I pull off into the street, trying to forget the sound of her muffled moans as I pictured her pressing her face into my pillows. The sound of her moving on the bed. Sheets rustling. Her heavy breathing. Her sweet face with a look of sheer ecstasy as she comes around her fingers. Or maybe a vibrator. Fuck, could she have been using a vibrator? No, with the way I was holding my breath as I tried to pry myself away from the door as I listened, I would have heard the sound of a buzzing no matter how faint. My hands were firmly planted on either side of the door out of fear that one would slip and knock on the door or worse, turn the doorknob and enter the guest room so I could watch her in the throes of ecstasy. Our eyes would lock just as she went over the edge, my hand wrapped firmly around my cock as I climax with her.

I rub my forehead as I pull up to a stoplight and try to swallow the lump I have lodged in my throat. I have got to get this shit under control. The sound of my phone ringing breaks my carnal thoughts of Gabrielle.

“James Calloway.”

“Hi, Mr. Calloway.” I hear the soft, flirty voice of the temporary assistant I have while my usual one is out on maternity leave. Brooke was twenty-two, completely disconnected from the world around her, and on track to becoming an HR nightmare with the way she flirted with every guy in the office.

The only thing keeping her from the line at the unemployment office is the guy with the placard on his door with the letters CFO etched into the wood. The only guy she doesn’t flirt with, the guy she calls, Daddy. Biologically not sexually.

I can already picture her crossing her legs, letting her skirt ride up just a smidge above what’s appropriate in the corporate setting as she twirls the chord around her finger. “Daddy is wondering when you’ll be in.”

My eyes roll at the unprofessionalism. “I told him, I’d be there by nine, I had to drop my sister off at Columbia for her final this morning.” I internally scoff at giving away so much information when it’s not necessary. Not only did Mr. Corden know this information, but I’d be willing to bet he didn’t even ask where the fuck I was making me question if this is all a ruse. I’m his hardest working employee by a mile increasing revenue by almost 150 percent this year alone with the government contract I just closed. I look to my cupholder and spy the half drunk coffee in the cup holder.

If my theory is correct, you picked the wrong day to pull this shit with me.

“Miss Corden, I’d like a coffee on my desk by the time I get there.”