“Talk to me,” I say, puzzled as to why she’s not chatting away like most girls.
“What about?”
I’m going to have to pick a subject. Women usually like talking about their family, so I opt for that. “Are your parents alive?” She nods cautiously, but doesn’t offer any information. “Siblings?” I ask.
“I’d rather not talk about my family,” she says.
Strike one. I sip my whisky. “Where did you grow up?”
She pushes herself upright. “Sebastian…”
Strike two. I only have one more chance, I’m sure. “What was the last movie you saw?”
Ah, that’s worked. She chews her lip, then slowly smiles, and names a thriller I saw a few weeks ago. I know better than to ask her who she went with, so I start talking about my favorite parts of the plot, and she joins in.
That leads to talk about other favorite movies, then books, and soon we’re talking like normal people. Colette lies back down, and she drinks one whisky as we chat, then doesn’t complain when I top up her glass, so I know she’s starting to enjoy herself.
I learn that she likes action movies and horrors—no chick flicks for this girl—and she reads detective stories, and her favorite author is Arthur Conan Doyle. Once she’s certain she’s not going to let any personal details slip, she relaxes, and turns back into the cheeky, sassy lady who stunned me at first sight in the office.
In the end, I lie back on the pillows with my whisky and just listen to her talk, loving the sound of her voice, her enthusiasm, her insightfulness. She’s intelligent and funny, and I wish I knew why she doesn’t want to open up to me, because I want to know more about her, about her past and her present. And I definitely want to be a part of her future.
But I can’t mention it, because I know she’ll just clam up and maybe even threaten to leave, so I move closer to her, take a small piece of ice in my mouth, and dip my head to kiss her. When our lips touch and her mouth opens, I let the ice slip between her lips, and she circles it in her mouth before passing it back to me.
She gives me a wry look. “Are you trying to shut me up? I’m talking too much.”
I crunch the ice. “Not at all. I like listening to you. I just want you to know that I’m ready when you are.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Ready for what?”
“Round two.” I finish off the whisky, place the glass on the bedside table, then lift so I’m leaning over her.
“I haven’t finished my drink,” she complains.
“I’m not stopping you.” I kiss her neck, her collarbone, and down to her breasts.
“No… I really should go.”
“Not yet.” I circle my tongue around her nipple, then hold the piece of ice in my mouth between my teeth and touch it to her sensitive skin.
“Yow! Sebastian!” She lifts onto her elbows in shock.
I laugh and lower myself between her legs, place a hand on either thigh and push them apart, then brush the ice in my mouth over her swollen folds.
“Argh!” She falls back onto the bed and covers her face with her hands.
I crunch the ice, then slide my tongue into her. Her skin is still moist from her previous orgasm, and I taste her with pleasure, pressing gently to reveal her tiny button, and teasing it with my tongue.
I want to coax her to orgasm again and again, until she’s so exhausted she can’t move, and she falls asleep at my side. I want to make her come until she can’t think of any other man, until I’m her whole world, until even hearing my name makes her lips part and her eyes glaze over with longing.
I might only have tonight, but it’s the longest night of the year, and I’m determined to make the most of it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Colette
I only meant to stay for an hour, but midnight comes and goes, the rain eases, the clouds part, and the moon rises in the sky, and I’m still in bed with Sebastian, my body a wrung-out rag after so many orgasms I’ve lost count.
Each time, he makes me come, then knows he has thirty minutes or so before I can summon the energy to protest that I’m leaving, at which point he begins all over again. And I’m so weak that I can’t fend him off, because as soon as his mouth and his hands are on me, I become his, and I have no hope of denying him.
The man’s insatiable. He’s made love to me four times already this evening—four! I didn’t know men were able to get it up that many times in one night. And now it’s nearly two a.m.; his arms are tight around me, and his erection is once again pressing against my thigh. If I don’t do something, he’s going to pleasure me to death.
