damn adult’ project.
He closed Philip’s planner and dropped it in the bottom drawer of his desk. Maybe Olivia was right. Maybe he should just focus on learning the ropes at AEGIS. He had ideas, plans for how he could make things run more smoothly, but to make anything happen, he’d need to get the board on his side, and to do that, he had to have Olivia on his side. She didn’t want him mucking around in Philip’s old affairs, well, maybe that was a good plan. All he’d wanted in his life was to distance himself from his father, to have the chance to make himself his own man. He wouldn’t do that by just staring at the relics the old bastard had left behind after an incredibly convenient heart attack. At least he hadn’t had it in the bed of one of his many mistresses.
Olivia’s non answer to his question about whether or not Philip had any other questions was concerning. Olivia had always maintained that her fertility was the reason there were ten years of age difference between Alex and Claire, but anyone who could do even the slightest bit of math, or wasn’t totally blind, would realize that Philip hadn’t been home frequently enough to get his wife pregnant in those years. He’d kept his affairs relatively subtle, but for one of the cornerstones of the Manhattan social stratosphere, there was only so subtle he could manage. Olivia had weathered it well, but seeing her husband stepping out with woman after woman, each one paler than her—it had to hurt. It had to poison you.
Bridget’s chat window blinked again, and he forced himself back into the hear and now. I have her number. Want me to get her on the line for you?
That’s fine, I’ll call her myself.
He pulled out his phone—there was no way in hell he was making this call on the company line—and dialed the number Bridget had given him. It was not a New York area code. That made him smile. He heard some of that syrup in her voice, and he figured she’d come to the city not all that long ago, but it was nice to see she hadn’t entirely shed her roots.
She picked up almost as soon as the call rang. “This is Zoey,” she said, her voice distracted. He wondered if she’d even glanced at the caller ID before she picked up. He found himself smiling, more than a little.
“Hi, Zoey,” he said. “This is Alex. I owe you an apology.”
The silence stretched out, and he was almost positive that, any moment, he would hear the dull click of the line disconnecting, followed by the silence of his phone shutting down. That would be her right, and he’d force himself to behave, and not try again, if it came to it. He just hoped that it wouldn’t. He wanted to cross his fingers like a child. He wanted to stroke his dick and remember the way she’d looked up at him through her eyelashes while she’d sucked on him so fiercely.
“Hi, Alex,” she said. Her tone was cautious, but not cold. “I’ll tell you the truth, I didn’t think I would be hearing from you again.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d want to. I was pretty out of line earlier. You asked some sensitive questions, and I just wasn’t expecting to need to handle them.” He winced. The statement was a quiet insinuation that the rag she worked at was exactly that, a trashy rag, and even if she knew it, the odds were against her wanting it pointed out.
“I have more sensitive questions for you, if you’d be willing to answer them,” she said. Interesting. He didn’t hear anything in her tone that was abrupt or upset. Good.
“Absolutely,” he said. “Over dinner?”
She was quiet again, and he was sure he had overstepped. Just before he decided he was going to need to apologize again, she let out a soft sigh. “You’re confusing me,” she said, quietly.
“Does it help at all if I say that I’m confused, myself?” He was still smiling, and he tried to let the feeling of the smile bleed into his voice a little bit.
He closed Philip’s planner and dropped it in the bottom drawer of his desk. Maybe Olivia was right. Maybe he should just focus on learning the ropes at AEGIS. He had ideas, plans for how he could make things run more smoothly, but to make anything happen, he’d need to get the board on his side, and to do that, he had to have Olivia on his side. She didn’t want him mucking around in Philip’s old affairs, well, maybe that was a good plan. All he’d wanted in his life was to distance himself from his father, to have the chance to make himself his own man. He wouldn’t do that by just staring at the relics the old bastard had left behind after an incredibly convenient heart attack. At least he hadn’t had it in the bed of one of his many mistresses.
Olivia’s non answer to his question about whether or not Philip had any other questions was concerning. Olivia had always maintained that her fertility was the reason there were ten years of age difference between Alex and Claire, but anyone who could do even the slightest bit of math, or wasn’t totally blind, would realize that Philip hadn’t been home frequently enough to get his wife pregnant in those years. He’d kept his affairs relatively subtle, but for one of the cornerstones of the Manhattan social stratosphere, there was only so subtle he could manage. Olivia had weathered it well, but seeing her husband stepping out with woman after woman, each one paler than her—it had to hurt. It had to poison you.
Bridget’s chat window blinked again, and he forced himself back into the hear and now. I have her number. Want me to get her on the line for you?
That’s fine, I’ll call her myself.
He pulled out his phone—there was no way in hell he was making this call on the company line—and dialed the number Bridget had given him. It was not a New York area code. That made him smile. He heard some of that syrup in her voice, and he figured she’d come to the city not all that long ago, but it was nice to see she hadn’t entirely shed her roots.
She picked up almost as soon as the call rang. “This is Zoey,” she said, her voice distracted. He wondered if she’d even glanced at the caller ID before she picked up. He found himself smiling, more than a little.
“Hi, Zoey,” he said. “This is Alex. I owe you an apology.”
The silence stretched out, and he was almost positive that, any moment, he would hear the dull click of the line disconnecting, followed by the silence of his phone shutting down. That would be her right, and he’d force himself to behave, and not try again, if it came to it. He just hoped that it wouldn’t. He wanted to cross his fingers like a child. He wanted to stroke his dick and remember the way she’d looked up at him through her eyelashes while she’d sucked on him so fiercely.
“Hi, Alex,” she said. Her tone was cautious, but not cold. “I’ll tell you the truth, I didn’t think I would be hearing from you again.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d want to. I was pretty out of line earlier. You asked some sensitive questions, and I just wasn’t expecting to need to handle them.” He winced. The statement was a quiet insinuation that the rag she worked at was exactly that, a trashy rag, and even if she knew it, the odds were against her wanting it pointed out.
“I have more sensitive questions for you, if you’d be willing to answer them,” she said. Interesting. He didn’t hear anything in her tone that was abrupt or upset. Good.
“Absolutely,” he said. “Over dinner?”
She was quiet again, and he was sure he had overstepped. Just before he decided he was going to need to apologize again, she let out a soft sigh. “You’re confusing me,” she said, quietly.
“Does it help at all if I say that I’m confused, myself?” He was still smiling, and he tried to let the feeling of the smile bleed into his voice a little bit.
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