He crosses his arms and ducks his head with a wince, his skinny frame drowned by his Christmas sweater. I’ve spent countless time with him, I thought we were friends. “He does love you, Pop.”
I take a few determined steps forward, my heart pounding with a mix of anger and grief as I slap him across the face. “How dare you!” I exclaim, my voice shaking. I don’t want to hear that from him.
His eyes widen in astonishment, his hand rising to cradle the cheek I just struck. Good. I’m glad it caught him off guard.
“How long have you been keeping this from me?” I demand, my voice low and accusatory, the weight of my hurt evident in every word.
I let him stay here with us without question, and he was fucking my fiancé behind my back.
Dropping his hands, his shoulders lift. “Since we were fifteen.”
The floor disappears from beneath my feet, my lungs constricting my airways. This whole damn time. “I love him,” he continues, my head swimming in a sea of sludge. “But he won’t be with me, you know what his parents are like.”
A fucking decade!?!?! His parents would disapprove, but they’d come around eventually.
“He was going to trap me in a half-ass marriage while fucking you on the side, essentially preventing you from having a normal life too.” My words are laced with venom. Damn you, Josh. You cruel, selfish bastard.
Pain and guilt flitter across Eric’s face.
“Not me,” I state, shaking my head. “No fucking way, Eric.” I jab a finger toward him. “You should get out too, while you can.”
Hiking my bag up my shoulder, I waltz past him and slam the door on my exit, leaving the door number4Crattling on my departure.
FIVE
Tristan
“You didn’t have to come,” I snarl at Vance for the third time as we enter my office building. I jab the button for the elevator, feeling ridiculous in the Santa costume I’m wearing because Linda wanted everyone to dress up.
“I promised I’d come,” he grumbles. He’s been driving me crazy with his incessant chatter about the fling he had last night and how he left before she woke up or he might have never left at all. He keeps insisting it was the best night of his life, which is absolute bullshit. I wasn’t there, so it can't possibly be true. Ignoring the little prickle of jealously slithering up my spine, I mash the button harder. I fucking hate this lift. It’s older than I am and as slow as a three-legged dog.
“I can’t just go back to see if she’s there tonight. I mean, it’s a slippery slope, right?”
He shifts anxiously on his feet, running a hand down his chest. The muscles flex beneath his olive skin, showing off his toned six-pack. Vance matched me in height. I was broader in stature, whereas he was more athletically built. We both liked to work out, lifting weights, but he was a fan of cardio, too.
I’ve never seen him so worked-up before, especially over a woman who’s an escort. It’s odd to witness him so captivated by someone who was just a brief encounter that he paid to have.
“You already know the answer to that.” I narrow my eyes at him in frustration again.
I can see his thoughts churning behind his brown eyes, those fuckers are the color of dark chocolate with thick lashes bordering them causing them to appear almost black in the muted light. “If I did go back, I’d want you to come with me,” he says, hope mingling with the authority in his voice.
For fuck’s sake, maybe I should meet this woman… I’m so bent out of shape over Poppy, it’s unhealthy. “Ask me later when I’m drunker.” I flick my wrist dismissively, thinking about Poppy’s call last night.
She was obviously drunk, rambling about someone being gay and her having her first orgasm with another person. After she confessed, that she’d masturbated to thoughts of me while in the shower every night since meeting me, I’d fucked my fist until it was sore. When I called her this morning, it was clear she had no memory of the call, and as much as I want to pry the details from her lips in person, I know I can’t. She’s not only my employee but she’s also engaged to someone else.
My mood sours, hating that Vance made me be Santa while he gets to be Krampus. Smashing the button on the elevator yet again I crack my neck impatiently. I’m staying an hour at most, then I’m trashing this ridiculous suit and locking myself in our apartment until this stupid fucking holiday is over.
“I’m looking forward to meeting this assistant girl.” Vance nudges my shoulder and winks. When I cut him with a death glare, he whips his hand out, grabbing my chin over the itchy Santa beard and digging his fingers into the flesh beneath. “So broody. You need to fuck or be fucked.” He releases me roughlyas the doors ping open. My heart stammers in my chest when they reveal Poppy inside.
She looks up at me, and her mouth drops open, hungry eyes roaming over my bare chest. Vance insisted we forego shirts beneath our open jackets, and now I’m glad he did.
“Sir.” She bites her lip and dips her head in greeting, making my balls tighten and hunger awaken inside me.
“It’s Tristan tonight, Poppy.” Although I love her calling me sir.
Her cheeks pinken as I drag my gaze down her outfit. She’s dressed as a Christmas present that I want to unwrap more than I dying man wants time. Her skirt is a wrapped box, and there’s a large red ribbon tied around her back that’s fastened into a bow across her perky tits. Leaving a toned flat stomach with pinched waist completely bare. It feels slutty to my needy cock, but she’s actually well covered.
She giggles, shrugging when I don’t enter. “Sorry about the skirt. It takes up a lot of room.”
