Page 66 of Man Vs. Woman

Colt

“Here you go, baby,”I hand her a cup of coffee. She grabs it and brings it to her lips, smelling it like it the most beautiful bouquet of flowers.

“Thank you…so much,” She hums and takes a sip.

“Damn. I’m almost jealous of that coffee,” I admit and wrap my arm around her, resting it on the back of the couch.

She giggles and nuzzles into me.

“I could stay like this forever,” I tell her. I kiss the top of her head and let me nose linger in her hair, loving the smell of it—peaches and cream, how fucking perfect?

I used to be obsessed with that song, Peaches and Cream by 112. Pure magic. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still listen to it on repeat. So it’s fitting that I’ve fallen in love with a woman who smells exactly like it.

Or maybe it’s a coincidence? Who the fuck knows?

Oh, shit, baby. It looks like the man who jizzed all over senior citizens is finally becoming a hopeless romantic. And again, Serena is all to blame.

“Please? That sounds heavenly,” she whispers. “I’ve never been more comfortable.”

There’s a knock on the door.

I sigh I retrieve my arm and put my coffee mug on the table and open the door.

“Courier for Mr. McCoy,” a DHL clad man says to me.

I sign and open the package.

The latest file from Ashley. A thick sized manila envelope. And a note that says simple,“Very Juicy!—XOXO Ashley”

Who knows?

This could be the beginning of the end…for him.

“Care to do some investigating?” I twist my head back to Serena and she smiles but seems surprised.

“That’s your idea of comfortable?” She snorts.

“No,” I say with a laugh. “But if I don’t do this, I won’t be able to get comfortable.” I get up and walk towards the kitchen counter. The light fixture above shines on it and it creates a halo effect, presenting its some sort of gift from God.

Fuck, it just might be.

“It’s about Hiram. I think this is we what need to expose and bury him. Whatever’s in here could get our businesses back,” I say. The anticipation is killing me. If this file has what I need…

This nightmare might be ending.

She jumps, almost spilling her coffee and plasters on a mega-wat smile. “Yes! Let’s do this.”

I love her enthusiasm, yet another quality about her to add to my list of ‘Things I love about Serena’. The list is getting ridiculously long; I feel like it’s pointless to keep one now.

I sit on the ground, leaning on my knees, and place the folder on the coffee table between us. She crosses her legs, Indian style, next to me and peers over at the files. Grabbing a piece of paper, she scans over it. She squints after a moment, leaning forward to read the fine print.

Yep, she’s hooked.

I shuffle through another pile of documents, one that’s stapled together.

I come across a few pages and pick them up. Serena hasn’t seen these yet.

A few words stand out above the rest, some of them more concerning than the others: SYRIA, SWITZERLAND, HSBC, ASSAD, ISIS, are some of the main ones that make my skin crawl. I see them printed throughout the pages, sometimes in large letters, other times they’re discreetly embedded in the copy.