Maybe Next Time - Christina C. Jones Page 0,4

hold back irritatingly sudden tears. “Thank you, truly, but no. I’ll just grab some coffee on the way in.”

Moments later, having successfully escaped what would’ve surely turned into mothering, I went to my bedside table for my other phone. It was then that I noticed a large envelope–the kind that might hold divorce paperwork–sitting right on my nightstand.

Torn in half.

Ugh.

I grabbed my personal phone, shooting off a text to Desiree Byers, lawyer–and friend–about serving him again, since he thought I was joking.

I was not.

With that handled, I moved on to getting ready for the rest of my day. To start, I stood naked in the bathroom mirror and closed my eyes. On a deep breath, I started the mental work to rebuild and patch the dam holding back… everything.

I didn’t need that shit clouding me–crowding me–when there was work to be done.

“I always knew working under you would be a good idea, Ms. Hamilton.”

I smirked.

Normally, I would correct that Ms. Hamilton thing, since it was really Mrs. Hamilton-Benoit, or just Mrs. Benoit for less of a mouthful. But, knowing what had been walked into Benoit Financial this morning, I wasn’t particularly inclined to defend Denver’s claim over me.

Especially not to a tall, pecan-skinned, incredibly handsome young man like Jeremy Crawford, who was currently flirting his ass off with me–bordering on inappropriately. The innuendo in that last statement hadn’t escaped me, but I did nothing to dissuade him. Instead, I opted for a little extra sway in my hips as I walked ahead, knowing his attention was on my ass more than anything I was saying.

It felt… nice.

Jeremy hadn’t been working here at Hamilton Luxury Transport long enough to know better, and the fact that I didn’t wear a ring made it easy to pretend he’d “forgotten” I was married. I probably wouldn’t let him touch me before the divorce was final, but once I was a legitimately single woman?

Jeremy was the very first thing I planned to do.

“Are you keeping up?” I asked him, in a sultrier-than-necessary tone that made his eyes narrow in obvious lust. He strode toward me with purpose, stopping just short of too close.

“You’ll never have to worry about my ability to keep up, Ms. Hamilton. I understand the importance of stamina.”

I grinned. “Do you?”

He leaned in a bit. “Yes ma’am.”

God, I was horny.

And if I fucked this guy while I was still Mrs. Benoit, it would be all Denver’s fault.

I was… resigned to my lack of sex, lack of intimacy, and accepting of that fate, very soon after taking my place away from Denver, in the condo.

And then he had to show up and remind me.

Ugh.

I cleared my throat, taking a step back from Jeremy before I encouraged this thing a little too far. “What do you have down so far?” I asked, referring to the tablet in his hands. We were out in the VIP garage, doing my weekly inspection on the specialty cars.

Was this someone else’s job already?

Of course.

And they were very good at it.

But I’d always preferred to see every vehicle for myself, especially at this price point, making sure that once our customer slipped inside, there was a whole luxury experience.

“Let’s see… there was a fingerprint on the back interior window on the Wraith, and a slight scuff in the leather on the front passenger side. You want a higher shine on the chrome accents across the board. Different rims on the Cullinan. And on the matte Maybach, you want the leather changed from black to…”

“Blush,” I filled in for him now, knowing I’d just said I wanted it done, without giving specifics before. “The black on black is boring, and I want something more feminine.”

“Okay, so pink.”

I raised an eyebrow. “No, not pink. Blush. If I walk in here next week and there is pink leather in this car, your ass is outta here.”

Unruffled by my threat, Jeremy stepped in again, giving me a nod. “Whatever you need, Ms. Hamilton–consider it done. Just say the word.”

“Ay! Back the fuck up off my wife.”

Holy shit.

Jeremy looked up, confused, but didn’t step away, even as Denver strode in our direction, anger practically radiating off him. He actually–bless his heart–stepped in front of me, between me and my husband, as if he’d assigned himself my protector.

“You seem very bothered, my man, let’s hold up.”

That stopped Denver in his tracks.

In front of me, Jeremy’s shoulders relaxed, but… no.

That was the exact opposite of what he should be doing right now.

Denver smiled.

Beautiful, but… terrifying.

The perfect