Hands in his pockets now, stoic as ever, he watches his employees filter out of the room one by one. This was the Rome I fell for, the one who caught my attention. Business minded, relentless, and vastly intelligent when it comes to running a company. But the Rome I get to see outside of the office, that’s the one I’ve become addicted to, and it’s about time I feed my addiction.
I stand from my chair, push it under the table, and then meander my way to Rome who’s studying my every move.
When I step up to him, he gives me a full once-over. “Haven’t had a good week, huh?”
I shake my head, pouting my lip. “No, not at all.”
Hands still in his pockets, he tips his body forward, getting close to me, and his cologne seeps into my veins, awakening everything inside me. “It would be best if you don’t bring your personal life into the office, Miss Lévêque.”
The giant ass.
I flip my hair to the side and clutch my notes to my chest. “It would be best if you didn’t eye-fuck me during meetings, Mr. Blackburn.”
The smallest smirk passes over his lips, barely reaching his eyes. “Don’t unbutton your blouse like that, and I won’t eye-fuck you.”
Chest puffed, I say, “Stop trying to prove a point and fuck me already, Rome.”
I’m trying to garner a reaction out of him, but he doesn’t even bat an eyelash. Instead, he rocks back on his heels and says, “Nah, I’m good,” and then gestures toward the door for me to exit.
I’m going to kill him.
Huffing, I walk past him only to feel his hand float to the small of my back and his body fall behind me, chest close, breath mixing with mine.
I pause in my attempt to leave as his hand moves a little lower to just above my butt. A sharp intake of air hits my lungs along with his cologne making me feel dizzy and turned on all at once.
My nipples pucker when his thumb glides over my back.
My lips part when I feel his chest touch my shoulder.
And my breathing starts to become erratic when his mouth lowers to my ear.
Ever so quietly, he whispers, “This whole week, this right here, this is what you call foreplay, babe. One thousand dollars says if I shifted your thong to the side and felt that delicious pussy it would be soaking wet.”
Goddamn him.
Chuckling from my silence, he whispers again, his lips grazing my ear, “Don’t ever fucking say I don’t have good foreplay game, because you damn well know that I do. Scurry on to my apartment, strip down, and have your legs spread by the time I get there. I’m going to fuck you until morning.”
I want to be the defiant girlfriend, the one that tells him to fuck off, but I am so beyond turned on right now that I nod and exit the conference room with one thing on my mind: deliciously hard, hot sex with Rome.
And I couldn’t be happier.
Chapter Twenty-Six
ROME
“How was your day?” Peyton asks, looking pretty as fuck sitting across from me, her hair tied up in a tight bun, her dress accentuating her beautiful collarbone.
Not a single damn day goes by that I don’t think about how lucky I am. What a lucky bastard I am who won the girl.
But here I am, Peyton across from me in a restaurant I wouldn’t have caught myself dead in a few weeks ago, and yet I’m here for her because she’s never been.
“Fine,” I answer, looking around.
Stained glass chandeliers of all shapes, sizes, colors and themes hang sporadically from the ceiling. Dainty white chairs and tables fill the space while little pom-pom bullshit things dangle everywhere.
It’s a little girl’s dream.
My freaking nightmare.
“Isn’t it so cute in here?” Peyton leans over and clasps my hand with hers. “Thank you for taking me here.”
And when she bats her eyelashes like that at me, so fucking happy, I have to swallow my pride and deal with feeling like a complete dickhead in the well-known NYC restaurant, Serendipity.
Giving in to her smile, I say, “Anything for you, babe.”
She squeezes my hand and takes a sip of her water, humor in her face. When she lowers her glass, she leans forward and says, “You’re so getting laid for this tonight.”
“Oh . . . I know.” I tip my glass toward her and then take a sip of my own. “By the way, I was thinking.” I pause, feeling my nerves start to climb up my spine.
We’ve been together for two months now, we spend every night together, and once I left work today, it hit me. I had this overwhelming need to take things to the next step. On the drive here, I played the conversation over and over in my head—what I would say, how I would ask, but now I’m here in the moment, I’m freezing.
Me.
Freezing.
It’s never happened to me. I’ve been in meetings where I’ve had to introduce a new state-of-the-art product and I’ve never had an issue, but right here, right now, talking to Peyton, I choke.
“Is there an end to that sentence?” She tilts her head to the side, studying me. “Rome, are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I pull on my collar, trying to get air to my burning skin.
What if she says no?
What if it’s too soon?
Is it too soon?
Christ.
The waitress puts a giant cup of frozen hot chocolate in front of us with multiple straws, the one and only thing Peyton wanted to try from here.
“Enjoy, you two,” the waitress says before taking off, neither of us paying any attention to her.
“Rome, you look pale.”
“Really?” I nervously laugh. “Huh.”
Her eyes narrow, her mind probably reeling with possibilities. She sees me retreating, and she’s not going to let it happen.
Scooting her chair to my side, she takes my hand and gently strokes her thumb over my knuckles, easing the tension in my shoulders.
