Page 67 of Game Change

“I wonder why that is, ColinKincaid.”

“Or maybe it can be because you’re unprofessional, combative, and confrontational.”

“Unprofessional?” she asks.

“Yeah. Unprofessional. Not showing up for work for days because you’re mad is unprofessional, not to mention immature.”

“I guess you told me then, boss,” she says. I can picture her rolling her eyes. “Last time I checked, I had personal days, but okay.”

“And as far as being casual, I never asked you to be. I want us to be together in a relationship, not sleeping with pillows between us like two teenagers at a sleepover. If things had gone the way I wanted, you’d be in my arms right now. Naked. And speaking of me being your boss, you didn’t come to work for two days and told no one. This is not about your personal days. You didn’t show up because you were having another tantrum. You also didn’t come to the meeting this morning. You definitely don’t treat me like a boss.”

“I’m not going to any more meetings. They’re a productivity killer. Had I been given the promotion I was promised, I would stop having so many damn meetings. That’s one of the things Milton did that annoyed me, and I see you’re continuing with that pointless tradition.” She turns her back to the mountain of pillows.

“What do you mean you’re not going to any more meetings?” I ask.

“Exactly what I said. I’m going to work on my projects and go home. I will be giving nothing more. If you or Milton have an issue with that, fire me.”

“You get on my nerves,” I say. “You are so damn difficult. Keep it up, and I will fire you. You’re like a damn spoiled brat.”

“Uh-huh, rich boy. I’m the spoiled brat,” she says. “And I can’t stand you, so we’re even,” she tosses out.

She doesn’t say more, and I wait until I hear her even breathing or snoring. Minutes pass, and nothing happens.

“You had no issues with me when you rode me in the office,” I say before I turn and give my back to the pillows. “Twice.”

Now my dick is rock hard, and there’s a beautiful woman next to me that I can’t touch. I punch one of my pillows in frustration.

“Don’t flatter yourself. It was mediocre at best.”

“Mediocre?” I turn around to face her, but my face hits a pillow. “Like when I held you through your endless orgasms? Or when I had to cover your mouth so you wouldn’t let the entire office know what we were doing? Like those times? Is that when it was mediocre?”

She scoffs. “I faked it.” I know she’s lying. When we were together on vacation, she was so loud my friends heard. She could not keep quiet in the office, and I had to cover her mouth with my hand. She couldn’t get enough of me, and our last night together, we didn’t stop. She might have faked it in the past, but not with me.

“You’re about the best actress I’ve ever met. You’re like the Black Meryl Streep.”

“I can just be Halle Bailey, Quinta Brunson, or Angela Bassett.” She has the nerve to suck her teeth after she says it. “Meryl Streep wishes.”

“Tough words for someone who’s in my bed because she’s too much of a scaredy cat to stay upstairs by herself. What did you think? The big bad guy was gonna get you?”

“Oh, please. It’s not my fault you live in a creepy ass house. It’s probably cursed just like you.” She goes quiet until she mumbles, “Jerk.”

“That’s a lot of attitude from a wimp.”

The very idea that this woman is talking trash when she is only here because I saved her from starving and freezing in the office ticks me off. Not only that, but I also discovered she’s so scared of strange noises that she has to sleep in her enemy's bed while she continues insulting me. Thinking back now, the signs were there. One night, there was a thunderstorm, and she was practically glued to me until it passed. I thought she was pretending just to get closer to me, not that I minded.

I snatch one of the pillows and toss it to the floor. She sits up and looks around as if she’s confused by what’s happening. I throw another pillow. She hops off the bed just in time for the third pillow to hit her in the head. She runs around the room, picking them up and throwing them on the bed, only for me to toss them to the floor again.

“Will you stop, you jerk?” she screeches. She grabs a pillow, but I wrap my arm around her wrist before she can put it on the bed. I take it with my other hand and throw it in the open closet. Then I pull her on top of me.

“You stop that right—” Her words get cut off when I flip us over, land on top of her, and pin her to the bed. She gasps, but then she sighs in pleasure when I grind into her.

“I bet this jerk can make you come over and over again,” I whisper in her ear. “You want to know how I know I can do that?” She remains quiet and stares into my eyes. “Because I have before. Many, many times.”

I smother whatever smart-ass response she was going to say with a deep kiss. She melts into me and wraps her arms around me. Her hands slide through my hair like they always do when we embrace.

“Mmhmm,” she moans into my mouth. Her hands leave my hair, travel down my back until they're inside my boxers and she strokes my ass. She opens her mouth and the kiss turns wet, sloppy, and loud. She pulls my shorts down, and I break the kiss long enough to take the damn things off.

Once I’m done, I lift her sweatshirt over her head, and her breasts spill out. My mouth waters, but I pull her pants and underwear off before I take one of her nipples into my mouth.

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