Three Simple Rules (The Blindfold Club #1) (16 page)

I chuckled to myself. Yes, I did.

At four-fifteen I retrieved my proofs of the GoodFood rebrand from the color printer, and marched them into Logan’s office.

“Do you have a minute?”

He looked at me like he couldn’t remember my name. Always the actor.

“Proofs?” He cleared the paperwork on his desk to make room for them.

This was our first test on whether or not we could keep our personal feelings compartmentalized. I set the sheet down on the desktop, my eyes watching his. He scanned it quickly.

“Thank you so much for wasting the ink in the color printer.” He shoved the proof back at me, displeasure verging on disgust. He thought this was a joke. I held my face steady and pressed my lips together, and the color drained from his face. “This is a real proof?” In his shock, his gaze went back to the artwork and searched for something redeeming. He came up empty.

“Evelyn, this is terrible.”

My face widened into a smile. “I’m sorry I wasted the ink, but I had to know you wouldn’t hold back.” I put the real proof down on top of it.

He looked pissed-off. And relieved. “You’ve worked with me long enough, you should know I don’t do that. Not here.”

I felt my face flush.

He evaluated the proof critically but said he liked the direction I’d taken with it and sent me back with some changes he’d like to see before presenting it. I’d been at my desk less than a minute when I got his text message.

I took the train home. I was turning into a full-on addict around him, so some space might not be a bad thing. God help me, I cleaned my apartment. I actually hung clothes up and put the dishes away, which did make the place seem a little bigger and distracted me while I waited for his call like a desperate teenage girl. At nine forty-five I changed into a tank top and cotton pajama pants, brushed my teeth, and climbed into bed, the phone beside my pillow. I wasn’t a morning person in the slightest, which meant I had to force myself into bed early so I could tolerate waking up at six thirty.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad now that I’d see him every day.

His call came right at ten o’clock. “Hey, sorry, dinner ran really long.” He sounded like he was walking.

“It’s okay,” I said. “You’re just heading home now?”

There was the sound of a car door slamming shut and the engine starting. “We’re going to need to get our story straight.”

“What?”

“They asked a lot of questions, like how we met, how long we’ve been together. If you want kids.”

“Interrogated you, did they?” I hoped he could hear the smile in my voice.

“You think they won’t do it to you? Think again. Yours will be worse.”

“So what did you tell them, boss?”

“I tried not to lie,” he said. “I told them we work together, but I didn’t mention I was your manager. I said we’ve been dating a few months. Okay?”

“It’s fine, I guess.” It’s not like we’d never met before this past Saturday; we’d been working together for over two years. “What about children? Do I want them?” I loved that he was forced to reveal this information, because everything about him screamed he wouldn’t give it up easily.

“Yeah,” he said, “you do. Which reminds me, are you on the pill?”

“Yes.” Why was he asking? “Did something happen last night that I—”

“No, no. I wanted to ask how you’d feel about maybe not using condoms.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know how I felt about that. It wasn’t something I’d done before. Didn’t he say he’d slept with thirty women before me?

He must have sensed the question in my hesitation. “I’ll get tested and prove I’m good, even if you want to keep using them.”

“I can do the same.”

“You don’t need to do that,” he said quickly.

“No, it’s only fair.”

“No.” His voice was tight. “I’ve already seen your test results.”

Of course, at the club. What smart man would drop twelve grand without checking the quality of the product? “Right.” Since he couldn’t see my face, I cringed a little.

“Hey, whatever you’re comfortable with, I am too.”

The idea of having nothing between us was appealing. “If you can show me it’s safe, I guess we could try it.”

“I’d like that a lot. You will, too.” His voice sounded like sin.

My hand wandered down to the silk tie at the waist of my pants, toying with it. “So, tell me about last night.”

“What about it?”

“We had sex twice yesterday. Wasn’t enough for you?”

He made a noise, sort of like a laugh. “It was, trust me. But when I got home, I saw the bottle of wine from the club, and even after I’d put it away . . . I got really fucking hard thinking about it.”

I shuddered and undid the silk knot keeping my pants closed.

“Which part?” A wicked smile curled on my lips. “Be specific.”

“Where are you?”

“In bed.” I heard a car horn honk in the background, signifying he was still stuck in traffic.

“You mean, in the closet. Ironic, don’t you think, given what you did to that girl at the club?”

My fingers crept inside my panties. “That wasn’t exactly my idea.”

“No, I suppose it wasn’t. But, shit, it was so fucking hot. Are you touching yourself?” He asked it like he already knew the answer.

“Maybe.”

“Naughty girl. I wish I could come over right now and help.”

I stifled a moan when my fingers circled, teasing myself. “Why don’t you?”

“It’s late, and traffic’s a bitch. You’ll have to wait until I can do it right.”

