The Fling (18+)

Chapter 7

About to take off. Let me know if you can meet up tonight – I'd love to see you.

Glancing up from my phone, I bit my lip, anticipation building in my core.

The prospect of an encore performance of last night sent my blood racing through my veins.

It almost made up for the irritation I was currently feeling.

Waiting at the passenger pickup/drop-off zone outside of the terminal, I stood with my luggage, debating whether or not to just get a damn taxi.

Then, to my left, I watched as a small, silver sedan pulled up and parked. The driver's door opened, revealing a short man in slacks and a button-down shirt.

Finally.

Putting my phone back in my purse, I grabbed the handle of my rolling suitcase and walked over.

"Hi, David."

"Nora!" The frazzled man, the most recent in my father's string of personal assistants, met me halfway, "I am so sorry about this!"

"It's fine, really." My tone was nonchalant even though I was seething internally.

It's not like it's his fault...

After a brief but polite disagreement where he insisted on carrying my luggage for me, we walked toward the trunk of the car, and he placed my bags inside.

Shutting it with a muted, "thunk," David turned to me, "Again, I cannot apologize enough. It's just that with the party and everything, your father-"

"David," I cut him off, "It's okay. I grew up with him, I know what he's like – you don't have to apologize for him."

It's not like he's ever apologized for himself.

David, to his credit, looked genuinely contrite. "I'm still sorry, though. What would you say to picking up some fast food on the way to the house? My treat?"

My empty stomach growled at the mention of food. "Charge it to the company card instead, and you've got a deal."

A slamming door woke me from my post-lunch nap, and my eyes opened to see the afternoon light filtering through the gauzy curtains of my childhood bedroom.

"Dammit, Jessica; what the hell is the matter with you?" My father's voice rang out, loud and demanding.

She answered, "What's the matter with me? You apparently spent all morning flirting with that blonde tramp, and you have the gall to ask what's the matter with me?!"

Great.

Reaching over to my nightstand, I picked up my phone to see that I'd woken up fifteen minutes before my alarm.

I also noticed a new message from him.

As the argument continued below, I read:

"Just landed – any idea if we could meet up tonight?"

Smirking, I replied, "I might be able to get away for a bit. Where are you staying?"

His answer appeared a moment later, "Hotel Deco."

He'd named one of the best hotels in the city.

"I'll see what I can do."

Setting my phone aside, I stood, walking to my luggage and digging out my toiletry bag.

While the marital spat raged below, I hummed to myself, settling into the ensuite bathroom and unpacking my shower supplies before turning on the water.

With the heat adjusted to my liking, I stepped inside, washing away the grime and frustration of the day.

Smiling, I allowed my thoughts trail back to the last shower I'd had, and the man I'd had it with...

When the last traces of my body wash slid down my skin, I trailed my hand down my abdomen, seeking and finding the rigid nub that ached for attention.

Slowly, I leaned back against the shower wall, letting my fingers take me away.

As pleasure lit up my nerve endings, I closed my eyes.

Tonight...

With my hair styled and my makeup set, I couldn't stall any longer.

Pulling on my party dress, I managed to get the zipper closed by myself before cramming my essentials into a patent-leather clutch purse.

Sucking in a deep breath, I tucked the clutch under my arm and picked up my heels, walking downstairs barefoot.

In the kitchen, my father stood at the fridge, taking a swig out of a bottle of expensive-looking water.

My eyes coolly surveyed him, starting with his precisely mussed coif, moving down to his designer suit and finishing with his pristine black-and-white hi-tops.

In all, he looked like a forty-year-old man desperately trying to play the part of "quirky twentysomething tech mogul".

And failing at it.

"Hey, hun; how was your nap?"

No, "sorry I forgot to pick you up from the airport"?

I sighed.

Can't say I'm surprised.

"It was fine." I pulled out a chair, setting my shoes on the floor as I leaned over and began strapping them to my feet.

"So, are you ready to go?"

"Uh, sure." I looked up, "you wanted to be there at six-thirty, right?"

Glancing behind me, he muttered, "Earlier if possible."

I sat up, adjusting my dress slightly. "You seem nervous – anything wrong?"

He shook his head, "It's just- I really need everything to go well tonight."

"Why?" I asked, genuinely confused. "This is just a twentieth anniversary party for the company, right?"

He fidgeted, picking at his cuticle.

"Dad?"

His lip pressed into a straight line. "Okay, don't say anything?"

I nodded.

Who am I going to tell?

"We've got a potential buyer for Money Mojo, and he's going to be attending tonight."

Money Mojo, an online transaction processing service, was my father's pride and joy. He built it up from nothing with his old business partner and its success had turned him into a multi-millionaire.

"A buyer?" I frowned, "But you always said that you'd never sell."

He swallowed. "We've had a couple of bad years."

A chill stole up my spine. "How bad?"

"Bad enough."

"Dad-"

"Look," he plastered a tight smile on his face as the sound of footsteps approached the kitchen, "don't worry about it. We just need to keep him happy and interested, and everything will be fine."

He was trying to be reassuring, but his tone betrayed the truth-

-he's terrified.