Page 12 of Playing Dirty
I bite the inside of my cheek. "It's funny. I'll give you that."
"Iknewit would make you laugh," she says, looking pleased.
“Yes, alright, now out.” I make a frantic shooing motion toward the door. "I have to meet Cillian in the lobby any second, so please, for the love of my career, use the employee exit."
"The athlete, right?” Celeste looks over from the coffee pot mid-pour. “I want a full report later because that man isridiculouslyattractive. You know, I think you should consider the benefits of all this mandatory time together. A fling with a pro hockey player? That's the dream."
Sabrina laughs. "You're wasting your breath. Margot is our monogamous queen. She's allergic to flings, despite my best efforts."
"I have zero issues with flings, and I would never judgeanyone else's choices. It just doesn't work for my personality.” I shake my head at this rapidly derailing conversation. “Why am I even discussing this? I'm not making my work life that messy. There will benofling."
"Famous last words," Celeste says wistfully, a nostalgic glint in her eyes. "I told myself the exact same thing once, and then I had a very brief, very intense thing with an absurdly muscular contractor. Total disaster afterwards. But lord,the sex. There is something to be said for a man who can pick you up like you weigh nothing and fuck you senseless."
Sabrina lets out a whistle of approval. "Okaaaay, Celeste. New best friend energy."
My own sex life has been drier than the Sonoma hills in August, but I decide not to volunteer that information for fear of seeming even more uncool than I already do, sandwiched between my bedazzled little sister and a woman I am still in the early stages of friendship-courting.
"Right." Sabrina hitches her bag over her shoulder and heads for the door. "I'll take myself and my controversial shirt out of here."
"I'll pick up dinner on my way home tonight," I say. "Thai from the place you love?"
"Oooh, yes please. Thank you." She spins back, delighted. "Get me the drunken noodles and we'll watch Bake Off. Unless you get lucky with Mr. Hottie."
"Sabrina."
"Love you, bye!" She vanishes, leaving the door swinging in her wake, and I turn back to Celeste, shaking my head.
Celeste sips her coffee. "She seems like a lot of fun."
"She's the best." I take a breath. "Listen, I should head out. But we should sit down later this week and go over the latest renovation plans, yeah?"
"Yes, yes, go," Celeste says, waving me off with her coffee.
I head down the back hall, past the marketing offices, past the staff stairs, and out into the main lobby.
And there he is.
Cillian is at the front desk, hands moving as he tells some story, baseball cap tipped low and smile working overtime. Janelle and Andrea are leaning in from their side, laughing at whatever he said and clearly charmed.
He's a player if I've ever seen one, and the reputation backs it up. Apparently being a star hockey player gets women throwing themselves at you, and the gossip mill has been quite clear that Cillian does not, as a rule, decline.
I won't pretend Mr. Hottie is an inaccurate description. But my taste runs toward bookish philanthropists, so the athlete currently dominating my lobby is not a temptation I am struggling to resist.
Andyet.
The man is massive. Not bodybuilder-steroid massive, which has never really held any appeal for me, but he is firmly in the blockbuster superhero category. He has to be at least six-four, broad through the shoulders, with defined forearms on display where his sleeves are rolled up.
There is something to be said for a man who can pick you up like you weigh nothing and fuck you senseless.
I shovethatone back down with everything I've got. The last thing I need before nine in the morning on a Monday is a vivid mental image of Cillian O'Rourke lifting me off the floor.
"Mr. O'Rourke," I call across the lobby.
He looks over and breaks into an even wider smile. "Hey, Ace. Good to see you again."
Ace. The nickname from the party, apparently here to stay.
"It's nice to see you too." I cross the rest of the lobby to meet him. "Shall we?"
