Manwhore +1 (Manwhore, #2)(77)

I won’t break my f*cking boyfriend’s heart again. I do have truth and loyalty, and a pair of green eyes owns both.

I find myself walking to Helen’s door that afternoon, knocking three times,

“Yes, Rachel?”

I hand out the paper in my hand.

“And that’s . . . ?”

“My two weeks’ notice.”





SIN AT THE DOOR


When I text, Hey Sin. I’m having a tough week. Is it ok if I skip the benefit? he calls me in record time.

“Hey. You all right?” Behind his voice, there are noises and clinking forks in the background. I probably caught him at a business lunch.

“I’m okay. But tonight . . . I want to stay in. Come by later or tomorrow?”

“I’ll come by tonight. You all right?”

It’s the second time he’s asked. He’s too sharp not to know.

“I will be,” I promise. “I can’t wait to see you.”

“Hang tight, I’ll be by later.”

“I’ll leave a key under the mat.”



I’m not expecting him until after midnight, so while I wait, I lie around in his dress shirt and my white purple-lettered “Peace” socks, eating popcorn with Gina, exhausted after telling her about my day and trying to tune out with a little bit of TV, when Saint arrives only a little past 8 p.m. He seems to have come straight from work, still in his business suit, exuding testosterone, and I notice the first thing he notices are the R and M necklaces on my throat.

He looks bigger right now. Harder. And like something I want to hold on to so much, I feel dizzy.

Dizzy and . . . safe.

For the first time today, I feel safe.

“Sin . . . I . . .” I signal down at myself, and as I do, his eyes move over me and heat up every inch they cover. “I’m not dressed, I was staying in.”

“I’m staying in with you.” He shuts the door. “Hey, Gina.”

“Oh, groan. Are you guys gonna . . .” Gina sets down the popcorn bowl on the table and trails off delicately, looking from one, to the other, for an answer.

Neither Malcolm nor I bite.

Then, plainly, she growls, “Do I have to leave?”

Yes! my body screams. But I can’t make her leave for us to fool around; that’s just bad friend etiquette. “It’s fine, Gina.”

“I’ll be in my room. Bye, Saint.” She heads over and shuts the door, and I glare at him playfully.

“I told you to go to the benefit and come after,” I chide.

“Ahh. See . . . I’m good at giving orders, but unfortunately I don’t follow them well.”

He takes off his jacket, jerks off his tie, unbuttons the two shirt buttons near his throat, then settles down on my couch and I’m not sure if I’m the one who presses up into him or he’s the one who grabs me close, but we kiss a little, softly but with tongue.

“What’s going on?” he murmurs when he eases back to investigate my features with that keen gaze of his.

I caress the arm he’s got curled around me with my fingers, and the muscles of his forearm buzz with strength beneath the sleeve.

“I gave my two weeks’ notice today at Edge.”

A part of me listens to my own voice as if from a tunnel.

I’m jobless.

I know that Malcolm can help me and has offered his support but I desperately want to do this on my own.

Especially now.

Already my relationship with Saint is complicated enough. First, his natural playboy tendencies, my own inexperience in regards to relationships, the social media hanging on our every move, and even, maybe, what happened between us. Working for him, I’d be completely dependent on him and I’m too scared. I’m more scared of that than of being jobless right this moment.

He watches me with clear, observant green eyes as the words sink in. “You gave your two weeks’ notice. Did you get a call back?”

“I’d have told you if I had,” I assure him.

For a moment he only studies me. He looks at my face unhurriedly, feature by feature, the tensing of his jaw the only sign of frustration. “You gave your two weeks’ notice without having anything lined up?” He tips my face back and regards me in puzzlement. “Are you coming with me?”

“Yes, I don’t have anything yet. And . . . no. Please understand.”

His eyebrows are still slanted low over his nose. I’m sure he’s wondering why I jumped the gun and quit all of a sudden, so I search for the right words, but there’s just no other way to say it than plainly.

“Today Mr. Clark offered me a bonus to stay along with a guarantee that my friends would be able to stay as well.”

His voice is feather soft. “He threatened you?”

His thumb caresses my chin where he holds my face securely upward to meet his gaze. A ruthless gleam appears in his eyes, the kind of gleam that makes him exactly who he is. Ruthless, unstoppable. I’m afraid to see it right now, when all I want is peace.

“No, no, it was nice.” Curling my hand around the hand holding me, I give it a reassuring squeeze. “They were grateful and wanted me to stay, but . . . your father wants me to stay. He wants to assure the Clarks if I stay, he won’t can my colleagues. Malcolm, I wasn’t going to let him get to you.”