“Okay, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can either tell me what you were going to say,” her voice is soft and sweet, caring, “or I can bug you all night until you tell me.”
Truth, she’s done it before.
Knowing I need to nut up, I let out a big breath and look her in her beautiful, expressive eyes. “I think we should move in together.”
Blunt, to the point, perfect.
Peyton’s expression doesn’t change. She barely blinks, and I think I shock the hell out of her until she says, “That’s how you’re going to ask me to move in? With a statement? It wasn’t even a question.”
She moves back to the side of her table and is shaking her head.
“Oh no, Rome. Not like this.” She takes a big sip of the frozen hot chocolate and then grips her head. “Ooo, ice cream headache.”
Uh . . . so, is that a no?
Eyeing her, completely confused, I ask, “Am I taking that as a no?”
She shakes her head. “No, I’ll move in with you, but not until you ask properly.”
Jesus Christ. Women.
I refrain from rolling my eyes. “Fine, will you move in with me?”
Eyebrow cocked, straw halfway to her mouth, she mocks me. “‘Fine, will you move in with me?’ Oh no, not going to ask with attitude. And don’t bother trying to rephrase it tonight. You’re going to have to think this over, make a grand gesture now.”
“You’re serious?”
She looks me straight in the eyes. “Dead serious.” Then she lifts a straw, plasters a smile on her face, and says, “Drink up, handsome, it’s delicious.”
What the hell just happened here?
* * *
“Grand gesture, huh?” Hunter says, patting me on the shoulder as we enter the conference room for our Tuesday morning meeting. “Good luck with that.”
“I don’t even know what it means.”
“It means you better look on Pinterest or something, get some ideas.”
I adjust the sleeves of my suit and speak quietly as we enter the room. “I’m not looking on goddamn Pinterest.”
Lauren shuts the door behind me, a knowing smirk on her face. She is the only one in the office who knows Peyton and I are dating, and only because she walked in on us making out once late at night. She forgot something at her desk, and when she saw someone in my office, believing I’d already gone, she checked to see who it was. To her shock, it was Peyton and me lip-locked with my hand halfway up her blouse.
I gave her a nice little gift card the next morning and thanked her for her discretion.
And I hate to admit it, but she’s been super helpful when it comes to sending things to Peyton during the day, especially things like lunch and . . . quiche.
I scan the room, making sure everyone is here. Peyton doesn’t come to these meetings, because they’re more about what’s happening for the week than strategic planning.
Just like everyone else sitting in their seats, coffee in hand, a dreaded look on their face, I hate these meetings, but it’s necessary to go to them.
We always start with a round-table shout-out, so if someone has something interesting to say that pertains to the company, they can speak up.
Employees take that time to discuss if they used a certain product over the weekend or if someone reached a milestone working for the company, light and fluffy shit that I don’t care about but I know helps the morale of the company.
I take a seat, cross my ankle over my knee, and nod at the woman sitting close to me. Andrea I think is her name.
“Start us off with the shout-out.”
Smiling brightly, she nods her head and starts talking about the new women’s line, how she used one of the sweat-proof long-sleeved tees, and how amazing it was and comfortable.
Okay, I like to hear that kind of shit.
Next, it’s George. The only announcement he had was his wife made brownies again, and they’re on the marketing floor if anyone wants any.
Lauren will be sneaking down later to snag one for me. Those brownies are lethal. I eye Lauren who gives me a conspiratorial wink.
And we go down the line. Some people don’t have anything to say while others talk about meaningless shit until the shout-out stops at a redhead I’ve seen before but never in these meetings.
Who is she again?
Waving, she says, “Hi, I’m Sasha, and George invited me up to this meeting, because I have some rather interesting news to share.” Her voice is fucking awful, all high-pitched and squeaky. The less she talks, the better.
“Go on.” I motion with my hand.
Showing no nerves, she says, “You know how we had that leak this weekend over the line of hats in our women’s wear line?”
Don’t get me fucking started on that. Thank God I don’t care too much about the hats. We have four options, and that’s it. The hats aren’t going to make or break the launch, but it was annoying as shit when Project Mountain announced a hat line yesterday.
“Yeah,” I push her to go on.
“Well, I think I found the leak.”
Okay, now we’re onto something. She nods to someone who’s standing by the lights of the conference room. The room turns dark, and the TV screen lights up with pictures.
“I took these this weekend. I thought I was seeing things at first, but once I got closer, I was blown away.”
The pictures are shit. It looks like a bunch of people sitting outside at a dog café, having breakfast.
But then she scrolls to the next one, and that’s when my heart catches in my chest and my blood starts to boil. Immediately, Hunter’s hand goes to my shoulder, trying to calm me.
Sitting, legs crossed, laughing with a cup of coffee in hand, is Peyton, dressed fucking professionally and talking to Lance Holiday, the CEO of Project Mountain.
What the actual fuck?
