I don’t plan on staying back long. Whatever the paperwork is, it can probably wait—but if there’s good news about something, I want to know. Just one more thing to celebrate would make the night that much better.
Just a few seconds after the door clicks shut behind me, it opens again. I glance over my shoulder, part of me hoping it’s Willow. As much as I know she’d be embarrassed if my brothers teased us, I wouldn’t hold back from fucking her in this office.
But it’s not Willow.
It’s one of our strippers, a woman named Anna.
Fucking Anna was one of the only mistakes I ever made after joining the family. It’s one of Lachlan’s only rules. No touching, no fucking the workers. It’s about class, he always said, and professionalism. If we were going to run a club, we’d do it right.
But I made the mistake of letting it happen, ignoring the rules and giving in to Anna’s flirting. I’d been alone for too long, and she was there. As soon as it was over, I made sure she understood it was a one-time thing. And I promised not to tell Lachlan, saving both of our necks.
Anna shuts the door silently, leaning against it. She’s wearing what most of the other girls do—the skimpiest skirt and a low-cut top that leaves nothing to the imagination. Her heels make her almost as tall as me.
There’s a spark in her green eyes when she looks at me, but they’re too bright and sharp. Her hair is so blonde it’s almost white, falling in a straight curtain around her face. Anna smiles slowly, taking careful steps across the room toward me.
I can’t help thinking of Willow. I can’t help comparing the way Willow’s eyes are soft and blue-gray, the way her hair is dark and wavy. She’s become my definition of beauty, the most perfect woman I’ve ever seen.
“It’s been a while,” Anna says. Her voice is almost a whisper, husky. I know it’s the same one she uses on patrons of the club.
I step back toward the desk, trying to make it clear I’m not interested. I don’t want to embarrass her, but it seems like she has the wrong idea.
“It has. How’s work?”
“Work is boring.”
I hear something hit the floor, and as soon as I turn around, alarm bells ring in my head. Anna’s skirt is on the floor, and she has her hands on her shirt.
“Wait. Don’t,” I say, holding a hand up. “I’m not doing this.”
“You’ve already done it,” she says, winking. Her shirt falls to the floor. She’s not wearing a bra.
“I’m not fucking with you, Anna. It was one time. I’m not interested.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Anna walks toward me, running one of her hands over her breast. She circles her nipple and licks her lips. I pointedly look away.
It’s almost funny how uninterested I am. Everything about what she’s doing is objectively sexy, objectively hot. If I were anyone else, I’d probably be inside her already.
But I’m not.
I’m a married man, and there’s only one woman I want in the entire world.
“Put your clothes back on,” I say shortly. “It’s not happening.”
“We’ll see what your cock has to say about that.”
Anna drops to her knees, and irritation fills me. I was trying to keep this civil, to turn her down gently, but there’s no fucking way this is happening. I grab a handful of her hair, about to pull her up and shove her away from me, when the door swings open.
A soft voice speaks my name, and then Willow steps inside.
She freezes immediately, her eyes going wide, shock sparking to life in their depths. My name dies on her lips, one hand hanging loosely where she was holding the doorknob.
Anna looks over her shoulder. Her tone is playful, uncaring. “Whoops.”
The single word breaks the moment. Willow turns on her heel and leaves.
“Fuck,” I curse, stepping around Anna and toward the door.
