Damon glanced to the side, as if to see if the other fancy business people flying first class were listening in. “I’ve seen everything you have to offer, too, Tinkerbell. And as your boss, I’d advise you to do what I did. Try to purge it from your memory banks.”
I knew I shouldn’t tease him, but I couldn’t stop myself. “No, thanks. I like those images right where they are.”
Damon did a double take, then looked back at his phone. A few seconds later, I glanced down at his lap and noticed a distinct bulge pressing against his pants.
His mouth could lie, but his cock couldn’t. He still wanted it. The real question was whether I did—aside from silly beachside fantasies.
We touched down in the city of Savannah in the late afternoon. It was pleasant, sunny, and a little breezy. If I ignored the icy chill radiating from Damon, it was almost perfect.
We were driven to a hotel downtown, let in by friendly staff at the doors, and pointed toward the elevators. When we reached our floor, Damon handed me a key.
“Room 317. That’s my lucky number,” I said, twirling the keycard and it’s lanyard on my finger.
“No. 317 is my room. You’re supposed to be in 318.”
I double checked the card. “Says 318.”
Damon frowned down at his. With a low growling noise, he pushed past me and headed for the elevators. I decided to let myself in the room while he sorted things out.
It was clearly the room he intended for himself, because it was massive. There was a gigantic bed, a sitting area, a little writing desk with a cute antique lamp, and gorgeous views of the city below.
I hopped on the bed and turned on the TV. Coming for this weekend trip meant I’d had to cancel a handful of tennis lessons and my bartending shift on Sunday. But when I complained to Damon about it, he scribbled me a check for two thousand dollars. Then he actually asked if that was enough to cover my time.
Of course, I’d nodded and waited until he wasn’t watching to do the Carlton dance by my desk. I didn’t even know how to do the Carlton, so I basically just spasmed and fidgeted with joy for a full minute. I’d also rushed to the bank immediately after work and cashed that bad boy. I bought Luna a toy on the way home, picked up a nice takeout dinner for my brother, and paid two bills I was late on. I also electronically paid Milly back the seven dollars I’d owed her for two years and lived in eternal dread of her remembering. She’d bought me a burrito at the mall once when I forgot my money.
All in all, life wasn’t so bad. I was even starting to believe I was really going to get my first paycheck when Friday rolled around. Six days. Six days until everything would really start to be okay. It’d be a life changer, and it might mean I could actually drop all the side gigs that were eating up the little time I did have with Luna.
Damon came storming into the room several minutes later. He closed the door behind him, then stared at me. I was sprawled out on the bed and wearing one of the complimentary robes over my clothes. “Comfortable?” he asked.
“Yes, actually. Do I have to go to my room now?”
“No. There was a mistake and they only booked one room.”
“There wasn’t another one?”
“There’s some event going on this weekend. Every hotel in the city is fully booked up. Waiting list only.”
I couldn’t help grinning. “So you’re stuck with me in your room?”
“And you’re stuck with me. The bed is mine.”
I sighed and started to get up.
“That was a joke. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Oh.” I waited, watching him carefully.
Damon was rooting through his suitcase for something. “What?”
“I’m waiting for the catch. You can sleep on the bed, but…”
“There’s no catch. I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch.”
“But you’ve been going out of your way to make me miserable ever since I started here. Isn’t that exactly the kind of thing you’d normally do?”
He set his suitcase down and stood with a few pieces of clothes in his hand. “Yes. Maybe. But I’m going to give being civil to you a try this weekend. As much as I hate to admit it, you have actually handled your responsibilities well. Especially considering my behavior.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
“No. Airplanes are disgusting, and I need a shower. So if you’ll excuse me.”
The bathroom door clicked shut behind him and I heard the water start running.
And in that moment, my castaway fantasy was suddenly and violently shoved aside by a new one. In this one, Damon would emerge from the shower in nothing but a tightly wrapped white towel. The outline of his bulge would be clearly visible just below his sixteen-pack abs. He’d point to something he needed, and the towel would fall, revealing his waiting and ready manhood—which of course would be rock hard from the idea of plowing me into next Tuesday. Actually, I’d prefer if he plowed me straight into Friday so I could pick up my paycheck.
Cha-ching.
I closed my eyes and flopped back onto the bed.
Bad.
Bad, Chelsea.
Or was it bad?
One could make a compelling argument that it’d actually be my motherly duty to sleep with Damon again. And again. And again. And again.
After all, he was the father of my daughter. Sure, he was rough around the edges, but who said I couldn’t work a little Chelsea magic on him and turn him to the light side? I’d even been told once that my personality was the human equivalent of sandpaper. If I was sandpaper and Damon
