by Lisa Suzanne
OUTWAIT
©2017 LISA SUZANNE
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Published in the United States of America by Books by LS, LLC.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters and events in this work are figments of the author’s imagination.
Cover Design by Lisa Suzanne
Editing by Editing by C. Marie
From the outside, Carson King looks like he has it all. He’s next in line to be CEO of King Communications, he’s hot and single, and he’s at the center of the New York social scene. He has a different woman on his arm every night, and he wouldn’t change a single thing about his life…until Sylvie Baker storms into his boardroom.
Sylvie Baker actually does have it all. She balances a successful career with the perfect boyfriend—a man she plans to marry someday. She wouldn’t change a single thing about her life…until Carson King challenges everything with one simple confession.
Sylvie is intent on fighting her feelings. Carson’s convinced it’s just a waiting game.
But how long is he willing to wait for her?
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BOOKS BY LISA SUZANNE
CLICKBAIT
STALEMATE
OUTWAIT
CONFLICTED
NOT JUST ANOTHER ROMANCE NOVEL
VINTAGE VOLUME ONE
VINTAGE VOLUME TWO
HOW HE REALLY FEELS (HE FEELS, BOOK 1)
WHAT HE REALLY FEELS (HE FEELS, BOOK 2)
SINCE HE REALLY FEELS (HE FEELS, BOOK 3)
THE HE FEELS TRILOGY BOX SET
SEPARATION ANXIETY
SIDE EFFECTS
SECOND OPINION
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PREVIEW: CONFLICTED
OUTWAIT (verb):
1. To overcome a situation by holding oneself back from an action.
CHAPTER 1
CARSON
“I appreciate the offer, son, but it’s going to take a lot more than a pretty bottom line.”
Son—what a condescending son-of-a-bitch. Despite the dig at me, I keep my face smooth. I want to punch this guy in his bald head, but I keep my cool. If he had a daughter, I’d fuck her just to piss him off. “With all due respect, Mr. Baker, it’s more than a pretty bottom line. It’ll set you, your children, and your children’s children up for the rest of their lives.”
“I understand that, but we do just fine.”
“I’ve reviewed your financial statements, and I must respectfully disagree. Profits are down forty-seven percent over the last year, and they’re just going to keep plunging. Your shareholders won’t stand for that.”
“Profits are down, sure, but we’re still making money.”
“How long do you think that’ll last? Subscribers are vanishing by the day, and you aren’t doing anything about it.”
He gazes at me angrily for a second. “I’m not doing anything about it?” He slams a fist down on his desk and lowers his voice to a near hiss. “You don’t know the first goddamn thing about this company. You can take your offer and shove it.”
His menacing threat is laughable.
“You know what this means, don’t you?”
He shakes his head and picks up some paperwork from his desk, acting more interested in that than in me. “Do what you have to do. My shareholders will stick by me.”
“Your shareholders, sir, are going to abandon you the second they see my numbers. They’ll have dollar signs in their eyes. Money talks, and any allegiance they have to you can be bought.”
He has to know I’m right. If he signs on my dotted line, it’ll be easier for both of us, and he’ll make way more money off the deal. Instead, he’s forcing my hand. I’ll have to go in and buy enough stock to take control of the company from him.
“Get the hell out of my office.”
I stand and walk toward the door. “I wish we could have come to an agreement, Mr. Baker.”
He gazes at me for a long minute, and then he returns his attention to his paperwork.
I nearly get sick on the sidewalk in front of the Baker Media building a few minutes later. I hate confrontation. This wasn’t even my idea; it was my dad’s. He wants their customer base and distribution channels, and he’s the one who should be here. He’s the acting CEO, but he thought it would be “good experience” as I look toward my future with the company.
I pace back and forth for a few minutes, drawing in deep breaths of the humid, salty sea air, and it instantly calms me—much more so than the stagnant, car-exhaust-filled air of Manhattan. I love New York, I really do, I just sometimes wonder if, given the choice, I’d have chosen it as the place where I want to spend the rest of my life.
The nerves in my stomach start to calm. I wasn’t built for this.
I think back to last night, regretting my parting words to Heather: “I’ll call you.”
It’s a lie. I’m not going to call her. I wasn’t built for relationships, either.
