Page 40 of Work: Strictly Professional

There’s a chance I may have overshared one or two things with Emily, but I haven’t told her that my relationship with Derek is fake. For one thing, I think secrecy is the first rule of fake dating, and for another, if she knows Derek and I are fake as fuck, I think my performance would suffer. And it’s not like I’m up for any awards as it stands.

“I know. It-it just happened, you know. Neither of us was expecting it. We went for drinks after work, and one thing led to another.” My voice lilts up and trails off from the strain of my dishonesty.

“Well, I can see why,” she says conspiratorially. “The way you were looking at him just now, I’m surprised you didn’t set fire to something.”

I stop dead. “Just me? I mean, was it just me looking like that or him too. Did you see how he was looking at me? ‘Cause, like, I’m fine if it’s both of us, but if it’s just me, then I don’t feel…”

“Ooh, I dunno. I’m not sure. I didn’t look at him.” Emily places her hand on my shoulder firmly. “Hey.” Her tone is soothing and soft. “D’you want to come over to our room later so we can break this down and overthink it?”

Kat, who’s just arrived back on the scene, nods sagely and says, “You should really take her up on that, Wyn, ‘cause there’s no one better at overthinking than Em. There isn’t. You can’t do better.”

“Ohmigod. I’d love to, but I can’t. Jamie’s arriving this afternoon, and I have to go into town to buy chicken nuggets, ketchup, and an air fryer for him.”

“You aresucha good wedding planner,” says Em, and Kat makes noises that imply she doesn’t completely disagree.

“Thanks. Wish I was planning your wedding instead,” I sniff. “Ryan and Millerstillhaven’t got the song list to me.”

“Careful what you wish for,” says Kat with a lazy smile. Emily giggles, leans in, and kisses Kat a little longer and harder than I’m comfortable with.

Seeing others disgustingly happy is the last thing a man on a sex sabbatical needs. Especially one whose best offer in months is to be sexually experimented upon in exchange for cash money from his horrible boss.

I beat a path back to the venue, half-hoping someone has made a massive fuck-up of something. I could use a good shout right about now. Not a big, bad one. Not one that would hurt anyone’s feelings or anything like that. Just a quick, loud word to give me a little release. Just a sharp “Oh NO!” would help at this point.

Derek appears at my side as if he’s apparated. It makes me squawk and jump ungracefully into the frangipani next to me. Honestly, lush as it is, all this vegetation is starting to get to me. The last thing I need is assholic men appearing out of tropical plants, looking predatory and smelling like saltwater.

He falls into step with me and asks, “How much for a blowjob?” calm and cool as you like.

Every ounce of oxygen leaves my lungs, my thoughts slow, and I feel a tell-tale warmth radiating from my inner ears. I recognize the signs immediately. I’m about to faint. I pause, looking around for a safe spot to land on when I hit the ground.

I don’t faint though.

Instead, I hear a voice that sounds remarkably similar to mine saying, “Giving or receiving?”

“Receiving,” says Derek with no hesitation.

It takes me a lot longer than I care to admit to work out what exactly that means. Is he receiving? No. Me? But he’s paying. Wait. I’m receiving the money, and he’s paying, but I’m theone who said giving or receiving, and he said receiving, so that means I’m going to be receiving a blowjob from him.

My ears feel hot again, and I feel extremely lightheaded. I’m not sure if that’s because of the impending fainting spell or the fact that all the blood in my body seems headed straight for my dick.

I’m a PA, for Christ’s sake. How the hell am I supposed to know how to quote on something like this? It’s completely out of my wheelhouse.

Wait, wait. Get it together.

Think.

How much do I need to be paid to allow Derek MacAvoy to suck my dick?

One dollar.

No.

Jesus, no!

Have some pride, Wyn, for fuck’s sake. This is a man who regularly spends four hundred dollars on a bottle of wine.

“Four hundred,” I hear myself saying. Derek’s eyes narrow slightly. I know that look. I’ve seen it before in meetings. He gets it when he thinks he’s getting a good deal. A steal. “And…”oh fuck, what now? Ninety-nine seems very bargain basement, and that’s not at all on brand for me“…eighty-two dollars.”

“Four hundred and eighty-twodollars?”

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