by JC Harroway
I slide my phone onto the table so he sees the timer ticking down the minutes I’ve allocated to this meeting. It may be his turf, but I’m in control.
Rather than open the laptop in front of him, he rests his elbow on the arm of his chair, strokes his clean-shaven chin with his capable fingers and watches me in silence from narrowed eyes.
‘I hope being here doesn’t make you uncomfortable.’ He waves a hand in the direction of the sofa, and the bedroom door beyond.
Bastard.
‘Not at all,’ I lie, shivering as those currents of longing shift through my limbs. How dare he be so in tune with my body? How dare he be the kind of lover who’s hard to forget? How dare he plant seeds of glorious retribution sex in my mind and then stand back and watch the fruits of his labour bloom in me?
‘Okay. First item on the agenda,’ he says, still pinning me with that sexy stare. ‘Are you free tonight?’
I splutter, flushing hot and then cold. ‘You can’t be serious.’
He shrugs his wide shoulders. ‘And yet I am.’
My breath gusts and my nipples tingle at his bossy tone.
‘It’s just a business dinner, Ava. Surely you’ve had one of those before.’ His eyebrows lift. ‘Unless you’re worried you might kiss me again? Go too far this time?’
Come for me again, beautiful Ava.
Oh, help me, yes...
Stop. He’s destroying my livelihood and all I can think about is sex.
‘No—dinner is off the table.’ I lift my chin, meeting the challenge of his stare with my own. ‘Whatever business we have we can discuss now.’
I push my hair over one shoulder and glance pointedly at the display of diminishing minutes on my phone. With any other businessman I wouldn’t hesitate to conduct meetings after hours. But yesterday, him walking into my office changed everything.
‘Why so nervous? Afraid to be alone with me?’
‘Just because I have no choice other than to watch you like a hawk and keep an eye on my company, doesn’t mean we’re dating. We’re not even fucking.’
‘Not right now, no. Although the desk is sturdy if you want to change that.’ His expression drips sarcasm and seduction—an impressive combination to pull off.
‘Maybe I do,’ I say, taunting him back. I want to kiss him and bite his full lower lip until he hisses.
He smiles but there’s ice lurking in his stare.
‘Item two,’ I say, my tone clipped as I cling to my frazzled composure. ‘I need the details of the other companies in your proposed merger.’
‘I’m glad you brought that up.’ He issues another satisfied smile. ‘You’ll need to accompany me on an overnight business trip to Chicago. The logistics facility I own there, Brent’s Express, is similar to Hamilton’s. I’d like you to compile a report for the merger—areas where the companies overlap with or complement each other and how I can trim away any fat once I take them national.’ He slides a document folder my way. ‘Brent’s Express company prospectus—basic facts, statistics, sales projections et cetera. I prefer not to lay off too many staff, so if you can suggest other efficiencies once you’ve visited the site, we can avoid the pain of redundancies.’
My head spins at the abrupt shift he takes from adversary to colleague. That he’s thinking about how his plans impact the current employees of both Hamilton’s and this Chicago-based firm casts my assertions into doubt. Maybe he’s not the total asshole I want to believe he is. Maybe he cares about the merger beyond the money he’ll make.
That doesn’t change the fact that I want Hamilton’s back.
Reluctant to allow him any concession, I flip open the file in silence. Aside from a glossy prospectus, it contains a travel itinerary and hotel reservation.
‘This itinerary is for tomorrow...’ I’m aware my mouth is hanging open.
He nods. ‘Todd checked with your assistant, Judy. Your schedule is clear. If it’s not convenient for personal reasons, we can postpone, but the sooner we get things underway the better, I think. I’m sure that prolonging this...this professional association unnecessarily benefits neither of us.’
His statement shouldn’t sting. It’s only what I’ve told myself—I can’t wait for him to be a part of my past—but I’m insulted just the same. ‘No. You’re right. How very efficient of you.’ That he can seemingly overcome the sexual undercurrents and focus on work leaves me irritable and ready to slap myself in the hopes I’ll snap out of the sensual spell being near him casts.
