Page 149 of Talking Dirty with the Billionaire Boss

He kisses the medal and holds it up.

Everyone cheers, and then they all start crowding around, wanting to see the medal and to congratulate him and the others. Now it’s all done, he’s happy and laughing, although he still doesn’t let go of my hand. We make our way down to the floor and move slowly through the throng, Mack accepting hugs and kisses and cheers, as gradually the lights dim and music starts up. Eventually he gets to the bar.

“I need a drink,” he says to Simon, the bartender, who grins and pours him a whiskey. He orders me a G&T, too, and when we get them, we touch the glasses together before having a good few mouthfuls.

“It was Sidnie’s idea,” Elizabeth says, appearing before us. “To nominate the team.”

Mack looks at me and shakes his head. “I should have guessed.”

“Thank you,” she says, and hugs me. “I’m glad you got him here.”

I hug her back. “My pleasure.”

He looks at the medal in his hand. “I still can’t believe it.”

“The Rutherford, Mack,” she says. “That wasn’t my doing. They did that all by themselves.”

He looks at it as if he can’t believe it, and I can see he’s getting choked up.

“Want me to get a chain put on it so you can wear it around your neck?” I ask.

That makes them both laugh. He puts an arm around me and pulls me tightly against him. “What would I do without you?” he murmurs, pressing his lips to my brow.

I slip my arms around his waist, and I stay there for a long time, while his friends come up to laugh and joke with him, and the lights swirl across the dance floor in rainbow-colored beams.

Epilogue

Mack

February 14th - Five weeks later

“The whole day?” Sidnie’s delighted. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.” I grin as she throws her arms around me, and fall back onto the bed with her in my arms. “It’s Valentine’s Day,” I say. “The last place I want to be is at the office.”

I don’t feel guilty about having a day off. January was a busy month, and February is turning out to be the same. Or maybe it’s just how life is for me now. My days are filled with work—a new project at the moment for Titus, as well as further research for Elizabeth—and I’m also in the first stages of developing a brand-new microprocessor, something I’m keeping very quiet for now. But for the first time in my life, I’m beginning to keep a balance between my work and home life.

That’s not to say I’m working a nine-to-five day—I think Sidnie and I have both accepted that will never happen. I’m usually at the office by seven a.m., and I’m rarely home before seven in the evening. But seven p.m. is better than ten p.m. or midnight, and I haven’t worked through or stayed at the office since Sidnie moved in with me.

Why would I, when I can come home and see the girl who’s turned my life around? Even when I’m at work, we’re still in touch through the day. She’s gone back to work at the lubrication factory, but she texts me regularly—often with dirty texts that make me blink in the middle of meetings—and we usually have a half-hour phone call around lunchtime that I look forward to all morning.

In the past, I’ve watched romcom movies and read love poetry with a kind of baffled skepticism, convinced that romance and love is a fantasy created by the manufacturers of greeting cards and Valentine’s Day gifts.

But here I am, on Valentine’s Day, lying in bed with my gorgeous girlfriend, about to give her my gift.

“Hold on,” I say as she sits astride me and rocks her hips against mine. “I’ve got something for you.”

“I know you have.” She rocks again, arousing me, and I give her a mock glare as I start to get a hard-on.

“Not that. Well, yes, that, but later. Get off.” I roll over and then get up. “Here.” I retrieve the parcel and card I’d hidden under the bed. Gus leaps up and snuffles the present, and I push him away. “It’s not for you.”

She laughs, moves back against the pillows, her legs crossed, and takes the parcel, which is about four inches square. “Ooh, thank you.” She waves the card at me and her eyes sparkle. “Did you follow the rules?”

“You tell me.”

She opens the envelope and takes out the card. Then she starts giggling. I grin. She told me that we both had to find the dirtiest cards we could. Mine says ‘My tongue can do way more than just lick an envelope.’

“I’ll prove it in a minute,” I tell her.

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