by Lisa Suzanne
The best part is that three hours after she interrupted my morning meeting, I still don’t even know her name.
That’s never stopped me before, either.
Another interminable meeting finally ends, and I make my way to my assistant. She’s bending over a file cabinet, sticking something in the bottom drawer. I take a second to enjoy the view, tilting my head as my eyes land on her ass, but then I shake my head and look away before clearing my throat to announce my entrance.
I’ve been through three assistants in two years because I slept with each of them. I promised my father I would hold on to this one a little longer, which is why I hired someone who’s already married. I just wish she wasn’t bending over a cabinet, tempting me. She looks up at me with these innocent eyes all the time, and it’s enough to drive a man crazy.
She straightens when she hears me. “Oh, hi Carson. How was your meeting?”
I shrug. “The usual. Is there anything on my calendar this afternoon?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing until your six o’clock meeting with Harold regarding sponsorships. You asked me to keep your afternoon clear so you could review internal applicants for the VP of research position.”
“Right. Thanks.” I turn to head to my office.
“Also, the sponsorships need your approval before you meet with Harold, and several proposals came in for the new cloud updates.”
I turn back toward her. “Anything else?”
“I left contracts on your desk that need your signature. I cleaned up your email and drafted a handful of replies for your review.” She stops talking and taps her finger on her chin like she’s forgetting something. “Oh, and I have this for you.” She snatches a piece of paper off her desk and hands it to me.
It’s got a name and a phone number on it. Sylvie Baker.
Sylvie.
A strange burn stings my chest for the briefest of seconds as I stare at her name. Sylvie. It’s a perfect name for her, simple and elegant, gentle and innocent—though the woman who bears the name certainly didn’t come off as gentle earlier today.
“Thanks,” I mumble, and then I head into my office, my eyes still on her name.
Sylvie.
I say the name out loud once my office door shuts behind me. “Sylvie.” It rolls off my tongue. It makes me think of silver, of a precious metal. It’s like Sylvia but a little more childish—a little sweeter, like a cupcake. I was dead on with the random term of endearment that rolled out of me a little earlier.
I pull out my phone and type the number. I’ve texted hundreds of women to arrange a dinner date, and this is supposed to just be business, anyway…so why do I suddenly feel nervous as I type out my message?
Me: Kincaid at 8:00. Tell me where you’re staying and I’ll send a driver.
Sylvie: Who is this?
I chuckle at her response. She knows who it is, but she’s playing the game.
Me: Your dinner date for the evening.
Sylvie: I don’t have a date tonight. I have a business meeting.
Me: Call it what you want, cupcake. You’ll still be sharing a meal with me.
Sylvie: Not by choice.
She may be a tougher nut to crack than I first anticipated, but I’ll still crack her.
Me: Seems like it actually was your choice.
Sylvie: Because I need to discuss business with you and this was the only time you had free.
Me: Are you one of those girls who always has to have the last word?
Sylvie: I’m a woman.
Me: I’m aware of that. The skirt and heels you were wearing earlier sort of gave you away.
I eye the pile of work on my desk. I have contracts to sign, proposals to review, resumes to read, but texting Sylvie Baker is much more fulfilling.
I wait for her reply, but it takes a while. I really should get some work done, so I set my phone down. Just as I pick up the first contract I need to look through, my phone notifies me of a new text.
Sylvie: Kinkaid on Sixth?
Me: Yes. I’d be happy to arrange a ride for you.
Sylvie: Fine. I’m at the Park Hyatt.
Me: That’s close. I’ll be waiting outside at 7:45 and we’ll walk.
Again, she doesn’t respond right away, and I wonder what she’s doing. Is she thinking twice about this? Is she going to back out? She came all this way to see me—to confront me—so it would seem silly for her to back out now. I can see how picking her up outside her hotel seems more like a date than a business meeting, but she doesn’t know NYC the way I do. I’m just being a gentleman.
Even though that’s not really my style.
*
My afternoon and evening consist of endless tasks filled with nervous anticipation for this dinner. I’ve met the woman once for all of five minutes, so I’m not sure where this anxiety is coming from. I don’t like it. Women are sort of my thing. I’m always calm and collected around them. I always keep my cool. Above all, I always know how to get them to do what I want them to do.
But this Sylvie chick has me turned completely upside down.
I’ve never had someone come into my office, interrupt a meeting, and throw accusations at me. Have women been angry at me before? Of course—mostly when I promise to call but don’t and then run into them again. Have women yelled at me and shoved their fingers in my face with fury? Sure—mostly when I’ve had sex with one of their friends, but then that turns into a fight between them and I easily extract myself from the situation.
I do my best to make my intentions clear from the start, and that seems to ward off a lot of potential anger. I just don’t know what my intentions are with Sylvie yet.
I want her company, but the fire that burned in me when I met with her father has sort of fizzled out. Acquiring Baker Media is much more of a task to prove to my father that I can do it than something I actually care about doing. It’s another event in the game of life.
I feel a new fire burning in me, and I’m not sure what to do with this energy.