‘So, agenda item three—how I see Hamilton’s featuring in the new company.’ He opens his laptop. ‘Let’s discuss it.’
We spend the rest of the hour going through the strengths and weaknesses of my company and what changes are required to bring Hamilton’s in line with the other companies he owns—Brent’s Express and a shipping company called SeaFreight.
Begrudgingly I see his vision. The amalgamation and subsequent cost-cutting will make the new company an attractive proposition to potential buyers. But that’s not what I want. A large, slick, corporate operation isn’t the business my grandparents founded. Hamilton’s strengths lie in our ability to deal with the one-off and unusual solutions. The company began with the shipping of a delicate grand piano that belonged to Nonna from Italy.
‘All Hamilton’s really needs is some updated software which will allow us to link into national carriers and expand our services to other states.’ I offer a solution, outline the benefits to both of us for turning Hamilton’s profitable once more without cutting and pasting it into his grand plan. If he won’t sell me his stock, perhaps I can persuade him it’s a lucrative option to keep the company we co-own in his portfolio.
‘Perhaps you’d be right, if that was my only consideration.’ His gaze flits and I make a note to ascertain the other factors.
‘I’m not naïve,’ I press on, taking advantage of his concession and the fact I’m back in his office, this time with my clothes on. ‘I can see how your amalgamation plans will have manifold cost-cutting benefits, greater leverage with national freight companies and even cut out the middle man to a degree.’
He nods, his eyes showing a glimmer of appreciation that I’d normally find flattering. After all, he’s a world-class businessman.
‘Bold invests in a number of freight-carrying and freight-forwarding companies. I can broker a beneficial deal for the new owner of Lombard Logistics that makes this an even more attractive purchase. If you’re trying to talk me out of it, you’re doing the opposite. You’re smart, Ava. You can see how this benefits us both in the long run.’
How am I making this worse? ‘Except for me it’s personal.’
‘Who says it’s not personal to me?’ His stare narrows.
He hinted at this yesterday but didn’t elaborate. ‘How?’ There’s clearly more than good business motivating him.
‘Turning struggling companies profitable once more is why I love my job. Isn’t that enough of a reason?’
Still evasive...
‘If I only cared about profit alone...’ I mutter. Eight months ago, with both of my grandparents still alive, I might have been on board with his plan. I’d have probably tried to persuade Nonna and Pops to sell Hamilton’s. It’s been limping along for a while. The glory years under my grandparents are long gone. When Pops developed Parkinson’s two years ago and had to drastically cut back on his hours, I did what I could to compensate, but some previously loyal customers couldn’t stomach the change of leader and deserted us.
I sigh, defeated. If only there were a few more hours in the day, I could work harder to rescue Hamilton’s without Sterling’s help. There’s nothing to stop me implementing the same changes he’s proposing alone, for the benefit of Hamilton’s only. But without the controlling stake, he can sell it regardless, so what’s the point in sinking my personal savings, my time and my energy into Hamilton’s,
only for it to feature in his...corporate yard sale?
‘Listen, I’m in no doubt of your professional credentials,’ I say. ‘The whole world knows you’re good at what you do—making money. But this is more than a job to me. Most of our staff have been with us for decades. It’s an extended family of sorts.’
Or maybe that’s simply how you feel because without Hamilton’s you’d be truly alone... Because you have nothing else in your life. Too scared to chase a relationship because it makes you aware of what you’ve lost. Clinging to the past, because you’re somehow emotionally stuck at the age you were when your parents died.
The vile voice in my head also warns me not to get my hopes up. ‘But my loyal staff aren’t enough to dissuade you from your course of action, are they?’ My voice is flat. I already know the answer from his guarded expression.
