Page 29 of Going Deep (Odyssey #3)

M ichael woke the next morning with a feeling of bone-deep contentment.

He felt rested, despite not having gotten to bed until well after two in the morning.

After their first scene, he and Ginger had relaxed in the bar area for a while, talking and cuddling on the sofa, before he’d taken her back up to the theme rooms and tied her over a spanking bench.

He’d whaled on her butt long enough to tire his arm, then he’d fucked her hard to their mutual satisfaction.

When they’d come up to his place after closing, they’d fixed a midnight snack before settling in bed, where Ginger had picked up his book and read to him .

It had been so nice to be read to, she’d explained, she wanted to return the favor.

And she was right; it had been very nice.

He’d drifted off to sleep listening to her husky voice.

Now, Ginger lay next to him, her head on his shoulder, one thigh thrown across his as though she was trying to pin him down in his sleep. And as usual, she had the covers pulled up to her nose, snuggling into them like a burrowing rabbit.

He regarded her with amusement. Her hair was sticking straight up, and could feel the soft puffs of her breath against his skin. He knew if left to her own devices, she’d sleep like the dead until nearly noon, and nothing short of an earthquake would disturb her.

The urge to stay in bed to see if he could tempt her into abandoning sleep for an orgasm was strong, but he decided to let her sleep. She was stressed about her interview on Tuesday , and could probably use the rest.

He frowned. He wished he could tell her not to fret over it, but he’d very neatly tied his own hands by not confessing his connection to the Center when she’d first asked about it. Coming clean now would be, at the very least, awkward.

But it had to be done. If he put it off, it would only get more complicated.

Annoyed at the entire situation—and mostly himself—he shifted, easing his shoulder from under her head as he slid out of bed. She immediately rolled into the open space, still warm from his body. She gathered his share of the covers and yanked them up over her head.

He chuckled and dragged on loose drawstring pants before heading for the bathroom. He took care of business quickly, and splashed some cold water over his face to dispel the lingering cobwebs, then padded back out into the bedroom. Since Ginger hadn’t moved, he continued out to the kitchen.

He put the coffee on first, inhaling the delicious aroma as it brewed, then began to rummage in the cupboards for the ingredients for pancakes. Awkward conversations, in his experience, were always easier with pancakes.

He was halfway through his first cup of coffee and assembling the batter when the phone rang.

He glanced at the phone, saw Simon’s name on the display, and sighed.

A quick glance toward the bedroom revealed no signs of life, but it didn’t pay to take chances.

Snagging his earpiece off the counter, he engaged it before accepting the call.

He didn’t even get a hello out before Simon declared, “ You’re a goddamn coward.”

“Good morning to you, too,” Michael drawled and dumped flour into a bowl.

“Don’t change the subject,” Simon said. “ You got her the job interview at the Center , didn’t you?”

“She said she was interested in working there,” Michael began.

“And I don’t suppose it occurred to you to tell her you own the place?”

“It occurred to me,” Michael admitted, stifling the urge to remind Simon that the foundation owned it, not him.

“And?”

Michael added cinnamon and salt to the flour and picked up a whisk. “ And , I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s complicated,” Michael hedged, stirring cinnamon, salt and flour together with more vigor than was necessary.

“It’s going to be more complicated when she finds out,” Simon warned.

Michael started to pour buttermilk into the bowl, then realized he’d forgotten the baking soda and baking powder. “ I’m aware of that.”

“And if she gets the job and she ends up working for you, more complicated still.”

Where the hell were his measuring spoons? “ She’d be working for the foundation, not me.”

“It’s not much of a distinction.”

There they were. He measured out powder and soda, whisked again, then poured in the buttermilk. “ It’s not like I’m running the place.”

“No, you just got her the interview. You didn’t make up a job just for her, did you?”

Michael said nothing, just cracked an egg into the batter.

“Holy shit, Michael , I was kidding. You made up a job for her?”

“It’s not made up,” Michael protested. “ It’s just…new.”

“Jesus Christ . You’re in deep shit, you know that? Seriously deep shit.”

Michael was so annoyed he just poured in the vanilla without measuring. “ I seem to remember you making some less than stellar decisions regarding Lola not so long ago.”

“Yeah, because I was in love with her and fighting it,” Simon shot back, then, “ Well , I’ll be goddamned.”

“Fuck,” Michael muttered and slammed the two tablespoons of butter he’d put into a small dish into the microwave to melt.

“You’re in love with her, and you made up a job for her so she could stay in Chicago ,” Simon said with awe in his voice. “ Shit , Michael , that’s the most ridiculous, romantic thing I’ve ever heard of.”

