Chapter 4

Jordan

Goddamn, this woman was murder on my blood pressure. I’d felt like strangling her during that speech of hers—okay, except when she was talking about how good the sex was. So the not-so-poor little good girl had gone slumming and done a naughty thing. I knew her type. A woman who needed to tie one on and sow her wild oats, then cry and wring her hands afterward when she realized the consequences of her actions had hurt other people.

I knew that type all too damn well, as a matter of fact. I gripped the steering wheel on my drive home, tense with anger. It didn’t help that she was so goddamn beautiful—that hot body, that angel face, those blue eyes. I told my brain to stop noticing it, but my body hadn’t gotten the memo yet. Every time she walked in the room, instantaneous reactions would hit me between the eyes—that fine ass, those hot tits, that shiny hair. And I’d remember how one quick hookup had only given me a taste of what I could no longer have. Instead of getting her out of my system, which had been the original plan, I now wanted her more than I did before.

I rubbed my forehead forcefully, trying to shove her out of my thoughts.

And goddamn but if I didn’t have a shit-ton of work to get done tonight. I would have liked to blow off a little steam, but I couldn’t afford the time or energy.

Something had to give. This lifestyle had to give. The empty hookups. The drunken parties. The rock star way of life. Was it worth it? Was it even doing anything for me anymore? It all felt so hollow and unfulfilling. Or maybe I was just getting too old.

It was dark when I got home, but I grabbed a bottle of beer and went out onto the back patio of my house, which opened directly onto the sand of the primest stretch of famed Newport Beach surfing real estate in Orange County.

I always liked to end my day to the sound of the sea. Though I had hours of work yet, I needed this now. This evening was busy with people strolling by on the paved bicycle and walking paths that paralleled the shoreline. I was hidden to them, tucked away in my covered patio. Their conversation grew and faded, but the ever-present rhythm of the ocean was what calmed me.

My phone chimed and I checked it.

Hey lover. Haven’t heard from u in a while.

It was Lyla, the cover model I’d recently “dated.” Her text was accompanied by a nice shot of her very lovely rack. I smiled, licked my lips and actually considered it for a few minutes. A good roll in the hay with her might be a welcome diversion from thoughts of the unattainable and unbelievably frustrating intern.

Lyla was the type who wouldn’t mind getting down to business and then letting me get back to mine. I had to admit that I was sorely tempted. But before I could allow myself any more of those thoughts, I keyed in my reply.

Sorry, beautiful. Have a shitload of work to do. Maybe another night?

Her reply came less than a minute later.

But I’m horny tonight. :(

Well, shit. So was I. But my careless actions this past weekend really had me thinking. I’d fucked up. Literally. And somehow that had ended up all over the Internet.

Because of that, I’d had to lie to my best friend—the best friend who had gone through some major crises in the past year. Now my stupid move had added to his already heavy load. With a deep breath, I suppressed the guilt that had me second-guessing myself and my persistent goal to get the company on the market.

I miss my fav set of rock hard abs.

I humored her, pulling up my shirt and snapping a pic for her then hitting send with the message:

This will have to do for now. Sorry babe.

Her reply made me grin and almost had me hitting the call button to get her over here.

I just licked the screen. Don’t judge.

Before I could even control it, the image of that intern licking me flashed into my mind—her dark head moving across my chest. It had been hot sex, but I’d kept my clothes on the entire time. I really could have stood for her to lick my chest. And my—

What the hell was I thinking? Had I learned nothing from the past twenty-four hours?

I was starting to doubt myself—to the extent that I was considering the unthinkable. To punish myself for my stupidity, I was going to abstain from random hookups—and for getting drunk, for that matter. Hell, if the CFO thing fell through, maybe I’d join a monk order or something.

With a sigh, I went inside and pulled out my laptop to bury myself in the paperwork I’d brought home with me. I had to go over the legal documents that had been filed by our investment bankers to see what loopholes they might try to exploit. I also had to call my Internet security guy and find out what he could do about this viral video, if anything.