Reckless Gamble: a billionaire high stakes suspense romance (City Sinners Book 4)

by Kenna Shaw Reed

  For the next hours, we left the door wide open. Carlynn returned with her laptop and set up a makeshift office on my small meeting table. As promised, I flooded her with information. Folders, emailed spreadsheets and enough paper to make most environmentalists cringe. Instead of complaining, she poured over each one, quickly deciding which were and were not relevant; asking questions I wished weren’t as pointed—or intelligent.

  Not that I’d admit it to either Carlynn or Mason, but she might actually be worth every cent Mason had negotiated.

  “Here are the employment contracts you asked for.” Chloe had left the sanctuary of Mason’s office to place a thick folder in front of Carlynn. Not even acknowledging me in my own office? Not even a nod after I’d given her my coffee this morning? Very un-Chloe.

  “Employment contracts?” A throw-away question, making conversation.

  “I didn’t ask for them—maybe Mason thought they’d be useful.”

  What the fuck!

  The moment Carlynn hid behind GG’s poker face, my gut twisted.

  I didn’t care about employment contracts.

  I cared that my throw-away comment hit a nerve.

  Carlynn was hiding something—which meant so was Mason. I’d already handed over the salary bonus structure for the sales team. Most staff were on a common contract. Only executive were on individualized employment contracts. They were a closely guarded secret—as much to stop us from having pissing competitions over money and share bonuses as to stop poaching.

  Carlynn didn’t need the employment contracts to do her job.

  Even if she’d asked, Mason wouldn’t have just handed them over.

  This was—

  What the fuck.

  “Anything you want to tell me?” I watched for her tell—nothing—that was her tell, at least for me.

  “All good, ready for lunch?”

  “Half an hour more,” I suggested, trying not to watch her lock away the folder in her brief case. Whatever she was looking for in the contracts, it had nothing to do with sales or debt book.

  Pedro’s for lunch, again.

  For more than two decades, Pedro had been a Sydney institution in traditional Italian cooking fused with a modern take. When his small restaurant became too difficult to get a table, Mason and I, with a few others put up the money for Pedro to open a new, high-end place on Sydney Harbour. Closer for us to meet for lunch. Views to wine and dine potential clients.

  A side benefit was a table being made available whenever we wanted—at least a couple of times a month. Good food, good wine and sometimes, good company.

  The vote was still out on today.

  “Miss Rush,” I said, opening the restaurant door. We’d been GG and Scott in the car, our fingers playing games in the back seat of the cab. When our seatbelts came off, my brain took over again and reminded me not to trust a woman who could lie about everything, even her name.

  “Welcome, Mr. Alexander. You are the first to arrive.” Melinda’s warm greeting was worth the price of admission. Even on my crappiest day, she had the soothing way of making me feel like this was home. We followed her to the far reaches, beyond prying eyes.

  “Can I take your jackets?”

  “Thanks, Mel.” Without thinking, I helped Carlynn out of hers before handing both jackets over. An intimate gesture, thank fuck Darius wasn’t already here.

  “Would you like to see the wine menu?”

  “Can we have some sparkling water and a bottle of my usual shiraz.” But before she could walk away, I added, “Mel, can I have three ice cubes in one of the glasses, please? And three slices of lime.”

  Carlynn opened her mouth, as if to speak, before quickly standing, her professional face back in place.

  “Carlynn, so glad you could make lunch.”

  I bristled when Mason greeted Carlynn with kisses to each cheek. But nothing prepared me for the blow to my gut, head and heart watching Carlynn’s reaction to Darius.

  “Mr. Patera, I presume?”

  No longer the main actor in our movie, I’d been downgraded to the person shovelling shit on the street. All in the minute her eyes locked with Darius’. Her deep violet and his black on black joined together for a moment too long. Bastard pulled out all stops, exaggerating his physical reaction.

  Bastard.

