Too Busy To Care

Too Busy To Care 

~Aaron~

“We’re wrapping up the final project,” Lauren said, pointing at the screen as the slides transitioned. Her voice was crisp, professional. I tapped my fingers against my chin, considering the information.

“I assume you’ve kept Mr. Hampton in the loop?” I asked, watching her expression. Lauren nodded and moved away from the screen, her focus shifting to gathering her files.

The office was quiet, the others having left after the board meeting. My recent trip to Spain had paid off—I’d managed to secure a deal with a man whose investment I’d been pursuing for months.

“Yes, I have. He seemed quite impressed,” Lauren replied. I nodded again and stood. She busied herself with packing her files, not sparing me a glance.

This was precisely why I enjoyed working with Lauren. She wasn’t one of those women who threw coy smiles in my direction or pretended to be mesmerized by me. She didn’t care about my looks, let alone my personality—which, admittedly, was nothing to write home about.

My phone buzzed, interrupting the moment. With a subtle hand gesture, I signaled for Lauren to leave as I reached into my pocket to check the screen.

Seeing the caller’s name, a flicker of irritation coursed through me. I swiped the green button reluctantly.

“Angelina,” I greeted flatly. Her exasperated huff came through loud and clear.

“No ‘Hi, babe’?” she asked with a pointed edge to her tone. I turned to face the window, suppressing an eye roll.

“Angelina, I’m busy,” I muttered. I wasn’t in the mood for her drama. Hell, I was rarely in the mood for anything that involved her. Conversations with Angelina had a way of sapping my energy before they even began.

“So, you have no time for me?” she asked. Her voice carried a trace of hurt, but I barely cared.

I sighed. “I’ve been busy, Angelina. You, of all people, should understand that.” My attempt to sound warm was half-hearted at best. Forced affection was exhausting.

“Busy?” she repeated, incredulous. “Aaron, no man is too busy to check on his woman! You’ve been in Spain for a week, and you didn’t think to call or text?” Her voice wavered with the signs of a brewing argument around the corner.

Then she hit me with the accusation: “Are you cheating on me?”

The words hung in the air, sharp and accusatory. For a moment, I was caught off guard. Not because the accusation was absurd—far from it—but because she’d dared to say it out loud.

The truth? Yes. I had cheated on her, and not just with anyone—with my sister’s best friend. The memory of Joan’s flushed cheeks and trembling body flashed in my mind, igniting a flicker of desire strumming in my blood.

Any regrets? None.

“That’s ridiculous, Angelina. I’ve just been swamped with work,” I said smoothly. 

“You know running a company is demanding. You’re a business owner—you should get it,” I added, running a hand over my face. It wasn’t entirely a lie. Spain had been overwhelming, but last night…

Last night was an escape. Joan’s image kept running a loop in my mind.

Finally, she sighed. “I get it,” she admitted, her voice softening. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. A call from you would’ve been nice, though.”

The irony of her words wasn’t lost on me. Angelina had no room to talk about loyalty. 

I’d caught her with an employee of mine months ago, in the same hotel I'd booked because of a meeting.

She hadn’t seen me watching them get cozy, but I’d seen enough. I’d fired the guy and kept quiet, deciding she didn’t deserve the truth.

“Angelina,” I said, my voice laced with irritation and impatience. God, she was insufferable.

“When are you coming back?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Tomorrow,” I replied curtly. As much as I would’ve loved to stay in Spain and 'savor' Joan’s company, work in Brooklyn awaited.

“You weren’t going to tell me?” she asked, her tone accusatory again. I bit back another sigh. 

The urge to roll my eyes resurfaced. This game of hers—pretending to care—was growing tiresome. We both knew what our relationship was built on: convenience, sex, and, in her case, money.

She was incredible in bed, I’d give her that, but beyond that? There was nothing. The thought of finding someone else had crossed my mind more than once.

But not Joan. I shouldn’t even be thinking about her, let alone the way her sharp mouth could be put to better use.

Adjusting my pants discreetly, I forced my thoughts elsewhere.

“Angelina, I’ll let you know when I’m in New York,” I said sharply before hanging up. She was insufferable.

Grabbing my suitcase, I left the office, drove around the city for an hour, then headed home. The drive was meant to clear my mind, to rid the thoughts of Joan—her moans, the way she fit against me so perfectly.

When I finally walked into my house, my resolve crumbled. Joan was there, her earbuds in, swaying to some beat only she could hear.

The house was quiet—too quiet. Rhoda must not have been home. If Joan was here, though, that could only mean…

I clenched my jaw. That little brat.

Joan’s hips swayed as she threw her head back, her red hair tumbling wildly around her shoulders. My eyes followed the curve of her body, lingering on her ass longer than I intended.

She spun around, eyes closed, mumbling lyrics off-key. Her voice was terrible —Yeah, she had no career whatsoever in music —but her movements were mesmerizing.

When her eyes finally opened, green locked onto mine.  Confusion flickered across her face, quickly replaced by realization.

Then she screamed, stumbling to the floor.

“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered, amused despite myself.