My fingers moved faster, becoming slick in my arousal, and I didn’t bother to quiet this moan. I closed my eyes, wanting to listen to his sexy voice. Hearing him without seeing him was a lovely reminder of our time with the blindfold.

“You should probably stop now,” he said, hushed. “I won’t give you permission to come when you ask.”

“What?” My hand stilled. “Why?”

“Because of how awful that first proof was,” he said. “You’re okay to enjoy yourself, but don’t break our rule. I promise you, I’ll know if you do.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’re welcome to test me.”

He was infuriating and intoxicating, and I loved every second of our back-and-forth. I pulled my hand away and tied the pants closed, my body muttering a protest.

“Fine,” I said. “I stopped.”

He chuckled. “Good girl.”

The rest of the week dragged. Getting to see Logan at work but not afterward was torture, and today, Friday, I didn’t see him at all. He had to use the day as vacation to help with last-minute wedding preparations and drive out to Arlington Heights to pick up his tux. We’d talked every night, but as Friday drew closer, those conversations were later and shorter.

He’d refused me all goddamn week, and yesterday I’d barely kept myself from breaking the rule. I was beginning to hate this, and when he asked permission to come himself, I told him to fuck off. He hinted I was only making it worse on myself.

I’d gotten approval, from him of course, to leave work early at four and take the blue line out to Arlington Heights. I changed awkwardly in the microscopic and filthy bathroom on the train into a gray and yellow sheath dress with yellow heels.

He was waiting against his BMW at the Arlington Park racetrack, which was right on the other side of my train stop, wearing a gray suit with a black shirt beneath it, made casual with two buttons open. We didn’t say anything to each other as I walked toward his car and he straightened. He opened the passenger-side door for me, and then buried his face in my neck, kissing me there since he still hadn’t answered my question from Monday.

“Missed you today at the office, boss,” I murmured.

“I bet. Did Jamie get any work done?”

“I’m sure she put in as good of an effort as usual.”

When he was this close, I could smell his subtle cologne, and it made my knees go weak.

“You have no idea,” he whispered in my ear, “how good you look to me. I suggest you get in the car before I bend you over the hood.”

When I looked in his eyes, I was sure this was not an empty threat.

Paper crinkled underneath me when I sat, and I pulled it out, scanning it. My mouth went dry. He got into the driver’s seat and gave me a coy smile.

“That copy’s yours, for your records.” He feigned seriousness.

I folded the test results once, twice, and then once more, sliding it into my purse. My face felt like it was on fire. Bareback, I believe the term is? That’s what his test results had cleared him for.

Like the night he’d taken me to his place, once the car was in gear, his right hand went to rest comfortably on my knee, his hand just under the edge of my skirt. I liked it, but it was a thousand degrees in his car and the heat of his hand wasn’t helping.

“I should probably warn you,” he said, reading my mind and rolling up the windows, turning on the air conditioning, “my family may be a bit overly excited to meet you.”

“Why’s that?”

“I didn’t bring home too many of my past girlfriends, so taking you as my date gives the impression things are pretty serious between us.”

Weren’t they? He’d paid a rather large amount of money to have me. I knew how he meant it, though. There may be lots of personal questions as his family tried to discern whether or not I was worthy if Logan decided I was The One. It’s exactly what my aunts and uncles did to my past boyfriends.

Oh my god, I bet Logan would have them eating out of the palm of his hand in no time.

“Should I be nervous? Because, don’t worry, I am.” I was dreading facing Susan again.

“Don’t be, there’s nothing to worry about. Worrying is strictly my mom’s territory, she’s got that covered for you. Now, I like Hilary a lot. But her family?” he said, referring to the bride. “They’re fucking crazy.”

He gave me a quick course in family history. The groom, Nick, was two years younger than Logan. Their parents had married young and divorced when Logan was ten, and four years later his mother had remarried. Logan’s half-brother, Garrett, was a junior in high school.

The relationship between Susan and Logan’s dad was cordial, according to Logan. His dad hadn’t remarried, but had a live-in girlfriend.

As soon as we’d parked by the picturesque church, he ran around to open my car door for me and took my hand. I hoped he thought it was the warm weather that had it sweaty. I found mass-introductions terrifying, and I was horrible at remembering names.

We’d only made it up a few steps outside the church before it began. It was a parade of faces and handshakes, and then I was deposited in a pew beside a cousin who’d been charged with one of the readings. I had no idea if she was from the bride’s side or Nick’s, but she was friendly and charming, and I was pissed at myself for insta-forgetting her name.

Nick didn’t look a whole lot like Logan. He was handsome in a wholesome, boyish way, less of a hard edge. I watched him joke with his groomsmen, looking completely at ease. Excited, like he couldn’t wait to get married.

Hilary was petite with a huge mane of curly hair and big eyes, and she seemed physically unable to look anywhere else but at her fiancé. They were hands-down the most adorable couple I’d seen.