Talking Dirty with the CEO - By Jackie Ashenden Page 0,59
beside Christie’s desk on her way to the kitchenette. “Trouble in paradise?”
Christie had told Marisa about Joseph, trying and failing not to bend her ear about him every second she got. But she didn’t want to talk about him now. Especially when she didn’t even know why he hadn’t bothered to contact her.
“No.” Christie stabbed her mouse button and accidentally deleted a whole page of text. She cursed. “Everything’s fine.”
“Oh, sure.” Marisa perched on the edge of the desk. “Come on, tell your old pal Marisa. I’ve had no gossip from you at all lately and I’m getting desperate.”
Christie tried to ease the tension from her shoulders. “It’s nothing, Mar.”
But her friend knew her far too well. “It’s not nothing. You’re biting your lip like there’s no tomorrow and if you’re not careful you’ll lose mountain climbers in that crevasse between your eyebrows.”
The words on Christie’s screen began to blur again. Dammit, those weren’t tears. They weren’t.
“It’s really nothing,” she said, hoping her voice was steady. “Joseph isn’t answering my texts and I can’t get hold of him. I’ve left messages but…” She stopped, her voice starting to slide all over the place like a toddler wearing ice skates.
“But he hasn’t responded?”
Christie looked down at her hands. Yep, same old hands. Except they were blurry, too. Hell, that did mean tears. Either that or she needed her eyes checked. She blinked. Hard. “No, he hasn’t.”
“Perhaps he’s just busy.”
“Yeah, perhaps.”
There was a silence.
“Chris?” Marisa said softly. “Please tell me you haven’t fallen for him.”
No, she hadn’t fallen for him. Of course not.
Oh no, you’ve just plummeted off the side of Everest.
Crap. May as well admit what she’d been ignoring the whole week.
“Yeah,” she said thickly. “I think I have.”
The knowledge settled down inside her heart. Inside her soul. Completely and totally inescapable.
She was in love with Joseph Ashton. The guy who’d left her bed without a word and who was currently ignoring her texts and not returning her calls.
What wonderful freaking timing.
Marisa said nothing for a long moment, then muttered a filthy curse under her breath that had something to do with men having excrement in their cranial cavities. Then she said, “So what are you doing sitting here?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve fallen for this guy, who and I’m sorry, St. John, but for the record he sounds like a douche. And yet you’re just letting him get away with not calling? Are you really going to let him treat you that way?”
Christie looked up at her. Marisa’s blue eyes were blazing with defensive anger.
“Don’t you let him treat you like that,” her friend said. “You’re worth ten of him.”
And despite her misery, Christie almost smiled. For all her faults, Marisa was loyal to the core and fiercely protective of her friends. But Joseph wasn’t what Marisa thought of him.
Yes, he was rich, successful, and just the sort of guy her parents adored.
But he was also kind. And tender. And complicated. And fascinating. And made her feel as if she could do anything she set her mind to.
Which meant she had to go and find him.
As it had the night at her parents’ house, a deep calm descended on her.
Yeah, no more sitting around waiting for him to call. No more denying she needed him. Denying she wanted him. She was over that, she was done.
It was time to go out and tell him exactly what she did want.
She pushed her chair back, the movement making Marisa’s eyes widen.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
Christie grabbed her bag. “Can you cover me with Ben?”
“Uh, sure. Where are you going?”
She grinned. “I’m going to tell Joseph Ashton I want more than one night. More than one weekend. I’m going to tell him I want the rest of the freaking year. At the very least!”
Christie headed straight to the offices of Ashton Technology. The stylish foyer was incredibly intimidating, but she made herself approach the receptionist, some icy blonde with a “don’t mess with me” face.
The woman took Christie in, from the top of her untidily pulled back ponytail, down over her “What Would McGyver Do?” T-shirt and jeans, her favorite black biker boots.
“Can I help you?” she asked in frigid tones.
Christie put on the expression she used when kicking alien butt. “Yeah. I need to see Mr. Ashton.”
The blonde raised an eyebrow. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but—”
“I’m afraid Mr. Ashton doesn’t see anyone without an appointment.”
Christie lifted her chin. “He’ll see me.”
“I hardly think so.”
“Dude, are you willing to bet on that?” She