‘No, I’m afraid not.’ His stare carries definite regret. What kind of personal reasons are stopping him from abandoning his plans?
‘You still want to punish me for Friday, don’t you?’ I was foolish to think I could influence him with sound business sense. Thinking I had a shot to convince him with my insider knowledge, passion and sentiment. I should have known better—for a man like him, feelings and emotions don’t enter the boardroom.
He glances at my phone and sighs. ‘It’s less about you and more about me, Ava, but I can see why you think I’m an asshole.’
If only I could relegate him to the asshole category. Dismiss him and take the moral high ground. But our physical connection—the generous, impassioned, playful side of him I saw the night we met—and the rare glimpses of intriguing complexity he reveals when his barriers lower hold me back.
He’s like sugar: bad but so addictive.
‘I think you consider I’ve wronged you and you want me to pay.’ How could I have been so stupid and trusting? ‘You probably invited me here just to toy with me.’ Another notch on his belt.
I should tell him to stick his merger and his equity and walk away. Only, while there’s a spark between us there’s still a chance I might be wrong about him. That he might change his mind and see that some businesses are about people, not profits.
That’s especially true of Hamilton’s.
‘Rest assured,’ he says, his hard eyes glittering, ‘I have very sound reasons for selling these companies.’ Chills break out over my bare arms at the look he shoots me—both hostility and heat that reminds me of every touch we shared. ‘And if I wanted to punish you for Friday, you’d be naked and coming by now.’
As if his words have lit a touch paper, my despicable body goes up in flames.
He closes his laptop and stands, signalling that the discussion is over.
I rise too, feeling dismissed and horny and furious that the two emotions can exist in me at the same time.
But one feeling overrides all others. I want my punishment and I want to punish him in return. For casting doubt over the future of Hamilton’s. For showing me just enough of his good qualities to make me question the bad. For making me crave him while I bemoan that we ever met.
He escorts me to the door and holds out my jacket. How easily he can switch on the charm and control our chemistry, when it’s eating me alive and spitting out the bones. How effortlessly he can look at me as if he’s remembering how perfectly we complemented each other in bed, even while he maintains his hard line over Hamilton’s.
I turn my back on him, sliding first one arm and then the other into the sleeves, my heart galloping that we’re this close but not locked together with the passion I know we can ignite.
The heat from his body scalds my back. His spicy cologne floods my senses. His breath brushes the hair at the back of my head.
I freeze, my physical needs stilling every part of me but the thundering of my heart. Liquid heat gathers between my legs. If he wanted me now I wouldn’t stop him, heaven help me.
When I can take no more of the escalating tension, I spin around and he’s right there. We’re face to face, chest to chest. I look up into those green eyes of his and feel his minty breath mingle with mine.
‘Ava,’ he says, holding out his hand as if in conclusion to any other meeting. He’s so calm, whereas I’m a wreck: conflicted and inflamed.
I shake his hand, my palm sparking against his. My toes curl in my shoes.
One heartbeat.
Two...
With a curse under his breath, he scoops one strong arm around my waist. In two quick paces I’m crowded up against the door. My fingers spear his hair as his mouth claims mine. He groans, transmitting his desperation through the glide of his lips and the thrust of his tongue.
Triumph sings through my every nerve. Despite the passing of another day, he’s no more in control of this than I am.
The kiss, which has been brewing since our last one in his Porsche yesterday, consumes me. My mind clears of worry, frustration and doubt. There’s only room in my head for Sterling and this reckless, defiant desire that won’t be silenced.
I moan into his mouth, hiking my dress up my legs so his thigh slots home against my core, providing the friction I need. His hand replaces his thigh, and his fingers slide past my underwear and slip easily inside me. I’m so wet for him.
He tears his mouth from mine. ‘Fuck...’ He presses his forehead to mine, panting as if he too is trying to come to terms with the contradictory feelings of desire and animosity.
‘This doesn’t mean I like you,’ I gulp, yanking his hips close by tugging the belt loops of his trousers.
