Because I had Abbi. And I simply couldn't get enough of her.
During conference calls with Dublin in the boardroom, I always made sure she sat next to me. The voices of old, boring men would fade away as my foot found hers under the table. I'd watch a little grin play at the corner of her sweet, pink lips as she discreetly flipped the page of her report and nodded along with whoever the fuck was talking.
"And you, Mr O'Sullivan?" I heard someone say during a conference call Tuesday morning. "What do you think, Mr O'Sullivan?"
What do I think? I ran my shoe up Abbi’s leg under the table and hid a smile at the blush that spread across her cheek. I thought I'd very much like to excuse myself and Ms Miller and find the nearest supply closet. Or I could lay Ms Miller down right there on the long mahogany table, strip her and kiss across every inch of her. I thought that was far more important than the merging of two international law firms.
Abbi's eyes darted to mine when I'd remained silent for too long, fingers drumming the edge of the table. She sucked in a startled breath at the arousal in my eyes.
"Um, Mr O'Sullivan," she stammered, turning toward the screen at the end of the room. "That time frame works for Mr O'Sullivan, sir."
Afterwards, we'd barricaded ourselves in my office for thirty minutes to make out.
"Um, is that lipstick on your shirt?" Harry had asked me later that day when we met in his office, leaning forward and adjusting his glasses.
I pulled at my collar and found the traces of Abbi's lipstick there on my white shirt.
"Cut myself shaving," I said quickly.
It wasn't the best lie, because I hadn't shaved in days. I just hadn't been able to justify the time when those precious moments could be spent with Abbi or with Zara.
I wasn't playing it smart. I was barely even trying to hide my desire for Abbi. I was being reckless and stupid and wild and I loved it. I was pushing back meetings to sit at the edge of Abbi's desk and just listen to her talk. I was making important industry leaders wait in the lobby so I could personally drive Zara to school. I was cutting calls short every time Abbi walked into my office, because nothing seemed as important as simply telling her “hello”.
I sat in the copy room on the counter next to the big copy machine and chatted with Abbi as she did her work. Instead of having her pick up my salads, we went out to lunch together, often extending the meal with dessert and wine and more dessert. We left at absurdly early hours so we could spend time with Zara and try to help her with her homework (she was sweet enough to pretend she needed it).
I was throwing my whole world upside down, jeopardising the future of my career, destroying a ruthless and cutthroat reputation I'd spent years tirelessly building. I was throwing it all away like a useless penny into a wishing well. I was never going to see it again and it would be foolish to think some silly wish could come true.
But I was a fool.
For that week I was the biggest fool the world had ever seen.
"Any plans for the long weekend, Mr O'Sullivan?" Abbi asked as we stood side by side in front of the elevators Friday afternoon.
I was supposed to be the one who was cool, calm, collected, but it turned out Abbi was the one who could play her part more discreetly than I. I'd become the one who leapt off cliffs, got on buses with no destination, dragged a total stranger to a Celtic festival in the mountains after a drunken night.
"Um, I'm not sure," I said as the doors of the elevator parted and we stepped inside. "Probably just catch up on some work that needs to be done and—"
The doors closed and I grabbed the back of Abbi’s neck and crashed my lips to hers. She stumbled back, pulling me with her, till her shoulders hit the wall of the elevator. As I kissed her, I waved my arm out, hitting as many floor numbers as possible.
Abbi pulled my face away from hers with her hands on my cheeks.
"You know that means the doors are going to open?" she laughed.
"Damn," I said, dragging a hand over my face. "I was trying to make it last longer."
"We can't make out in case someone’s there when the doors open."
I grinned down at her wickedly. "Can't we?"
A matching grin pulled at her lips. "It's like make-out Russian roulette," she said, biting her lower lip.
"Should we play?" I whispered.
Her eyes flashed. "Could be dangerous."
I smiled devilishly. "I do hope so."
Without another word, Abbi wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me tight to her body. My fingers slipped into her hair and we kissed as the elevator dinged. The doors parted and no one stepped inside.
"One chamber's empty," Abbi whispered against my mouth before nipping at my bottom lip.
The danger of my behaviour over the past week seemed to dwarf in comparison to the danger of Abbi's pink lips there in the elevator. The risk of jeopardising my job, my career, my reputation became child's play to our deadly little game. Everything seemed to be on the line, but it wasn't the everything I thought I knew: it wasn't anything I could put a price tag on or put in my portfolio or hang on a wall of accolades.
Everything became her. And this silly little game suddenly meant the world.
I kissed her softly
