by S. M. West
The waiter simultaneously removes the silver domes from our dishes and silently leaves. Zach waits until the door closes to speak.
“Horseradish and salmon?” He quirks an eyebrow, watching me spoon some of the condiment onto my plate
“Yes. It’s good. Do you want to try?”
He nods, keeping his gaze on me as I scoop a dollop onto his plate. I sip my wine and watch him taste the unusual pairing. “Wow, it does go well together.”
“I can’t have salmon without it now.” I smile. “This is really good. Thank you for dinner.”
“You’re welcome. Glad you like it.”
“Was this ordered in?”
“No. We have an executive dining room two floors up. We could have eaten there but this is more private.”
I quirk a brow and give him a suggestive look. “More private? Why, Mr. Rothwell, it sounds like you have plans for me.”
His intense gaze and the hard set of his jaw cause me to question if it’s smart to copy his flirty mood from earlier tonight.
“Yes, I have plans and my office affords us the privacy to discuss our backstory.”
This is business, not a date. Not that I thought it was—but with the way he looked at me, the wine, and dinner—it’s easy to think it means more. This man is catered to and every aspect of his life is executed seamlessly. Dinner is no exception. Where it might feel special to me, it’s an everyday occurrence to him.
“Of course. Where do we start?”
Pushing his plate aside, he clasps his hands together, all the while staring at me. “Friday is our board dinner. It will be the first time I’ve ever brought a date. There will be questions.”
“Board? I thought Rothwell Enterprises was a privately held company.”
“It is.” He pauses, smiling in a way that suggests he’s impressed with my knowledge of his business. “While we’re a family-run business, we don’t want to be myopic in our thinking. That can easily happen when you shut out the outside.”
There’s a subtle shift in his demeanor and if I hadn’t been staring at him, I wouldn’t have seen it. Sitting before me is the CEO, not the man, Zach. “We want objective feedback as to our strategic direction and other corporate matters. It never hurts to get another opinion and while we don’t always agree with their input, it has certainly helped with our continued profitability.”
“Okay, so the board members, how many are there?”
“Six. I’ll tell you more in a minute. Let’s talk about how we met and our relationship because even though this is a business dinner, they are bold and not above sticking their noses in where they don’t belong.”
He already sounds irritated with the thought of the dinner and knots form in my stomach. What have I gotten myself into?
“Let’s stick to the truth. Less chance of contradicting each other or worse, getting caught in a lie. Why don’t we tell them what I told your grandmother? I had a legal problem, you helped me.”
“Fine, that’s simple enough. We’ve been seeing each other for six months,” he says. “Any shorter than that and they’ll have a hard time believing I would invite you into the inner sanctum.”
I nod, not sure why he is inviting me into his inner sanctum, as he puts it, so soon. It seems like an awful lot of risk—he doesn’t know me—for, how did he put it, getting a chance at a business opportunity. It still isn’t clear what he gets out of our deal.
“Is that it? Do we need to give them anything else? I mean, it’s our relationship so it’s really none of their business.”
“True, but Nan will want more.”
“More? Like what?”
“She’ll want to know what we’ve done together. What we have in common.”
“Is she a romantic at heart?”
“Not a romantic. A control freak,” he says dryly.
“Okay. You’ll have to tell me where you’ve taken me because I can’t even begin to guess what you do with your dates. I don’t know what you people do.”
“You people?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean, the filthy rich.” My tone is dry. Surely, he has to see our differences.
Ignoring my comment, he names dinners and events that we supposedly attended together. Nothing too complicated and not so many that I can’t keep it straight, but I take notes on my phone about our three faux dates, nonetheless.
“Wait a sec. Can we get called out for any of these dates and events?”
“What do you mean?”
“Were any of the board members or Nan at any of these functions or did you take someone else?”
“No. And for the most recent, the MoMA Gala is in New York City.”
Right, we supposedly went to New York City for the evening. Silly me.
“All right, I think I have it. Now for your end of our agreement. What’s happening with your lawyers and my landlord?”
Striding to his desk, he flips through folders and pulls out a black one, motioning for me to join him. “These are for you to review and if you have no changes or concerns, sign them.” I scan the papers as he continues, “One is a notice for termination of your rental agreement and the other is a letter stating you will uphold your end of the agreement for the remaining sixty days and he must do the same. If he violates your privacy, like he has done in the past, or breaks any other part of the agreement, we will take legal action.”
Uncertain if I should read them now or later, Zach makes the decision for me by getting to work on his laptop, paying me no mind. Okay, then. For the most part I’m able to follow along although I’ll never understand why lawyers can’t use plain language.
“I don’t have any changes.” I sign the papers and hand them to him.
He slips the documents into a file folder before turning his attention to me. “There’s one more thing.” A grim pall stretches across his features. “We looked into Joel Hummel.” He pauses, letting that tidbit sink in, and it isn’t lost on me that he’s able to rattle off my landlord’s name without so much as a glance at his computer or a file. The bane of my existence has landed on Zachary Rothwell’s radar, one very powerful and wealthy man. That can only mean one thing. He’s discovered something concerning.
“And?” Fear and anxiety course through my veins.
