Page 60 of Gluttony

“It’s funny, all your names sound like…” I’m interrupted by laughter; the guys clearly know where I’m going with this.

“Yeah, well, Creed and I had nineties parents, so obviously Creed and Eddie for Vedder of Pearl Jam. We’re surprised they didn’t name us after the Grateful Dead.” We chuckle and I’m suddenly ashamed that I’ve never listened to the Dead, not really my style.

“Gunner is actually his last name, first name’s Leo, and Lennox changed his because Lenny wasn’t sexy enough; his words.” At that, we do laugh because he’s not wrong.

“Sorry I’m late, traffic was a bitch!” We all turn at the sing-song voice that interrupts the casual conversation.

“There she is! Sorry guys, this is Zahra. She’s our—”

Like a fangirl, I interrupt Creed and finish his sentence for him. “The violinist. Oh my God, you’re the reason I chose this group!” Fuck, maybe I wasn’t supposed to say that. I’m sure the label needs to be more standoffish than that. Well, good thing I’m just an executive assistant.

“Shit, maybe we should give them a moment in private?” Eddie cracks up beside me but I’m too busy shaking Zahra’s hand to care. The contrast between our clasped hands fascinates me. Hers is as dark as mine is pale.

“Wow, thank you!” She does a little curtsy and I can tell right away that she probably adds a lot to the live shows if her bright wardrobe says anything.

For the next two hours, we talk shop, recording times, royalties, and scheduling. We show them around and, I’m not going to lie, I think these guys would be a great fit with H2O. In fact, when they walk into the studio and give a bit of a jam session, we see that they’re a live band through and through, and that’s money in the damn bag, as per Hadley.

“You did good, Little Rabbit. Real fucking good.” These are Hadley’s words as we get home that evening to Orion and Hayes, who are just getting back from a run, sweat and heaving breaths all over the place.

“How’d it go?” Orion is the first to speak but I see Hayes watching his twin intently.

“She nailed it. Slumlordis going to sign and they’re going to fucking rake in the cash, brothers.” I preen at his high praises. “Unless I fucking kill the lead singer, then all bets are off.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Hayes

It’s irritating the fuck out of me that Bowie hasn’t even made an attempt to steal Orion’s Abyss yet. She’s had plenty of opportunities, we’ve left her alone in the apartment more than once, and nada. Zip. Zilch.

I won’t deny getting some enjoyment out of reviewing the video footage, though.

However, the fact that she still hasn’t made a move is making me doubt the information I have. It’s making me doubt every-fucking-thing I’ve assumed about her and I’m not even sure how I feel about that.

Since Thursday afternoon, Bowie’s been hyped about some new band that Orion has let her take the lead on. She has zero experience other than the almost two months she’s been our executive assistant, and my initial response was to ask Orion why the fuck he would do that. On our run Saturday afternoon, he told me about what happened in his office, so that cleared up where his head was at. I did question whether he was losing his ever-loving mind until I learned about that.

This woman has cast some kind of annoying-as-fuck spell over each of us, and despite my suspicions—which have been confirmed—she has me in her clutches just as tightly as the other two. I wouldn’t say I’m jealous of my brothers for the things they’ve experienced with Bowie, it’s more like I have this need, this gluttonous hunger to let her know she’s mine just as much as she is theirs.

I don’t think she’s figured it out completely, yet, but even if she does still make an attempt at the Abyss, she’s going no-fucking-where. We control her now. We decide what’s best for her. We choose her fate.

A knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts and I have to adjust my hard-on before speaking.

“Come in.” I know exactly who it is, and I’ve gotta say, I’m surprised she knocked. She usually just barges into my office without a care in the world.

There she is. She peeks around the now-open door, her wide grin taking up most of her face.

“Ginny said you were ready for me, Sir?”

If she only knew how ready I am, and the way she says sir doesn’t do anything to calm my now-hard-again dick.

“Yes, Miss Jones. Come in, and pull a chair around to my side of the desk.”

Her brows rise and her eyes widen, but she’s quick to school her expression, nodding as she does what I’ve asked. I take note of her light-grey suit, the way the pencil skirt hugs her thighs, the jacket cinched at the perfect position to accentuate her waist…she’s always professional, that’s for sure. Even if I want to tear her suits off every fucking day.

The watermelon scent invades my senses when she finally pulls up a chair and sits beside me, her red curls, loose and wild, wafting the scent around with their movement. Fucking infuriating woman.

“Hadley explained the paperwork you needed to complete?” I’m leaning in my high-back leather chair, my hands clasped across my stomach as I watch her.

She nods. “Yep. I have everything here.” Tapping on the orange folder she placed on my desk when she sat down, she opens it up to reveal what looks like a well organized set of paperwork, there are even dividers.

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