuck, Huxley, I’m coming.”

My body spasms, my clit pulses in his mouth, and my scream of ecstasy bounces off the pristine, white dining room walls as I ride out my orgasm on his tongue.

Delicious. Addicting. Life-altering pleasure.

Feeling out the rest of my orgasm, my hips pulse under him and I slowly come back down to earth as I catch my breath.

“Jesus,” I say, my voice hoarse.

Huxley places one last kiss on my pussy and then sits up in his chair. He takes my hand in his and gently helps me up so I’m sitting in front of him. He adjusts my robe over my legs and says, “Let that consume you tonight, and nothing else.”

With that, he stands from the table and attempts to step to the side, as if he’s leaving. I grab his hand quickly and ask, “Where are you going?”

“I had my dinner.” His alluring eyes pin me. “Now it’s time for bed.”

Eyes trained on mine, he brings my hand to his mouth, places a soft kiss on my knuckles, and then breaks our connection as he backs away. Before he turns and retreats from the dining room, I spy his hard erection, pressing and aching against the zipper of his dress pants.

God, he’s so hot, so tempting.

I want his dick in my mouth.

That’s my initial thought, and then the desire to have him in my mouth grows immensely larger with every breath I take. Should I chase after him? What would I do if I did? Hell, I think we all know what I would do. Pull his pants down and suck him off. I’d revel in the act of having his heavy cock in my mouth.

But if I know one thing about Huxley, it’s if he wanted his cock in my mouth, he would’ve asked for it. That’s the type of man he is.

And from his quick retreat? He doesn’t want it from me.

Yet.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Fifteen

HUXLEY

I can still taste her on my tongue.

I can still feel the beat of her clit pulsing with pleasure.

I can still hear her cries of ecstasy as she came all over my face.

And, fuck, I can’t think of anything else.

This is exactly why I didn’t want to get involved. Why I knew crossing that line with her would be a bad idea, because she’s too consuming. Because she’s the type of woman you don’t have one taste of and say take care.

No, she leaves a lasting impression. An imprint. She doesn’t fade away.

I find myself checking the clock, seeing what time it is, counting down the goddamn minutes until she texts me a question, waiting desperately to see her today for the meeting with her sister.

And all it took was one goddamn taste. Now I’m a fucking mess.

I want her.

I didn’t see her this morning. I snuck out early with my gym bag, came to the office, got a workout in, and showered here, too worried that if I did see her, I’d bury myself between her legs again, searching out her sweet taste, wanting to hear her cry out my name again.

Fuck.

What is wrong with me?

I never should have crossed that line. I never should have even considered her an option, and the big reason why is because I think I’m developing feelings for the girl, and I know those feelings most likely are not returned.

Yeah, she’s getting to know me, though not because she likes me—fuck, I sound like a teenager—but she’s getting to know me so she’s not doing business with some jerk-off who doesn’t know how to act around women.

And if she was really into me, she’d have followed me upstairs last night. I didn’t expect her to and I’d never expect a woman to return the favor, but if she had any draw toward me, she’d have been at my bedroom door, at least listening as I came all over my stomach, my hand pumping like a goddamn workhorse while my mind focused on the sounds and taste of her orgasm.

But she didn’t, and I need to be conscious of that. I need to remember exactly what I’m doing. Trying to secure a deal.

I turn my attention to my computer just as my phone beeps with a text message. I squeeze my eyes shut, attempting to have some self-control, but I fail miserably as I reach for my phone and open up the text from Lottie.

Lottie: What’s for lunch today?

I lean back in my office chair and text her back.

Huxley: Is that one of your questions?

Lottie: Consider it a freebie. Inquiring minds are curious.

Huxley: Not sure. Probably nothing. Getting a lot of work done.

She doesn’t need to know that what I really want for lunch is her goddamn pussy, and if she were here right now, I’d be feasting on her before she could even take her next breath.

Lottie: How can you not eat lunch? I had a donut an hour ago, a huge breakfast burrito for breakfast, and I’m starving, ready to gnaw my arm off. And you skipped out on dinner.

Huxley: I recall it differently. I had my fill of dinner.

Fuck, I can’t help myself. I can’t stop myself from reminding her of how I make her feel, hell, how she makes me feel.

Satisfied.

Lottie: Question—have you always been this dirty?

Huxley: When you know what you want, you go after it. There’s nothing dirty involved, just the truth.

Lottie: Well, that was a scapegoat answer that worked really well for you. Now ask me a question. Distract me while Kelsey fetches us lunch.

Huxley: Do you feel as though you know me a little better?

Lottie: I do, but I’m not sure I would’ve without these questions. I’m glad you’ve been open to them.

Huxley: Your turn.

Lottie: That’s all you’re going to say on the matter?

Huxley: Yes.

Lottie: Okay, I see that I’m getting the closed-off Huxley today, that’s fine. Hmm, question—when was the last time you had sex, and with who?

Huxley: That’s two questions.

Lottie: It’s a two-parter, linked together. It passes.

Huxley: Why do you want to know?

Lottie: Is that your question?

Huxley: Consider it linked as well.

Lottie: Just interested in what your life was like before I rolled in.

Huxley: Last time I had sex, probably three months ago, with a girl I’ve known for a few years. Occasionally we get together just for the hell of it, no strings attached. Don’t have time for anything else.

Lottie: A booty call. I wouldn’t have expected anything less. But three months seems like a long time. I would’ve thought once a week for you.

Huxley: No time. Plus, I told you, when we’re in contract, I don’t seek out anyone else but you.

Lottie: I don’t know how to respond to that.

Huxley: No need. My last question before I go—are you nervous about the pitch today?

Lottie: Honestly?

Huxley: Always.

