Page 4 of His Curvy Temptation

I begin to type a public comment beneath the photo, but think better of it. Instead I send Deepti a text.

“You seriously quit the spa without giving notice? And then you post about your getaway trip to Disney World knowing I’ll see it? What the fuck?”

Within a minute, my phone shows that Deepti has read my text. The typing bubble appears and I wait for her reply, growing angrier by the second. But then the typing bubble disappears.

No response from Deepti.

And now, because I can’t help myself, I fire off another text message.

“Hope you’re having a blast. I know I’m not. At Elijah Stone’s office right now filling in for you. Took the subway and walked in the rain, and he’s not even here. Not my fault, but Nick will probably grill me about it anyway. Maybe you won’t be the only one of us who is jobless soon. Thanks again!”

I lock my phone before I really lose my temper and say worse things that I’ll regret later. That’s when I look at the time again. It’s nearly half past four. The rain has slowed down and I think I can see a tiny ray of sun peeking through the gunmetal clouds.

This might be my shot at getting home without having to duck through the raindrops all over again.

I stand wearily, picking the table up by the handle. Frustration is burning within my chest. I look around the large room, taking in the luxurious furnishings. This man, whoever he is, must have everything he wants in life.

Every convenience that money can buy is at his fingertips. And that’s what I am to people like him; a convenience to be bought.

“Thanks a ton, Elijah Stone!” I call out, my loud voice echoing off the empty walls and marble floor. “Really appreciate your wasting my time. Have a great day! And by have a great day, I mean that I hope you step on a lego…or six.”

I taper off weakly, feeling foolish for talking to myself. I walk back to the elevator, fighting the temptation to kick over the nearby standing lamp that looks expensive and fragile.

Pressing the elevator button, I switch the hefty weight of the massage table from one hand to the other to give my right arm a break.

“If people as wealthy as you evenhavelegos,” I mutter under my breath. “You probably don’t even know what legos are. Playing with bars of gold as a child instead…or…whatever.”

The bronze doors to the elevator open with a ding and I’m about to step inside when I hear a deep masculine voice speak from right behind me.

“As a matter of fact, Idoknow what legos are.”

2

Elijah

When I hearAndy’s voice coming from my office, I walk out of my relaxation room prepared to fire her on the spot. Being late is bad enough, but showing up and bad mouthing me on top of this is more than I’m prepared to tolerate.

But when I come out and get a look at her, my annoyance quickly fades.

I get a massage every week for relaxation, to decompress from the stress of my job, but a hot woman in a soaking wet white shirt might be even better.

She’s full figured and curvy, the kind of hourglass body that drives men insane. Her hair is deep brown and falls around her face in wet ribbons, the ends still dripping water onto the nearly transparent fabric stretching over her chest. Big brown eyes, pink cheeks, and rosy plump lips that look like an invitation.

I make a mental note to send a thank you to Nick. When he said he was sending over a substitute massage therapist, I was disappointed. But this woman looks heaven sent, earning every bit of the nameThe Angel Spa.

Her wide eyes are staring at me in shock.

“I’m so sorry,” she stammers. “I didn’t know…I didn’t know you were…”

“Within earshot?” I ask, raising a brow.

I can tell that she’s intimidated and flustered and strangely, I find it fucking adorable, especially knowing how fierce and angry she sounded just moments ago when she thought that I couldn’t hear her.

“Please,” she groans. “Don’t tell Nick about this. I’m begging you. I’ll give you a voucher for a free massage and…”

Her voice fades as she looks around the office behind us.

“Well, I guess a voucher for a free massage isn’t impressive to a guy like you,” she sighs. “So it probably doesn’t make up for much. But…I’m sorry, I’mreallysorry. Please don’t tell my boss.”

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