Hot Boss - Anne Marsh Page 0,59

I don’t think you’re looking.”

“You think I still have a thing for Molly?”

She swipes up her purse. “I think you have your head up your ass, yes.”

“Molly and I are over.”

“You chased her to Vegas. Maybe you should think about that.” Hazel exhales. “But I won’t do this anymore. No more benefits, Jack.”

“She’s part of my past. I only came here because I wanted to make sure she was taken care of. I promise I won’t reach out to her anymore, but don’t go.”

The butterflies in my stomach achieve liftoff and rocket into outer space.

“Let me fix this,” I whisper.

“I’ll always be your friend,” she says. “But I can’t do this anymore.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE DAYS TICK past and become weeks. Weeks become a month. I go to work and I close deals. I make a shit ton of money I don’t need. Sometimes Hazel and I take meetings together and sometimes we fly solo. We meet and debrief, arguing the merits, or lack thereof, of the pitches we’ve heard. We fight just as much because we’re both passionate about what we believe and that’s what makes us good partners. We come at a problem from different angles and then we argue-listen to each other because we respect each other. Things between us are friendly. Polite. There’s no extracurricular nudity or dirty talk. No kisses, no naked walks on the beach, no sex.

We’re just friends.

My Santa Cruz beach house is three thousand square feet of empty. It’s too big for a single guy unless he’s a hoarder. When I float the idea of selling it, however, Dev and Max revolt. Dev points out that real estate is an awesome investment in California and that he doesn’t want asshole neighbors so I have an obligation, as his best friend, to stay the fuck put. His words, not mine. Max suggests I rescue a dozen cats.

Animal lovers talk about how pets have their person, the one human they gravitate to, curl up in bed with, wait by the front door for, and whose stuff they pee on when the human’s been away too long or otherwise misbehaving. Faithful companions. It sounds a lot like marriage, doesn’t it? Been there, done that, got my half of the T-shirt.

Never again.

I had the rest of my life all planned out and it didn’t involve inviting a woman to move into my house or my heart.

After I’d moved on from my divorce, I’d planned to grow my business. Make more money. Spend time with family and friends spending that money like that hobbit who threw the big-ass party for the Bagginses. I was going to become that favorite uncle who sweeps in at Christmas with the best presents and who helps you cover up when you’ve dinged the family car you borrowed/stole or got busted for underage drinking. I’d have a string of fun Friday nights, hook up when I wanted the company and keep on doing me. Just me.

And then Hazel pitched me the perfect sex project and all my beautiful plans went right out the window. In a matter of weeks I not only learned what she looked like naked—awesome—but what she was thinking about behind that beautiful, well-manicured, supersmart exterior she showed to the world. Hazel was more than just my best friend. Somehow, over the course of those weeks, she was everything.

I miss her. I miss the way she snorts when she laughs, her fanatical insistence on hair-styling products and flat irons, her opinion that she’s always, always right. She’s smart and funny and loyal...and she’s amazing in bed.

I miss the sex, too. Not gonna lie about that.

Stupid memories.

We had sex in this room and in that one. On that counter and that floor, up against that wall and on those stairs. That practically makes the house a piece of performance art. Perhaps I could donate it to a museum? It’s something to think about.

It’s not like the only sex shop in town is Hazel. I could find a partner using Max’s Billionaire Bachelors app. If I want to get my kink on, I could pick someone from Kinkster. May’s poked me, too. But while the idea of getting laid appeals, I don’t want to fuck May or anyone else. It won’t be enough because whoever she is, she won’t be Hazel.

I miss loving her.

I love her.

And I drove her away. I told her that relationships and true love were like Everest—you only climb that mountain once and most people never get close to