"He must've been doing something."

"I wonder what because I haven't had an orgasm, unless it was a do-it-yourself kind, in over six months. What? Now all of the sudden he magically learns how to use his dick correctly?"

"Wow. Seriously?"

"Sorry," she said, putting her hands over her face, and then bashfully glancing up at me. "Definitely no brain-to-mouth filter. Runs in the family."

"So he was a three pump wonder and she the Queen of the Nags," I laughed, trying to make her feel better. It was refreshing talking to a woman who was down to earth and said things she thought, no games.

"Well he's an ass and she's his trash." The corner of her mouth rose into a grin and I couldn't understand why, but I wanted her to keep the smile—maybe because it was so beautiful.

"Stupid slut."

"Asshead."

"Monkey humper."

"I'm surprised he didn't fall in and have to be surgically removed." I let out a dark laugh.

"He probably just stuck his penis in her mouth to make her shut up," she giggled, eyes gleaming.

"Their private parts are more like public parts." There is something to be said about getting back in touch with your adolescent mentality; it's liberating.

Somewhere down the hall, a door slammed shut, pulling us back to reality. Big blue eyes darted nervously around the hallway, and she quickly climbed to her feet. "Well, Mr. Holt. I think I should get back to my room before I embarrass myself any further in my lack of ensemble. Thank you," she smiled, cheeks rendering her shame a deep red, "for sharing the snacks."

I stood up, strangely possessed, not wanting anyone else to see her either. A paradox of emotions filtered in. I wanted her legs around me, to feel her soft skin under my lips, yet I needed her covered. My movements were jerky, but I tugged off my shirt and wrapped it around her shoulders. She smelled fresh like wildflowers and not any of that expensive perfume that Sophia wore. When my fingers slipped against her skin her eyes widened and shyly met mine. It took everything in me to not lean in and capture her lips with mine.

"Sorry about the outfit, Mr. Holt," she breathed.

"Please, call me James. And honestly, that was one of the best parts."

"Night, James," she whispered.

"Night, Lexa."

I watched her walk away, fighting the urge to run up behind her and slam her into the wall with my dick. What was wrong with me?

She worked for me.

I'm a professional.

A businessman. Not a horny teenager.

I guessed that deep down I just felt bad for the girl. She got a peek at someone sleeping with the guy she thought she was going to marry. How screwed up was that? I don't know what I'd do if I loved someone and caught them messing around.

I made my way back to my room, kind of sick to my stomach from all that junk food, tossed myself on the king sized bed, and passed out instantly.

When the alarm went off, I slammed it shut and banged out a text to my father that I'd be around later, and promptly passed right back out.

Awake by noon, I showered, shit, shaved, and made my way into Convention Room 2 for a rousing conference about facing today's operational and strategic challenges in the magazine publishing business. The heads of Rollingstone and Cosmopolitan were up on the panel alongside InTrend, having a heated interactive discussion with the audience.

I scanned the audience slowly, surveying the crowded room. In a sea of impeccably dressed men and women, only two stood out. One, of course, was Sophia with her bleached blonde hair and bright red business suit, shirt unbuttoned down to show the swell of her tits. And two, was Lexa, who sat perfectly poised, listening to every word that was said at the podium. I couldn't help but watch her. She wore a plain, jet-black business suit that hid every inch of that insane body from last night, like it was tailored specifically to make her look like a man. All that gorgeous, sexy hair I'd witnessed the night before was pulled back tightly into a librarian-like bun. No make up. No jewelry adorned her body. Yet, she wore a pair of deep wine colored heels that were the sexiest things I'd ever seen. A smile slowly spread across my face. I felt it all the way in the tip of my cock as I imagined her long legs wrapped around me still wearing those shoes.

Insane thoughts.

I needed them out of my head.

No matter how angry she felt now, that girl, the one with the beautiful blue eyes, was going to get married in a few days. I couldn't try to twist myself in her sheets for a few days; it wasn't a good idea.

My eyes flitted back to Sophia and I eased myself back and leaned against the wall. She was sitting next to Trager, who was jotting down notes as the panel of guests spoke. Her hand slid up his thigh, massaging, kneading. What the hell was really going on there? Sophia wouldn't spread her knees to an average little mailroom guy. Sophia was all about money, and sleeping her way up the ladder to wherever she dreamed it could take her. That guy had something she wanted.

"Jameson," my father greeted as he leaned on the wall next to me. "Excellent turn out, don't you agree?"

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the audience.

"I had a meeting with the heads of all the other magazines this morning. Everyone is complaining about sales. And everyone has the idea that this Kavon character can boost their ratings with a column."

"So what's your plan?" I asked.

His lips pursed and one gray eyebrow arched up to his hairline. "Don't know, son. But it's bad. You've seen it. I've let over a hundred people go in this last year alone. Now the press is asking us about bankruptcy rumors. This publication should be put to rest. I just don't want to let it go yet."

"You think some sort of bi-monthly column by Kavon would help?"

"James, his blog rivals The Huffington Post. He has over ten million followers on Twitter alone."

"How do you suggest we go about finding him? Email, Facebook, and Twitter haven’t seemed to work," I asked.

"Sophia says she's been in contact with him."

"The only person Sophia has been in contact with is Trager the Mailroom Guy," I laughed.

"Maybe he's Kavon."

"Yeah, okay, Pop," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Maybe the fiancé would know something."

"I could ask her." Hell, I could do a lot of things to her.

He pulled himself off the wall and moved in front of me. "Ask her. She's a good kid, smart, sweet. If she knows anything it would help. And by all means, don't trust that Sophia, son. She's a walking disease." He cleared his throat and continued, "Don't let Miss Novak fly back commercially, especially not with Trager. I'll have her on the jet with you. It'll give you time alone. Find out what Trager knows."

Just as he turned to walk away, I noticed Lexa's bright blue eyes staring in my direction, a shy smile falling over her lips. I wanted to turn my head and not look at her, but I couldn't. Images of her long legs, the dark waves of hair spilling over her shoulders, and the soft curves of her breasts clouded my mind. I was mesmerized.

I was also screwed.

A two-hour flight alone with her sounded dangerous.

Because I wanted to sink myself inside her more than I wanted to find the elusive blogger that could save the old man's magazine.

6

Lexa