Page 81 of Beautifully Ruined
And in that, it doesn’t matter how great Joseph is, how great his staff is, either. Because no one’s talking about Gianna.
In fact, even when I had drinks, no one spoke much about him other than how he’s happily married and a great politician.
That’s all anyone says.
Then again, nothing is ever done quickly. It takes time, perseverance.
Which I have.
But I’m sickeningly aware, that Gianna might not have the same time I do.
And I wonder if that’s why Cade only tells me he’s working on it and then distracts me.
With sex.
I love everything with Cade, right up to and including sex. He’s working hard on the Gianna thing, getting nowhere as far as I can tell. And since he’s doing that for me and working his own job, I don’t get to see him.
Much.
But the sex…. Oh, boy, the sex…
I wiggle a little on my chair at work, trying not to think about it and failing miserably, the zippy little sparks of awareness and arousal that speed through me make me glad I’m wearing black because he’s got the ability to make me get wet just thinking about him.
Last night, he woke me as he tied my hands, giving a tug to wake me. I was blindfolded, bound and, oh, god, the things he did.
The way he?—
“You must be Violet,” a woman says, interrupting my thoughts and enveloping me in a delicate and rich scent of magnolias and soft woods and spice, a delicate balance that whispers class.
I look up from my computer.
The woman is beautifully dressed, and her blond hair is piled on her head in a sophisticated bun. Her make up is perfection as are her nails in a pale pink.
The jewels aren’t over the top, but they’ve got to be worth an understated fortune.
And her smile is bright and friendly, making me instantly warm to her.
“I am.”
She shakes my hand. “I’m Cassandra, Joseph’s wife.”
I glance at his empty office. “Oh, god, I’m sorry. He’s in a meeting uptown?—”
“He’ll be in meetings all day, I know that.” She waves a hand through the air.
She sets her Birkin bag on my desk, and I want to stroke the black leather so badly.
I’m not one to drool over bags and those kinds of trappings, but it’s a Birkin and even I know what kind of Queen statement having one of those is. I could probably pay rent for a year on that bag alone.
She’s using it but, to my untrained eye, it looks pristine.
And she opens it, pulling out a compact to check her reflection. She eyes me as she slides it back in. “I’m not overly vain, but I did just steal a cookie…”
She reaches down and picks up a big bag that she pulls out a Tupperware container from and offers me one.
The divine scent of chocolate and brown sugar fills my senses. I take one, putting it on a napkin that came with the morning coffee. “Thank you.”
“I made them for Joseph, freshly baked, from scratch. Enjoy yours and make sure he gets them. It’ll probably be the only food he’ll eat before he gets home at whatever hour tonight. Some of those dinner meetings mean no food’s eaten, so I like to make sure. And he’ll think I’m fussing if I leave a sandwich.”