“He’s done this before. Harassed another tenant.”
Seven
Zach
“What do you mean?” She pales hearing Joel Hummel makes it a habit to harass his tenants, and she doesn’t even know the worst of it.
After meeting Paige, I initiated an investigation into her landlord. Tamara, the lawyer I assigned to this, advised against it, stating it would be a waste of time and money. She was wrong.
“He did something similar a few years ago to his tenant at the time.” I spare her the details. Joel Hummel is a sick fuck. “Unfortunately, she didn’t press charges.”
“What do you mean?” She runs a shaky hand through her hair and worries that bottom lip of hers.
I sweep my gaze over her pretty lips and my balls tighten. Fuck. Now is not the time to be thinking with my dick—she’s scared.
“The woman didn’t report his violation. Like you, he came in without consent and she terminated her agreement. She didn’t go to the police or the housing agency or anything like that.” I’ve oversimplified the incident, but I don’t want to worry her any more than she already is.
“If there’s no record, how did you find out about this?”
Pretty and smart.
Even distressed, she’s keeping up and catching all that I’m not saying. I like this woman. She’ll do just fine with the board. Some of them might try to eat her alive, but she can handle them.
“My investigators are good.”
“Was it the same house?”
“No. It wasn’t. Don’t stress about this. The papers will be sent by registered mail tomorrow.” I tap the file folder where she scrawled her signature not too long ago. She nods but isn’t fully convinc
ed of my reassurances. “Now the dress.” I abruptly change the subject, walking over to the mirrored wall.
Unbeknownst to her, a closet is hidden behind the wall and she tracks my movements as I hit a spot twice and a door pops open. I lift out the black garment bag and she walks over to join me.
“Is that…” She points to the designer name, speechless as I nod and hook the bag on the back of the door before unzipping it.
She’s enraptured by the reveal and I never anticipated enjoying this as much as I am. I pull back the garment bag and she gasps at the ruby strapless mermaid gown.
“Oh my.” Her fingers tremble against her mouth and her other hand touches the fabric of the gown. “This is too much. I can’t accept it.”
Her eyes glisten with a watery sheen. I’ve given gowns, jewelry, hell I’ve even gifted a car once, to other women and none of them reacted like Paige. And in turn, none of it was as thrilling for me as the look on her face.
Awestruck.
“Stop right there. This is a gift for my…” I stall on what to say next.
Girlfriend is too immature of a word and not accurate, even if this isn’t real. And significant other or partner suggests something weightier and she might read too much into it. And lovers? We aren’t nor will we be. Yet the thought of her naked beneath me makes my dick twitch. It’s purely physical and not hard to grasp—well, it’s hard, but not difficult to fathom my interest in having sex with Paige. She’s a beautiful woman.
“Business partner.” She smiles stiffly. “It really is beautiful.” There’s a wistful quality to her voice as her eyes wander back to the dress and she adoringly trails her hand down the front of the rich red fabric. “It might not fit me.”
“Trust me, it will. It’s haute couture and custom made.”
We stare at each other and something foreign and noteworthy passes between us just as there is a loud rapping at the door followed by Donovan Wilkes barging into my office.
“Hey, Zach, do you want to—” Donovan, CEO of Canada’s leading food processing and distribution company and a classmate from my Upper Canada College days, stands in my doorway.
He doesn’t work here—he has his own company to run—but he has an irritating sense of entitlement and just stops by whenever he wants. I doubt he works given how often he’s here, harassing the female staff or annoying me. Usually, I tolerate his drop-ins because I have immense respect for his father, Cormac, our chairman of the board.
He stops short when his gaze lands on my guest and his mounting interest is evident as the seconds tick by.
She hasn’t bothered to look in his direction, too transfixed by the dress, until he says, “Paige?”
Reluctantly, she tears her gaze from the gown to the interloper with a look of recognition. “Donovan?”
She steps toward him and he does the same. All while I watch, mute, as they embrace, both laughing and smiling like long-lost friends. My chest tightens as does my jaw but I’m speechless and maddeningly curious.
“Look at you.” Brazen and unapologetic, he roams her body, coveting what isn’t his, and reaches out to play with a few strands of her hair. He’s fucking touching her and it takes every ounce of restraint to stay silent, digesting the scene unfolding before me.
“You don’t look too bad yourself.” She pats his shirt-clad chest, her fingers skimming down his abdomen before falling away just before reaching his belt.
What the fuck?
“You know each other?”
He nods, inching closer. Arrogant bastard. Paige steps back from him at my icy tone, but he clasps her hand in his, not letting her stray too far. He turns to face me, obviously not reading the room or more likely, not giving a fuck. Jackass.
“We went on a date years ago. Her brother introduced us.”
Shit, that’s right. Donovan did cross paths with her brother at law school. They stare at each other once again and my anger flares. I want to break something. Maybe even Donovan’s face.
“Seems we both have that in common. Thanks, Drew.” I’m fixed on Paige, pinning her with my scrutiny and sensing her unease.
Hyperaware, she follows my gaze to where their hands are joined. My jaw flexes, tensing, and this time she not only retreats but takes her hand with her.
