Page 27 of Resist

Couldn’t Dad have simply said get married, period? Then I could have married Phoenix or Maddie and called it good. Or like... given me a year to at least get to know someone first? But nooooooooooo. He had to make it all about the peen. Quick peen at that. Fuck. What a mess. But I’m ready to face my second week in the big chair without Dad here to guide me through the minefield that is publishing.

This wasn’t supposed to be how it happened. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been working at Blackwell Publishing since I was a teenager, busting my ass, learning the ropes for, some day, taking over from Dad. But that day wasn’t supposed to be now, and it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

A pang of grief shoots straight into my heart, sucking the air from my body and making me wince. In the weeks since Dad died, no amount of rubbing at my chest has made the ache any better.

Foxy drops her fork onto her to go box, reminding me she’s still here.

“I just...” I shrug. “I know what Maddie’s about to go through, losing Mimzy, you know?” In a rare moment ofemotional overwhelm, a lump forms in my throat. “And I don’t want her to go through it alone either. You guys were there for me,arethere for me. I want to be there for her too.”

Phoenix gets up from her seat and joins me on my couch.

“Don’t.” I hold a hand up, my voice shaky, my eyes brimming with unshed tears. I don’t want to cry, not here, not now, not even in front of my friend.

She raises her brows at me, and after a long, stretched-out silence between us, she points at me. “Rule number four.” She wiggles her brows again like they’re sending me a message. And they are. She’s reminding me that I don’t need to be an island, I don’t need to pretend to be strong, I don’t need to suffer alone.

“Don’t make me inflict my hug on you, girl, because you know I will. Just shut up and let it happen.”

I give her a tearful smile. “I love when you talk dirty to me.”

She pulls me against her, rests my head on her shoulder and strokes my back. “We’ll get you through this. And we’ll get Maddie through this too. It’s what we do.”

After a couple of minutes in my friend’s arms, sniffling against her shoulder, she squeezes me tighter. “So, are you ready to talk about Sexy Sterling’s dick yet?”

CHAPTER 9

Cora

“I think you should fuck him,”Phoenix said to me while my face was on fire on the couch in Protocol. Did she plant a seed in my brain that I haven’t been able to get out of my mind since I picked my car up at the club yesterday?

Well, no. She didn’t. Because it was already there.

All she did was give it a voice. She watered the damn thing and now it’s grown into a beanstalk overnight.

I’ve barely slept. I keep thinking of his easy smile, his twinkly, ice blue eyes, his well-styled wavy brown hair and that adorable little cheek dimple. I hung around in Protocol for way longer than I needed to yesterday. I told Phoenix I was enjoying her company but we both knew I wanted to see him again, to talk to him, to learn something about him, because now he knows I like Meghan Trainor and hate egg yolks, I don’t know his position on either of those things. Other than he had an entire armory of egg puns at his disposal at the drop of a hat.

If he loves egg yolks that works, because then if we went on a breakfast date I’d have someone to take my yolks for me. That would be kind of cool.

Does he like Meghan? If he doesn’t, I feel like that would immediately put him in the “no way” column, and I could simply stop thinking about the way his ass filled out those jeans, or the way his shoulders stretched that sweater.

To be fair, I’m not sure loathing Meghan Trainor would be enough to make me not think about his ass.

We met Friday night. Saturday night I rode my vibrator for an hour straight imagining Sterling being the one drilling into me, and I couldn’t come, or sleep, or do much of anything but replay our conversation in my head. It was like being back in high school, kissing a boy behind the bleachers and not being able to stop thinking about it.

Except I need to stop thinking about it, about him. I’m a very important business woman now. Dad is gone, the future of the business is in my hands, and maybe since I have to marry someone I will probably never love, I should treat myself to one last hurrah.

Are booty calls still a thing? Would Sterling be interested in coming over later and letting me ride him instead? Could I convince him to just sit still and be a passive sex toy?

I get up from the couch, throw the TV remote onto the cushion, and pace. This isn’t like me. Hyper-fixating on a handsome man I just met at a bar isn’t my MO. Is this grief? Projecting? A midlife crisis?

Trying to convince myself I’m relationship material and may find someone to tolerate me for long enough to convince the board of directors that I’m anormalwoman isn’t my MO either.

Normal.

I snort. Is anyone normal?

My skin crawls. The board has maybe a dozen old white dudes on it. They’re not employees of the company, but together they have a controlling stake in Dad’s company. Anddespite all my sweet talking, so far, no one will agree to my buying out their shares.

What’snormalto them may look very different than what I consider to be normal.