Page 34 of Selfish Suit

DOMINIC

The taste of Ivy’s mouth lingers on my lips, and the feel of her pussy throbbing against my hand is a memory that refuses to stop running on a loop in my mind.

While I thought we would ride together to work in the morning for part two—she leaves for the office before me.

And what starts as one day of her avoiding eye contact with me somehow transitions into two, three, and then damn near a week.

No matter my tone or how harshly I request something, she manages to get it done without giving me a single glimpse of her eyes.

She rides to work in the morning with Tracey—much to my chagrin—and although I purposely wait for her in the parking garage so we can ride home together, Tracey meets me instead with a, “Oh, I let her use my driver so she could finish apartment searching.”

Luckily for her, the depth of this never-ending candy campaign—reframing it from disaster into spectacular—is taking up most of my energy…

THE CEO

DOMINIC

Wednesday Night

I’m pacing my living room and chatting with Marcus via FaceTime, wondering why the hell Ivy isn’t home yet. She left work an entire hour before I did, and I didn’t assign her or Tracey any after-hours tasks.

“Are you listening to me, Mr. Sutton?” Marcus smiles. “I just had a breakthrough moment.”

“I didn’t catch it,” I say. “Repeat it for me.”

“I’m thinking that maybe—just maybe—the real problem with Skittles is their slogan.” He pauses. “Instead of ‘taste the rainbow,’ we should suggest ‘be the rainbow,’ or ‘feel the rainbow.’ It’s more modern, it’ll catch people’s attention, and it’ll spark more creativity from our team.”

“Marcus…” I try not to lose my shit. “They’ve had that slogan since 1994.”

“That’s why now is a perfect time to change it.”

“Their proposal contract literally has ‘We will not change our slogan’ in bold font.”

“But iftheDominic Sutton suggests it, maybe they’ll reconsider.”

“Get some sleep and wake up with better ideas.”

“Yes, sir.”

I end the call before he can say anything else ridiculous. Opening my laptop, I relaunch the latest commercial shoot, and just as I’m about to recite my suggested notes, my front door opens.

Ivy stumbles in, wearing bright red stilettos and a short black dress that leaves little to the imagination.

Mitchell is behind her, holding her purse and a jacket.

He doesn’t offer an explanation—just leaves.

“Where have you been?” I ask Ivy.

“Out,” she says. “Nolan wanted to make things up to me.”

“You better be joking.”

“I am.” She braces herself against my hallway table and slips out of her heels. “I was out with my new work friends, and now, if it’s okay with my boss and my temporary landlord, I’m going to take a bath.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

She stares straight ahead, then glances down the hallway.

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