  “Ms.Rush, neither Mason nor Scott did you justice. If you are as smart as you are beautiful, Softli is in good hands.”

  “Please call me Carlynn,” she said as Darius’ lips brushed against her hand. Bloody Darius couldn’t help himself, I fumed. Bloody man could melt panties off a nun.

  Yesterday, she’d been mine. Flirting up a storm and fucking me like a wildcat. Now, Carlynn Rush had proven to have the same weakness as every other woman—Greek God Darius Patera.

  “Scott.”

  “Darius.”

  “Glad you could all make it,” Mason started before my drink order arrived.

  “Glass of water with three ice cubes and three slices of lime?” Mel looked around the table.

  “That would be for me.”

  “That sounds very specific.” Darius held out Carlynn’s seat, taking the one next to her without breaking a sweat as I tried not to care. At least we’d had the weekend.

  “It’s an inside joke between Scott and I.” Carlynn fixed her wide eyes on me, wanting the smile that had become trapped in my throat.

  What the fuck. Let it go, man. Let her go.

  Mason and Carlynn were setting me up. This wasn’t about the debt book. If the employment contract stuff was legit, Mason would have explained it to me. It had only been one weekend. I had no right to feel betrayed.

  “I’d like to hear all about it some time, dinner?” Darius turned on the charm.

  “I don’t date clients,” Carlynn deadpanned in exactly the same way she had told countless men that she didn’t date card players.

  “Shame, well if you change your mind.”

  “Mr. Patera, other women may find your forwardness charming, but it is wasted on me. When I said that I don’t date clients, I was trying to let you down politely.”

  I almost dropped my glass. Mason developed a coughing fit that had Mel rushing to fill his water glass.

  Did a woman actually put Darius Patera in his place?

  If Carlynn’s reaction had me speechless, it was Darius who stole the show. Laughing and slapping the table, showing no signs of hurt pride.

  “Well, Scott I think we’ve met our match. Let’s give this woman whatever she wants and hope she knows what to do with it!”

  Too late.

  Life was too short to compete with Darius over a woman again.

  GG

  GG: Are you going to the game tonight?

  Scott: Busy.

  GG: Want to catch up for breakfast before going into the office?

  Scott: Busy.

  Two weeks after our lunch gatecrashed by Mason and Darius, I still couldn’t get more than one-word answers from Scott. Requests for information and clarification either went through Layla or were answered directly by his team.

  Their efficiency and willingness to get on board with my analysis and preliminary findings meant the job wasn’t going to take as long as expected. I’d be out of Softli, and back in Scott’s—

  Arms? Hopefully.

  Bed? At this point, unlikely, but I’d always been willing to bet on miracles.

  Life?

  When I’d first met Scott—the drunken version, not the CFO—I’d been eager to dismiss him as a hot, arrogant, self-indulgent loser with more money than good sense. I’d married one of those.

  Which was why I’d fought the attraction and fought with the man.

  But now, I knew Scott Alexander, the man.

  I knew how much money he funneled to his sister and her family. I knew how he stayed with Softli out of loyalty to Mason and his team, not because of the salary or bonuses. He found challenges outside the office. In gambling, running, mountaineering and now rock-climbin
g.

  He loved the challenge—but on his terms.

  He’d never had a relationship that ended up in either living together or marriage. When I teased him about not being housetrained, he’d looked at me with pity.

  “Whenever there’s a crisis, it comes down to priorities. I can work normal hours, and then everything gets cancelled until I deal with it. If I don’t love the woman, I won’t care about cancelling dinners, weekends or holidays. If I love the woman, I don’t want her to spend her life thinking she’s second to work.”

  “But—”

  “No buts,” he interrupted, pulling me to his waist. Conversation was almost over. “Any woman I’d love enough to marry, I’d love too much to let her marry me.”

  He couldn’t have made a better pitch to my heart.

  With all my complications, I felt the same.

  “I was hoping Mr. Alexander could look at my draft notes this weekend?”

