A Private Affair - A.C. Arthur Page 0,20

cupping her butt tightly and licking her breasts as she arched over him.

Riley was definitely soaring now, but this time it was over puffy white clouds that lulled her into a place where only pleasure existed. She bounced over him knowing that it could only get better from this point.

“Yes, Riley! Take everything you want. Let go and take it all.”

He gave her permission. She took it and more until her release crashed over her, splintering her into a million pieces that scattered over sweet blissful clouds.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Manhattan, New York

One week later

RILEY WAS IN her element. She walked around her desk, flipping through the report that Korey, her assistant, had just handed her.

“These projections are off.” She glanced across the page to the end of each row, then down to the bottom to get the totals. Numbers were Riley’s nirvana. She’d always been able to gather and analyze data fast and accurately. A talent that had guided her decision to focus on market research within the company.

“Which is probably why Sigmund has been calling every day since he sent them over. I don’t know how many times I had to tell him that you were on vacation.”

Korey was a recent college graduate with an eye for detail and excellent fashion sense. Today he wore black slacks, suede shoes and a black button-front dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Normally that look proved too casual and just slightly messy for Riley, but Korey made it appear classic.

“Get him on the phone. He has to do better. We’re paying him too much money and we’ve got way too much riding on this for him to flake on us now.”

“No problem. Let’s see, it’s about seven in the morning his time, but he should be up.”

Riley flipped back to the first page and paused when her stomach made an unruly sound.

“Or should I wait until after you’ve ordered some dinner?”

Korey also thought he was a comedian.

Riley turned to him ready to frown, but her stomach made the sound again and she felt the beginnings of a headache. Crap!

She turned her wrist and looked at her watch. It was almost seven. She’d been in the office since six this morning and her last meal had been at noon.

You need to make time to take care of yourself. Eat. Rest. Live outside this office.

The words rolled through her mind as if her mother were standing right in front of her. Marva Gold was a stern but loving mother. She’d had to be to raise four children—three boys and one girl—in the shadows of the glitz and glamorous world of fashion. She was also the commanding force behind the Gold Foundation, which provided scholarships and other programs for marginalized youth throughout the US.

“Schedule a call for first thing tomorrow morning. I want to speak with him before my meeting with RJ. We have huge orders for this collection and if he hears Sigmund isn’t sure how many of those orders he can fill on time, he’s gonna flip.”

Riley circled back to her desk and sat in her custom-made ergonomic chair. Two years ago during an annual physical, her doctor mentioned how much she worked, and when she hadn’t been able to promise to cut down, he’d suggested she make work as comfortable as possible. A chair that didn’t have her back and neck aching every day was an improvement. Not a big enough one, but at least she was trying.

“Does that mean we’re getting out of here before nine tonight?”

“Is that a complaint I hear?” Riley didn’t bother to look up. She’d dropped the report on her desk and immediately started looking at the sketches that had been scanned into the presentation for tomorrow’s meeting. These were the designs that would be featured in her segment of their first show of Fashion Week. RJ and the rest of the production team would be studying them for the umpteenth time tomorrow. Then they’d look at the models wearing the gowns and make the final decision for which ones would be in the show. Nervous didn’t quite explain how she was feeling right now.

“Not a one,” Korey continued. He held his tablet in one hand and typed as he sat in the chair across from her desk. Probably sending Sigmund an email about tomorrow’s phone conference.

“But I was thinking I could probably make it to at least drinks for the dinner party I’d planned to attend.”

She did look up at him then.

“Why didn’t you