3

Delegating Obligation

The next morning, Drew managed to forget about Angel for several minutes. When he saw his alarm clock, he had a moment’s panic thinking he’d overslept for work. Then came the overwhelming relief when he realized it was Sunday. He fumbled for his cigarettes, saw the lip-gloss stained cigarette butt in his ashtray, and memories of Angel closed over him like an enthusiastic wave during monsoon season.

He sat up and ran his hands through his hair. He’d glimpsed Angel twice last night — once when she’d gone to answer the front door and then a few minutes later when she’d knocked on his office to ask if he wanted pizza. A barked ‘no’ had seen her straight — she’d left him alone the rest of the night with a murmur about people that worked too hard.’

A faint crash had him darting from the room with barely a pause to snatch his dressing gown from the foot of the bed.

Sounds of tortured crockery and cutlery led him into his kitchen.

It was large. Pale, gold-veined marble topped the kitchen island. That, paired with white cabinets and double sash windows, lent the room a friendly, almost charming air that did a damned good job at making the industrial-style range hood seem less intimidating.

At least, the range didn’t seem to intimidate Angel who leaned her hip against it while she did something violent to a pan.

The smell of onions and red peppers filled the room. Coffee, too, but that was almost overwhelmed by whatever was cooking in Angel’s pan.

She glanced at him over her shoulder and gave him a disarming smile. “Morning.” The spatula pointed to his coffee machine. “Made coffee. Hope I got it right; that thing’s darn complicated.” Then she gave him a quick once-over that lingered slightly longer than comfortable on the ‘V’ of his chest that his robe exposed before she pulled her eyes away.

Drew hastily tightened his belt — cotton boxers didn’t do an excellent job of hiding morning wood. Why did he get a sense that he’d had an explicit dream just before waking?

“What’s in the pan?” he asked cautiously.

“Breakfast. Or brunch,I guess. French omelets, to be specific. It’s sad the most imaginative ingredient in your fridge is swiss cheese, but I guess it’ll have to do.”

“Never needed anything more imaginative,” Drew said as he went over to the coffee machine.

Angel turned to face him. She wasn’t wearing makeup this morning. Her dark, wavy hair had been scraped into a high ponytail that dangled over one breast. She wore an over-sized gray t-shirt that had slipped off her shoulders… and nothing else. It wasn’t a guess, either; from the way her nipples poked that soft fabric it was pretty damn evident.

He had a death grip on the knot of his robe’s belt when he opened the front door and hurried down the path to his mailbox. He was usually dressed when he went to fetch his paper, but he couldn’t stand to be in the kitchen a second longer.

Not with Angel there.

There was a plate waiting for him on the marble counter when he came back for his cup of coffee. Angel had retreated, but he could hear footsteps in the room above. The guest room. He wasn’t going to take the plate with him, but it smelled too good to resist.

Drew sank into his office chair with a sigh, ran a hand through his hair and down his face, and leaned back to close his eyes.

This promotion couldn’t come soon enough. He’d had enough of laboring day in and day out. He had to start delegating, else what was the point of this house, his multiple investments, his lakehouse?

The snick of his briefcase opening sounded too loud in the office. He tugged out a file and put in front of him, grabbing a bite of Angel’s omelet as he opened it.

He stopped, chewed, swallowed.

God, it was fucking delicious.

He took another few quick bites and then slid the plate to the far end of his desk after giving it a quick, guilty look.

Who’d known the girl could cook? It wasn’t that she gave off bimbo vibes, but… she did seem to relish showing off her body.

Was that a bad thing these days? Or even something you could be judgmental about? Who the hell knew anymore what was considered decent or—

He jerked when his cellphone rang. Had it been in here the whole night?

It was lying on its screen. When he flipped it over, his shoulders sagged.

He’d hoped it was Penny, finally returning the dozens of messages he’d sent her. He made a mental note to speak to Angel. There had to be another way to get hold of Penny. It was that or he’d start calling the cops.

“Morning,” he answered before the phone could go to voicemail.

Bryce laughed into his ear. There was a moment’s staticky noise as if he was juggling the phone against his shoulder, and then the laugh cut off. “Letting it ring more than once, bro? That’s fucking impressive.”

“You say I’m too OCD. This better? ” Drew sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“The fact that you have to work so hard at being normal, means you ain’t normal.”

“What do you want, Bryce?”

“What, I can’t just phone and say hi? There has to be an ulterior motive?”

“I don’t have time for this.” Drew looked up in time to see a shadow darken the frosted glass pane in his office door. A hand, poised to knock.

He raised his voice. “I’m busy. Work, you know?”