I don’t really know what I was built for, exactly. I enjoy women—a lot. I like single malt whisky and fast cars and social events with women wearing tight dresses. I like technology, and I like working with my hands.
I don’t like hostile takeovers. I don’t like flying and I don’t enjoy putting in eighteen-hour days. I don’t like intimacy or commitment.
Sometimes I’m jealous of my brother, Carter. He makes life look so easy—but he isn’t the one expected to take over the company when our dad retires.
Carter has always been so much more centered than me, so much more focused. The only reason I’m taking over as CEO in a few months is because it has always been expected of me. I’m not entirely positive it’s what I want, though.
As I r
ide back to the airport less than an hour after I left it, I think about my upcoming transition at work. Half the time, I feel like I fake the confidence I need to pull off the position of CEO. Maybe that’s why I sleep with so many women. That’s one area where I know I excel. I don’t have to fake it…and neither do the women I’m with.
Heather darts through my mind again. Last night—the third time I’ve slept with her—was a mistake, but bourbon does that to me, and Heather knows that. We’re business associates first. She works in marketing at one of our sister companies, and we run in the same circles. After a few too many cocktails at a corporate event one of our subsidiaries was sponsoring, we left together. We went back to her place—almost always the woman’s place, because then I can leave when I want—and fucked. Twice. Then I had to get home and grab my suit so I could make my flight this morning for this stupid meeting I didn’t even want to go to.
I arrive at the airport and check in for my flight, and then I wait in the first-class lounge. My phone notifies me of a text, and I glance at it to see it’s from Heather. I don’t open it, not right away. I wait a few minutes, staring mindlessly out the window, and I can’t help but think of her long, blonde hair and her blue eyes. She fits my type to a T—I fairly exclusively sleep with blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauties. I won’t say I’ve never dabbled in gingers or brunettes, but I just like blondes…especially the tall ones with legs for miles and tits they can shake in my face.
I’m getting hard just thinking about tits, actually.
Heather’s fine, and we have fun together, but after three times, I get the feeling she wants more than I do. Nothing drives that message home more clearly than the text I finally open.
Heather: I’m thinking of you.
There’s a picture attached, and she’s as naked as the day is long.
I shake my head and don’t respond despite the tightening in my pants. The only response I can come up with will lead her right back into my bed, and that wouldn’t be good for either of us.
Another text comes through, and I think about ignoring it in case it’s Heather again, but I’m waiting to hear back from my dad about my meeting with Baker Media.
It’s not my dad or Heather. It’s my buddy Miller Cox.
Miller: You in town tonight?
Me: On my way from San Diego now. Should be in by ten.
Miller: Meet me at Enders.
I sigh as I debate whether I should go. Enders is the bar we frequent. It’s been a stressful day, and a night out with my buddy doesn’t sound bad. I’m sure I’ll find someone to go home with, which doesn’t sound bad either, but I do have an early meeting tomorrow, and I have some work left to do.
Ultimately, good sense does not win this one. I’ll work on the plane. Sleep is for the weak.
Me: I’ll be there.
I’m pushing thirty. My birthday is fast approaching, and soon I won’t be in my twenties anymore. I’m getting too old for this shit, but I don’t really want to make any changes, either. Even though I’m not always thrilled with my job, I should be. I’m incredibly lucky to be taking over a billion-dollar company. I’m a decent-looking guy who works hard at the gym whenever I can spare the time. I’ve got women pushing each other out of the way to be with me. I have my pick of events to attend. I have people in my life I trust, and I’m logical enough to figure out who I can and can’t depend on.
All in all, my life is pretty damn near perfect.
So why does it suddenly feel like something’s off?
It has to be the fact that I’m boarding a plane soon. Flying gives me anxiety, and I’m too damn busy for anxiety.
I open my tablet and shift my focus to work. Any time my thoughts drift to the big three-oh, the magic solution is redirecting my thoughts to my job. There’s always something to do there, something to occupy my mind. It seems like it’s never finished—because it’s not.
I just wonder how long this solution will work.
CHAPTER 2
CARSON
When I walk into Ender’s a little later than I anticipated, I feel immediately at home. Miller and I typically come here a couple times a week, and our regular server is Taylor. Servers here dress in those tops that are really tight and tie up in the back to push their tits up, and Taylor wears it well. She’s cute and has a great personality, easily earning herself huge tips with her huge tits.
