“Great. Yeah. Is the nanny coming tonight?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Mrs. Woods.” I’d be surprised if the nanny was coming. The turnover rate was high. I assumed it was for two reasons: they got tired of Mr. Woods’s advances, or Mrs. Woods sniffed out the too-close working relationship.
His voice dropped an octave and he tilted his head to give me a smirk. His artfully coiffed hair was probably designed for the move. “Aren’t you going to stay until she does?”
“I’m sorry, but I have another client after this.” I sidled around him. “Have a good night.”
“See you next week, Tilly.” He made it sound like a promise.
I shuddered. That man was an egocentric, selfish, rich dick who was too used to people jumping through his hoops. Only an hour a week I had to deal with him. He had no more control over my life than that.
Flynn
I sat back in my desk chair and propped my feet on the glass top, Bluetooth in my ear. My cleaning crew would curse me later. The other half of the desk was a standing workstation and I had a ball chair pushed in the corner. But it was the end of a long day after an especially rough week, and I wanted to lounge for the few minutes I’d been able to all week.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. A tension headache throbbed at my temples.
I’d done nothing to relieve stress since I’d come home from vacation to a pile of emails that’d taken me days to comb through.
A prospective client wanted my company to draw up plans for a luxurious retail and office complex. One of my current projects had hit a delay with the concrete that could’ve pushed the project behind a month if I hadn’t fast-talked any and every contractor in the city that provided cement. And then there was John Woods, who jabbered on the other end of my earbud.
“We’ll need to reschedule Monday’s meeting,” Woods said. “I have to bang my nanny. It’s her last day and I never know if the missus is going to hire a fatty or not.”
What a dick.
I stared at my computer monitor, tapped a few buttons, and pulled up my schedule. When it came to those writing the checks, I scheduled meetings in person. My assistant, Matthew, was awesome, but it gave the moguls the warm fuzzies to feel like I was at their beck and call. And I sort of was. “No problem. Tuesday?” Please, not Tuesday. My day was packed with meetings and I wanted to sneak in job site visits in my off-hours.
“Damn. My day is crazy. Let’s talk over drinks. Seven?”
My eyelids slid shut. Cocktails with Woods was the last thing I wanted to do with my Tuesday evening. Any evening. The guy commented on the boobs of every female who walked by. I constantly rode the line of humoring the man and trying to ignore the perverted remarks, deciding on the minimum I could say so I didn’t antagonize a top client, yet not sell my soul downriver for money.
I confirmed the time and got my client off the phone.
Matthew watched me, iPad prepped and ready for the instructions I had been in the middle of before Woods’s call.
“Change the Woods meeting on Monday to seven Tuesday at the usual place for drinks.”
“Ugh, I hate that place,” Matthew muttered, clicking through the instructions. “It’s like a pretentious watering hole for egotistical giraffes that need to neck-whack each other into thinking they’re glorious, elegant creatures.”
I snorted. “That’s so damn accurate. We all have our vices, I guess.”
“And Mr. Woods’s is boobs and nannies. I’m tempted to tell Bryant to pull him over one day, give him a ticket, and make his community service to quit being a shitty husband.”
Matthew’s candor in private was half the reason I kept him around. If we didn’t have a professional relationship to maintain, we could be friends. “Do it, just not until after we’re done with his bank.”
“I hope I don’t have to give you a big ole ‘I told you so’ over Mr. Woods. He’s trouble.”
“He’s an asshole with money who can build a bank. I don’t discriminate.” I listed what I’d need Matthew to do next week and shooed him out for the weekend.
Sighing, I rubbed my face and checked the time. Eight o’clock on a Friday night. The sun was still out and the clubs were probably coming alive.
I should go out.
Taking my Bluetooth out, I flung it on the desk. I stared at the floor, then dug out my phone and texted Wes.
Whatcha doing tonight?
It was a long shot, but maybe Wes would be free and we could hang. The first weekend home from the lake, I’d spent all night on the floor of Wes’s rec room, getting my ass kicked by Mara. She had the new Zelda game for the Switch and had schooled me. I’d almost skipped it, knowing Tilly questions were inevitable.
All I’d said was that she wasn’t what I’d expected and I’d spent the week doing whatever she wanted, like fishing and hiking. Not a lie. All the sex we’d had was between me and Tilly.
Mara’s jaw drop had almost been insulting. I’d spent the rest of the evening avoiding Wes’s pointed looks and managed not to answer any more questions about Tilly.
The second weekend, I’d found the water line to my fridge leaking. The drywall behind the fridge was soft and warped and I’d spent the weekend replacing and repainting it. My kitchen might not have needed a repaint, but it’d gotten one. Since I’d been at it and all.
And now I’d arrived at my third weekend by myself. My old routine of finding bedmates for each night held no appeal, but my body constantly reminded
