by Shayla Black
“Nothing ever will,” she argues. “But if you’re actually serious about selling…”
“You think I shouldn’t?”
“Saying no would be stupid,” Bas cuts in. “He’s young and connected enough to build another business. Or he could just kick back. Take up philanthropy. Buy his own tropical island. Whatever he wants.”
It’s hard to argue with his logic. If I were in his shoes advising me about this buyout, I’d probably tell me to negotiate those last few terms and dollars I want, then take the deal.
“No one will care about this business the way Evan will. And I think he’ll regret selling.” She shrugs as if it’s obvious. “His heart is with Stratus.”
I scowl. “Hearts don’t belong in business.”
She purses her lips together, disappointment tightening her face as she looks over at Bas. “Pass the donuts, Shaw.”
Dutifully, Bas does, along with a stack of paper napkins. She opens the box and pulls out a Boston cream, then lifts it to her mouth. When her lips envelop the chocolate-covered, cream-filled concoction, she bites down with a long, low moan. I get hard instantly. Suddenly, I can’t help remembering her groans and whimpers when she dug her nails into my back while I stroked inside her.
This train of thought isn’t helping our discussion. Or my mood. Something angry overtakes me with every passing moment she acts like nothing at all happened between us.
“I’ll take one,” I say to her—not because I actually want a donut, but simply because I need her to look at me.
She hesitates, then gives the box a shove, sliding it across the table. Finally, she lifts her lashes and glances my way. Our eyes meet.
Instant zing.
“It’s nice that you want to ask for protections for the employees, but I should advise you that it’s a risk,” Bas points out. “Lund is a hard-ass. Going in with demands might piss him off.”
“I don’t think so. He’s already proven he wants Stratus. If he’s come back to the table repeatedly and he’s given me an offer this close to market value, then something simple like assurances for the workers won’t chase him away, especially since he needs the know-how of the staff. He’s smart enough to realize that. That’s why he’s asking me to stay on as COO for two years.”
“I hope you’re right,” Bas mutters, focusing on the box of donuts. “You going to eat one and pass the rest along or hoard them all?”
With a scowl, I pluck one from the selection and drop it on a napkin, then shove the rest across the table. “I’m right.”
He grabs one out of the box. “Well, on the plus side, us countering could be construed as interest we’ve never shown before. Do you want me to prepare something for you to present back to Colossus?”
“Put something together. I want to look at it when you’re done, but I’m going to have you present instead.”
“That won’t make Lund happy. You know he wants to pal up with you.”
I snort. “Whatever. I want the best deal for me and for Stratus. Looking too eager won’t get me there.”
“Fair enough. Wright, why don’t you come with me and share your ideas? We’ll whip this into something we can send over.”
“Sure.” Nia slips the last bite of the donut into her mouth, and when it oozes cream onto her fingers, she catches it with her tongue. “Be right there.”
I watch the sensual pursing of her lips and the slide of her slick tongue as she sucks her finger clean. Instantly, I go from hard to aching so badly I nearly lose my composure. Worse, I can’t tell if she’s trying to torment me or if she reconsidered our hookup during her lazy Sunday and decided it wasn’t that great after all.
When Bas disappears out the door, Nia stands, then grabs her coffee and purse. “It shouldn’t take me too long to gather my thoughts and format everything. You’ll definitely have a draft to approve by the end of the day. I also gave your personal ad some thought. I think I know what to do. You’ll have a list of candidates by Friday.”
As she takes the doorknob in hand, I stand. “Wait.”
Nia turns and blinks, staring expectantly. “What’s wrong? Did I forget something?”
She’s really going to act as if we didn’t share excruciating pleasure? “I don’t know. Did you? Did you actually forget we had sex?”
With a sigh, Nia cracks the door open and peeks into the hall. No sign of Sebastian or anyone else. When she shuts the door, she takes in a bracing breath as she turns to me. “What do you want, Evan?”
“For you to talk to me. For you to acknowledge that something more than nothing happened between us.”
Her expression tightens. “After you zipped your pants on Saturday night, you told me nothing could change between us at the office. I’m honoring your wishes.”
