Flirting with Fire: A Summer Camp Swingers novel

Susie shrugged.

“Okay. Well, let’s go find out.”

The little head wasn’t ready to change the subject. Allie Ramos! Can you imagine—?

Yes, I snapped at him. Yes, I can. So I don’t need you to do it for me.

Suit yourself. But you know what I think. She’s a total MILF.

I sighed to myself. Forty years old and my dick is still leading me around.

* * *

Trip appeared in my office doorway. “Hey. What’re you doing here?”

He paused to unbutton his cuffs and then began rolling up his sleeves. He walked across the length of the room and reached my desk about the time he finished his sleeves.

“What’s so funny?” he said.

“You. I can tell what time it is just by looking at you.”

He wore a suit in the morning, removed the coat after lunch, and relaxed at the end of the day. As if he could read my mind, he reached up to loosen his tie.

“Whatever,” he said mildly. Then he gestured toward the front of the building to explain why he’d come looking for me. “I saw Emily raiding Shari’s candy drawer.”

“I told her she could,” I said.

“Yeah, sure, no problem. But… I thought you started your vacation today.”

“I did. But I had to take the girls shopping.”

“Girls…? I only saw one.”

“Susie’s around here somewhere, probably at one of the Revit workstations.” She had the architecture bug, even at age eight. “Anyway,” I continued, “we needed a birthday present for a party tomorrow. And since we were in the area, I decided to stop by. Barbara wanted me to look at the middle school plans. I can do it from home, but…”

I gestured at the array of monitors on my side desk, a trio of 21” flat-screen Sonys. They cost a fortune and weighed a ton, but they made my job so much easier, especially compared to my pitiful 19” dual-monitor setup at home.

“Ah, okay,” Trip said. “Do you wanna chat for a few when you’re done?”

“I’m done now. Your office?”

“Yeah, sure.”

I saved the job-tracking spreadsheet and followed him to the other side of the building. His office was half the size of mine but still large, a working office for the president. Mine had been designed to impress, a suite with an executive boardroom at one end and my sprawling desk at the other. I’d wanted a simple office like his, but Wren had overruled me. Worse, she’d done it by appealing to my vanity.

“You’re the CEO. Your name’s on the building. Literally. You can’t have a regular office. Go big or go home.”

Trip had agreed. That wasn’t surprising, although he’d never teased me about it. He had his flaws, but office envy wasn’t one of them. Besides, he used the difference to ruthless effect. He schmoozed with new clients in my office but negotiated fees and contracts in his.

Trip sank into his leather office chair and breathed a heavy sigh. He opened a sideboard and withdrew a crystal decanter, followed by a matching pair of tumblers. The crystal was Baccarat, a present from Wren for his fortieth birthday, and the whiskey was some kind of expensive Jack Daniel’s. He poured a generous splash for himself and then looked at me with raised eyebrows.

“No, but thanks.” I hadn’t said yes for almost two years, but he still made the offer. It was a gesture of camaraderie more than anything.

“No problem.” He set the decanter aside and lifted his glass in a toast. “Happy wife, happy life.” It would’ve been half-sarcastic a decade ago, but it was sincere now.

“Amen,” I agreed.

He sat back, inhaled the fumes, and relaxed. I gave him a moment to enjoy the first taste before I started on the project updates. I kept them to a minimum, since Emily and Susie had already been waiting an hour. They were content to play by themselves, but I didn’t want to keep them waiting any longer than I had to. That was my part of the bargain, wasn’t it? Happy wife, happy life?

Speaking of which…, the little head said. Have you thought about Allie? Now that she’s single, I bet she—

I ignored him and paid attention to Trip instead.

“Sounds good,” he was saying. “Alex can handle anything that comes up while you’re gone.”

“Yeah, or Whitney.”

“Absolutely.” He took a sip of whiskey and changed the subject. “Big plans next week?”

“Get ready for the board meeting.”

“Board meeting? Oh, right! The York-MacLean thing.”

“Yeah. It’s been a year—” My eyes stung and my throat closed up. Still, I tried again, “I mean, a year—”

Trip found something interesting in his whiskey glass, while I wiped my eyes and waited for the grief to pass. I still couldn’t think about Susan’s death with any kind of detachment.

“Sorry,” I said at last.

“No problem. It… um… it takes time.”

“Yeah.” I eventually cleared my throat and continued, “Anyway, it’s our full board meeting for the year.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Seriously?”