Page 37 of Pure Abandon

Trish curls her eyebrows in and puckers her mouth in thought. “No. He just told me to take them to Mrs. Monroe. I almost didn’t know who he was talking about.”

I hate how he uses my married name. Its like he’s using it as an insult.

It doesn’t matter anyway. Now that he’s approved these contracts, I can get to work and hopefully get to the end of this project without having to see him. If I can do everything over interoffice mail and e-mail, then I’ll be very happy to never see Asher again.

Trish looks at me as if she can read my mind. She leans forward a touch to tell me, “He’ll be at the meeting on Friday.” It was a warning in the sweetest tone.

I laugh. Like really laugh. This girl totally gets me. “Is it just me or is that man confusing as all hell?”

She nods her head in agreement. “He is really bananas. Sometimes we don’t see him for months. He usually deals directly with Erik. And when he is around, he’s so serious, although Erik always comments on how cool the guy is. I’ve never seen it though.”

I saw a tiny glimpse of a relaxed Alexander Asher that first time I met him. Every time since then has been extreme.

“But he’s not supposed to be around until Friday, right?”

“Right. You’re safe for a few more days.” Trish answers as if she knew I had an undercurrent of regret and hostility building up inside of me. Although she’d probably say that to everyone in the office since we all seem to be on edge when he’s around.

My commute gives me time to think and decompress before starting or ending my day. On the way to work, I can read the paper, a good book, and listen to music. The people on the train around me are in the same Zen state of mind. Many are even asleep. It’s the dawn before the workday and everyone is refueling, getting those last moments of peace before having to answer to “the man.”

“The man” for me is a six-foot-tall bronze-skinned god who can turn you into a pillar of salt with just the look of an eye. Why does he have to be good-looking? Most CEOs are middle-aged men who only get beautiful women because of their money. Not Asher. No, he could get any woman even if he lived in a cardboard box. He has a debonair smile, his teeth a perfect row of white pearls. And his clothes, well, there’s no mistaking he has the physique of a Greek god or else his suits wouldn’t fit so perfectly on his square shoulders. I wonder what he looks like under his shirt.

What is wrong with me?

I blame Gabriel. Gabriel and I haven’t been intimate in over a month, and I’m wound so damn tightly I think I might burst.

Has it been longer? I have no clue. And I probably wouldn’t have noticed except I did an impromptu count after Malory asked me about my sex life, again.

So instead of feeling the warm arms of my beautiful, blue-eyed husband, I’m being attacked in my dreams by the chiseled chin and tanned skin of a man I cannot stand.

Okay, attacked is too strong a word. Aside from the first dream I had weeks ago, I’ve woken up before anything sinful could happen. While the dreams haven’t gotten physical since then, it bothers me he’s there at all. With each dream he taunts me, pulling me into an abyss of blackness.

It’s ridiculous that my mind would even put him in such a position. Asher is rich and powerful. The man can have anyone he wants. I saw the photos on the computer. He’s hardly without a beautiful blonde model or brunette actress. He probably tosses a redhead in there for jollies sometimes. Maybe all three at once.

And while I think he is quite the specimen, the truth is he makes my skin crawl.

All day at work, my mind keeps going back to that scene in the elevator. He was consuming and dominating, trying to turn me on when he knew I was his employee. How appalling is it that this sicko knew exactly who I was, didn’t tell me and made a mockery of me in the elevator? He did know who I was, right? If he didn’t when I got in the limo, he definitely did by the time we were in the elevator. He even made a joke about it to Trish. No, he embarrassed me. Especially when he caught my little show in my wet white shirt!

Okay, so he redeemed himself a little with giving Trish a raise. But at what cost? Me acting like a complete fool in front of him? Does he really need someone to stand in front of him, waving a giant red flag, to get his attention?

“You know what you need? A drink!” Speaking of attention, mine is being called.

Malory, as vice president of Asher Marks Communications, has requested my presence for an emergency meeting… at the nail salon.

“Malory, I’m not going out for a drink in the middle of the workday. It’s bad enough you have me getting a mani when I have a desk full of work to do!”

Crossing her legs and swiveling toward me, while keeping her hands in place for the nail technician, Malory leans her head to the side with a condescending look in her eye.

“Kat, you worry too much. And how is this any different from taking a lunch?”

I roll my eyes at her and stare at the simple yet classic color I chose for my nails. “I don’t worry. I’m just practical. A manicure during my lunch hour seems like… cheating.”

Pursing her lips, she gives me her scowl that’s equal parts serious and sexy. “You know what they say about nail polish. You are the color you wear.”

I look down at the rustic bronze color being painted on my nails. It has a subtle golden shimmer that’s restrained yet warm and sensuous.

Malory raises her eyebrows and motions toward the bottle of Essie nail polish. I turn it over to see the clever name “All Tied Up.”

“Funny.” I chide. “What does yours say?”