“Sebastian.” I summon up all the strength I possess and push away from him. “Come on. I really need to go—I need to sleep.”
“Yes, you really need to get to a bed,” he says. Then he gives a fake look of surprise. “Wait a minute! You’re in one!”
“My bed,” I correct wryly, and scoot to the edge. He catches my arm and tugs me back, but this time I slip out of his grasp. I get to my feet and run into the living room, over to where my clothes are still lying on the floor. The room spins a little—I’ve drunk too much. Or am I drunk on Sebastian? It’s difficult to say.
He pads across the floor after me, and as I pull on my panties and bra, I avert my gaze from his naked form. If I start staring at his muscles and that eager erection again, I’m going to forget myself and end up back in bed.
“Thank you for a lovely evening,” I tell him. I start to slip on my pants.
“Wait.” He skirts the sofa and stands before me, and catches my hand. “Don’t go. One more time.”
“I have to go at some point, it might as well be now. Don’t let’s ruin it,” I beg him. “It’s been fantastic. Don’t spoil it.”
It finally sinks in that I’m really going. His smile fades, and his brow darkens. “I want you to stay.”
I pull on my blouse and slip on my shoes. “I know.” I pick up my jacket, stand in front of him, and cup his face. “I’m sorry I can’t. But I’ve had a great time.”
He slips an arm around me, and bends his head to kiss me. I turn my cheek, though, and brace a hand against his chest and push. It’s like I have an iron bar around my waist. He grasps my chin and holds me tight against him, and kisses me, hard. I can’t fight him, not without doing him serious damage, so instead I go still and let him slide his tongue between my lips. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do not to kiss him back, but I force myself not to react, and eventually he lifts his head.
I move away from him and pick up my purse.
“Let me drive you home,” he says.
“You’ve been drinking,” I remind him. “I’ll get a taxi—I’ll be fine. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
I walk away, and stop only when I reach the corridor leading to the elevator. Then I turn and look back at him. He’s standing there, hands on his hips, his expression a mixture of thunderous and distraught. He can’t believe I’m actually going. Even though I’ve only known him a few days, I know how he thinks. He was convinced he could talk me into staying.
“I really did have a fantastic evening.” I give him an apologetic smile, and then I’m gone.
*
The next day’s busy. The trial begins on Monday, and everyone’s racing around trying to get jobs done. There are the usual last-minute panics. A leaflet is found to have an error in it, and while making new copies, the photocopier breaks down. The repair guy is on the other side of town and can’t make it until the afternoon, so there’s a rush to take the leaflet to the local print shop. Our new coffee machine goes up in smoke—not my fault this time—so we have to make constant runs to the coffee shop down the road. Caleb loses a flash drive with a heap of important information on it that he apparently hasn’t backed up, and there’s thirty minutes of madness while we turn the office upside down looking for it.
Sebastian’s there, but he’s busy too, and I do my utmost to avoid him, volunteering for every job that involves being out of t
he office, and making myself indispensable to Elen so I’m practically glued to her side.
Then, as the day draws to a close, I get the break I’ve been waiting for.
“Print me out a final list of participants, would you?” Elen gestures at her laptop. “Take out the highlighted ones first. I’m just nipping to the Ladies’.”
I know that there have been calls during the day from a few participants who have dropped out, so they must be the ones she’s highlighted. I haven’t yet seen the entire list, but Elen leaves the room, and there it is, on her screen, a simple list in Excel, in alphabetical order, with numbers down the side. It’s saved onto their central system in the secure folder that only the directors have access to. They’ve been using it to mail merge letters and other documents.
I delete the highlighted entries, re-sort them, and scroll down. Out of the hundred-and-twenty participants, there are now one-hundred-and-nine left, plus I know that they’re expecting some not to turn up.