“For those of you who don’t know, I took Peyton’s job in social media at Roam, Inc. when she resigned. She’s now working on our women’s line and running the entire marketing campaign. So you can imagine my surprise when I saw her talking to Lance.” She flips to another slide. They’re both looking at a mock-up, and she’s pointing at it while he’s listening intently.
I feel physically ill as Sasha continues to flip through, picture after picture, every single one of them like a nail to my fucking heart.
How could she do this to me? To Roam, Inc.?
I know she was desperate for a job, but that desperate to betray me?
She was so passionate about beating Project Mountain, but has she been double-crossing me this entire time?
I don’t fucking get it.
Pushing back from the table, I stand from my chair and say, “Meeting is canceled.”
I storm out of the conference room and to the elevator where I rapidly punch the down button with my index finger. Heavy footsteps chase after me, and I don’t have to look to the side to figure out who it is.
“Dude, there has to be an explanation.”
“Like what?”
Hunter’s silent, trying to think of anything to give her a get-out-of-jail-free card. I wish I was trying to think of the same thing, but all I can see are those damming photos. All I can see is the woman I have trusted with everything, smiling at someone I consider my biggest rival. No, I can’t see an explanation at all. “I don’t know, but before you blow up on her, why don’t you take a second to calm down and try to think about this rationally.”
The elevator dings and I walk inside, pressing the lobby floor button.
As the doors close, I say, “There is no rational thought in me right now.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he answers right before the doors close.
On the way to the lobby, I take my phone out of my pocket and shoot George a quick email, telling him to have Martha email those pictures to me ASAP. Within five minutes, while I’m riding in the back of my driver’s Buick, I have the pictures in hand. All the way to the coffee house, I study the photos, looking through each and every one of them with a sharp eye, and no matter how hard I try, the only conclusion I can come up with is that she’s trying to dick me over.
I just have no fucking clue why.
* * *
There she is, sipping her coffee, looking fresh and beautiful in her bright yellow dress and matching high heels, working diligently on her iPad and computer. For a moment, you would think she actually gave a fuck about my company. Or maybe she isn’t working on Roam, Inc. stuff. Maybe she’s working on Project Mountain.
In six strides, I’m standing in front of her table, staring down at her.
She startles and looks up. A smile spreads across her face, but then is quickly washed away when she notices my expression.
“Rome, is everything okay?”
I don’t fuck around. I take a seat across from her and speak just low enough that we are the only two who can hear our conversation. “Tell me right now if you’ve been fucking me over.”
“What?” She sits back as if I just slapped her across the face.
“Don’t fuck around, Peyton.” Her name feels like a swear word coming out of my mouth. “Just tell me the truth.”
She folds her arms across her chest, becoming defensive immediately. “Excuse me, but first of all, you could greet me like a normal human being and say hello, maybe act like my boyfriend and press a kiss against my cheek, and then in a level tone of voice, you can explain to me why you’re accusing me of, as you so eloquently put it, ‘fucking you over.’”
I drag my hand over my face out of frustration and remove my phone from my pocket. I open the email with all the pictures and flash the screen in her direction.
She takes a minute to look at them and with an impassive face, just stares at me.
“Well . . .” I ask, giving her a chance to explain.
“Well, what? Seems like you’ve already drawn your own conclusion.”
“What kind of conclusion am I supposed to draw? We’ve had a leak in the line. Just this weekend there was a leak, and it just so happens to be the same weekend you were caught with the CEO from Project Mo
untain.”
There is so much anger raging inside me, that I almost forget we’re in a public area.
When I see past my rage boiling inside and take a look at Peyton, it looks like she’s about to cry.
Cry . . . because she’s been caught?
Without a word, she packs up her things, stuffs them in her bag, stands from the table, not even giving me a second glance before walking out of the coffee shop toward her apartment.
Is she kidding me?
I waste no time in chasing after her.
The relentless people of New York City around us continue on with their day as I snag Peyton by the arm and pull her to the side, out of the way of people walking from point A to point B.
“Let go of me,” she says, tears in her eyes.
“Just admit it,” I reply. “Just fucking tell me so I can move on.”
Taking a deep breath, Peyton finally looks up at me, water filling those eyes I used to love staring into. Right now, all I can see is betrayal. How could I have been such a damn fool?
“You want the truth?”
“Truth would be fucking nice right about now.”
“Fine.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a file folder and holds it up to me. “This is a rundown on everything Project Mountain has for their women’s line. They called me last week, wanting to meet up and talk about using my services. I thought it would be a great opportunity to scope out the competition. The idiots gave me everything they planned on doing. I spent the entire day yesterday and this morning comparing and contrasting both lines and highlighting sections you need to be concerned about, while offering solutions to combat them. I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t want to get your hopes up that we might finally have more than just a breakthrough on this. I was planning on giving it to you tonight.” She pushes the file against my chest, forcing me to take it, as my mind starts spiraling in a million directions.
I don’t know if I should start with ‘I’m sorry,’ or ‘Oh, fuck.’
“It would have been nice of you if . . . No. I cannot believe you accused me of trying to fuck you over. You know me better than that.”
Love Sincerely Yours Page 23
