I'm staring at my spreadsheets, trying to make sense of the numbers, but if I'm honest, I'm having a hard time staying focused. I've always been a numbers guy, so this is throwing me for a fucking loop.

Images of Eliza and Carter repeatedly flash through my mind, but today I'm supposed to be monitoring Stackford Capital's accounts, and I promised myself that I wasn't going to let anything distract me.

I need to stay focused. I repeat this like today's mantra.

But no sooner do I tell myself this, does my mind begin to wander … yet again.

I throw my head back, running my fingers through my hair.

Would you fucking believe me if I told you that every rounded number reminds me of Eliza's curves? Because they do.

The number 3 looks like her perfect ass, and my mind flashes to us fucking, my mouth tracing the rounded edges of each one of her ass cheeks, her skin prickling beneath the velvet touch of my tongue, sweat pooling on her neck … our breathing ragged.

The number 8 reminds me of her firm, round breasts … her nipples delicately pinched between my teeth. I can remember the moment my mouth clamped down on her nipples, and how she had sucked in air like her life depended on it. The entire room melted away, and it was just us, and our fucking and … Carter.

At this point, I have to re-evaluate everything I know to be true about myself. The Derek Stackford I've always thought of myself as—a sort of stoic lady's man who's cock got hard with every new multi-million dollar deal he made on Wall Street—has been turned on it's fucking head.

When we fucked … all three of us together in the same moment, sweaty and feral in lust, our muscles taut and twitching with an energy that's almost indescribable, the smell of sex filling the room, I realized something: with both of them in my life, everything feels complete, in a fucking surreal sort of way. It's something that transcends all of the financial successes I've had in my life. It goes beyond money and power. It's something I found that I didn't even know I was seeking. Would you believe me if I said it felt like … fate?

And how can I even begin to describe what it felt like for me to leave that room? The magnetism of both and Eliza and Carter were palpable. Buttoning my shirt, replacing my tie, slipping my feet into my shoes … with every action, all I wanted to do was to climb back into her arms, and slip into the thickness of desire that seeped in between all of our bodies.

I wanted to call off every meeting, and clear my calendar for a week. I wanted to call my secretary and have her book a room on a remote island, where I could live out every fantasy swirling around in my head, without being bothered by work, or the realities of our daily lives. Money isn't the obstacle; it's the logic of it all.

I have to tell myself to get a grip. It's a slippery slope—one minute you're wrapping your arms around the woman of your dreams, and the next, your life is spiraling out of control faster than a racecar skidding off its track in a pillow of smoke and flame.

I know how these things work.

Is my life already spinning out of control? I wonder to myself.

Fuck.

I shake my head as if it were an Etch-a-Sketch, and try to wipe these images clean from my mind.

Stay focused. Stay focused. Stay focused, I chant, as if repeating it will make it any easier.

I lean back into the leather of my chair and sigh. I drum my fingers against my desk. I gaze out of the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office, across the city skyline.

No amount of daydreaming will bring Eliza into my office. I can't magically will her here right now, no matter how badly I want to bend her over my desk and fuck her, or taste her mouth on mine.

I suck in a deep breath. These Excel files aren't going anywhere, I mumble. I better start adding formulas into these cells. It's slow going … my eyes take in each number, each cell … but it takes my mind a while to catch up with it all. I'm having a hard time deciphering the equations and financial projections. Let's face it; my mind just isn't functioning properly.

Just then, the door to my office opens without warning. There's no knock, no greeting.

I look up and see two women saunter into my office. They slither in as silent as snakes. It's Mandy and Wanda. I haven't thought about Mandy since the last time I deep throated her for Wanda's camera.

Mandy walks over, her hips swaying beneath a tight, black pencil skirt and her tits squeezed together in a blouse tighter than a homeless man's budget. She gives me a devilish smile and sits on my lap, flipping her auburn hair to one side and lacing one finger under the knot of my tie.

She smells good, but that's about the only nice thing I can say about her.

"What do you want?" I ask.

Wanda walks over to my desk and leans in close. I watch as a strand of her raven black hair catches the sunlight and falls, finally settling on a stack of my papers on my desk—her blackness a stark contrast to the white sheets.

"You haven't held your end of the bargain," she says, her crimson lips part and curl into a smile, devoid of any warmth.

I knew this moment was coming.

"I'm working on it," I reply.

Wanda's eyes narrow into slits. "I can ruin your career. Everything you've worked toward can vanish—poof—with a few phone calls. It's that simple."

"You've made that point clear already," I say.

"Have I? Because from what I can tell, you still haven't gotten Eliza to invest in Red Lion Aviation," Wanda hisses.

Mandy is still sitting in my lap, and my legs are growing numb. I shift in my seat and she brings her free hand to my hair, raking her nails against my scalp.

"That's enough," I say, moving her off my lap. She stands up and straightens her skirt, and I look back at Wanda. "I told you, I have it handled. It's in the works."

There' a moment of pregnant pause as Wanda eyes me suspiciously.

Then she breaks the silence.

"You have 24 hours or else this all goes to press."

I look at her, the silent realizing swirling in my mind—now I have to ruin Eliza, the woman I'm falling for.