Jabbing buttons with violence, he set the microwave humming. “ I didn’t do that. I didn’t say that.”

“You sure as fuck did,” Simon countered. “ When did this happen?”

Michael said nothing, just snatched the melted butter out of the microwave and beat it into the batter.

“Does she know?”

“There’s nothing to know,” Michael began, but Simon’s snort cut him off.

“There isn’t,” Michael insisted. “ It’s not…what you said.”

“You can’t even say it,” Simon pointed out gleefully.

Michael put the bowl of batter on the back of the stove and covered it with a clean dishcloth, then moved to the sink to wash his hands.

“All right, if it’s not ‘what I said’,” Simon wanted to know, and Michael could hear the damn air quotes, “then what is it?”

“It’s… N.R.E .,” Michael decided.

“Seriously? You’re going with new relationship energy?”

“It’s a thing,” Michael said defensively.

“Sure, it is,” Simon agreed. “ N.R.E . totally explains this absurdity. What’s the salary for this job, anyway?”

“None of your business.”

“That much, huh?”

Michael reached for his phone with a scowl. “ I’m really hanging up on you now.”

“Fine, this conversation is too ridiculous for me anyway,” Simon said. “ I’m going to call Grant and tell him you’ve fallen in love and gone off the rails. Call me back when you’re ready to admit it.”

“Fuck you,” Michael said and hung up on Simon’s laughter.

“Who are you cursing at?”

He jerked around at the husky voice, panic rising when he saw Ginger .

She was smiling sleepily, wrapped in his bathrobe, her hair still sticking up and a pillow crease on her cheek.

She shuffled towards him, then slipped her arms around his waist and pressed a soft kiss to his bare chest with a little hum of delight.

His arms went around her waist. “ Simon .”

She tilted her head back, blinking at him out of heavy eyes. “ Why ?”

“Because he was being an ass,” he answered truthfully.

“Oh. Okay ,” she said, and laid her head back on his chest.

She was heavy against him, still half asleep, and he relaxed, grateful he’d followed his instincts and engaged his earpiece. If she’d heard more than his final curse, it didn’t seem to have triggered any suspicions. “ I thought you’d sleep longer. I was going to bring you breakfast in bed.”

“That’s nice,” she mumbled.

“Why don’t you go climb back in?” he suggested. “ I’ll bring it to you when it’s done.”

“’Kay,” she mumbled, and with a last, sleepy smile, shuffled back to the bedroom.

He watched her go, told himself firmly that the warm glow inside him was absolutely new relationship energy, then got out the bacon.

* * *

“I need wine,” Ginger declared and dropped into her chair. “ Lots and lots of wine.”

Anna patted her hand and settled into the chair beside her. “ It wasn’t that bad.”

“It was torture,” Ginger said and gazed desperately at the approaching server. “ Can I have lots and lots of wine?”

“We’ll need a bottle with three glasses,” Lola told the server, and rattled off something in French .

“Is that white or red?” Ginger demanded when the server left.

“Do you care?”

“Not even a little bit.” Ginger snatched a breadstick from the bowl the server had left in the middle of the table. “ Shopping is exhausting. I never want to do that again.”

“Shopping, or shopping for an interview outfit?” Anna wanted to know.

“Yes.”

“Relax,” Lola told her. “ You’re going to look great.”

“I agree,” Anna chimed in. “ The outfit’s a killer.”

“I know it is,” Ginger agreed, finishing the breadstick and choosing another. “ And still, I can hear my mother’s voice telling me it’s unprofessional to wear pants to an interview.”

“Is she stuck in the eighties?”

“Let me put it this way. She would also demand I wear tan pantyhose.”

Anna wrinkled her nose. “ Oh , no.”

“Trust me, the pants are great,” Lola said. “ No pantyhose required.”

“Thank God . I hate those things.”

“So say we all.”

“Have you heard anything more about the job itself?” Anna wanted to know.

“A little.” Ginger paused to smile at the server, waited while she uncorked and poured the wine, then picked up her glass to sample the cool, golden liquid. “ Oh , that’s nice.”

“I thought you’d like that.” Lola gestured with her glass. “ You were saying?”

“I got an email from the director.” Ginger sipped her wine again, savoring it. “ Basically , they’re still writing the job description, but they’re expanding their educational services, and they’re looking for someone to head that up.”

“Wow.” Anna blinked. “ That’s big.”

“Yeah.” Ginger brooded into her wine. “ Too big.”

Lola lowered her glass. “ What do you mean?”