“You did some filthy things to me, Chance Hunt,” she said. “And now I’m going to return the fucking favor.”
Now this was a aide of Claire I didn’t know existed. As it turned out, two could play that game. Call me crazy, but I had no problems signing up to play.
She moved her face down and wrapped her lips around, sucking on me as my entire body’s focus shifted toward the tip of my cock. I’m not sure how much Claire had to fight preventing herself from orgasming so quickly, but if it was anything like this, then I was impressed that Claire lasted as long as she did.
The manner in which she worked suggested I had severely underestimated her. If I had known that she would move and work so effectively, I would never have left her alone at the bar the night before. In fact, I may have just pulled her into the bathroom and gone to work on her right then and there.
She seemed to have perfect timing on everything, from the way she fondled my balls to the way she looked at me with those sharp eyes, as if she was a fucking pro at what she did. She took very few breaks for air, and when she did, her hand continued to work.
I had to beg her to stop so I could fuck her. I grabbed a condom from my pocket, put it on, and Claire mounted me.
“Oh, Chance,” she said.
Her pleasurable cries were beginning even before I’d gotten inside of her, just by brushing up on her. When she put me in her, I knew we had picked right back up where I’d left her—writhing and moaning in unbelievable pleasure.
Watching her on top, her breasts bouncing, her mouth gaping open, her hair flowing in space, I only had to ask myself one question.
Why the fuck did it take you so long?
She and I went at this, body-on-body, pleasure for pleasure, for what felt like an eternity. We switched positions as I lay on top of her and then got into her from behind, and every position felt better than the last. Everything we did felt like a perfect match—now I began to also wish I’d discovered her while at Burnson Investments.
Works well, doesn’t it, how this all played out?
When I finally began to feel like I was going to come, I flipped her back on her back. She knew what was happening without asking and ripped the condom off, jerking me until I finished all over her chest, moaning my own version of the finished song of sexual release.
Like a painting, I could only stare at what had just happened, admiring the beauty radiating from Claire McLendon and what I had done.
“Took you long enough,” Claire said, giggling. “I’ll be back.”
She leaned up, kissed me, and then headed to the bathroom to wash off. In that roughly 30 seconds between when she entered and came back, I lay on her bed, thinking about what had just happened.
The animal within had clawed its way out and left its mark on Claire. I had not unleashed that side of me since Layla, but even then, it felt like that side wasn’t as fully explored as Claire was. There was always the fear of being caught by her father... uncle... whatever Craig Taylor was. There was always the risk of losing my job for having sex in the office.
With Claire, those thoughts never crossed my mind. Sure, if Morgan found out, he might be concerned about the ethics of sleeping with a member of our portfolio. But Morgan, if anything, had permitted, if not continuously encouraged, this behavior. He wouldn’t see anything wrong with it.
So for now, I didn’t see anything wrong with it.
When Claire emerged from the bathroom, I definitely didn’t see anything wrong with it.
“Oh, that’s just what I needed,” Claire said with a short chuckle. “Chance Hunt, I don’t know how you did what you just did, but try and capture that magic for next time.”
“Wow, there’ll be a next time? I thought you hated this.”
Claire just laughed, playfully slapping my chest in the process.
“With the Adonis-type of frame that you have? I would be a fool not to keep this up.”
She snuggled closer, pushing her head against mine.
“Just don’t tell Morgan. I don’t want to create any problems there.”
I definitely didn’t, but hearing his name reminded me.
I had to be up before 6 a.m. to get to the airport. And I hadn’t even packed.
“I won’t, but he is making me leave on a 6 a.m. flight,” I said as I sat up. Claire tugged on me, but I pushed through.
“Stay for fifteen?” she pleaded.
I looked at my phone. It was 8:30. It wasn’t that late. But then again, a 6 a.m. flight was that early.
Still, just fifteen?
I set my alarm and leaned back down.
“I appreciate what you do, Chance.”
I chuckled and tried not to sound inappropriate.
“I’m glad I could do what I did.”
“I don’t mean here, although, yeah, that too,” Claire said with a laugh. “The truth is, all of our other investors got scared off by my age and inexperience. You saw the numbers. They all make sense. But no one else was willing to gamble on me. I am so glad you and Morgan decided to risk it.”
We’re the only ones.
Which means we have leverage.
Which means...
I didn’t respond, choosing instead to scratch her hair as a sign of affection. It was a good thing, too, because if I said anything, it would have been, “Why the fuck did you just tell me this?”
Now I had two opposing obligations, neither of which would please the other. If I told Morgan this, Claire would be devastated and hate me forever. Not that I could blame her, having been on the other side of the coin and knowing what it felt like to get used.
If I didn’t tell Morgan this and he found out, he would question my loyalty to the company and choosing what was nothing more than a casual fling over our long-term success.
I just kept my mouth shut, because I knew no matter what I could say, it would only create even more problems. One side was going to lose badly, and I had no idea which side it was going to be yet.
Claire’s.
Or Morgan’s.
“Thank you, Chance,” she said.
She leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. It felt like a tender kiss, which worried me even more. Maybe this was just casual still, and maybe tomorrow, Claire would realize she was acting a little too doting and take a step back. But this kiss...
It felt too intimate, too close. If Claire developed feelings, I would feel even more conflicted. I was smart enough to pull away from Claire if that happened, but then it would make screwing her over on the business side of things even worse.
And it’s not like I had a clear side to lean to. Even by the minute, my thoughts on the matter changed. One second, my duty to the company bearing my name seemed to take precedence—it would just a lesson Claire would have to learn the hard way.
The next, I reminded myself how bad Layla’s experience had treated me and how I had only gotten back on my feet because of my connections to Morgan. It had taken being adopted by a billionaire family to overcome something so devastating. Claire, as best as I could tell, did not have such luck.
I just closed my eyes until the alarm went off. By then, I had gathered my bearings enough to crack a few jokes about making Claire wait for the moment, and when she saw me off, her kiss was much shorter and much less passionate.
But the damage had already been done.
The question, it seemed, was to who.
Chapter Fourteen
I barely slept that night. Even knowing I needed all the energy I could muster in the morning, I just couldn’t fall asleep with everything running through my head.
Instead of sheer anger—well, other than toward Edwin Hunt—I just felt a massive amount of confusion. Where did I really stand with not just Claire but Layla? Why was I allowing myself, again, to sleep with a business associate I really should not have? Why did I believe I could have mixed business and pleasure and not have it be an issue?
Why was I such a fucking moron?
Why did I keep repeating
the same mistakes?
The only difference—probably not the only, but the only one I could think of—was that I was now in control of my own career destiny. Whereas before, what I had done with Layla was subject to the whims of John Burnson and Craig Taylor, what I did with Claire was subject to, well, my whims. Morgan’s maybe a bit, but not to the extent that I feared any reprisal.
Still, this bore really poorly for my ability to separate the two. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt now, but if it happened with a much larger company, or it came out many years later that I had slept with Claire and I’d have to resign...
Sadly, in this day and age, I had to assume it would come out, and when it did, it would not remain regulated to the sidelines. Someone would pick it up, public pressure would ensue, and then I’d have to save face or resign in some ugly fashion.
In short, what I had just done ensured there was no winning—and definitely very little sleeping on this particular night.
When the alarm went off at 4 a.m., the first thing I thought was how badly I wanted the warmth of my bed to stay where it was. Outside the sheets, nothing but cold, miserable air awaited. I had to drag myself out, but the whole ride to JFK Airport felt like a struggle just to stay awake. No one would do anything to me given it was New York City, but damnit, I didn’t want to have to even think about it.
At least the plane ride afforded me over four hours of sleep, and unlike many people, I actually could fall asleep on the plane without any trouble. It was a good thing, too, because given the intensity of what was to come with Virtual Realty, I would need as much sleep and as little dependency on caffeine and energy drinks as possible... even though that was coming as well.
Sure enough, seated in the far back of the plane—and for once, I felt reasonably confident no one was trailing me, because who the hell would want to wake up so goddamn early?—I passed out before the wheels had even lifted up. I dreamed of being back with Claire and, interestingly enough, having a threesome with her and Layla. The fuck that meant, I had no idea, but dreams on a plane were sporadic enough and choppy enough I didn’t have to psychoanalyze the whole thing.
That, and as soon as I landed, I had blistering number of messages from Morgan, all revolving around the same thing—Andrew and Virtual Realty intended to make a decision by Monday at noon when they had a conference call with their early investors. Which meant that whatever last second pitches I had to make, I had better make them strong over the course of the day.
There was no time for reflection. It was make or break time for MCH—either we’d get our early star, our early championship, and use that to catapult to greatness, or we would lose, news would leak to Edwin Hunt, and we’d both be fucked.
Suddenly, the precariousness of the position seemed much, much more tenuous. This wasn’t just a nice catch to have—it was an essential catch for the survival of MCH and our respective positions in our careers.
I practically hurdled out of the plane, in as quick a rush as I could to head over to Virtual Realty. En route in an Uber, Morgan advised me he had booked a hotel one block down from the headquarters, but I knew I wasn’t likely to spend more than an hour or two there, especially if negotiations went into the night. He also advised that Andrew had agreed to meet with me at noon by the office and promised me privacy.
Morgan’s note did not carry the greatest sense of confidence in it. I could sense his nerves starting to fray, and this wasn’t just about the deal but preventing Morgan from having the breakdown of all breakdowns. I had to do this not just for me, but for my brother.
We had to do this. We had to beat Edwin Hunt, consequences and fallout be damned.
As soon as I got there, I tried to steady both my breathing and the knock that I gave. I’m not sure how obvious it was that I was flustered and a little bit desperate, but given that Andrew answered the door in gym shorts and a t-shirt, he probably didn’t care the slightest bit that I was sweaty and and a little bit fast of mouth.
“Chance, welcome back,” he said.
He, too, looked a little tired, although not nearly to the same extent everyone in New York did. No matter what transpired in the next 24 hours, he would have a lot more money in his bank account than he did today. But we would have very different outcomes depending on what went down for us.
