Page 7 of Unwrapped

I smell her arousal.

Any weakness I had a few moments ago is forgotten. I’m the king of the concrete jungle below me. People sense I am different, but they cannot put their finger on why.

Underneath, my layers of thousand-dollar threads, is a dangerous man covered in ink. I spar with amateur boxers three times a week. I might work in finance, but what I don’t have is weak hands. It’s just one of the many ways I make Isabella come. My calloused covered palms work her over real/really good. But lately, I haven’t even wanted to lose myself in her. I’ve been losing myself in work.

Claudia clears her throat, signaling to me that everyone is seated and ready to give their presentation

The woman on my right stands, nervously smoothing down her skirt. She wobbles, unsteady in her heels as she walks to the other end of the table to begin her presentation.

She’s flustered.

It’s my fault.

I shoot her some serious side-eye as I lower my head to check my cell.

Rog:I need you to look over my books.

Me:Why? You forgot how to do math, old man?

Rog:Fuck you. I’m not old. I

Me:How’s Devon?

Rog:Busy warming my bed.

Me:***eyeroll*** I’m sending you some Viagra for X-mas.

Rog:Fucker.

Me:Yep.

Rog:Are you gonna help me or what?

Me:Depends.

Rog:F U C K E R!

Roger is family. The uncle I never had. I know how to get under his skin and I enjoy it. I grin, raising my eyes and finding the blonde’s eyes. I stroke a finger over my lips, winking at her hard. I no longer feel grumpy. I’m feeling mischievous as fuck. Until, I spot the mistletoe hanging over the refreshment area where the bagels, water and coffee are located.

I stand, interrupting her prattling on about projected sales numbers, to rip that shit right down and throw it in the trash. “Who put that up?” I demand, eyes slicing everyone in the room to shreds.

No one looks me in the eye.

I walk over to the Christmas tree, taunting me with its twinkling lights. I unplug that shit. Then kick the damn thing over.

“You were saying?” I raise an eyebrow, smooth my tie again and take a seat.

“Asshole.”Someone breathes.

“Grinch.”Is whispered, under someone else’s breath.

“Scrooge.”

I grin, placing my hands behind my head. Using my foot, I swivel my chair right to left, enjoying the sound of it squeak every time the hot blonde tries to talk.

I know I’m being an asshole by acting immature. But fuck, if she can’t get through this, I’m not buying shit from her. You need to be tough in this business or you won’t survive. I haven’t even started firing my big-boy questions yet.

Her eyes fall to the screen of her laptop. Her hand trembles as she lifts a bottle of water to her mouth.

---