I didn’t obsess over things.
Certainly not my personal life.
But that had been the case since last Friday night, and it seemed to be getting worse with every passing minute. My lack of concentration had been proven during my lunch meeting yesterday. Although I’d run through my presentation flawlessly, I couldn’t recall much of anything that had happened after that aside from the client hiring me to handle what might possibly be the biggest project of my career. The rebranding of the franchised auto parts business would require a significant amount of my time, not to mention quite a few additional employees to make it successful. I had more than enough shit to do to stay busy, but here I was, waiting, wondering, contemplating.
Not a good time to develop a social life, but hey, why the hell not?
The irritating voice seemed louder today.
The project was huge, one I was eager to get started on, but my thoughts continued to drift anywhere except where they needed to be. Case in point: here I was, staring at my phone, expecting a text message that I doubted was coming. Ever since yesterday when Cav messaged to let me know he was taking Jamie out tonight, I couldn’t keep my mind on anything other than the two of them and what their plans might entail.
I knew they were going to dinner, and I didn’t have an issue with that. Not entirely. It wasn’t that I was jealous, more so that I was … curious. I preferred to be there, in the thick of it, but not so I could oversee their actions. No, that wasn’t my issue. I simply wanted to watch them. I could admit, I was a voyeur. It was one of the upsides of managing a club of this nature. I could get my fill of observing others.
But the idea of watching Cav and Jamie was different. Inherently different. And for whatever reason, I could not stop thinking about it. I was quickly going insane with thoughts of what they would be doing together.
I was just happy we’d agreed to get this underway this week. No way could I go on like this for an extended period of time. My work would suffer. As soon as I spent a little time with Jamie, I would better understand her priorities and be able to map out a resolution. That was what I did. I helped people.
Perhaps help yourself to her in the process.
No. Definitely not. She needed my help, I would help.
Only there was one major problem. I couldn’t proceed until I had a conversation with her brother. I owed it to Zeke to let him know what was going on, what my plan was. He had entrusted me to show her the club and I had. Now I was offering to give her a glimpse into the lifestyle. For educational purposes only. She would observe, experience, write her paper, and move on with her life.
I would, too.
But I couldn’t ignore the fact that I was avoiding Zeke for reasons I didn’t quite understand. Which was only exacerbating my issues, and I got the feeling my priorities were a little out of whack.
It wasn’t as though I intended for anything to happen with her. Sure, I might’ve gotten caught up in it on Friday, but I’d had time to think it through. I wouldn’t act on my desires because I was nothing if not controlled. Zeke wouldn’t have to worry about me getting intimately acquainted with his sister.
Keep telling yourself that. At the same time, keep imagining her naked and tied to your bed.
I thrust my hand through my hair, shaking off the image and replacing it with one of Zeke Lautner, the ruthless Sadist who would kick my ass all over the damn club given the chance.
While I didn’t have to worry about seeing Zeke at the office because I was avoiding the entire building, I did have to worry about him appearing here at the club. Thankfully, he hadn’t yet, so I was still in the clear. From what I’d gathered through the rumor mill, his two masochists were keeping him preoccupied. That was likely the only reason he hadn’t called me to check up on his sister.
When I glanced at my phone for the millionth time, I picked it up and pulled up Cav’s number. I briefly considered calling him. I could ask how the interview went, use that as an excuse to dig deeper into his plans for tonight. Before I could hit the button to make the call, I chickened out and shot him a text instead.
Me: What’s up?
I stared at the screen, noticed the message was delivered, but the familiar dots that would signal a response being typed didn’t appear. With a heavy sigh, I set the phone on the desk, glared at it.
