When The Wrong One Loves You Right

Queen of New York City

"Versatyle tha Wildchylde," I read to Iva a few days later with a chuckle. "Why does that put me in mind of Phillip?"

Iva looked at me oddly. "Huh?"

I smiled and shook my head. "Hip hop artist. He's the opening act for Robin Thicke next Saturday. I don't keep up."

Iva nodded. She was thumbing through a Brides magazine and as I glanced over at her dreamy-eyed expression I felt a pang of guilt. I hadn't looked at a single dress although Marvin had told me money was no object. I could go as extravagant or simple as I pleased. I was having trouble working up the enthusiasm for it. I was itching to get out of this office and go to what I referred to as my "training room". It was a crimson and black sanctuary done up in a simplistic Asian design. It was where I kept my taekwondo skills fresh. 

But first it was that time. I stood up and smoothed down the skirt of my slinky oil slick dress with its elegantly draped neckline. My eyes fell on the fresh bouquet of red roses that had arrived that day...and the day before, and the day before that. A wry little smile touched my lips and I felt the now familiar stirrings that manifested every time I thought of that night. I idly touched one of the long stemmed blooms. My body craved more but my mind reeled from the thought. This was crazy. Not to mention the text messages...

You can't possibly marry that schmuck.

I ignored that one. So he got a bit more provocative.

Course I'd be happy to pinch hit for him.

When I didn't respond to that he continued in the same vein.

You know...be the designated runner...

The substitute quarterback.

I finally answered him: Fuck off!!!

Several hours later he texted back.

Why? You know you're going to end up having an affair. 

And a few moments later:

I want it to be with me though.

"I'm going to do a walk-through, Iva. When you're finished with that paperwork," I gestured to her desk, "you can lock up and go home for the night."

Iva stirred guiltily from the pictures of designer gowns she was eyeing and closed the magazine with a snap. "Absolutely, Ms. Greene."

I took a deep breath and headed for the elevator. My phone vibrated. Not with a text, however. This time it kept vibrating. I answered and held it to my ear already knowing who it was.

"Yes?" I hissed.

"What are you doing, sweetheart?" he asked, a suggestive lilt to his deep voice.

I sighed. "I'm working...aren't you?"

"I don't keep the same hours you do, peach."

"What the hell did you just call me?"

His deep laughter reverberated sexily in my ear. "Peach. A sweet, soft, juicy peach I'm dying to taste again."

I had been walking as we talked and now I nearly stumbled. I huffed half in annoyance, half in amusement. "Dying? I'll be sure to send flowers to your funeral."

He cackled uproariously then. "So feisty, Cameron. I love it." 

I was smiling in spite of myself. "I'm sure you do. It's because you weren't disciplined enough as a child."

"Are you calling me spoiled?" he asked.

I laughed. "Phillip you're soooo spoiled."

He was quiet for a moment. "I spoil you," he said.