Page 84 of The First Taste

Once, the rings were proof of a vow before God. Now they serve as a reminder of a time when I saw things with rose tinted glasses. I was a romantic before I married Kingsley.

Now my whole perspective is tainted by that aberration of a marriage.

Picking up the rings, I place them against my bottom lip as I consider what to do about Wendy. Ella sighs and shifts in her seat beside me.

I’m distracted by a brief flash of sexy mahogany skin as she uncrosses and then recrosses her legs. She’s wearing a short pink skirt and a silky black top. The skirt is pleated and in my mind, pretty suggestive of all the things I could be doing to her while she wears it.

I could slide my hand up her thigh, find out what kind of panties she’s wearing. Fuck, I bet she’s wearing a lacy little thong. Imagining how it looks on her has my cock hard. But it’s fantasizing about how a little touching might make a wet spot appear on the front of her thong… that has me fully ready to fuck.

I glance at her, edging my hand closer to the bare skin of her thigh. If we were alone in this car, I would tug her onto my lap right now and make her moan my name.

I shift in my seat, my raging erection doing me no favors. Scenes of last night flash over and over in my head. Her whispered pleas for more. My mind plays them like a filthy movie, always on in my head.

Gritting my teeth, I force myself to look at the passing buildings. As the driver steers us into the downtown arts district, I find blessed distraction in the cityscape as it changes and glides by the window.

Still, by the time the SUV pulls up to the curb in front of the NewsCorp building, I jump out before the chauffeur even makes it around to open my door.

While the women pile out of the SUV, I sprint ahead to the main entrance. I can feel my blood simmering when I glance at the physical embodiment of my work; being here is exciting, after so much bad news in my personal life.

Here at least, I am the master of every single thing I see. I can control things at NewsCorp, unlike the real world.

Yanking the doors open, I strut inside, my arms wide. But I only make it ten paces before I collide with a young man. He turns around, a full to-go coffee in one hand and his eyes on his phone. He doesn’t even look up before he dumps his entire coffee down the front of my white dress shirt and dark gray suit and slacks.

“What the fuck?” I say, raising my arms and staring down at myself. I’m dripping with hot coffee and I pluck at my shirt, hoping to avoid a burn.

The young man looks at me, angry. “Watch where you are going!”

I look at him, my anger bubbling up and boiling over. I reach out and grab this young goon by the collar, giving him a shake. My voice rises with every sentence.

“This is the lobby of the building that I own. This is my fucking company. You don’t get to drench me with hot coffee and then lecture me about not fucking watching where I’m going!”

By the last word, I’m screaming at the top of my lungs. There were a few people going about their normal business in the lobby, but they have stopped, looking at me with a mild terror. The young man’s eyes go wide and he tries to shove my hand away.

I give the young man a final vicious shake and then push him backward. He keeps his balance but only just, pushing his hand through his hair.

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t realize who you were.”

“It shouldn’t matter!” I hiss. “You had better not count on having a job here anytime soon, you incompetent idiot.”

Ella surprises me by grabbing my wrist. Her touch catches me by surprise. When I look at her, sort of baffled, she tugs me toward the back hallway.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she suggests, her voice quiet. “Do you think that someone here has a spare shirt that you can change into?”

I give the young man one more glare before I allow myself to be pulled further into the lobby. “Fucking idiot kids.”

Ella snaps her fingers in my face. “Shirt?” she prompts.

“Yeah. Natasha keeps backups of all my clothing upstairs.”

She squints at me, but says nothing. She just marches me to the elevator bank and pushes the button to summon an elevator. I cock an eyebrow and walk over to the executive elevator, reaching in my pocket.

“I’ve got that for you,” a man tells me. He swipes his keycard, pressing a button. “Michael Girard. I work in the top-level administrative staff. We’re going to the same floor,” he jokes nervously.

I give him a short look. “You can take the next one, then.”

His cheeks flush but he bows flawlessly nevertheless. “Of course, sir.”

Ella turns, motioning for Natasha to hurry and bring Isla. I’d sort of forgotten about them, if I’m perfectly honest. As the door opens, I hurry all the women inside the elevator. And I can’t miss Ella glaring at me as I push the button, closing the elevator doors.