Must be nice. Maybe I’ll start one of these companies and make Edwin come begging to invest in us if we can’t win this bid.
“Thanks, bud,” I said, trying to keep conversation casual between two hotshots in their 20s. “How are things going for you?”
“Well, you know, usual, sales are never quite what we want them to be, but they’re coming along bit by bit.”
Exactly what I figured. He’s not quite there, but that’s where we can help. I can use that as a tool to negotiate.
“Oh, sorry to hear that. How far off are you?”
“About 20 percent, but still profitable.”
Maybe it was because he was a man and Claire was a woman, or maybe it was because Andrew seemed so willing to volunteer the information, but I felt absolutely no guilt about prying negotiating information out of him in comparison to Claire. Granted, I also wasn’t trying to sleep with Andrew, but even ignoring the romance, one volunteered the information, the other knew how to selectively distribute it.
Nevertheless, even with this nugget of information, I began to suspect that I was past the stage of pushing things in our favor. There was only so far out on a branch Andrew was willing to go for the sake of his friendship with Morgan before he’d wind up with Edwin or some other unexpected investor.
“Well, good news is, we’re here to help fix that,” I said. “Obviously, you know why I’m here, so let me just get to it, shall we?”
“Of course,” he said. “I ordered us some pizza. I have a feeling we might be here a while.”
“Anything to get the deal done, right?”
“Exactly,” Andrew said laughing.
I wasn’t willing to ever rest on my laurels, partly because I could tell Andrew as a people pleaser and partly because the last meeting had gone so well, only for us to hear that Edwin Hunt might have jumped in the lead.
But this was a promising start. Andrew not only wanted to help me feel comfortable, he was willing to acknowledge us getting a deal done. Signs pointed to us at least getting to a point where I had all the information on the table and could make the executive decision to go down or walk away as opposed to just flailing in the dark.
Over the next few hours, we went into the most mundane of details, from how we would send the money over to what to do if we had to put a stop on any of the checks for any reason. For the most part, all seemed normal and all seemed promising.
But about three hours into the conversation, well after the pizza had arrived, been eaten, and left out to sit after a couple of hours, the most ominous fact came to light.
“I really want to go with you guys,” Andrew said, and the sinking feeling that immediately came up reminded me of any girl who had ever rejected me. “You’re a really nice guy...”
“But...” I said, finishing the thought for him.
“But your father has made an incredible sweet deal.”
Damn. Damnit. The worst possible thing he could have said. Of all the competitors, of course it fucking comes down to Edwin Hunt.
“He said he would do $5 million for 25 percent and offer us mentoring.”
I nearly choked on the last bit of pizza I was having when I heard him say that. Now, the negotiation was no longer about convincing Andrew to sign with us. It was about convincing him that my adoptive father was a manipulative liar.
“Andrew, this is me being as honest as I can be with you,” I said, and I prayed that this work. “If Edwin Hunt does mentor you, he would be ahead of me and Morgan. If he follows through on what he said, then yes, you should invest with him. I have little doubt—none, actually—that by experience alone, he can teach you more than either of us came.”
Now it’s my
turn to give a but.
“But that’s assuming that he ever follows through on that.”
The wide eyes on Andrew’s side suggested that he was not used to manipulative and tricky investors. That told me that while I could convert him, I had to go hard before Papa Hunt took him to town.
“Think of Edwin Hunt’s portfolio. He has an entire company based around all of the companies he invests in. Do you really think he’s going to have the time to mentor you? Do you think he’s going to ever reach out if your stock isn’t catering?”
“I mean... sure, he said he would.”
Oh, Andrew.
“He says a lot of things,” I said.
I decided to try something risky, maybe something not entirely appropriate for business, but something that I hoped would seal the deal.
“I know this as his son, OK, and Morgan does too. Mr. Hunt as a father was rarely there for us, and when he did teach us stuff, he would teach us things like art of the deal, or squashing the opposition to make more money. He didn’t care about our baseball games, he didn’t care about our fights, he didn’t care about anything other than raising us to be walking magnets for cash. If he did that to his two boys, what makes you think he’s going to do that for you, an entrepreneur from small-town India across the country?”
Andrew clearly didn’t know how to react to what I had just said. I might as well have told him that ghosts were real and that he had lived in the Matrix his whole life. The poor guy had the genius mind of a programmer but the childlike mind of a five-year-old boy.
“You’re serious?” Andrew said.
“I don’t say this to mock my father,” I said. “It’s not like if he invests in you guys and you guys take off, we’ll never see that money. We’re his heirs. But I’m not interested in that. Don’t get me wrong, we’re investing in this because it provides us a benefit too, but we only benefit if you benefit first. And you’re not going to benefit from having Edwin Hunt as your primary investor.”
I knew, though, even with everything I was saying, the math still favored Mr. Hunt. I had to bring our deal down—and this was where I had an appreciation for Andrew not being able to keep his mouth shut. It would make our negotiating lives a hell of a lot easier.
Bruised (Hunt Brothers Saga) Page 11