I insert a row and type in Liam’s name, date of birth, and personal details, then I print the list. I’ve been saving him a copy of all the documents as the week’s gone on, in his own file, which has his name at the top in a printed label, the same as all the others. While the list is printing, I take his file into the boardroom and slot it into its rightful place in the box on the table. From now on, any letters that are printed will include his name and someone will place a copy in his file.
I return to Elen’s office and take the printout from the printer. I scan the list, and there’s Liam’s name, looking as if it’s been there all along.
Elen comes back in. “All done,” I say brightly, and hand it to her. I glance at the clock—it’s nearly five. “Actually, if it’s okay, I might shoot off now,” I add. “I’m going away for the weekend, and it would be nice to have a few extra minutes to get ready.”
“Of course,” Elen says, barely glancing at the printout. She smiles at me. “Thank you so much for your help—you’ve been great.”
I push away my guilt and smile back. “It’s been a fun week. I hope the trial goes well—you deserve it, with all the hard work you do.”
“Are you stopping by Sebastian’s office before you go?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I pick up my purse.
“Good.” She winks at me. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you very soon.”
My throat tightens and I have to force my lips to stay smiling, but I just nod and walk to the door. “I’m sure too. Say goodbye to Harry and Caleb for me.” I give her a final wave, and then I walk out.
I grab my coat from the rack near the copier, and head straight for the stairs. Once the door shuts behind me, I run down them, wishing I hadn’t worn high heels, terrified of breaking my neck. Luckily, I make it to the bottom in one piece, and then I’m running across the tiled floor of the foyer, past the surprised security guards, and out of the glass doors onto the street.
I continue running until I’m several blocks away and breathing so hard it’s making my eyes water. Then I finally slow and lean against the wall, my hands on my knees, as I try to get air into my lungs.
People swarm past me, and I wonder whether someone’s going to stop and ask if I’m okay, but of course they don’t. Nobody’s interested, and I’m all alone.
Only then do I let the tears come.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sebastian
One of our investors keeps me talking for a good thirty minutes, and when I finally get off the phone, my ear hurts and I have a headache. He’s a good guy, with a deaf daughter, and the last thing I want to do is be rude to him, but jeez, can the man waffle.
I walk out of my office, needing to stretch my legs, see that Colette isn’t at her desk, and wander down the corridor to Elen’s office. My sister’s there, tapping into her computer, but there’s no sign of the sassy secretary.
“Where’s Colette?” I ask.
Elen looks up, surprised. “Oh, hi. She left…” She glances at the clock on the wall. “Maybe ten minutes ago. She said she was going to come and see you first.”
Cold slides down inside me as if I’ve swallowed a piece of ice. Without another word, I turn on my heel and walk through the offices to the elevators. I press the button and tap my foot as it descends, and then I get in and jab for the ground floor.
My heart’s thundering, and I feel a little nauseous. I’ve hardly spoken to her all day. It hasn’t been for the want of trying, but it’s seemed as if every time I’ve gone to talk to her, she’s had to nip out for coffee or to deliver something somewhere. I know she’s been avoiding me, but I’d planned to catch her before the end of the day and ask her again to come out for a drink with me so we can have a chance to talk about where we go from here. I’d hoped that maybe her problem was working with me, and that when the working week was done, she’d agree to a date.
Deep down, I know that’s not the real problem, but I live in hope.
When I arrive at the foyer, I stride out. Jimmy, the oldest security guy who’s been here since the last ice age, is standing by the glass front doors, and I cross over to him.
“Hey, Jimmy, has the blonde temp left?”
“Hi, Mr. Wright. Why yes, she went out about ten minutes ago. In quite a rush, she was. Can I help at all…?” His voice trails off as I run past him and push open the glass doors. I walk onto the street and look up and down it, but of course, she’s gone.
It’s not the end—of course it’s not. I’ll talk someone at the recruitment agency into giving me her address, or I’ll Google her and find her somehow. Colette is an unusual name, even if Watson isn’t. I will find her. Sebastian Wright always gets what he wants, after all.
