Beautiful Bastard

wanted to set her up? Probably because you’re sleeping with her, dumb ass. Well, not really sleeping with her so much as fucking her. Okay, fucked her . . . twice. “Fucking her” would imply an intent to continue.
    Oh, also, I felt her up her in an elevator and was hoarding her shredded panties in my desk drawer.
    Creeper.
    I pressed my hands to my face. “Fine. I’ll talk to her. But don’t get your hopes up. She’s about as charm-free as they come, so that’s a hard deal to close.”
    “You know, Ben,” my brother chimed in, “I think everyone here would agree that you are literally the only one who has a hard time getting along with her.”
    I looked around the table, frowning at the heads bobbing up and down, agreeing with my idiot brother.
    The rest of the night consisted of more talk about how I needed to try and be nicer to Miss Mills, and about how great they all thought she was, and about how much she would like my mom’s best friend’s son, Joel. I had completely forgotten about Joel. He was nice enough, I guess. Except he’d played Barbies with his little sister until he was fourteen and cried like a baby when he took a baseball to the shin in tenth grade.
    Mills would eat him alive.
    I laughed to myself at the thought.
    We also talked about the meetings we had lined up for this week. A big one was planned for Thursday afternoon, and I would be accompanying my father and brother. I knew that Miss Mills already had everything all planned and ready to go. Much as I hated to admit it, she was always two steps ahead and anticipated everything I needed.
    I left with the promise that I would do my best to convince her to come, although to be honest I didn’t even know when I would see her in the next few days. I had meetings and appointments all over the city, and I doubted that in those brief moments I was actually in the office I would have much good to say.

    Glaring out the window as we crawled down South Michigan Avenue the next afternoon, I wondered if my day would ever improve. I hated sitting in traffic. The office was only a few blocks away, and I was seriously considering just having the driver take the car back and getting out and walking. It was already after four, and we’d managed to travel only three blocks in twenty minutes. Perfect. Closing my eyes, I rested my head on the seat and recalled the meeting I had just left.
    Nothing in particular had gone wrong; in fact, quite the opposite. The clients had been thrilled with our proposals, and everything had gone off without a hitch. I just couldn’t shake my horrible mood.
    Henry had made a point of telling me every fifteen minutes of the last three hours that I was behaving like a moody teenager, and by the time the contracts were signed, I wanted to beat the shit out of him. Every chance he got he asked what the hell my problem was, and frankly, I couldn’t say I blamed him. Even I had to admit I’d been a prick the last couple of days. And for me, that was saying something. Of course Henry declared as he left to head home that my problem was I needed to get laid.
    If he only knew.
    It had been one day. Just one day since the event in the elevator left me rock hard and with an itching desire to touch every inch of her skin. The way I was acting you’d think I hadn’t had sex in six months. But no, nearly two days of not touching her and I felt like a lunatic.
    The car stopped again and I thought I would scream. My driver lowered the separator between the front and back seats, tossing me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Mr. Ryan. I’m sure you’re going crazy back there. We’re only four blocks away; would you rather walk?” Glancing out the tinted windows, I noticed we’d stopped right across the street from La Perla. “I can pull over just—”
    I was out of the car before he had a chance to finish his sentence.
    Standing on the curb waiting to cross, it occurred to me that I didn’t have a clue what point there would be to going inside. What was I planning on doing? Was I buying something or just torturing myself?
    I stepped into the store and stopped in front of a long table covered with frilly lingerie. The floors were a warm honey wood, the ceilings littered with long cylindrical light fixtures, clustered into groups throughout the large room. The dim lighting cast the entire space in a soft intimate glow, illuminating the tables and racks of expensive lingerie. Something about the delicate lace and satin