twenty-seven | pretty when you cry

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PPAATTYYCARRIGAN: Good weekend with better people.

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HER RAGING PHONE ALARM CLOCK WAS THE ONLY THING THAT BROKE THROUGH THE BARRIER OF TRANQUILLITY THAT WAS ONE OF THE BEST SLEEPS DIONNE HAD EXPERIENCED. The grating sound made her groan and she rolled over, hair sticking in all directions as she smacked the screen until it stopping whining at her. Two large hands wrapped around her waist made her come to faster as the memories of last nights party flooded back into her mind. God, she did it again.

Rolling back over, she glanced at a still half asleep Patrick Carrigan while his head blocked the sunlight peaking through her dark curtains. Suddenly she was hyper aware of the fact that they were both still in a state of compress undress—the first of many clues as to the position they'd ended up in after the party. Dionne bit her lip but didn't pull back as he hugged her back into him, her cheek pressed firmly against his hairy chest. As much as she didn't want to, she knew she'd have to get up for work soon. And funnily enough, as much as she'd drank, she didn't fill hungover in the traditional sense. . . just very dazed and confused.

As he muttered for her to stay, she pieced together how they'd ended up her. The memories were in a bit of a haze but she remembered the key events well enough. They way he'd held her against the wall of her own home, making her completely melt under his touch until she decided to take the lead (very unlike her when it came to her sex life prior). She cringed at the memory of herself knelt in front of him, his climax mixing with saliva and hot water before he'd basically thrown her on the bed, dripping water everywhere. Dionne remembered squirming as he savoured the moment, taking his time to give into what she wanted as he practically made her beg for the relief of his fullness. Birds had started chirping when they'd fallen back onto the mattress in a heap of tangled limbs and heaving chests. The last thing she'd remembered before falling asleep was the way he'd looked at her, eyes baring into her naked soul. She'd felt more undressed in that moment then the first time she'd stripped in front of him, back in Vegas.

"Pat," she whispered as her snoozed alarm went off again and he just groaned, shaking his head. Her fingers found the sides of his face as she tried to coax him awake. "I need to go," she said gently, running her thumb up and down his cheek.

His eyes, gifted with long eyelashes she envied, fluttered open and the ruckus the alarm was causing didn't seem to matter. Patty smiled at her, looking like he'd finally found peace. "What," he asked in a deeper then usual voice that made her want to quit her job on the spot—how could she leave this?

Swallowing a thick lump that'd formed in her throat, she sighed. "I have work in—" she rolled back over to check her phone, shooting straight up when she noticed the time. She could've sworn she'd only snoozed it twice, not six times. "An hour ago—fuck."

Patty didn't move other then to use his arms to prop his head up and watch her scramble around the room in a panic. He lapped up the clear view of her ass he'd been gifted with as she bent over her drawers, in search of stockings and clean underwear. "Just call in sick," he suggested, wanting nothing more then to drag her back to bed.

"I can't, I'm already in shit with Timothee," she reminded him, slinging her clean outfit over her shoulder before rushing into the bathroom to freshen up.

Groaning again, Patty threw the covers off himself and shuffled into the bathroom. She stood at the mirror, still not wearing anything as she frantically brushed her teeth and tried to apply moisturiser simultaneously. Amused, Patty came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He dipped down to rest his head in the crook of her neck, placing a small kiss on her collarbone and another and another. He couldn't help but grin as her bare back pushed into his front. "You're already late, what's another hour. . . or two?" He murmured, hands travelling up from her waist to grip her chest.

"Patty. . ." She warned, looking at him in the mirror. He looked up enough to see her biting her lip while she glared at the circular motions his hands worked in—it was a contradictory combination that only made him smirk.

"I can finish the job in half an hour, if needed," he compromised, looking up hopefully as her legs shook at the pressure building up between. Never had a man been able to accomplish that sort of physical reaction from her.

She spun around, toothbrush tossed to the side as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Fifteen minutes and then I really have to go," she insisted.

Not having to be told twice, he scooped her up from the bathroom and almost sprinted back to the bedroom. His grin could light up the darkest room as he laid her down before him, taking in every part of her in case she changed her mind about him mid-shift.

💌

ALTHOUGH DIONNE COULDN'T HELP BUT STEP OUT OF THE ELEVATOR WITH AN EXTRA SPRING IN HER STEP, THE TEMPORARY BLISS WORE OFF THE SECOND SHE SAW TIMOTHEE WAITING AT HER DESK ONCE AGAIN. She couldn't help but get a lethal case of deja vu as she walked towards where he sat, swinging in her chair looking positively livid. On the whole drive over, she'd tried to brainstorm the perfect excuse for why she was nearly three hours late but drew a blank the whole commute. Nothing she could come off with was believable or a valid reason to be late.

When he saw her approaching, his glare deepened and he stood up, silently stalking to his office. Noticing her glued in place, watching after him, he looked back and nodded for her to follow. Messily dumping her gear on her desk, she scurried to follow him and almost tripped over her own feet. She'd not been able to locate her usual work shoes and was wearing a pair that were two sizes too big—back when she'd been convinced her feet were a size ten and not an eight.

"H—hey," she said nervously, voice cracking at the door shutting behind her.

Timothee stood with his back to her, facing the window as he watched a ferry pass by on the murky river. "Dionne, why does this feel like deja vu?" He said after a moment, voice stiff.

She scratched her head, wishing she could just disappear into a spec of nothingness rather then hear this lecture. "I. . ."

"I don't wanna hear any of your excuses as to why you're late," he added, still not turning to look at her. "But tell me, did you at least get some sort of scoop from the party?"

Her stomach dropped. He knew about the party, she was royally fucked. "I—I can explain," she insisted but he held a hand up to silence her before she could.

"I've given it some great thought and I think we were too hasty with the promotion, you're clearly not ready for the responsibility I entrusted you with," he told her, voice flat and void of any emotion—that scared her more then if he'd started to scream at her. "You're too easily distracted by temptation and I don't need that kind of liability costing this company anymore money."

Her blood ran cold as she tried to decode what he was saying to her. "Are. . . Are you firing me," she asked softly.

"No," he sighed, finally turning to face her. "But I am demoting you."

She never thought she'd be so relieved to hear those words in her life, the foresight of herself homeless living under a bridge was enough to make her take whatever she could get. "Oh, okay. Thank you—"

"This is conditional," he cut her off.

Dionne tried not to let the confusion show on her face. "Which are. . . ?"

"You already cost us the publicity of the feud with Carrigan, you're to cut off all communication with him and any other player he's associated with while I try to get those pictures of you two pulled from all the rival publications before the story gets too big," Timothee told her, sounding like a strict father instead of a boss not much older then her. "Debra is going to be our focal Broncos writer and you can take over her duties reporting on the inter-state teams. Out of sight, out of mind."

"And if I decline?" She challenged, already knowing the answer.

Timothee raised an eyebrow. "I think you already know, this is a really sought after role. We could have you replaced within the hour."

"I'll do it," she said in a small voice, feeling her heartbreak when she saw a text message from Patty come through as she deleted and blocked his number.

PATTY CARRIGAN • 12:45PM
How about we get dinner tonight?
Somewhere nice, my treat
I want to go about this properly
this time
Only if you're down
No pressure, of course

💌

💌 karla yaps ! 

ruh roh.........