Dirty Thoughts - Megan Erickson Page 0,23
of her and move on. One little last jab, like, Hey, Jenna, this is what you left behind.
As if she didn’t know. As if she wasn’t aware that every guy who’d touched her since then had been held up to Cal’s standard and found lacking. Not just in bed but out of it too. She lived in a world of political correctness. It was her job to say the right words the right way. To get by without the whole truth or maybe a little embellishment. It was how she’d grown up and how she did her job.
That wasn’t in Cal’s blood. He never had time to beat around the bush or say anything but directly what he thought. It was refreshing not to have to play games with him.
Which is exactly why she’d thrown that statement about his brother in his face. She knew it’d piss him off.
Good. She hoped he was still pissed. She hoped he was furious and had tossed and turned at night just as much as she did.
She wanted to move to the next stage. Or skip right to acceptance. That would be great. She wanted to accept that what had happened wouldn’t happen again and then move on. But her brain—or maybe it was her body, which had a frustratingly accurate memory of how good Cal’s hands felt—wouldn’t let her.
So stuck in anger she was, and there she would stay for the foreseeable future. Cal was lucky she hadn’t run into him at the grocery store this week, or she likely would have chucked a can at his head.
She pulled into her driveway and took a deep breath. This was okay. She could do this. She parked her car, not bothering to pull it into the garage since she would be leaving again so soon.
She hadn’t had much time to decorate the house. The belongings that had filled her tiny apartment in New York didn’t go far in this house, even though it wasn’t much bigger than about thirteen hundred square feet. She dropped her keys in a bowl she kept on a small table inside the door. She kicked off her heels and padded on her bare feet into the kitchen.
Opening up the fridge, she contemplated having a drink before facing the gauntlet of an evening with her parents. Instead, she grabbed a bottle of water and collapsed onto her couch with it.
She wanted to take a nap. Or veg out on the couch watching mindless reality TV, but unfortunately, she had to drag her carcass to a restaurant, where she’d be required to uphold the MacMillan image.
She made a gagging sound and hauled herself off the couch to take a shower and get ready. The only good thing was that maybe this dinner would keep her mind of Cal for one blessed evening.
JENNA WORE A simple navy blue tank dress in a jersey fabric. It wasn’t fancy, but it was comfortable. However, her mother clearly disapproved, because her eyes were doing that roving, disapproving thing. She pursed her lips. “Is that new?” Her tone showed she thought it was anything but new or appropriate for Bellini.
Karen MacMillan had never been what Jenna would call a nurturer. She raised her children to be proper little MacMillan children who ate with the right silverware and drank the right wine and always, always said the right thing.
Her mother, of course, was wearing a nice pale-pink sweater, a cream-colored pencil skirt, and pearls. The cliché made Jenna’s teeth ache.
Jenna took a sip of her wine. “No, it’s not new.”
Her mother hummed under her breath and clinked her wedding ring on her wine glass. Her eyes continued to roam Jenna’s body, and Jenna wondered what her mom would pick on next—maybe her hair, which could use a deep conditioning, or her eyebrows, which could probably be waxed.
Jenna’s father cleared this throat, drawing her mother’s attention. Jenna relaxed and this time, she gulped her wine.
“So, Jenna, you mentioned something about an employee appreciation event?” her father asked.
Jenna put down her glass. “I think that the first step to getting the company back on track is improving employee morale. I’m sure what they want most of all is a raise across the board, which you said you’d consider. But I also think throwing some sort of event, something that helps the community or gives to charity and involves the employees is a great way to create goodwill.”
He was watching her, tapping his chin lightly. Dylan and her mother were