groaning loudly with my face pressed into her throat as I unloaded within her.
Now that is the type of opera I could get behind seeing more often.
We had a nightcap in the hotel lobby after we returned, and while I couldn’t imagine a night passing when I wouldn’t be sunk deep inside of Sela’s body, we actually both fell asleep almost immediately when we crawled under the covers. Not sure if it was the nonstop sightseeing we’ve done the last four days, the amazing food, or maybe just the adrenaline high of the fantastic fucking we did at the opera, but we both conked out quickly.
I know I slept deeply because I was fairly groggy when I woke up at almost four a.m. needing to take a piss. I did my business, washed my hands, and swished some mouthwash around my tongue and teeth, then gargling before spitting it out. I was tired and could easily fall back asleep, but I also felt awake enough that I could spend some quality time with Sela’s body. We’re on vacation; tomorrow is our last day before we leave for the States, and if I wake Sela and keep us both up for a few hours, there’s nothing preventing us from going right back to sleep after.
Before heading back to bed, I grab my phone charging on the desk in our suite and quickly check my messages. JT has been texting me almost every day, demanding I respond to him.
The first one came the evening we left for Vienna. Dude . . . Linda said you’re going to Vienna? That’s a surprise. What’s up with that?
I ignored it, afraid my response would be something along the lines of, I know what you did you low-life piece of shit and I’m going to make it my mission to ruin you.
He sent follow-up texts periodically over the next four days that got increasingly more angry.
Hope your vacation is going well. Call me. Need to discuss some business.
Beck . . . I need to talk to you. I’ve got to give a thumbs-up or thumbs-down on the Nicholson-Meyers project. Call me.
Will you fucking call me? I need to talk to you asap.
I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I’ve about had it. Call me.
I ignored every single one of these, as well as the few times he actually tried to call me. I merely instructed Linda to pass along to JT that I was in full-vacation mode and was not accepting any business calls or texts until I returned stateside. That must have done the trick, because it’s going on almost forty-eight hours and I haven’t heard anything from him.
I’m absolutely dreading my first day back in the office and I haven’t a clue as to how to handle him. At this point, I’m thinking of working from home indefinitely to avoid him until I can figure a way to bring him down.
Tapping on my email icon, I scroll through the messages. All those from Linda I’ll read tomorrow. One from JT looks like he just forwarded an article from Investor’s Weekly, and although it probably has some helpful information, I delete the fucking thing so I don’t have to even look at JT’s name.
Sliding my finger down the screen, I stop on an email from Dennis Flaherty sent a little over an hour ago.
The subject line is simple and causes my heart to race: I Hit Pay Dirt.
The messages only has two words: Call me.
I shoot a quick glance at Sela, and assured that she’s sleeping soundly, I walk into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. It’s only seven p.m. back in the States, and the worst I’d be doing is interrupting his dinner, so I don’t hesitate in dialing his number.
He answers on the second ring by saying, “Figured I’d be hearing from you fairly soon, although it’s what . . . four a.m. there? You’re up awful early.”
I don’t bother to engage the polite small talk. “What did you find?”
Dennis is all business and gets to the heart of the matter. “Turns out drugs and abusing women isn’t your partner’s only addictions. Appears he’s got a bit of a gambling problem.”
This does not surprise me, but I also don’t know if this can help me. “How big of a problem?”
“He is in deep, and I mean way deep to some nasty people here in San Francisco who are backed by even nastier people in Vegas.”