“You’d do that for me?”
“Of course. Although it seems to be a thing for me lately. Funerals and dates.”
Graham chuckled and kissed me gently. “I’ll pick you up at 6:30. And thank you.”
After he left, I lay in bed for a little while before getting up. I couldn’t stop thinking…tonight was going to be interesting.
I SHOULD HAVE BEEN WORKING instead of fucking around. My desk was piled with stacks of documents, there were, at least, a hundred emails in my inbox that I needed to respond to, and here I was writing to a sixty-year-old advice columnist again.
The woman I’ve been seeing has recently expressed an interest in being tied up. I was wondering if you could provide some guidance for a first-time bondage novice. Would rope be a good investment? Or do you suggest something along the lines of fur-lined handcuffs? Perhaps some silk ties that are less likely to leave marks on her wrists? I should note that I plan to bury my face in her tight little cunt, so there will be a good deal of tugging on the restraints while she is writhing on the bed from multiple orgasms.
-Fifty Shades of Morgan, Manhattan
It only took twenty minutes for a response to appear in my inbox. I had expected a lengthy response full of her usual sarcasm. I should have known better than to think I could anticipate anything to do with Soraya Venedetta.
Might I suggest checking your partner’s bedside nightstand? Perhaps since this woman you’re seeing expressed an interest, she went shopping after lunch for some supplies.
This woman was going to be the death of me; I just knew it.
An hour later, my secretary buzzed in through the intercom. “Mr. Morgan? You have a phone call on line three.”
“Didn’t I ask not to be interrupted?”
“Yes. But they said it was urgent.”
“Who is it, and what do they want?”
“Umm. I didn’t ask.”
“Listen…” What the hell was her name? Ellen? God damn it. “The bulk of your job is to screen phone calls, am I correct?”
“And would you consider interrupting me when I’ve asked not to be interrupted, without having the name of the caller, doing your job correctly?”
My patience was running thin. “Find out the name of the caller and the nature of the so-called urgent matter.”
A minute later the intercom buzzed again. “What?”
“It’s a Ms. Moreau. She said to tell you the nature of her emergency is that her husband is dead.”
I picked up the phone. “Genevieve.”
“Graham. I need your help.”
“I’m working on it. I told you that yesterday.”
“I need more than that.”
I took off my glasses and tossed them on my desk. Scrubbing my hands over my face, I inhaled a deep breath. It had been years since I had a civil conversation with her, but contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t a total prick. She had just lost her husband to a heart attack at the age of thirty-one.
Leaning back in my chair, I exhaled a breath of venom and sucked in fresh compassion. “What can I do for you, Genevieve?”
“I don’t want to run a company by myself. I can’t do it.”
“Of course you can. You’ll hire someone you can trust if it’s overwhelming.”
“I trust you, Graham.”
I used to fucking trust you, too. It was physically painful to bite my tongue. “You’re not in a state to discuss business right now.”
“I’m always in a state to discuss business. So are you. It’s the one thing we have in common. Our emotions take a backseat to a deal.”
“I think you’re wrong, and you’re just unable to see that clearly right now. But what is it you think you’d like me to help with?”
“I want to merge with Morgan Financial Holdings.”
“You want me to buy Gainesworth Investments? As in take it over completely?”
“No. Gainesworth Investments and Morgan Financial Holdings combined would be a powerhouse. I want to run it with you.”
“You heard me right. I want to merge. Be a team again.”
“Genevieve, I don’t want to be tactless, but…you just lost your husband. Don’t you think you should take some time before seeking a new teammate? Grieve a little perhaps? You’re not thinking clearly.”
She sighed. “Liam and I were separated.”