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Next time you say the alphabet, remember its power. I do every day.
“Hi, Tristan Miles is on line two for you,” Marley replies.
Marley is my best friend, my confidante, and the hardest worker in our company. She hasn’t left my side for the last five years; her friendship is a gift, and I have no idea where I would be without her.
“When I ask you if you’re ready, you’re supposed to answer with, ‘I was born ready.’”
“Hello, I’m Claire Anderson. Nice to meet you.” I gesture to Marley. “This is Marley Smithson, my assistant.”
“Stop kicking me, Marley,” I splutter. Tristan breaks into a broad smile as he looks between us. “Keep kicking her, Marley,” he says. “Kick some sense into her.”
I’ve never been rejected before and definitely never been spoken to like that. I turn to my computer and type into Google: Who is Claire Anderson?
“And it’s not your fault you’re flat. You’ve been through so much: your husband’s unexpected death, caring for three boys, and struggling to keep the company afloat. It’s been hell. And realistically you’ve been fighting since Wade’s death five years ago.”
Sometimes I’m so furious at Wade for leaving me with this mess that I tell him off in my head, as if he can hear me, and then afterward, I feel so guilty because I know he would have given anything to see his sons grow up and that leaving me would have never been his choice.
Aweeee
“He would want you to be living life to the fullest . . . for both of you.”
“I’m going to book you for some laser this afternoon.” I pick up my knife and fork once more. “They’re going to need a machete. I’ve been rocking the full-bush vibe.”
LMFAOOO so real
“He’s still with you. He will always be with you. Trust him to watch over you. You need to let him go, Claire.” In the pit of my stomach, I know she’s right.
I stare into space as an empty sadness surrounds me . . . he’s not coming back. He’s never coming back. It’s time; I know it’s time. That doesn’t make it any less painful.
I stare down at the white band left on my bare finger. The sun’s reminder of what I have lost. I hate my hand without his ring. I hate my life without his love.
Why is this so sad
“Not yet. I still have to use it. I’ll pack it in the morning.”
Me when packing my toothbrush
I have three sons. Fletcher is seventeen
Harry is thirteen,
And then there’s my baby, Patrick, just nine years old.
He’s dead enough that I’m lonely . . . but alive enough that I can’t fathom moving on.
How to get what you want—welcome to the stage Tristan Miles.”
I knew it
He looks around the room at everyone as he speaks. “I, for one . . .” Our eyes meet, and he stops speaking as he stares at me and then blinks. Fuck. He quickly recovers. “I, for one, am excited for you.”
“Claire Anderson,” he calls from the stage. My horrified eyes meet his. “Sit back down.” “I . . .” I take another step toward the exit. “Claire,” he warns. I glance around at the 120 pairs of eyes fixed firmly on me and then back up at him. “I said sit. Back. Down.”
Oop
my eyes rise to watch Claire Anderson across the room once more. This conference just got interesting.
“Are you ready?” he asks. I stare at him, confused. “Huh?” “You know.” He widens his eyes. “To study.” “Oh.” I frown. He must be trying to get rid of these women. “Yes, of course.”
“You haven’t wondered how big my dick is?” he breathes as he tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear and steps toward me.
Oop tea
He leans in and puts his mouth to my ear. “Confession.”
Okay period
The elevator door pings, and Nelson walks out. My temporary brain snap dissipates, and I push back from Tristan. “Stop it,” I whisper. Nelson looks between us from the other end of the corridor and frowns. “Hello.”
Omggg
Claire, come on. You’re killing me here. There are no prizes for being a good girl. You only live once.
The group remains silent, and I glance up to see Tristan standing to the side of the circle. His hands are in his pockets, and his haunted eyes hold mine. I drop my head, wishing I could take the personal words back. I don’t want Tristan Miles to know me, to know anything about me or my children and our daily struggles.
He rushes me and grabs my face in his hands and kisses me. His tongue swipes through my lips, and he pushes me up against the wall. “Believe me, Claire Anderson . . . the last thing I feel when I look at you . . . is pity.”
Okayyyy period luv that
I kiss him with everything I have, and God it feels good. Deep, erotic . . . and so long awaited.
Sis said she's been deprived for far too long
“That’s not a granny-tea kiss.” His hands grip my face harder, and he licks my open lips. My insides clench at the dominance of his action. “That’s a hungry kiss,” he whispers darkly and then licks my lips again.
“Are you hungry, Claire?” he breathes. Fucking starving.
She's real
All bets are off. I don’t want to be a sad widow anymore . . . just for tonight, I want to be a woman.
Tristan Miles is chocolate. Rich, delicious, and dreamy, he offers a high . . . but in the end, he is detrimental to your health and bad to the bone.
“Is this seat taken?” I ask. His eyes come to me, and a trace of a smile crosses his lips. “Be my guest.”
okay girl u ate that
Tristan’s eyes come to me. “Your room or mine?” “Mine.”
“The rush is I want you naked, and I can’t get you naked until I’m naked. It’s the naked law.”
LOL
Suddenly, I’m nervous. Nobody has seen me naked in a very long time . . . oh jeez. Abort mission.
Why is this so real
His eyes drop down my body and then up to my face, and he smiles softly.
Aweee cutie
and in one sharp movement he slides home deep.
Home deep is crazy work
“Tristan,” I whisper. “What the fuck . . . too quick?”
LMAOOOOO???
“It’s not my fault,” he stammers in an outrage. “You shouldn’t feel so fucking good. That never happens to me.”
Ooo tea
The door clicks closed behind him, and I smile goofily up at the ceiling. That was . . . surprisingly fun.
“No, that’s fine, Tristan,” I interrupt. “I finished the job myself after you left.” He blinks in disbelief and then narrows his eyes. “Is that so?” “Uh-huh.” I sip my coffee, acting innocent. He glares at me.
LOLLLLLL mr 1 condom
I feel a flutter in my psyche; it’s as if the playful part of my personality is waking up from her deep sleep. The long-forgotten piece of me. Tristan makes me remember who I was . . . before.
This is what a real man does
I hear the lock on my door click, and I frown. Huh? Maybe it’s housekeeping. The door shuts. “Hello?” I call. “Hi,” Tristan says as he walks into the bathroom.
Not he stole her key
“You stole my key?” I gasp. “Borrowed it, and relax, we swap body fluids. What’s yours is mine.” He slides down his trousers and briefs. “Move over. I’m getting in.”
Lol
I smile, surprised by who he’s turning out to be. I never once pegged him as fun to be around.
I pick up his foot and kiss it
Girl ew idk if I can get behind that