“It was a long time ago.” Hers is a throw-away line, meant to dissuade him from furthering their trip down memory lane.
“Yeah. You were the one that got away.” He only has eyes for the lovely brunette, unmindful of the tinderbox he’s creating. “One date and then two days later, I left for Europe for a year. Dumb move. When I came back you were dating someone else.”
“I was surprised you contacted me when you came back.” Her cheeks heat, but nowhere near the inferno blazing inside of me.
“Well, that’s history.” My tone is sharp and biting. “Donovan, you interrupted something that I’d like to get back to. What do you want?”
Straightening his tie, he scans my office as if expecting to find a meeting underway or something similar. As he takes in our dinner, the wine, and the dress, the crease between his blond brows deepens, realization dawning. Eventually, his eyes land on me. “I thought you were alone. I came by to see if you wanted to grab a drink.”
Or pick up his next fuck. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s come trolling despite my numerous warnings to go elsewhere and inevitably, his selfishness burdens my HR team with cleaning up the mess. Do you have any idea how disruptive to the workplace it is to have several women thinking they are exclusively dating the same man, only to discover they are one of his harem? Oh, and did I mention the asshole is married?
I pin him with my eyes, my incensed expression intensifying with each second that passes. Eventually his shoulders shift, deflating, and he says, “I’ll leave.”
“You do that.” Turning my back on him, I lift the dress from the hook to return it to the garment bag.
“Is that for you?” he has the nerve to ask Paige, instead of following through on his departure.
I stop what I’m doing, and she nods, biting her bottom lip again.
“Wow, what I’d do to see you in it. You’ll be a stunner.” His flattery causes her to blush again, and her attention is now fully on him as if he’s the bearer of said gown.
“You will. I’m escorting Paige to the board dinner on Friday.” Not hiding my smugness, I stand taller and his brows shoot up to his hairline. “She’ll be exquisite. Good night, Donovan.”
There is no room for misinterpretation. He knows me well enough to know my tone isn’t that of a patient man. He’s pushed me far enough and if he values our relationship, tenuous at best but we put in the effort because of our families, he’ll leave. Thankfully, he does.
Once the door is shut, I return to putting the dress away and then call my driver to bring the car around to take Paige home.
She stands quietly, frozen in the middle of my office, and her expression is unexpectedly sullen.
“You didn’t have to be rude.” Her chastising tone makes me bristle.
“If you were a man, I’d have told you to put your dick back in your pants.”
“Excuse me?” She blinks, eyes dampening, and her vulnerability only incenses me more.
“Do you throw yourself at anything with a dick?”
Speaking of dicks, I’m aware that I’m being one but can’t seem to care. That scene moments ago with another man and my supposed future fiancée was a train wreck and something I don’t want to have to go through again. Maybe I was wrong, and she isn’t the right woman for this arrangement.
“Stop saying dick every time you talk to me.” She seethes, teeth bared, and hands clenched into tight balls at her side.
“You seem to like dick, or do you prefer cock?” I lean in closer, bending to get in her face and her hot short breaths skate across my jaw. “Some might not know the difference, but something tells me you do.”
Too quick for me to see it coming, a crack rents the air as her palm connects
with my jaw, smacking me across the face. Stunned, I step back as my eyes water and my nose stings. There’s no one to blame but myself and I should have anticipated her reaction. Paige certainly has it in her.
Rubbing at my biting flesh, I eye her warily. Coiled tight, she’s still poised to strike and her eyes darken to the color of night.
“This was a bad idea.” Her body shakes and before I can even say her name, she’s out the door and down the hall. Dammit.
Briskly, I trail her, several feet behind. I could easily catch her or call out her name, but it might be wise to let her cool down. My jaw still aches, deservedly so.
Of course, who else but Donovan is waiting for an elevator. Shit. Never one to rush into things, I hang back, out of sight, and listen as they talk about us. She doesn’t really confirm, nor does she deny that we’re an item and at first, I’m content with their idle chit-chat. I almost leave, giving her space she likely still needs, and plan to call her tomorrow because as much as she might think the deal is off, it isn’t.
Then I overhear him inviting her to grab a drink. Red is all I see. Or more accurately, green. As close to jealous as is possible. This is new for me.
My gut clenches at the idea of them having a drink and reminiscing or lamenting their missed moment. No fucking way. And knowing Donovan the way I do, he has a one-track mind and will spend every effort trying to get her into bed.
Possessiveness is a trait I’m very familiar with given I run a highly successful empire. I’m accustomed to acquiring and owning; I want something, I take it. Typically, this mentality doesn’t lend itself to women. Where the fairer sex is concerned, it’s usually the reverse. Women want a piece of me, and I’m not bragging. They want to own me for multiple reasons, but mostly my wealth and power.
But tonight, right now, it’s different.
Paige Hayes isn’t available to Donovan or anyone else for that matter. She’s taken and they both need to be reminded of that.
I brush past him, and in the moment I hear them both say my name, I capture Paige’s mouth in an unforgiving kiss.
My hands hold her face and I dip my head down to press our mouths together. Her lips are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. A hungry groan releases from my mouth and she responds with a cute mewl of her own, melting into me, and I lose all reason.
