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“Monday then.”
“I can do Monday.” A smile tugs at her lips. “I’d like that.” Her smile turns wicked. “Will you wear one of your sexy, hostile takeover outfits? I have preferences if you’re open to them.”
My lips twitch. “Am I to take it that tuxes are back on the list?”
She slides on top of me and straddles me, fucking slaying me all over again. “I mean, a tux for dinner might be overkill.” Her mouth grazes mine. “But if you wanna put one on and roleplay CEO, I’m your girl.”
18
Amelia
Monday is the longest day there ever was and the only thing that keeps me going is knowing I have a date with Gage tonight. Dinner at some unknown-to-me restaurant because apparently, he enjoys torturing women who require at least twelve hours’ notice to emotionally prepare and mentally rehearse every possible conversation scenario.
He didn’t stay at my place after we had sex on Saturday night because he had to get home to Luna. But he did make sure to fuck me again in the shower before he left. I think I’ve already replayed every second of the sex we had that night 10,735,307 times.
Last night, he called after Sarah went to bed, and we talked for nearly three hours. He spent a lot of the conversation finding out everything he could about me. I managed to discover only a few things about him. He practices MMA to keep his head clear, hikes mountains like it’s no big deal, golfs for fun, loves fishing and skiing, and probably chops wood shirtless. I’m honestlystarting to think he’s a wilderness sex fantasy in billionaire clothing. And considering I think rage-cleaning my kitchen counts as cardio, this is going to be a very balanced relationship.
Monday’s a blur of legal drama, PR strategizing with Marin, and a half-hearted attempt at the indie film score. My brothers blow up the group chat about Gage, and I refuse to open the texts. Mostly, I try not to obsess all day over my date tonight.
I’m running on fumes by the time I pick Sarah up from school, and god help me, she’s channeling peak teen drama energy. Argumentative. Dramatic sighs for days. Exactly what I don’t have the capacity for.
All I wanted was an easy afternoon. To help her with her homework, drop her at James’s by five, and then come home and get ready. Light a candle. Overthink my lipstick choice. Rehearse exactly how to say, “Hi” like a normal person. But no. Of course not. That would’ve been too easy for the Monday gods.
We survive the homework. Just.
Then, we pack her bag for the night. She loses it over glitter shoes we can’t locate and throws herself on the bed, refusing to move until I find them. Cue a frantic condo-wide search that eats fifteen minutes of my already-limited date prep time.
James texts during the search, bailing on me. He now has to work tonight. Cue a fresh wave of panic, because I have to find a babysitter on zero notice while my daughter sobs over not seeing her father.
Which means I have to do the thing I’ve been avoiding all day: enter the group chat with my brothers.
Me:
Okay fine. I need one of you to take Sarah tonight.
Tim:
WELL WELL WELL
Tim:
Look who remembered she has siblings.
Colin:
Is everything okay?
Me:
James bailed. I’m running behind. I haven’t showered. Sarah just staged a protest over footwear. I’m dying.
Tim:
She’s spiraling. I knew it. I said three hours ago she was on the edge.
Me:
Are you free or not??