Page 7 of Peaches

“He said dinner is at seven o’clock sharp and don’t be late.”

I feel myself grind my teeth as my head ticks from side to side and my neck cracks like I wish my fist was making my father’s face cave in. Yeah, I said it. And what’s more, I meant it.

Every. Fucking. Word.

“I don’t think this is one dinner I can get out of, is it Jeeves?”

The older British gentleman that has been by my side since I was eighteen looks at me with more compassion than my old man ever has and frowns. “No, Sir, I don’t believe it is.”

I let out a heavy sigh that does only one thing, make me think of Peaches.

Damn those peaches!

What the hell is she doing to me?

I turn to make my way into the bathroom. The thought of her addictive, consuming, and I can’t say I mind it.

Although I should. I reallyreallyshould.

“Send him a message. I’ll be there, with fucking bells on, but I’ll be there!”

My phone dings in my pocket and I look down to see a message from my eleven o’clock.

Samantha O’Conner:Client can’t make it. Need to push it to five. Let me know if that works.

Irritation grows as I quickly type a reply. A mixture of my father, this flaky client, and my craving for all things peach as my day gets completely thrown upside down for the second time this morning and I suddenly find my normally well controlled temper beginning to break.

Me:Five works. But no later, I have an engagement at seven I can’t break. Make it work, or the deal is off.

It’s harsh, but hell, I can’t afford to waste time in this takeover. I’ve built my way up to this since I graduated high school. I started Beckett Enterprises from the ground up and I finally have a chance to be at the top. Well, almost at the top, if The General has anything to do about it.

A grin forms on my lips. Being unstoppable, fierce, and relentless is empowering. And some older aged, 1980s power struggle of a woman, with a large grudge the size of Texas, isn’t going to stop me now.

“Now there is the matter of Ms. Kimberly Walters,” I hear Jeeves suggest as I finish my text and throw the phone on the bathroom counter.

Cue the spike in my blood pressure.

“What about Kimberly?” I angrily hiss out.

“Your father is expecting you to show up with your fiancé, Mr. Beckett,” he states calmly. “He insisted you bring her along.”

Fuck me!Will it never end?

“He’ll have to swallow the fact that we’re over, whether he likes it or not,” I go to close the door but something Jeeves says stops me.

“Even though he never met the girl, Sir, he was quite looking forward to it. I find it in my duty to remind you, your thirtieth birthday is coming up, and the contract you signed will be up. Your duty due.”

Shit!He’s right. Another reason my ass stayed subconsciously glued to the idea of the harlot, Ms. Kimberly Walters, even though my mind has a hard time admitting it.

The damn contract.

The one my grandmother, and grandfather, thought was made with good intentions, but also one my father twisted and tainted just after my mother died. The one that also holds the keys to my trust fund and my whole life’s work.

“I’ll deal with it,” I say through clenched teeth, as I slam the door in his face and turn the lock quickly.

Hell yeah, I’ll deal with it. Right after I deal with the massive hard-on I’ve had since entering my favorite coffee shop and locking eyes with the most enticing Georgia peach I’ve ever seen.

Her blonde hair tumbled down in waves to the center of her back. Her sweet, peachy, blushed cheeks as she tried to hide her attraction for me. The dimples when she smiled. The crystal blue of her eyes that turned me on more than ever before when I’d tease her and her body’s response would ignite a fire inside she’s obviously never felt before. Her ample, perky breasts, small waist, pink fingers and toenails poking out of her strappy sandals. The determination to finish the job in front of her, no matter whatdistractioncame along. Kinda like the way I feel on a daily basis.

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