‘You like me good enough. You’re soaking.’ He braces one hand on the door above my head and looks down, fire in his eyes as he works his other hand between my thighs. His thumb circles my clit and my legs buckle.
‘Do you like that?’ he asks with a self-assured grin.
‘No.’ I spread my thighs, giving him better access while I cling to his corded arms to stop myself becoming a puddle on the floor.
‘Liar.’
Our stares lock, challenge blazing between us in hot arcs like those from a welder’s torch.
‘Just because our bodies crave pleasure,’ I palm his erection to make my point, ‘doesn’t mean we have to like the person delivering it.’
‘Lift your dress higher,’ he orders without denial.
I obey, both his willing pawn and his fierce opponent.
He drops to his knees and shoves my panties aside. I look down. My legs tremble at the look of furious lust slashed across his face.
‘This is for leaving me hard and alone in my bed the other night,’ he says, his voice low but tinged with malice.
He keeps his fingers inside me and covers my clit with his mouth. I gasp at the first decimating touch. I bite the back of my hand to stifle my cries, aware of voices in the reception area beyond the door.
He pulls back, triumph glittering in his eyes when I whimper out my dismay.
‘Keep up those pleading noises and you’ll get what you want.’ He flicks at my clit with the tip of his tongue.
‘Bastard. I hate you.’ I spear my fingers into his hair and twist with just enough pressure to dictate the angle of his head. Not once do Sterling’s eyes leave mine as he sucks me. His fingers plunging in and out are a poor substitute for his glorious cock, but effective all the same. He’s enjoying my torture. High on the pleasure I couldn’t hold inside if the building started to crumble around us. Momentary awareness of the timer on my phone and the alarm about to signal the conclusion of our meeting floods me with urgency. I’m desperate for him to finish my punishment, but I’ll repay him in kind.
A disembodied voice I recognise as Todd’s breaks the silence.
‘Mr Lombard—your ten am is here, sir.’
The wave of delirium suspending me falters. My eyes plead with Sterling.
So close... So, so close...
He doubles hi
s efforts. A low groan rumbles up from his chest as he senses my imminent explosion.
The last thing I see before my climax snatches me and deposits me on the ceiling is his victorious smile.
When it’s over, when reality creeps back into the room, he rights my underwear, tugs down my dress and strides to his desk.
‘Just a minute, Todd. Ms Hamilton and I are almost done.’ He speaks to his assistant as if nothing has happened, as if I’m not leaning up against the door breathing hard and seeing stars. As if he isn’t nursing a massive hard-on.
He casts me a look—part satisfaction, part regret, because he’s the one who’ll have to continue his next appointment unfulfilled.
Yet I feel like I’ll never find all of my scattered pieces. I’m so discombobulated, my orgasm so powerful, I’m reeling. How can someone I should hate get to me so thoroughly? Know my desires so well? It makes no sense.
I need to leave, to walk out of here with my wobbly legs and my confusion and my questions. I swallow and run a hand through my hair, finding my balance without assistance from the door.
He’s already putting himself back together, his tie straight and his arousal diminishing. It seems he was right: the only way to get through this period of professional discord, to see who’ll come out on top, is to embrace that we’re temporarily in each other’s blood.
But I can’t leave him thinking he has the upper hand. I need to remind him that I’ll fight for Hamilton’s until the end.
‘One last question?’ I say in an impressively normal voice, as if that incredibly hot few minutes hadn’t happened. ‘Ahead of our visit to Chicago tomorrow?’ I wave the folder on Brent’s Express at him.
‘Okay.’ His expression is once more closed and cagey, and part of me aches for the return of his passion.
‘Why not offload this merger onto someone who works for you? Bring in a firm of consultants to slash through the redundancies, streamline, rebrand and then sell.’ I need to understand why this deal is so personal to him. He says he wants my report, but he seems to be doing all the work.
