Page 42 of Negotiation Tactics
Which is why I am surprised when she says, “You can have a look through the scripts once those have been put together and let me know if there are any parts you’d like changed.” I just gawk at her, my brain not comprehending, and I think my confusion must show on my face because she chuckles. “Alistair, I know things weren’t exactly good when we were together, but people change.” She looks me over. “We both have.”
“Yeah, of course.” I mean, she married one of the richest men in America—whom she also divorced officially two days ago—built her own empire from the ground up and became one of the most popular celebrities. Social media worships her and she even donates to animal charity. Oh, and the shocker? She is a lot less hard to be around than I thought she would be. At least when my parents aren’t around.
So, yes, we’ve both changed, I can see that. But it doesn’t mean we can suddenly be friends, not after the drama that our breakup was. I mean, walking in on your fiancée in bed with two of your professors will do that to you. The only silver lining was we hadn’t publicly announced our engagement, so at least I saved myself and Devon Holidays from that kind of PR headache.
Picking up her phone from where it’s lying next to her plate, she glances at the screen. “I have to go, but we’llkeep in touch. I’ll send over my concept designs for the opening in Singapore to the team by the end of next week.”
A last-minute meeting occupies the rest of my day once I leave the restaurant. When I get home and hit the bed at one a.m., I send Josh a text to let him know I’m picking him up for lunch at noon sharp. I word it like an instruction rather than a simple statement, and it takes him five minutes to reply back.
Josh:Make that 12:30. I have a meeting with a client. And no fancy restaurant on the other side of town. Have to be back in the office by 3.
I smirk. Last time I had to convince him to give me more than an hour of his time. Now he’s volunteering it.
Me:Why are you awake so late?
A short tingles-inducing wait and his message arrives. It’s a string of emoji, starting with a cookie one, then a brain, glasses, calendar, and a clock. I’ve no idea what he means other than eating cookies and doing work. A deadline early in the morning, maybe?
Josh:Why are you?
Smirking, I settle more comfortably in bed.
Me:Had a long day. And was thinking about you.
Josh:Pff, sleep instead. Goodnight.
Me:Don’t go anywhere, brat.
He makes me wait a few minutes, but a reply eventually comes.
Josh:You’re not my boss. What do you want?
I call him.
“What is it?” he replies, irritation dripping from his voice.
“If you will be up working all night, you could use a break now.”
“Or I can keep working.”
Hecould, just like he could’ve ignored me and not picked up. “You don’t want to though, because you are curious why I called.”
“I picked up by mistake. Let me amend that—”
“Don’t hang up,brat.”
He sucks in air audibly. It’s all the invitation I need to slip my free hand under the hem of my briefs. “I had an amazing time last night. I’m getting hard just thinking about it.”
I hear rustling on the other end, like documents being put away. “Ah, so that’s why you are calling.”
Maybe. “What are you wearing?”
“How is that any of your business?” he barks back, raising my hackles. “It’s one in the morning. Just go to bed.”
God, I love it when he tries to oppose me. It’s such a turn on.
A moan slips out of me as I squeeze the tip of my cockhead. “Just answer the question, brat.”
“An old T-shirt. Gray, on the longer side. And…”
