Pilar is staring at me as if she wants to smack me across the face. Can’t say that I blame her, especially when all I can think of is the way Violet signs off her emails. I like the use of “yours.” It’s cute and perhaps even a submissive gesture. As if she really wants to be mine.
I’m probably reading too much into it, but the word choice is sexy as fuck, even if she didn’t mean it to be that way.
“You’re not even paying attention. Too wrapped up in thoughts of what? Fucking around with Violet? I’m sure she’ll be delightful.” Pilar stands and approaches my desk, then leans over the edge of it. “You’re playing with fire, Big Daddy. And you’re going to go up in flames if you don’t stay focused and on the ball.”
“I’m one hundred percent focused,” I tell her assuredly. On Violet, most definitely. On whatever crap Pilar is feeding me?
Not at all.
“Just not on me.” She gives me another pout, but I don’t even blink an eye. It means nothing anyway. She’s just trying to get under my skin.
“You have Lawrence to distract you,” I tell her. “You don’t need me. Enjoy him these next few days. Fuck his brains out and then drill him for information. He’ll give in to you while in that post-orgasmic glow. I know how you operate.”
She smiles at me, the very picture of peaceful and serene. What a pack of lies. Inside that devious head of hers she’s trying to come up with a new way to fuck everyone over. Including me. “I could have the best of both worlds if you weren’t so jealous.”
“Sorry, not going to let you touch me after you just had your hands all over Lawrence’s dick.” A man can only tolerate so much.
“Disgusting pig.” Pilar stands to her full height, snarling at me. “You’re all the same. The minute another man shows a hint of interest, you’re casting me off. Learn to live with it, darling. I’m fucking Zachary Lawrence.”
“Really? Well, learn to live with this, Pilar.” I cup my hands together and lean forward, my elbows propped on the top of my desk. “I’m fucking Violet Fowler.”
“In your dreams,” she returns.
“It’s going to happen.”
“How? That girl is as tight as a virgin kept under lock and key. And closed off like a little ice queen, too. Zachary told me she’s a terrible lay.”
More like he’s an awful, selfish asshole who didn’t know how to meet Violet’s needs. “I’ll find out if that’s true or not on my own terms, thank you very much.”
“God.” She’s leaving. Thank Christ. “You don’t listen to me. Fine, have fun fucking around with your little boring baby. Can’t wait to see how she puts the spark in your eyes while I’m off getting fucked like crazy every chance I can get.”
I ignore what she said, which I know will drive her crazier than if I acknowledged it and continued the fight. “We’ll talk later,” I say to her as she leaves and she gives me the finger before flouncing out the door.
“Maybe I never want to talk to you again. Ever think about that, asshole?” she calls from the hallway.
Huh. That went terribly. I rub my hand over my jaw, hoping like hell not too many people heard that send-off. Not that we haven’t argued like this before around the halls of Fleur, but it’s been a while. I take my job seriously. I’m trying to look like I can keep this together. Like I’m worthy of the London position—or one similar—just like Lawrence is. The only reason that asshole got the offer was for being involved with Violet. It gave him the in to old man Fowler. The in that I would fucking love to have.
Well. He isn’t with Violet any longer. I’m about to be. Secretly, but still. Soon we’ll be out in the open. Soon I can cozy up to Forrest Fowler. Get into that man’s back pocket so he’ll really see what an asset I am to the company. That’s what I want.
And that’s what I’ll damn well get.
Chapter Eleven
Violet
I tap my foot against the floor of the crowded elevator, my gaze locked on the numbers above the door. The countdown takes forever and I suck in a loud breath, drawing the attention of more than a few of my fellow Fleur employees in the elevator with me.
They’re all on their lunch break, ready to get out of the elevator and make their escape. So am I. But I’m not hungry. At least, not for food.
The elevator slows and then stops, the doors sliding open with a smooth whoosh. I push through the crowd and exit, noticing a few murmurings from the people within, probably wondering what I’m doing on the tenth floor when most are on their lunch hour.
I don’t care what they say. What they think. I already have an excuse prepared if anyone asks. It’s a lunch meeting with Ryder, the head of packaging. We’re both so busy that our jam-packed schedules only allowed us to meet at noon. It’s normal. I’ve had multiple business meetings over lunch. This is nothing new.
But it is new, what we’re really doing. I’ve never had a lunch … rendezvous. A nooner. An affair. Dalliance. Whatever sordid word you want to call it.
Coming to a halt in front of the tenth-floor reception desk—which is abandoned, thank goodness—I rest my hand on my chest, feel my crazily beating heart beneath my palm. Maybe I shouldn’t go through with this. I broke up with Zachary only a few days ago. He stopped me in front of my office first thing this morning, trying to get me to talk to him, go have coffee with him, something, anything for a bit of time alone with me.