  By now, Layla and I were on shopping date terms. But after he decided to freeze me out, I always referred to Scott as Mr. Alexander, to the taunts of his team and Darius who I refused to refer to as anything other than the CIO.

  I wanted to spend time with Scott. Had our chemistry vanished under the weight of this contract, or could there be, something? Surely the promise of seeing my notes before anyone else could be enough to coax him out of his shell?

  “Sorry, no can do.”

  “My contract covers me working twenty-four by seven. I’m happy working on the weekend.”

  “That’s the point. If you want to be working the weekend, you’ll have to get the notes to him by Thursday lunchtime,” Layla suggested with an apologetic smile.

  “I won’t have the analysis done by then. I know he prefers hard copy—I could drop them off at his place?”

  “You could, but he won’t be there. He’s joined some extreme adrenalin junkie group.”

  “The rock-climbing thing?” At least I wasn’t competing with another woman. Only the thrill of hanging by a thread from a rock cliff. No thanks! I preferred my feet on the ground.

  “Scott’s always liked to live a little on the edge—don’t be taken in by the accountant exterior.”

  “Believe me, I’ve never pegged him for a typical accountant.”

  Thinking back, I’d assumed he had come from money. The wealth and entitlement oozed from him at the table. Lose a hand—he’d just sell a couple of houses. I’d been so wrong.

  “I guess not, but he’s traded indoor rushes for outdoors. He’s getting his pilot’s license and racking up hours flying to the Blue Mountains to go rock-climbing.”

  “Oh, and that’s this weekend?”

  “So, if you want to get his attention, you’ll need to get it to him on Thursday before he takes off for a three-day weekend.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh, and Carlynn?”

  I turned as Layla’s face told me that my secret crush hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  “You might want to drop by his place Thursday morning. He might decide to work from home, or head straight to the mountains. Catch him before his first coffee and you won’t miss him.”

  At first, I wanted to hand over my raw notes, talk Scott through my ideas and prove he had nothing to worry about. Then, feeling like I did have something to prove, I turned my raw notes into a draft report. That took me twelve, maybe fourteen hours. Then, I wanted to tweak and perfect it. I tried to look at the ideas and findings through his eyes, which gave me a new perspective. Something I’d try and remember for future clients.

  Thirty hours after leaving Layla, I set three alarms across phones and clock radio before collapsing into bed. If only my brain would now turn off, I could get four hours’ sleep before getting up and making it across town to Scott’s apartment before he left for the gym on Thursday morning.

  What could go wrong? After all, he’d managed to avoid me for weeks.

  “What!” Scott answered the buzzer with a greeting better saved for a personal tax audit.

  “It’s me, can you let me in.”

  “Why.”

  Seriously? I tried to ignore how many hours I’d worked in the last three days just to meet this arbitrary deadline.

  A deadline he knew nothing about.

  “I have a draft report.”

  The click of the building front door unlocking became my answer.

  In the minutes it had taken to hail the elevator and get up to his penthouse suite, Scott had wedged an old sneaker in the door, leaving it ajar.

  Should I go in or knock?

  Stalling for a sign or inspiration, I smoothed down my waves and reapplied my lip gloss. I didn’t need a mirror to know my eyes had a bloodshot tinge that would only fade with eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

  I could just drop the report and run away. Let Scott crawl back to me with apologies for all his unfounded assumptions.

  Or, I could walk in and let my dress do the talking. I’d purchased the deep russet wrap dress on impulse and loved the way the soft fabric hung to my curves, and even the sensual nude stockings were only obvious if the split fell open. But, after a couple of embarrassing incidents, I’d made sure invisible clasps were in place before wearing it to the office.

  Scott’s home wasn’t the office.

  “Put it on the table and then just leave.”

  I hadn’t crossed the threshold before his voice boomed from inside the apartment. I’d wanted a sign, well, he had invited me inside.

