“Keep the Fletcher Group on board and that’s all that matters at the end of the day. It’s about the work, isn’t it?” Frank pushed his chair back from his desk. “That’s all Charles Joy cares about. We on the same page?”
Carter nodded. “Of course, the Fletcher Group is my client after all.”
“And you’re the smartest hire we ever made at this firm, Leplan.”
The words scraped against Perdie’s ego like a cheese grater, but she put her emotions on hold until they could escape Frank’s office. She turned to leave. “Great. Thanks.” It was only a matter of time until Frank said something cree—
“And hey, while we’re on a personal note, if you two ever wanna do some swinging...ah...stop by my office sometime after hours, if ya know what I mean.”
Perdie dug her nails in her palms as she pivoted slowly back to Frank. “Excuse me?”
“Ah ha-ha. It’s called a joke, Perdita. Not sure when everyone got so PC about everything anyway...”
Carter cleared his throat. “Maybe we’ll save that discussion for another day. Thanks again, Frank.” He signaled towards the door for Perdie and they rushed out of the room.
Without a word to one another, they walked in parallel strides towards the elevator, where Carter hit the down arrow. The giddiness of relief flowed out towards Perdie’s hands and feet.
Ding.
Swoosh. When the door closed they both began talking at once.
“Can you believe he asked us if we wanted to swing?”
“Wanna make out in the elevator?”
Carter stilled. “Really? Right now?” Then he sighed, as if world weary from her demands, and snatched Perdie by the waist, his large hand pressed against the side of her rib cage, thumb brushing at the underside of her breast. “Better make this fast.”
At five thirty a.m. Perdie and Carter sat together in the first-class cabin, sipping dull coffee in tiny paper cups, preparing for their five-plus-hour flight to San Francisco. Carter’s long legs stretched out, while she crossed hers, her black patent leather heel bouncing against his pant leg.
She breathed in deep, eyes closing. He smelled so, so, so very good.
Good enough to ruin your career over? The thought snapped like a reflex. Perdita Stone, it is time to get over yourself. You are nothing but paranoid. Nobody gives a good goddamn if you’re screwing Carter. Hell, not even Frank.
All that paranoia had been for nothing. Nothing. They could’ve been screwing the whole time and not a damned person would care. Well, maybe Jennifer. But that didn’t matter now.
Plus, she had two big things working in her favor: her work with the Fletcher Group and her burgeoning case with Noah. As long as she kept her nose to the grindstone, and her ass out of petty drama re: Jennifer and Sophia, no one could take that from her.
And if, in the meantime, she privately wanted to feel Carter up on a first-class flight at five thirty in the morning, well, then, who was stopping her exactly?
Only herself. The problem was that there hadn’t been a problem the whole time. It was all in her head. She could almost laugh.
The pressure shifted in her ears and belly as the plane ascended. She let her gaze drift out the window when the creak of the armrest drew her attention. Carter had lifted it, removing the barrier between their two bodies. Instinctively, she moved to scoot closer when she almost stopped in realization.
That’s what he did. He removed barriers. Barriers she had put up for what she thought were good reasons. But maybe it was okay to let her guard down for a while. Try it out...test the waters...
“We’ll have fun on this trip.” Carter rested his head against the back of the plane seat. “And we can use all the hours you billed here for a good leveraging chip for your partnership nomination.”
“We?”
“Of course we. I’m infiltrating the executive committee. Use my powers for good.”
“Okay, Spider-Man. But I should warn you that I’m not much of a Mary Jane type.”
“No, you’re not. You’re your very own type. One of a kind. No red hair either.” His mouth was curved in a smile. That beautiful fucking smile.
A rush of warmth filled Perdie like that feeling she got when she first stepped foot into a warm bubble bath.
Carter’s head tilted, his eyes regarding her with amusement. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m some birthday candles you’re about to blow out.”
Perdie narrowed her eyes.
Motherfucker, she had gone and fallen in love with him.
Perdie rolled over on her back, the white down comforter tangled and hot around her torso and legs. She was hungover. Again. But she’d done her job for the evening, with Carter. The Fletcher Group outing had been mild, relatively speaking, compared to some of the Joy and Schulz client schmoozing of old. For one, there’d been no strip club or lines of coke off a bathroom sink. Instead, Perdie and Carter had taken the four Fletcher Group representatives out to a nice steakhouse, ushering in expensive bottles of cab and chardonnay one by one by one.
There had been laughing and small talk and the usual drunken test of keeping things personal-professional. Personal enough to keep the client seeing them as human, like friends, and professional enough not to cross any boundaries that might cause outcries. Perdie was already a pro at toeing that line anyway. And she was aware of how Carter’s presence legitimized her to those around them.
She patted the spot next to her, but no Carter. She propped up on her elbows, head pounding, and gazed down to see that she was wearing one of Carter’s off-kilter button-downs.
Last night, as they’d stumbled into his hotel room, she’d stripped out of her fuchsia sheath, kicked her heels across the room, and pulled on one of his shirts. It was supposed to be sexy. Maybe not so sexy when it was all crooked—why was she so bad at buttons anyway?—but it hadn’t bothered Carter as his hands wandered beneath the material, pulling her to the luxe hotel mattress and whispering filthy things into her ears.
She let her fingers slide up and down the buttons. They had done good work both in and out of the bed last night.
The lock whirred and the door opened. Carter emerged, two cups of coffee in his hands.
