Surrender Your Love

By: J.C. Reed

Chapter 6

I wasn’t a wallflower when it came to partying and having a good time, but I didn’t usually have more than two glasses. So two nights in a row drinking my head off with Sylvie hadn’t been a wise decision. I opened my eyes groggily and blinked against the bright sun spilling through the window.

Good grief.

My head felt as though someone was pounding it with a sledgehammer and my tongue was stuck to the back of my throat. At least I didn’t feel sick. I sat up and placed my naked feet on the rug in front of my bed, testing the ground. It felt a bit shaky but otherwise okay. I walked to the kitchen for a glass of water when I remembered the green eyes from last night.

Did I have sex with him again? Or had I been imagining him? No idea what might be worse.

“Sylvie?” My voice sounded so hoarse it made me cringe. I called out louder but got no answer. She was probably still sleeping off her hangover. I padded through each room, looking for a sign that I brought a man home, but found none. Eventually I knocked on Sylvie’s door and entered. Either she left early, which couldn’t be since she would have left me a note, or she never accompanied me home. The stack of clothes she had tossed on the bed while rummaging for something to wear last night persuaded me to go with Option B.

So the guy had been just a figment of my imagination. I couldn’t help the sudden disappointment grabbing me.

Why did I even care whether I ever saw this guy again? Sean had just split up with me, and I had barely wasted a minute obsessing over it. Yet Jett and I had talked for all of five minutes, and I was all but planning out our future together.

Because no one’s ever made you feel this way. Sexy. Confident. Wanted.

I groaned at the thought, even though I knew it was true. He wasn’t just hot; he had something about him that turned my insides all mushy and made me want to do stuff. To him. With him.

Get your head out of the gutter, Stewart.

I made myself a cup of coffee, grabbed a piece of dry toast, and sat down at the kitchen table overlooking the busy street below. But it wasn’t old ladies and moms holding onto their kids that I saw.

My mind could only focus on one thing: smoldering eyes and a hard body leaning over me. I sighed and let my imagination roam freely where it wanted to go.***Late afternoon, Sylvie was still not back, probably busy hooking up with last night’s conquest. In case she worried or needed me, I left a note on the kitchen table with my new number and the promise to call her as soon as I arrived in Italy. Half an hour later a cab pulled up in front of the building, and I drove to the airport with the setting sun behind me.

Once at JFK and waiting in the boarding area, I switched on my smartphone. The plan was to transfer my old cell’s contact list, excluding Sean’s number, to my company phone. Instead, I was instantly awarded with a long list of redirected calls and text messages. I knew nothing about my new boss, so I figured flicking through his messages would help me paint a picture before I met him in less than nine hours. I took a sip of my water and almost choked on it. He sounded businesslike and curt. While I understood that smileys and kisses were to be avoided in business correspondence, Mr. Mayfield also seemed to harbor a great aversion to saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. I frowned as I made a mental list of his favorite words: great, okay, fine, yes, no way, done. His longest sentence was: If you need to talk, my assistant will be happy to assist you.

I sighed and rubbed my still throbbing forehead. James hadn’t been the greatest boss in the world, but he didn’t seem allergic to talking. I certainly liked engaging in dialogue every now and then, so my new job might turn a bit challenging, and not in a good way.

I was about to switch off the smartphone when an IM from Sylvie came through. Glancing at the clock to make sure I wasn’t late, I opened the conversation and quickly skimmed through to the bottom. There was a brief mention of a letter and some guy with a strange and (according to Sylvie) extremely sexy accent calling to talk to me. I was listed in the public phone directory and was used to the usual financial and insurance companies soliciting me, so the information didn’t bother me. Maybe the fact that I had other things on my mind further contributed to my lack of interest. Switching off the smartphone, I headed for the gate to board the plane, wondering for the umpteenth time why a headhunter would headhunt me to work for someone like Mayfield. Judging from his brisk tone and my fondness of human conversation, we sure weren’t a match made in business heaven.

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