“This nonprofit group depends on architects to offer their time and expertise as part of their pay-to-work program.”
“Like a paying internship?”
“Exactly.”
“So you’re in Mexico to work at a nonprofit?”
“I relocated to Mexico City so I can implement a sustainable-housing project I spent two years developing. But because ABB is a nonprofit organization, it depends on three sources of income to move projects forward. The first is their pay-to-work fee. The second is government funding, which unfortunately has been reallocated to solving the city’s water crisis. The third is outside benefactors.” I frown, remembering the conversation I had with the head of ABB, and how Maxwell stressed the importance of finding private donors to supplement our project. I bite my lip before adding, “I was hoping Señor Mendoza might help fund this worthy cause. To pitch my request to him and appeal to his philanthropic heart.”
The accountant nods, his eyes alight. “Sounds like the type of high-profile cause Mendoza likes to get behind.”
“He has money on hand or will so in a week. Your timing is good. You never know with Mendoza.” This is from the insurance man.
“She doesn’t waste time,” the butler gruffly adds.
My attention swings his way and I feel my spine stiffen. Am I that transparent? Maybe I need to smooth out my approach, work in a bit of finesse. Sell the idea of donating thousands of dollars toward building sustainable housing for the poor. My asking for money is as foreign a notion to me as asking Howie how long he’s been cheating on me with Frenchie.Totallyuncharted territory.
“I don’t have time to waste,” I sharply reply, which causes the butler to frown.
“Not you. Her. Diana.” He points and my eyes follow. To the man standing by the sofa, now talking with the redhead in the white dress perched on the arm.
That devil Diego.
Damn him. And double damn him for looking . . . like that.
He fills his suit like it’s cut specifically for him. Cut big. Cut broad. Cut for a man with a body like an NFL quarterback’s. The charcoal-black material pulls tightly across his biceps, same with his thighs. I bet if he were to button it up, it’s do the same across his broad chest. The color matches his dark, wavy head of hair. With locks long enough to wind your fingers through . . . as you’re tugging his head down toward yours . . . which is what that woman is doing . . .
A public show of affection.
And the party hasn’t officially started.
Look away or be derailed.But do I take my own advice? Nope. I stare, as he heads in for a kiss. Almost touching her lips until he freezes, turns and looks straight at me.
Derailed. Run over. Same difference.
I glare at him.Get a bungalow, stud.
“I see Diana is wasting little time reacquainting herself with Diego,” I hear the butler say.
“He doesn’t seem as interested in her this time around,” the butler says.
This time around? I grind my teeth together, reminding myself that no matter how phenomenal the man is in bed and no matter how much of a sexual magnet he is, there won’t be a next time for us.
“Stay away from him,” the accountant warns me.
“An ex-girlfriend?” I ask, and am immediately disgusted by my curiosity.
Not one, but all three men laugh, causing me to frown. Okay . . .lover. Of course she is. For some reason, my heart sinks a fraction of a centimeter. Just enough for me to be aware of it so I can mentally scold myself for being a fool.
“Hard to say what she sees in him,” I manage, careful not to let my sarcasm bleed into my tone. The problem is there’s too much of him to see as well as much, much more tucked into his suit pants.
According toCosmo, most men have average cocks. In size and in looks. But what’s hidden inside Diego’s pants is a cock you could admire all day. A cock you could have thrusting deep, deep inside you all night . . .
Stop. Stop thinking about his cock and the naughty things that could happen if you . . . My eyes widen as I catch the twitch of his lips.
Like he knows I’m perving on him.
I force my attention away, only to find the curious, knowingeyes of my companions fixed on me.