That damn image of her bursting into the boardroom flashes through my mind again as I sit at my desk waiting for the clock to tick closer to dinner. My dick hardens as I think about her hair flying all around in her rush, her eyes so full of anger, her sweet tits buttoned up behind that white shirt.
It’s twenty after seven now, so I need to leave in about ten minutes to get to her on time. The office is pretty much empty, and I’m horny as fuck—not that there’s anything new or different about that.
Ten minutes. Hmm…
I walk over to my office door and shut it, and then I walk back to my desk and sit behind it. I unlock my phone—not to look at pictures, because I won’t need them for what I’m about to do. Instead, I scroll through the text messages Sylvie and I have exchanged today. I chuckle at our banter. I’m so used to women doing what I tell them to do that it’s sort of refreshing to see Sylvie’s stubbornness.
With her words in my eyes and the image of her full of anger this afternoon fresh in my mind, I unzip my slacks and reach into my boxers. My dick is rock hard, as if I didn’t just get laid last night—and the night before. I reach lower and cup my balls before I run my hand along my length. I make a fist and start to pump.
I think about Sylvie and those tits that wanted to burst out of her top as my pumping picks up speed.
I imagine Sylvie on her knees in front of me, right here under my desk, sucking my dick. No one on the other side of the desk would even see her. I could just keep her down there all day to suck my cock any time I wanted, and no one would ever know—except when I growled out my release, as I’m sure I would.
I think of her pretty mouth taking my length all the way to the back of her throat, and I’m fisting myself so fast and so hard that I can’t take it anymore. My balls tighten almost painfully and I come all over my own hand.
I relax back into my chair. My hand is sticky and I need to take care of that, but I just want to relish the pleasure for a few quiet seconds.
/>
I lean my head back and close my eyes. I’m glad I did that, because now I feel much more relaxed heading into this dinner. The anxiety is gone, replaced by the calmness I’m used to.
I only allow a minute to linger before I force myself up. I walk over to my private bathroom and clean up then take a quick glance in the mirror. I didn’t have time to shave this morning in my hungover rush to get to the early meeting, so I look a little more rugged than usual. I run my hand through my hair and swish some mouthwash. I shut down my laptop for the day, pull on my suit jacket, and start my walk over to the Park Hyatt.
It’s a nice early June evening with mild temperatures in the upper sixties, and I’m five minutes early when I walk up to the Hyatt. She’s not out yet.
A bellhop nods at me, and I nod back. “Can I help you, sir?”
“Just waiting for someone,” I say.
He becomes busy with some guests, so I lean back on the front of the building and pull out my phone. There’s always business to tend to, even if I managed to take five minutes to jerk off in my office before I left. I reply to an email and just as I hit the send button, I sense a presence looking at me.
I look up, and my eyes lock on hers.
My memory betrayed me. My memory said she was beautiful. My memory recalled her hair and her eyes and her figure, but this woman standing in front of me is leagues beyond beautiful. She’s stunning and gorgeous, exquisite and dazzling.
She’s a knockout, and I’m down for the count.
She wears a simple black dress, and the front stretches tightly across her rather large tits. It’s modest—I can’t even see any cleavage, much to my disappointment—and it’s a clear indication that this is not a date but a business dinner. I can’t help my eyes as they wander down to her legs. She’s shorter than most girls I take home, but she’s wearing heels that must be at least four inches tall. They elongate her legs, making her look taller. I want her to turn around so I can see how the dress hugs her ass, but I’ll wait for my moment and sneak a peek.
Her hair is pulled back tightly into a bun, and the exposed curve of her neck sends a shot of desire through my chest. I want my tongue on that neck. Fuck, I want my tongue all over her perfect body.
But it’s not her legs, or the modest dress, or even her tits that are hitting me so hard.
It’s the way her eyes land on me. They’re a milk chocolate brown, and while her gaze is still full of anger, I spot a touch of something sexual. She has to feel the attraction looming between us; there’s no way it’s just me. Even so, I know how hard she’s going to fight against it, especially because she already hates me for reasons that have nothing to do with the content of my character—not that she’d necessarily like me any better once she got to know me, though. My eyes flick to her pillowy lips before landing back on her eyes.
“Hey Sylvie,” I say softly. “You look…” I trail off. Gorgeous. Stunning. Sexy as fuck.
She raises both eyebrows as if she’s surprised by my greeting, and then I realize how gentle my tone just sounded. I want to tell her how stunning she looks even though she’s buttoned up like a librarian and I prefer much skimpier clothes. I want to kiss her in greeting. I want to pull her into my arms and feel her body against mine.
I clear my throat. I need to snap out of whatever the fuck this is.
She still hasn’t spoken.
“Kinkaid is just a couple blocks down this way,” I say as I slide my phone into my pocket and turn to start walking toward the restaurant.
“I look what?” she finally asks as she falls into step beside me.
“You look angry.”
“I am angry. I don’t want to be here with you.”
“Look, we both have to eat, and you’ve got a bone to pick with me. We’ll have a nice dinner and a nice chat, and we’ll clear the air between us.” The sidewalk is crowded, and we dodge through a group of people. I wish I could grab her hand to keep her close to my side.