  Ignoring Scott’s second request, I followed the short corridor from front door to the living area. Beautiful wooden carved couches opening up to a fake fireplace. I assumed the television was retractable because nothing marred the sense of home. This wasn’t an executive penthouse with modern gloss. This was a home that just happened to be in the middle of the city and thirty floors into the sky, instead of on a quarter acre block.

  I assumed Scott was down one of the corridors and would find me when he was ready. Following the massive windows to the left, a dining room large enough to comfortably seat twelve led into what was already my favorite room, the kitchen.

  If the lounge room was comforting and homely, and the dining room built for a family, the kitchen held all the luxuries I’d expect with Scott’s salary.

  Top line stainless steel appliances and two coffee machines.

  I ignored the pod machine sitting out on the bench, ready for use. Instead, I turned on the real coffee machine. My guess was that Scott used pods when making coffee for one, and only used the real machine for guests.

  “I thought I told you to leave.”

  The coffee machine burring through its warm up cycle had attracted the man of the hour. My knuckles gripped around the coffee cup as I sucked in an involuntary gasp.

  Scott Alexander strode into his kitchen wearing black boxer shorts and a scowl. Okay, his attitude was icy but his almost naked body had never looked—or smelt—hotter. Sweaty from a workout, his glistening chest and sweaty biceps were on full display.

  “Coffee?” I asked sweetly, as if making him coffee in his own kitchen was the most natural thing in the world.

  “Black.”

  “I thought you took it white?”

  “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought.”

  “Scott, please—what happened?” I concentrated on flicking the buttons in the right order. No eye contact, allowing Scott space to talk.

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit. You were amazing in your office but since then, nothing.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “No—you’ve been avoiding me.” Damn the man, it was getting harder to stay calm when he wouldn’t give me a reason—

  “Darius is making a serious play for you.”

  There it was!

  I shot Scott a dismissive look, “Darius has been making an absolute ass of himself and if Mason doesn’t do something about it, I will.”

  “What’s he done?”

  Finally. I could handle Scott’s j
ealousy if that’s all this was. Still, I stayed focused on making the coffees and hoped by the time I’d mastered the art of his coffee machine, he’d be ready to talk. Talk and listen.

  “Nothing that I can’t handle, but I told him, and I told you—I don’t date clients.”

  “I’m a client.”

  “I met you before you became a client.”

  “You don’t date players.”

  “I don’t think what we have can be called dating.”

  “Had—past tense.”

  “Your decision, not mine.”

  Two coffees made without burning down Scott’s kitchen or blowing up the strange machine, I now had a reason to approach Scott with caution. If Scott couldn’t be bothered finding a shirt, I didn’t need to hide my appreciation, drinking in everything from the sexy scowl to hard abs that then led to an impressive V. I only hoped my dress had enough of an impact for him to put aside any of the bullshit thoughts that had been keeping us apart.

  Eyes locked together, I handed him both cups before they burned my hands.

  Would he remember?

  “My turn to speak.” I whispered, hoping I’d shut the front door but not caring if he invited neighbors in to watch.

  Half a step closer. Scott stood still, one hand still holding each cup. Not pulling away, backing away or pushing me away.

  I dipped my head, tentatively licking one bead of sweat from his chest. Loving how my tongue glided across his salty muscles. Loving the way his arms flexed at my touch.

  Unimpeded by my man, I allowed my tongue to follow trails up and down his chest. At his first moan, my hands joined in the pleasure. Following every definition, tracing circles around his nipples.

  Feeling him.

  Wanting him to put aside all the bullshit and remember—we could be an us.

  At any time, Scott could have walked away, put down the cups or stopped me. He didn’t. So, I didn’t stop.

  Kneeling on the cold tiles, I made sure my dress gaped open. Intent on teasing this man until he gave into me. Not that his body seemed ready to deny me. By the time I caressed his erection through the black boxers, he was already the man I remembered. Long, thick and incredibly hard.