Lottie: I am. I’m nervous because we’ve been working hard on this. I know we offer a great service, I know a lot is riding on this, and I know you’re not going to just give us something for the hell of it, you’re going to make us earn it.

Huxley: That’s correct.

Lottie: This means a lot to us. Even the opportunity to pitch means a lot. We’ve been practicing, making sure everything is perfect, and when the time comes, I really hope we can show you how beneficial we’d be for Cane Enterprises.

I already know they’re perfect for the job. I’ve done my research on Kelsey, but I’m going to make them pitch anyway, because I’m not the only one who makes the decisions. Breaker and JP have to be a yes as well. More so, this is good practice for Kelsey and an excellent boost in confidence for Lottie. She needs to find her niche in business, given it’s what she’s studied. I see the potential in her. She needs to prove it to herself more than to me.

Huxley: We look forward to your presentation. We’ll see you then.

I set down my phone and turn back to my computer. I look through my emails, but the letters become all jumbled and mashed together. Nothing makes sense.

My mind is unfocused.

Because even though I don’t want to admit it, the only thing I can think about is this: will I be able to go down on Lottie again and . . . when?

“They should be here any minute, right?” JP asks, adjusting his suit.

“Yes,” I say. I can see one of the elevators climbing toward our floor. That has to be them.

“Do we know if the sister is single?” JP asks. “She’s really hot.”

“No idea, but if we sign a contract with her, it wouldn’t be a good idea to pursue her,” I say.

“Uh, says the guy who ate out Lottie on the dining room table last night.”

“What?” Breaker leans in. “Why the hell did I not know about that?”

“I conned him into telling me,” JP says. “I could tell he was in a good mood when he came in this morning, so I needled him until he told me.”

“Dude, what the hell are you doing?” Breaker asks.

“Not the place or time,” I say to Breaker as the elevator dings with their arrival. I set my shoulders back and prepare to lay my eyes on Lottie and whatever dress she chose to wear today.

But when the elevator doors open, it isn’t Lottie and Kelsey I see, but rather Dave.

“Wow, what a greeting,” Dave says as he steps off the elevator, taking us all in. “I wasn’t expecting to see all three of the Cane brothers waiting on the other side of the elevator.”

What’s he doing here?

Better yet, where are Lottie and Kelsey—

The elevator on the far left dings and the doors slide open, revealing Kelsey and Lottie, both with feminine briefcases in hand. Kelsey is wearing a deep purple dress that shapes to her torso and flares ever so slightly at the hips, while Lottie—hell, is she trying to distract me? She’s wearing a navy-blue dress that hits her midthigh, fits like a glove, and cuts just low enough on her chest to make me want to rip the dress right off her with my bare hands. And then those heels.

My teeth wander over my bottom lip as my eyes stay fixed on her. On her . . . confused face.

“Would you look at that? Lottie, how nice to see you,” Dave says, pulling me out of my daze. “You look fantastic.”

Shit, should she be showing?

Hopefully not.

I had no idea Dave was going to come to the office. I thought he couldn’t work anything into his schedule and that’s why we never heard from him. I guess I was wrong.

“Thank you,” Lottie says. “Nice tie, Dave.” Smoothly, she walks toward me, and I watch her every step in those heels as she marches right up to me, places her hand on the back of my neck and says, “Hey, handsome.” Then, before I can catch my breath, she’s bringing my mouth toward her. It feels like hours as she closes the space between us, but when her lips meet mine, something possessive runs deep through my veins.

Life.

Her lips on mine are giving me life.

My hand snags around her back and I pull her in close to anchor her against me. Her other hand holding her modern briefcase falls to my chest as she steadies herself. My lips get lost in hers.

The fact that we’re in the office fades to black.

The peering eyes are non-existent.

And the meeting we have planned goes on the back-burner as I taste Lottie’s lips for the first time.

Smooth.

Interested.

Passionate.

I knew, just from the way she gets lost in my touch, that she’d be a good kisser, but this reaction, this press of her body against mine, fuck . . . it’s so much better than I ever expected.

When she finally pulls away and looks up at me with searching eyes, she slowly swallows and says, “Hey, you.”

I pinch her chin with my forefinger and thumb. “Hey.” When I finally look away from her, I catch Kelsey’s look of total disbelief, followed by Dave’s excited response.

“I love you two together,” Dave says, as if he’s known us for years and finally got us to hook up. The man is kind of weird, I’ve grown to find out as we’ve spent more time with him. He claps his hands together. “I’m sorry to interrupt, though. Huxley, are you ready for our meeting?”

“Meeting?” Lottie asks quietly. I glance at her. There’s a confused look in her eyes and I know how this might seem.

Like once again I’m skipping out on her and her sister.

“I wasn’t aware you set up a meeting with Dave as well,” Lottie says and there’s defeat in her shoulders. She knows how hard I’ve been trying to get Dave to talk to me about the properties.

“We didn’t,” Dave says. “I was hoping to sneak in before the weekend. You know how I don’t like to talk business after hours.”

Didn’t know that, but now I do.

“Oh.” Lottie pats me on the chest. “Then I won’t keep you waiting, Dave.” Lottie steps away. I see the protest on Kelsey’s lips as Lottie slowly shakes her head and moves her sister toward the elevator. “It was great seeing you, Dave.” She gives him a gentle wave and presses the down button on the elevator. The doors open right away.

But, before they can step on, I say, “Lottie, Kelsey, meet us in the boardroom. We’ll be right with you.”

The look of surprise on Lottie’s face gives me all the confirmation I need. I just did the right fucking thing.

“Huxley?”

“We’ll be right there. Go set up.” I let her know with my eyes that I mean business.

Without arguing, she leads Kelsey into the conference room, but I can feel her eyes on me the entire time.