Big Shot(43)
“Oh, don’t go getting all prissy on me, Minx.” Sexy humor darkened his gorgeous blue eyes. “Because I’m so whispering to your * tonight.”
Truthfully, she couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say.
*
Wes finished uploading his newest listing for a luxury penthouse located at Legacy at Millennium Park, the asking price a cool ten million, then leaned back in his leather chair with a satisfied smile. He’d made a sale on a home in Lincoln Park earlier that morning, and a few hours ago the sellers of the penthouse he’d just posted had signed the agreement to use Premier Realty to broker the property. All in all, not terribly bad for a day’s work.
He glanced at his wristwatch, noting the time. Five fifteen in the afternoon, and he was suddenly aware of the fact that he hadn’t heard from Natalie all day, not by phone, text, or email. After last night’s marathon of hot make-up sex for his barbaric attitude at the networking event—and testing his newfound * whispering skills, where he’d discovered that Natalie’s naughty kitty cat loved when he talked dirty to it—he’d slipped out of her place at almost midnight, leaving her satisfied, beautifully disheveled, and smiling from the multiple orgasms her * had enjoyed. His dick had been equally happy and pleased with the evening’s outcome.
He figured they’d both just had a busy day, with no down time for chitchat or smexy texts. But now that the rest of his evening was free, he wanted to spend it with Natalie, especially since they only had three more days left together.
Only three more days. That realization made an inexplicable sense of dread settle in his chest like a heavy weight. He absently rubbed the spot right above his heart, the one that told him just how difficult letting go of her was going to be. More so than any other woman who’d warmed his bed. And not just because of the phenomenal sex they had. No, he was going to miss those sweet and sexy smiles that were just for him. Her humor and her smart mouth. How she didn’t let him get away with shit, and she had no qualms about calling him out on his boorish behavior. No other woman had ever come close to challenging him the way that Natalie did, and he never thought he’d ever admit it, but he actually liked her unpredictable personality.
But the fact remained that they’d both agreed to a casual affair, and she’d been straightforward about him being her transition guy. The guy who would sex her up for two weeks, then watch her walk away to find a man more capable of offering her a committed relationship than he would ever be. It shouldn’t have bothered him—Jesus, he was a f*cking pro at no-strings-attached sex—but it brought back those feelings of inadequacy and not being quite good enough.
And he hated it.
He exhaled a harsh breath, refusing to let old, bitter memories resurface. Instead, he picked up his cell phone and tapped out a playful text to Natalie.
Chinese food for dinner tonight at my place at seven? I want to show you all the clever things I can do with chopsticks. He followed that up with a winking emoticon, and hit send.
A few minutes later, she replied. Ugh. Not unless you want me to barf.
He frowned. Okay, not the response he was expecting. Care to explain what you mean so I don’t take your comment personally? He added a smiley face and forwarded the text.
The bubbles on the screen told him she was in the process of typing out an answer, and he waited patiently for the message.
I’m sorry. I either ate something yesterday that didn’t agree with me or I caught a twenty-four-hour flu bug. I woke up at five this morning puking my guts out and I’ve been home in bed all day. Three barfing emoticons followed that statement. I look and feel like something the cat dragged in. Like roadkill. She included a skeleton face with two x’s over its eyes.
The picture she painted wasn’t a pretty one, but it made him chuckle. While most women would have explained the situation a bit more . . . delicately, Natalie didn’t bother sugarcoating the truth. Bold and to the point, that was his girl.
Shaking his head, he moved his thumbs quickly over his phone’s keyboard, grinning as he typed. Why don’t I bring over something that sounds good that you’d like to eat and won’t test your gag reflexes? We can watch Netflix and chill. And by chill, I really do mean chill. It’s not code for sex, I swear.
He waited a good thirty seconds before her next text came through. Did you not read the part of my text that said I look and feel like roadkill? Trust me, I’m not exaggerating. Thank you for the offer, but I’ll be fine. I’m feeling much better than I was this morning.
He felt bad that he hadn’t checked in with her sooner, that she’d been home all day sick. Reluctantly, he sent a response. Okay, then. I’ll talk to you later.
As soon as he dispatched the text, he regretted it. It really didn’t matter how she looked, only that she’d had a crappy day and he wanted to do something to make her feel better.
And that’s what motivated his next actions.
*
Natalie was curled up in bed, hugging a pillow to her chest as she watched back-to-back rerun episodes of the now defunct Friends sitcom, her body feeling as though it had been through a boxing match—and lost. Every once in a while, she’d chuckle at Joey’s stupid antics on the show, which told her she was definitely on the mend.
The worst of her nausea had passed—and no, she wasn’t pregnant—along with the raging headache that had been pounding in her head most of the day. Her abdominal cramps were completely gone, though her muscles still ached. Her empty stomach had grumbled hungrily a few times, and when she thought of ingesting something, she no longer felt like she wanted to throw up. Except she just didn’t have the oomph to get up, go to the kitchen, and make something to eat, though she knew she’d eventually have to.