Out of the Storm - COMPLETE

Chapter 4

Theo

CLOSING MY EYES, I rest my head against my desk, the vision of her long, brunette curls cascading over her olive-toned shoulder filling my mind. That fucking dress. I only saw the top of it, but I could tell by that strapless top and the way it hugged her breasts, the way it fit her curves, and how I wanted to trace her shoulder with my tongue that I'd be more than just screwed in her actual presence. Jules isn't just attractive like the girl who got off the elevator. No. I don't even know what to compare her to. I don't find runway models attractive because they are twigs. I mean, this woman, she's in a league all by herself.

Sitting up and twirling in my chair, I open my eyes and stare out the window at the Amberton City skyline. How could they bet on something like Katrina? Anything they win off that is blood money. And they opened a firm so they could multiply it. Shaking my head, I rub the stubble growing on my chin, then squeeze my bottom lip between my fingers.

Swiveling around in my chair, I grab the phone and dial Marco's number. It rings a few times. Tapping my fingers on the armrest of the chair, I nibble on my lower lip. C'mon, man. Pick up.

"This is Marco. Leave a message."

"It's me. Call me back as soon as you get this. Bye." I hang the phone up, then open my laptop back up, typing my password back in to gain access. The first thing that pops up after that is that stupid fucker, and my nostrils flare. But then I see her again, and I nearly choke on my breath. I can't help myself this time. As pissed as I am at what they did, I have to just look at her a little while longer this time. Swallowing, I shake my head. No. Looks can kill, man. She's trouble. A temptress. Stay focused.

My phone rings.

Instead of closing my computer, I stare at her as I answer it. "Yeah."

"What's up?" Marco asks.

"Who was in charge of your account? Hawke or Hemingway?" I ask, my eyes never leaving hers, like it's not a picture, like she's in the room, breathing in front of me, waiting for him to answer me.

"Why?"

"Just answer the fucking question, man."

"I don't know."

"How can you not know who was handling your account, Marco?"

"I don't remember."

"What do you mean you don't remember?" I grab the strands of my hair and yank them. "I mean, it's simple. One of them is an overweight pansy douchebag asshole son of a bitch—"

He bursts out laughing. "Have you met Charlie already?"

"Yeah. And the other is a fucking..." I stare back at her as my cock comes back to life. "She's..."

"She's fucking beautiful, isn't she?"

"That's not adequate, Marco. So how could you not know which one was in charge of your money?"

He sighs in the phone. "They were always both in the room. I never paid attention. They were always so nice to me."

I roll my eyes. Is he serious? They were nice to him? They preyed on him the same fucking way they preyed on the tragedy of the people of New Orleans, and I'm a bull seeing a matador waving a red fucking cape. My hooves are kicking in the sand, and I'm getting ready to charge, so they better be ready to fucking run for their lives. When my horns hit them in the asses, they aren't going to know what came over them. "Go look at your paperwork, Marco."

"I'm not home."

Inhaling, then calmly exhaling, I close my eyes then open them. This isn't Marco's fault. This isn't Marco's fault. This isn't Marco's fault. "When will you be home?"

"I have a date. Not for a few hours. If I get lucky, not until tomorrow."

"Fuck, Marco. This is important. Screw the date."

"Didn't you hear me? I intend to."

"Cancel. The. Fucking. Date. Marco."

"No."

"Yes."

"I'm hanging up now, Theo."

"Don't you dare—"

The phone goes dead. I slam it down. Jules is staring back at me. Her lips curved in a sly, teasing smile. Like she knows everything. And I'm going to fucking kill Marco.