Page 32 of A World Without You
“We can’t,” Colin answers, pulling me out of the bed. “I have a meeting with Wellingtons and you have a meeting with Jansen Enterprises. Are you ready?”
A quick shot of dread courses through me. This deluded sex dream is now going to turn into one of those nightmares where I’m standing in a room full of people as they look at me with horror in their eyes before I realize I’m only in my underwear.
No!I want to scream, but I don’t. I clear my throat and straighten the creases on my forehead. “Sure. It’ll be cake.”
Colin pauses as he turns on the shower. “Cake? You’ve been stressed about this since October. What do you mean cake?”
I blow out a breath, slipping off my panties and stepping into the stream of water that has not at all warmed up. I wince and stifle a scream. The cold water pulls at my senses, and I lie quickly on my feet.
“Right. I’ve been stressed about it since October and have no reason to still be stressed about it now,” I say, then add under my breath, “And dream failures don’t matter.”
“What?” Colin asks, hearing my mumbling.
I smile at him. “Nothing.”
“I’m ninety percent sure you need to get your head checked,” he says, bracing the shower door frame and studying me with so much gentle concern that I remember why I always loved him.
I press my wet body against him, reaching up on my tiptoes to kiss his chin. He doesn’t flinch even though he’s still in his sweats.
“And I’m one hundred percent sure everything is going to be fine again by tomorrow,” I whisper. “Now get in here.”
Colin grins, slow and enticing, then slips off his sweatpants. “That’s my girl,” he says, meeting me under the water. He drags his hand from my chest up my neck as he presses his body against me. He’s hard against my stomach, and I grip his back.
“Colin,” I breathe with a desperate smile.
He dips his fingers in my wet hair and kisses me hard. Wet. The ache between my legs pulsing to the point that I might forget to breathe.
“You’re the smartest woman I know.”Kiss. “Your wit.”Kiss. “Your strength.”Kiss. “Your determination.” Yet another kiss, but this one is met with a hand between my thighs. My knees almost buckle. “You will dominate that meeting and come home to celebrate the deal you made,” he says, biting my lip and pulling back until it hurts.
I tilt my head back as his fingers pull on my hair. “I will,” I agree. Because, at this point, I will agree with whatever he says. His hand trails down my side and around my lower back until it glides down the back of my thigh. He hikes my leg up against him, and I almost whimper.
“That’s my girl...so good. So perfect,” he repeats, nipping at my jaw. He pauses for a moment and stares at me with want and the heat of a million flames in his eyes. “Now turn around.”
––––––––
IN MY SLACKS AND PEACOAT, my body is still pulsing in the elevator as I ride up to the eighth floor in my building on the corner of Second and Yesler. I only know this is my floor because Colin mentioned that I work for Bella Mae—a fast-growing marketing company in the Seattle area, and that my meeting is at ten a.m. I also found a crossbody bag next to the front door of our apartment that I was able to sift through while Colin made me an omelet, and I found a work keycard indicating my title—director of marketing—and a quick Google search let me know what floor I would find my company of employment.
I almost told him I learned to cook while living in Roslyn but I withheld that information and relished the fact that my former self couldn’t cook and latched onto a man who loved food and chose to feed me. Banana pancakes. The best turkey bacon sandwiches. And oh my goodness, his steak and roasted potatoes still make my mouth water. I tried to emulate the recipes and found my own stride in the kitchen. Nothing compared to Colin’s cooking, though.
Nothing really compared to Colin, if I’m honest.
I press my eyes closed on the last leg of the elevator ride, suppressing my nerves for this meeting I’m supposed to dominate and try to place myself in the version of myself who would know exactly what to do. The person who practiced and researched for months in advance.
The elevator dings and as the doors slide open, I’m met with a smiling blonde with thick-rimmed green glasses and bright red lipstick.
“Ms. Baker,” she says, shoving a coffee in my hand.
“Yes?” my voice shakes with uncertainty.
“I know you were really worried about getting enough sleep this weekend and feeling prepared, so I want you to know I put good thoughts into the universe all weekend, and then I got here at five a.m. and printed off all your notes from last week. They’re on your desk. I also made sure your Christmas tree in your office is lit before you even got in there because I know how much you hate an unlit Christmas tree,” she dramatically winces, and I narrow my brow at her, trying to follow her rambling and also her footsteps, because clearly, this woman knows where “my” office is.
“You also said Colin is in charge of making you breakfast Monday, Wednesday, and Friday—while you take Tuesday and Thursday—but even still...men...so I ordered in from the Biscuit Bitch and got your favorite gluten-free biscuits and gravy and put an extra shot of espresso in your Americano.” She huffs out a breath.
I pause, examining her. She is clearly my assistant, and I have no idea her name or our history, but she got a lot of stuff done for a Monday morning when I’m mentally preparing to bomb this presentation in an hour, so I’m going to latch onto her.
“Thank you...” my voice trails and I hope she’ll fill it with her name, but of course, she doesn’t. In this life, I know her.
She nods, pursing her lips, as she stops outside an office with a black placard that says Olivia Baker on it.