“Well, that’s why I’m calling.” Bryce’s phone transmitted another crackle. “Jesus. Hold on, Drew.” More background noise, the sound of murmured voices, and a door closing. Then Bryce returned, voice pitched low. “The Morrison project; we’re on the same page, right?”

“Nothing’s changed,” Drew said.

Angel moved past the door, and his shoulders relaxed.

“You’re taking lead like we discussed,” he said.

“Because Jules called a meeting tomorrow morning, I hope you know that. We should—”

“You’re taking lead, Bryce,” he said again, louder. “Do you want it in fucking writing?”

There was a pause. “Hey, everything okay?”

“What?” Drew forced his eyes away from the door. As an added measure, he swiveled his chair, so he faced out into his house’s backyard where the serene ripples of his swimming pool proved a calming focal point. “I’m fine. Just… Just have a busy week ahead. Trying to get behind some of my admin. Which is why I can’t really—”

“About that.” More static — was his brother running a goddamn marathon or something with all that noise? — and then a heavy exhalation. “I hate to do this to you, but I’m going to need you to wrap up the Eaton Foods claim.”

“Wrap up?” Drew repeated slowly. “I’ve done everything on that claim already, now you—”

“It’s been crazy here, bro, what with my new girl…”

Drew waited to hear the rest of Bryce’s excuse, but it never arrived. He clenched his jaw and glared out over the crystal waters of his pool.

“No way. I’m already up to my eyeballs in paperwork, now you expect me to…” Drew’s sentence faded away as a frown gradually furrowed into his brow.

Angel had appeared in the garden wearing a tiny, neon-pink bikini that did a dastardly poor job at keeping her breasts and ass confined. Angel swung around, shading her eyes with a hand, found his office window, and waved. Her grin was enthusiastic and contagious.

First pausing for a moment as if waiting for him to wave back, the girl then padded to the end of the pool, tested the water with a toe, and dove in.

The sound of that dive carried clearly into his office.

Her head surfaced at the deep end of the pool, dark hair plastered over her face until she smoothed it back. She swam to the steps and climbed out, water pouring from her body in a dazzling cascade of—

“Hey, you there? Drew? Drew!”

“What?” Reality swarmed back into his mind. Drew swung the chair back to face his door, ran a hand over his face, and shook his head. “Sure, Bryce. Whatever.”

“Everything okay? You sound distracted.”

Said the man who sounded as if he was busy packing for a quick break in the Seychelles while he was on the phone. Drew tried to banish the thought, but he had no doubt that his brother would be shoving a pair of swimming trunks in a suitcase if Mr. Trent of Trent & Morgan Associated Loss Adjusters hadn’t called a meeting to decide who would team up for the massive reinsurance claim at Van Der Kloof Manufacturing.

“I’m fine.” Drew squeezed his eyes shut with finger and thumb. “Just have a lot to get through today. Was there anything else?”

“Nope. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Sure. See you…”

Angel’s shadow darkened his doorway again. She knocked — quietly — and leaned against the doorframe outside.

“Drew?”

“Uh… hold on.” He pressed the phone to his chest. “Yes?” This, directed at Angel’s curvaceous shadow. She perked up at the sound of his voice and opened the door to put her head through.

“Coming?”

He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Excuse me?”

“To swim.” She slipped into the room, a towel slung casually around her waist.

Drew watched her dripping pool water onto his carpet until he managed to peel his tongue off the roof of a suddenly dry mouth.

He hoisted the phone up. “I’m on the phone.”

“I’ll wait.” Angel took the towel off and began patting it idly against her hair.

His gaze was drawn inexorably over her body. It was impossible not to stare — her hips were full and round, her thighs long and firm, and her hair slathered over the slopes of her breasts like—

“I—I’ll see you tomorrow, Bryce,” he managed into the phone when his eyes finally returned to Angel’s.

She gave him a smile that made his dick twitch.

“Come on,” she whispered to him. “It’s Sunday.” Then she slowly slid out of the room with a crooked finger beckoning him to follow.

“Is someone there? Oh, Penny was driving through, right? How is—”

“Yeah, good, good — gotta go.” Drew ended the call, rose from his chair, and then froze halfway to the door.

He had work to do. Even more after this call with his brother. There wasn’t time for a swim, even if it was with the ravishing Angel who kept flashing more and more of her flawless skin to him.

Drew glanced down at his papers, and then quickly tipped his phone face up. It was only ten. If he came back here by half-past, he’d still have plenty of time to—

“Mr. Sugar? You coming?”

He turned to the window. Angel waited at the side of the pool, hand shading her eyes again.

“Hang on.” Squaring his shoulders, Drew trotted up the stairs to change.

As much as he tried, he couldn’t stop smiling.