The midwinter wind whirls around me, and a mist of rain coats my face. I jam my hands in my pockets and hunch my shoulders, then turn and go back into the building.
*
It takes a little under twenty-four hours for me to realize what an idiot I’ve been.
The staff at the recruitment agency refuse to give me Colette’s address, and when I demand to speak to the manager, she refuses too, stating privacy issues, and refusing to back down even when I threaten to remove our business. I yell at her and hang up, then have to phone her back thirty minutes later and apologize while Elen stands beside me, arms folded, glaring at me.
Colette’s nowhere to be found on Google, even though I spend hours trawling the Web. She’s not in the phonebook either. I begin to think I’ve imagined her.
The worst news comes on Saturday afternoon. I’m in the office, mainly because I have no social life and nothing else to do, and the others are there with me because they’re as sad and pathetic as I am. Harry and Caleb know what’s happened, and the mood is unusually subdued. I’m like a grizzly bear with a hangover, and I don’t blame them for keeping to themselves.
And then at three o’clock, Elen comes in with a look of sorrow in her eyes. “I just spoke to Julia at the agency,” she says. Julia is the manager I yelled yesterday, and a friend of Elen’s. “I thought maybe if I pleaded, she’d give me an idea of how to contact Colette. But it seems she gave them a fake phone number and address, and Julia even thinks she might have given a false surname.”
I stare at Elen. “Why?”
“No idea. I’m sorry, Seb.” She comes over and kisses the top of my head. “I liked her, and I thought she liked you, too.”
I get up and walk over to the window. None of it makes sense. Colette did like me—I know she did. There’s something else going on here. But I can’t work it out.
“Maybe we can hire a PI,” Harry suggests. “Track her down?”
I’m sorely tempted, if only to get answers, as well as to see her one last time. But I have some pride. I gave her every chance to explain herself and to take that step toward a relationship. If she doesn’t want to, I’m not going to be crazy stalker guy and refuse to give up. I tried, but she didn’t want me—or at least, she didn’t want me enough, and that’s something I’m going
to have to deal with. I’m done.
Without another word, I walk out of the office and go home.
*
Late on Saturday evening, I’m a third of the way through the bottle of whisky that Colette and I started, when the door buzzer goes off. My heart immediately begins to race, but when I press the button, it’s my sister who says, “It’s me. Can I come up?”
“I’m not in the mood for visitors.” I’m in my track pants, the room’s a tad blurry, and I don’t want to have to make polite conversation.
“Please, Seb. I’ve found something… odd.”
Frowning, I buzz her in and wait for her to appear. I glance at my phone—it’s nearly midnight. What the hell is she doing out this late?
When she appears, she’s changed out of her office clothes into jeans and a sweater, with a thick black overcoat. She walks past me into the dining room and slips off the coat, placing it over a chair. Then she puts a folder she’d been carrying on the table.
“What’s going on?” I stand next to her, glass in hand.
She glances at it, then up at me, and rolls her eyes. “Are you drunk?”
“Your point is?”
“Is what I’m about to say going to make any sense to your befuddled brain or shall I come back in the morning?”
I bend over the table and look at the sheets of paper she’s spreading out. It’s a copy of the list of names for the trial. “Elen, for fuck’s sake, it’s nearly midnight. Don’t you ever stop working?”
“Seb, just listen. I’ve read this list a thousand times—we all have. We’ve been fiddling with it a lot, and the numbers have changed a few times as people have dropped out.”
She’s right—I’m befuddled, and I just want to go to bed. “I don’t see what—”
“Someone’s added a name in,” she says. “Yesterday afternoon, we had a hundred-and-nine. Now, there’s a hundred-and-ten. Only the four of us have access to these names. We made sure of that. And neither Harry nor Caleb have added in a name. Did you?”
I’m now completely baffled. “No.”
“Neither did I.”
Like a Boss Box Set: Like a Boss Series Books 1-4 Page 9