better boss if you get laid,” she said. “So, consider it my civic duty or office duty or . . . whatever, consider it my duty to humanity to get you a woman so that you can fucking relax.”
The balls on this one.
“I should fire you right now.”
“Except you won’t,” Claire said. “Because I’m the shit, and you couldn’t survive without me.”
Unfortunately, she was right.
“So, enjoy the kickass profile I put together and get swiping. Find some way”—a hint of humor in her tone—“or rather, someone to take the edge off.”
Then she hung up.
Hung. Up.
On him. Her boss. The CEO of the company that would set her up for life.
If she didn’t get her ass fired.
His phone buzzed.
You’re not going to fire me.
Ben narrowed his eyes at the text as another came through.
Now unwind a little. God knows you deserve it.
He kept his eyes narrowed. More buzzing commenced.
I know it’s inappropriate, but I love you and care about you.
His glare relaxed, and his fingers moved on the screen.
Fine. You’re not fired.
A beat. Then, his phone vibrated again—
I love you too, Claire. That’s what you’re supposed to say.
That wasn’t something he was capable of saying. Not any longer. Which, aside from him working nearly every waking moment, was probably why he was single. All the money in the world couldn’t overcome the fact that he didn’t have it in him to love anymore.
Sighing, he dropped his phone to the couch cushion, thanking God that it didn’t buzz again.
Claire would get back to her night.
He would risk Sweetheart’s snarling and get another beer.
Then tomorrow, he’d get back to work. Implement phase two of Hunt Inc.
Because work was all he was capable of. That was it, and anyone who thought that he might be able to give anything more than that was just going to be disappointed in him.
But even with knowing all that . . .
For some reason, he picked up his phone.
And he opened the app.
Chapter Five
Stef
She loved San Francisco.
She loved her friends—well, the ones she’d made in the last six months, not the jerkwads who’d abandoned her after she and Jeremy had broken up.
Heidi and company were the best. Even if they did get her drunk.
Okay, that was part of the reason they were wonderful.
Also, she loved margaritas. Also, she’d finished the remnants of the sweet and sour drink from the blender, and now she had decided she was really in love with margaritas. And her friends. And San Francisco.
And especially in love with the squishy, floating feeling that had invaded her limbs.
What she didn’t love?
The lack of sex in her life.
Sure, she had her drawer of friendly vibrators, but . . . it wasn’t the same.
Okay, sometimes it was better. Especially compared to Jeremy and his incompetent penis.
But oftentimes her vibrator time was . . . well, a bit lacking. She wanted more than just a cock. She wanted a hot, hard, strong body poised on top of her. She wanted a man to pick her up and pin her to a wall, pounding deep and hard and—
Hard.
The trouble was that there weren’t a lot of men who were interested in a frumpy scientist who had an obsession with Stargate.
Especially when her friends had taken all the good men.
“Bitches,” she muttered.
Which was why she was lying in bed, wearing her favorite cozy pajamas and trying to work up the urge to . . . swipe right.
Because the man on the app was gorgeous.
When she’d first seen him, her vagina had jumped up, doing a happy dance—complete with pasties and sparklers and a skimpy thong. Well, not so much skimpy because skimpy and her body type didn’t mix, but she’d at least slip into some high-cut bikini bottoms, and she’d definitely shave her legs.
Maybe her armpits, too.
He was so worth an extended shower and using her expensive soap and spending an hour blow-drying her thick-ass hair.
He would be worth Spanx and lace and—
“Just do it,” she whispered.
But the problem with swiping right was that this beautiful man with the sexiest smile she’d ever laid eyes on would invariably swipe left on her picture, and she’d still be here, lying in bed, in her pajamas, and reaching for her vibrator instead of the man himself.
And Fred would be locked in his crate, judging her for getting herself off. Again.
But she couldn’t flick the bean with her dog in bed next to her.
That was just . . .
She shuddered.
It was also . . . not the point. The point being that she