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I couldn’t get enough of Sloane’s sweet mouth, couldn’t get my pants off fast enough, couldn’t get deep enough inside her while a condom sat untouched in my wallet. Forgotten.
I haven’t raw-dogged it since Tasha and that was intentional.
But—fuck!—did it feel incredible to unload in Sloane’s tight pussy, like the dickhead I am. Still, I fucked up. There was no conversation about expectations, about what we are,and, more importantly, what we aren’t. What we can’t be for several reasons.
I check the clock on my dash and curse. I have fifty-five minutes to get these lists in before Belinda hands me my ass.
With that in mind, I hit the gas pedal.
44.Ronan
My forehead is in my palms as I stare absently at the TCIP report when a knuckle raps on the glass door.
“Yup.”
Archie plows through and sets a mug on my desk. “From Opal Reef.”
“Oh man, thanks. That stuff from the pit was pure tar. I don’t know who brewed it, but they need to be banned.”
“I think it was Mandy,” he mock whispers.
“Ban her.” It doesn’t matter how cute she is. I have one vice left, and I’d like to revel in it to the best of my ability.
Actually, what I’dreallylike is my caffeine fix from a certain local coffee shop, but it’s been two days since I stepped foot in there and I don’t plan on going again until I’m sure my head is screwed on straight.
I think Sloaneisa real sea witch. Whatever she is, she’s been haunting me since Saturday. I can’t get her out of my mind.
Just thinking about her hardens my dick. See? It’s happening right now.
Archie retrieves a folder from under his armpit. “Updated standards. I know Belinda is pushing for everything online, buthere are hard copies. Sometimes it’s easier to … read them this way.”
I smirk. “To figure out what they mean?”
Archie looks sheepish. He knows I don’t belong here. Everyone knows it.
“Thank you.”
“No worries, man.”
Despite my foul mood, I smile as he ducks out. The awkward stiffness of the first few days is quickly fading. My assistant will be telling me to fuck off in no time, and I can’t wait.
Spreading out the new reports over my desk’s surface, I suck back my coffee—it’s not half bad—while I review each page.
They’re mostly projections—occupancy rates, revenue, budget spend. Yeah, that all makes sense. At least some of the columns do. I grab a pen to circle the acronyms that may as well be in Mandarin, so I can look them up and figure out why I care, and then I open my calendar to see how much time Google and I have together.
My week is already full of meetings—one-on-ones with my managers who think I’m a moron, with Belinda who treats me like an idiot, with finance so I can approve budget spends for equipment I’ve never heard of, with the golf center media planning committee to talk about a sport I hate, and with the tech department. That last one, I can’t even guess why they need to meet with me.
Back-to-back meetings where I bring no value to anyone.
All fucking week long.
Why did I ever say yes to this move? Oh right, because Henry dangled a sheet of paper with a lot of digits and perks on it.
And because Abbi asked me to.Shehas faith in me.
“Ro-nan!” A familiar bellow sounds down the hall from the direction of the pit.
“Not this.” I hurry from my chair, spilling my coffee all over the hard copies Archie just gave me as I bolt out the door.