Junk Mail(19)

“It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Hanson.” Peyton squares up her shoulders and extends her hand toward me.

We’re back to business mode, which is for the best, with all the people around. Still, every bone in my body wants to pull her against me and kiss her, to tangle my hands in that dark silky hair and taste her for the second time tonight. But that’s just my body talking. Right now, I need to listen to the parts of my body above my waistline. Wherever it is in my anatomy that I store my common sense, I know it’s not in my dick. So a handshake it is.

“Text me when you make it home so I know you’re safe,” I call out as she slips into the car, hoping she knows what I really mean. Text me when you make it home, because you’re going to be on my mind all fucking night.

The town car pulls away, and I head back into the hotel to make sure I’ve said all my necessary good-byes. I’m expecting a few investors or corporate partners to be lingering, but instead, I find Brody in the middle of the lobby, tipping the band as they load up. Other than a few caterers who are still cleaning up, the place is a ghost town.

“Pretty successful evening, huh?” I call across the lobby, getting my best friend’s attention. I’m expecting a hell yeah or some similar agreement, but when he turns toward me, Brody has a look of complete surprise on his face.

“Dude, where the hell have you been? I think I saw you for a grand total of ten seconds tonight.”

Guilt churns in my stomach. It’s not like I didn’t chat with plenty of our partners early in the evening, but once Peyton arrived, all my attention was on her. But Brody would have smoke coming out of his ears if he knew that.

“Oh, sorry.” I give him a grin. “Did I spend a bit too much time with our investors and not enough time with my best friend that I see every day?”

Brody rolls his eyes and laughs, indicating that I’m off the hook for being MIA.

“Do you know if Peyton from Wish Upon a Gift ever showed up?” he asks.

It’s an innocent question, but that doesn’t stop my heart rate from climbing. I scrunch my brow, trying to look like I have to think about whether I saw her or not, then snap my fingers in realization.

“Yeah, I saw her. We chatted for a few minutes. She seemed pretty impressed. Sorry, dude, I should have sent her your way since you two haven’t met yet.”

“No big deal on the introductions. I’ll see her another time. I’m just glad that she enjoyed herself.”

My memory flashes back to that look on her face, the way she trembled on my fingers as she rode out the wave of her orgasm. The best orgasm of her life, according to her. If only Brody knew exactly how much our potential business partner enjoyed herself.

But he can’t know. Just like he can’t know that I was sloughing off my duties as the co-founder of our company tonight.

It’s a little chilly out since the sun has set, and my apartment isn’t within walking distance from here, unlike the office. Something about wearing a tux on the subway seems wrong, so I call a car to take me home. When I slide into the back seat, I give the driver terse responses to his usual small-talk questions. He catches the hint pretty quickly that I’m in no mood to chat tonight. There’s too much on my mind that I need to sort through, and almost all of it has to do with Peyton.

We both said we’d keep things professional, and we both went back on our word. So now what? I’m not about to let my work performance suffer because I can’t keep my word.

But I’ve got another promise to uphold now too. I told Gram that I’d help Peyton loosen up and have a little fun while she works.

Shit. I need to think things through before I open my damn mouth to make a promise. Especially when these two run the risk of directly contradicting each other. Keeping it professional while still keeping it fun? How do I factor in keeping it in my pants?

My phone buzzes twice with back-to-back texts. I read the first one.

Peyton: Made it home safe! Thanks for showing me the hotel. xo

My dick jerks against my zipper in response. Dear God. Tonight has been torture. The second text is far more professional.

Peyton: When would you like to meet next to discuss our budgeting and potential earnings for my product release?

A little work, a little play. This woman is wild. But it’s a balance I may be able to maintain, as long as I keep it way more focused on the work part. Which means not replying to that first text.

I respond with an offer to meet tomorrow, and since I’m suggesting working on a weekend, I tell her to meet me at Scoops downtown.

Because what says fun and professional more than discussing finances over ice cream?





Chapter Twelve


Peyton



When was the last time I was asked out for ice cream?

I’m not entirely sure, but if I were to guess, I’d probably say freshman year of high school. Somewhere around turning eighteen, we transitioned from ice cream to coffee dates and never went back. So when I get a text from Josh asking if I want to hammer out details of the deal over chocolate-dipped cones, I double-and triple-read the text to make sure I’m not imagining things.

After my fourth and final read, my thumbs fly across my phone screen to respond with an enthusiastic yes!

A business meeting over ice cream—what a concept. It’s refreshing, both literally and figuratively. I guess CEO Josh Hanson has a playful side after all. He did mention he eats loads of ice cream on the weekend, though, so that explains the choice of locale.