I’ve thought about taking her home, but I don’t want to ruin the good thing we have. She takes care of us when we come in, and sleeping with her might ruin that—especially if she’s one of those women who thinks sex is for more than just fun.
I won’t lie, though—I’ve fucked about half the other servers here.
I nod at Violet, one such example, as I walk to my table, and she shoots me a dirty look. She wanted more, too, which is why we don’t sit in her section anymore. I’d be a dick not to acknowledge her, though. I’m probably a dick either way, actually.
I slide into my usual seat at my usual table. Our table is in the VIP section on the second floor overlooking the dance floor below.
Miller uses this place not just for fun, but also for networking. He became good friends with the owner, and he brings clients here to show them a good time. He’s a financial advisor, and his motto is that his career is based on personal relationships. The more he entertains his clients, the more they trust him, the more money they give him, and the more money he makes.
Tonight isn’t for business. Instead, our usual crew is here—Miller and a bunch of other buddies we’ve been friends with since we lived together in the same fraternity house back in college.
Miller and I roomed together our freshman year at Columbia and he’s one of the smartest people I know, but he’s still a man who can make stupid decisions. He likes women as much as I do, and we had one hell of a good time together in college—we still do. Of the guys I still hang out with from college, Miller and I are the perpetual bachelors. Everyone else has at least tried their hand at a serious relationship.
Taylor rushes over to greet me as I sit and nod my hellos to my friends before they all resume their conversations. It’s hard to have a conversation with more than one person at a time in here because of the loud music. “Gin okay, Mr. King? Or would you like something else?”
I shoot a look at Miller. “Hendrick’s?”
He nods, and I roll my eyes. I swear, if I don’t get here first, he always orders gin. It’s not my favorite, and I can damn well afford whatever drink I want, but I suppose straight gin is the way to drunksville, plus it’s already on the table.
“Gin’s fine,” I say to Taylor, and she pours me a glass and adds a lime wedge.
I hold up my glass toward Miller, and he nods before I take a sip.
“No clients tonight?” I ask as the liquor burns a hole down my chest.
He shakes his head. “Thinking about bringing Taylor home.”
“Bad idea.”
“Why? You wanna fuck her?”
I chuckle. “Of course I want to, but she’s the best server we’ve ever had. Remember the Violet fiasco?”
He laughs.
“She still gives me dirty looks every time I walk through the door.”
“Well-deserved, my friend. Fuck her until she can’t walk and then you don’t call her? Asshole move.”
“I don’t have ti—”
Miller cuts me off and nods knowingly. “Yeah, yeah, you don’t have time for a relationship. We’re all busy, man.”
I sigh and don’t respond. He’s right—we are all busy, and I get that. I’m not playing the I’m busier than you game, not with him—even if I actually am busier considering I’m about to take over a Fortune 500 company. I guess I still make time to drink and fuck, though. Priorities.
I think of my brother and my cousin. I regret that I didn’t let them know I was in San Diego earlier today.
Carter managed to remain part of the family business, moving to San Diego and running King Contributions, our charitable orga
nization, but he still has time for a wife and kids—a girl, Millie, and a boy on the way. Almost two years ago, he and our cousin, Axel, bought a bar called The Port, where Axel has bartended forever. Axel still runs The Port, but he cut his hours when he got married and their first kid was born. Now he and his wife have another baby on the way—a boy who will join his older brother, Jameson.
Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to be the guy behind the bar, tapping the kegs and serving the beer instead of being served.
But I’ve been groomed for this position, as my father continually reminds me.
I push those thoughts out of my mind as I spot a table down on the first floor filled with what appear to be drunken ladies. I’ve homed in on my target. There are five ladies there, each with a different drink in her hand, and they’re all laughing together. They hold their glasses up and touch them together in a toast, and then they abandon their table for the dance floor. The one I’m watching the closest is blonde, of course, and has legs that seem to go on for miles. She’s wearing incredibly short shorts that make her legs appear even longer, and her black shirt dips low in the front and in the back. She must have tape on her breasts to ensure they don’t pop out. Just the thought of running my hand up those long, smooth legs makes my cock tighten with anticipation.
I toss back the rest of the gin in my glass and grimace. Taylor is immediately by my side with a refill, and when she leaves, Miller looks over at me with a raised brow.
“You in some sort of race tonight?” he asks.
