Page 2 of One Shameless Weekend

Protein powder shot.

I cut a glance up at the back of her head.

Who puts protein powder in coffee?

Her lengthy order sends a subtle bolt of worry shooting through me, and I check the time at the top center of my phone screen.

8:05.

Still good.

The Platinum Aviation headquarters building is only about two blocks from here. I have plenty of time to get there by 8:30, and I go back to watching Mister Sexy Suit’s reflection.

The sound of his phone buzzing causes him to snap his gaze to its screen and away from me. I hear him discreetly inhale and exhale in patent exasperation, and then he serves up that delicious voice again.

“Excuse me, miss?”

I turn to see him holding up his phone. “Yes?”

“I have to step out of line to take this.” There’s now a shadow of frustration and stress draping Mister Sexy Suit’s crystalline blue eyes. “Would you mind holding my place?”

I nod easily, absently gesturing with my coat draped over my forearm. “Sure.”

This time he gives me the full version of that dimpled smile, but it’s quick, and his strong, aristocratic features are now etched with that marble focus again. “Thank you.”

He steps away, and our second brief exchange seems like a license to watch him a bit less discreetly. Self-assured, long-legged strides on solid legs carry him across the coffee shop. Under the fabric of his well-tailored black slacks, the muscles of his thighs and calves bulge. His ass is mostly concealed by the hem of his suit jacket, but the rest of him indicates it is undoubtedly something to behold as well.

Three seconds after answering the call, phone to his ear, and the line of his chiseled jaw, I hear him growl a “greeting” at someone.

“Iwill notfucking do this for you again. Clean up your own goddamn shit for once.”

I drift my gaze away and back to the jogging lady’s hair wisps, stuck with dried sweat to the back of her neck.

So who’s on the phone?

A hot-mess girlfriend?

Nagging wife?

I didn’t get a clear look at his hands before, but another brief cut of my eyes toward him shows no ring on his left hand as it white-knuckles the phone with barely-restrained rage.

Not a wife.

Or maybe he’s separated and on the verge of a divorce resulting from the mystery caller’s antics.

Or maybe he’s got a problematic family member.

I’ve got a couple of those, myself. My parents, who are simultaneously toxic and also the safety net that will keep me off the streets if things don’t work out with my new job. Although, they’re less of a safety net and more of a reminder that they still have power over me.

But all of that’s about to change because it’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, and I’m feelinggood as hellabout starting said new job. Thank you, Lizzo, on repeat this morning while I got ready. Even though I amjust a bitunder-qualified. But that doesn’t matter. What I lack in experience I can make up in zeal, and then there’s always that wholefake it ‘til you make itthing.

I’ll be fine.

Really.

I hope.

Mister Sexy Suit continues with a series of curses under his breath, pacing with a sturdy cadence in front of the rich, dark wood shelves of souvenir coffee mugs. Subtle solidarity for whatever he’s dealing with fills the aching places inside my chest, and the jogging lady steps aside to linger next to the intern while they wait for their orders.