No Pink Caddy (ACE Book 1) by Layne Harper

Author:Layne Harper [Harper, Layne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Layne Harper
Published: 2016-09-12T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

MK Landry @NoPinkCaddy

Boy is making me late for work for all the best sorts of reasons. #GooeyFeelings

“What time shall I pick you up for a nooner?” He raises his eyebrows, and I roll my eyes.

“No lunch today. I’m forty-five minutes late for work. Your nooner just happened earlier than you thought.”

“Can I come up?” He leans towards me and winks.

“No!” A look of horror drops my mouth wide open, and my eyes bug out. “That’s all I need—for the menopausal ladies in my office to know I’m banging a rock star.”

“In love with,” he corrects.

“Bye, Aaron.” I go to get out of the car, but when I pull the latch the door doesn’t open.

His hand travels up my leg under the skirt of my dress. “We still have to discuss our weekend plans.”

I slap at it. “Meet the band. Meet your daughter and sister. What’s left?”

“My security.” He smiles and grabs my breast. “They’re going to love you.”

“Can we discuss this after work?” I pause. “Or better yet, text me.”

“Just want you to be thinking what you’re going to cook for all of us.” My shoulders tense so much I think they brush my ears. “I sent them the video on how to make Gumbo. They’re all in.”

I’m beyond exasperated. “Unlock the door, Aaron.” I try the handle again with no luck.

“I’ve been thinking . . .” He leans his seat back and rests his head on his hands.

My arms fly up as I turn to look at him. “Fuck, how long is this going to take?”

“Well, see, you could’ve met me for lunch and we could’ve discussed all of this, but since you’re bagging on me, we have to do it now.”

I flop back against the seat in complete defeat. This is beyond rude. I turned in my resignation letter. These next two weeks I need to be squeaky clean not absurdly late. I’d die if this got back to my grandmother or parents.

“I’ve been trying out sweetheart on you. I like it. It works.” He grabs my limp hand and kisses it. “I want a nickname, sweetheart.”

I sigh. “Can I think of something while I’m at work?”

The door unlocks with a click. “Absolutely . . . wait for it . . . sweetheart.”

I lean over, giving him a kiss on his stubbly cheek, and bolt out of the car before he can trap or spring more surprises on me.

And of course the one morning I’m an hour late, I spot a man sitting in front of my desk. I beg the universe for it not to be Michael, but I looked at the back of his head for three years and then every Sunday since we broke up. I’d recognize that perfectly trimmed mane anywhere. The ladies are unusually quiet and avoiding making eye contact with me. This is bad.

Head up.

Shoulders straight.

I walk into my office with confidence.

“Hello Michael,” I greet my former lover as I open the bottom drawer of my desk and drop my bag in.

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