Where the ever-loving fuck did that random thought come from?
“We’re not going to clear the air between us, Carson. You’re trying to oust my father from the company that has been in my family for three generations.”
“Damn, cupcake. At least let a man order a drink before you start with the business chatter.”
“Stop calling me cupcake,” she says through gritted teeth.
“But you’re so sweet.”
She stops walking, but I don’t notice for a few seconds until I see that she’s not beside me. I turn, and she’s in the middle of the sidewalk as people shoot her nasty looks and dodge their way around her. I walk back a few paces so I’m standing in front of her. The strongest urge to lean down and kiss her bites at me, but I refrain.
“What are you doing?” I ask calmly.
“I’m not sweet.” She’s growling at me, and it’s sexy. “You’re belittling me as a businesswoman, and I don’t appreciate it.”
“You can’t just stop walking in the middle of a busy New York sidewalk, sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart isn’t any better. Stop with the names, and apologize now or this dinner is off.”
“It’s your call. You’re the one who wants to talk to me.” I turn and start walking away toward the restaurant. I realize I’m playing with fire—and that I’m being a total douchebag—but this is a game I love. She’s angry, and it’s just making me horny.
I don’t turn back to see if she followed me. When I finally stop in front of the very trendy Kinkaid, she’s immediately at my side, just as predicted, while giving me the silent treatment.
I lean in close to her. “If you want to be taken seriously as a businesswoman, sweetheart, you should probably stop pouting.”
“You’re a real asshole, you know that?”
I shrug. “So I’ve been told.”
I approach the hostess who immediately seats us despite the line out front. I do business here often, and they’re smart to keep me happy. The happier I am, the more money I’ll spend here, and, not to sound like a complete asshole, I’ve got plenty to spend.
Our waiter approaches, and I order us a bottle of some French red wine a friend recommended. Red wine always works on women.
“Just one glass,” Sylvie tells our waiter.
“Bring two,” I say, and he nods and walks away.
“I won’t be drinking.”
“They’re both for me.”
She purses her lips, and I almost think she’s hiding a smile. She’d never let me see it, that’s for sure. She opens her menu and peruses for exactly thirty seconds before shutting it and setting it down.
“Aren’t you even going to look?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I get the same thing every time I come here.”
“And what’s that?”
I raise my brows. “I’m surprised you care.”
“Just making conversation.”
I ease up on her a little. “The porterhouse.”
“I saw that, thought about it.”
“And you ultimately decided on?”
“Chicken.”
“We’re at a steakhouse.”
She lifts a delicate shoulder. I want to take a bite out of it.
“So? I don’t want steak right now.”
“Get what you want. It’s on my dime, obviously.”
“I’ll pay my half.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I’m not going to argue about who pays. You win.”
I wink at her. “I always win.”
We place our orders, and then I open the door for the whole reason we’re sitting here. “So why did you fly across the country to confront me?”
“Right down to it, then,” she mutters.
“If I’m expensing it, we’ve gotta talk shop at some point.”
She presses her lips together before taking a deep breath. “Fair enough. I just want to know why you’re bothering with Baker.”
“Our charitable foundation is based in San Diego. Are
you aware of that?”
“Of course I am.”
“We’re looking to expand our southwestern region, and Baker has all the right targets in place. We can take what you have and grow it tenfold. What I offered your father for it would have been mutually beneficial, but he wasn’t interested. I’m out of options.”
“I don’t think that’s true. You could expand your company in San Diego without hurting us.”
“I could, but as I said, you already have everything I need. That’s a huge savings in research and development, and in staffing.”
“But you’re going to put our employees out of their jobs. Don’t you care about people losing their jobs?”
“Of course I care, and what you’re saying just isn’t true. There will be some reorganization, sure, but if people are doing their jobs correctly and are willing to adapt to the way we do things at King, no one has to go anywhere.”
The sommelier comes over with our wine. He pours a glass for me to sample, I nod once, and he pours two glasses before Sylvie can protest.
“Don’t you understand that this is a family company?”
I hold up my glass, and she picks hers up without thinking and touches it to mine. It’s customary and standard, and she’s engrossed in our conversation—so much so that she doesn’t even realize she’s drinking at this dinner where clearly she planned on staying sober.
“As soon as you went public, you gave that up.” I take a sip, and the sweet berry notes hang on my tongue. I want to taste this wine on Sylvie’s tongue. “You’re not a family company anymore. You’re owned by your shareholders.”
“Isn’t King a family company?” she asks, trying to get me to understand. The problem is that I do understand—but that’s not going to stop me from what I’ve been instructed to do.
I nod. “It started that way, yes, and we’ve been fortunate to keep it in the family. But, that doesn’t mean we won’t be taken over by a majority vote or the right amount of money. It could happen at any time, and this just happens to be Baker’s time.”
“So there’s nothing I can do.”
“Not really. I understand this is difficult, but I’m not going to put anybody out of a job unnecessarily. I’m going to be very transparent with you right now. Is that okay?”