To her credit, she is behaving as if it’s any other day. She’s not giving me longing, lingering stares. She’s not coming on to me now that we’re alone. She’s not acting as if she has any idea what it feels like when I sink inside her and ride her to climax.
I asked for this. But now that she’s complied, I hate it. “I didn’t say that to hurt you.”
She shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I see pain ripple across her face before she blanks her stare again. “You needed relief. And you see me all the time, so you know I’m safe. I’m not the crazy girlfriend type who will do anything and everything to snare a man. And when you saw me dancing nearly naked at the club, I probably seemed easy. It makes sense that you’d pick me to let out some of your pent-up sexual frustration. It’s fine. I hope you feel better now.”
Balancing her coffee carefully, she twists the knob.
Without thinking twice, I brace my palm against the door, ensuring she can’t open it. Then I lock it and lay my other hand against the hard surface, caging her between my arms, thanking God this conference room doesn’t have any windows. I’m not touching her anywhere—yet. But I want to so badly it’s all I can think about.
“I didn’t storm into your dressing room because I thought you’d be easy to nail. I don’t know what I was thinking, but it certainly wasn’t that you’d spread your legs simply because I asked you to. And it wasn’t with the hope you’d take the edge off my sex drive. And it damn well wasn’t because you’re ‘safe’ or ‘convenient.’” I rake a hand through my hair. “I did it because I couldn’t stop myself.”
“Well, itch scratched, right?” The only hint I have that my nearness is getting to her is the little pulse pounding at the base of her neck. Otherwise, she looks maddeningly cool. “You’re moving on. I got it. We’ll forget it happened and go back to normal.”
Has she lost her damn mind? “You think I’m going to forget what we did? That I even could?”
As soon as the words are out, I wish I could take them back. Maybe she’s capable of hookups and one-night stands. Maybe she didn’t find the sex we shared particularly memorable or special. Maybe she doesn’t want me anymore.
“What are you saying, then? I don’t know what you want.”
For her to forget about maintaining office decorum between us and to kiss me until I drown in her taste. “I want you. I want what we had on Saturday night again. I know we have to maintain a professional environment here. If anyone suspects we might be carrying on a torrid office fling, it could undermine us both.”
She tilts her head and nods. “You’re right. So let me out. I’ll find Bas and get to work.”
I don’t budge. “I didn’t say anything about keeping things status quo away from the office.”
“So what do you think this looks like”—she gestures between us—“when we’re not boss and assistant?”
Great question. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it beyond the fact I know I want more of you.”
“Hmm. But you want to get married next month to someone you don’t yet know. How will that work?”
Another great question. “I don’t know that, either. We’ll take it one day at a time, I guess.”
“I s
ee.” She pastes on a bright smile. “Well, in the meantime, if you don’t want anyone to know we’re fucking on the side, unlock the door and let me leave.”
I know she’s right and yet… “Two minutes more. What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“I have a hair appointment.”
“Wednesday?”
“Dress fitting. I’m a bridesmaid in a friend’s wedding.”
“And I’ll be out of town Thursday and Friday.” I sigh. Of all the challenges we face, I can add our busy schedules to the list. “Saturday night?”
“I’m dancing.”
Her words ping around in my head. I freeze. “You mean you’re taking your clothes off for strangers again?”
“If you want to boil down the art of burlesque to its most tawdry element, I guess so.”
I’m being unfair. Possessive. An ass. I exhale, trying to see this from her perspective. But all I can picture are men with hard dicks staring at her and imagining themselves touching her the way I did, particularly that ex she dances with.
“What if I don’t want you to?”
“I’m not going to give up something I love or who I am for any man, especially not one I hooked up with once. Besides, I signed a contract. I perform for the next two Saturdays. We’re negotiating more performances in early December and all of January.”
So basically, she doesn’t care if I don’t like it. And why should she? Unless I put a ring on her finger, I have no right to tell her what to do.
Now there’s an interesting idea…
“You’re welcome to come back to the club and watch if you want. But if you do, no more sex in my dressing room. I took a ration of crap from Kyle after you left.”
“Your ex-lover?” She gives a damn what he thinks?
Nia sighs as if she’s digging deep for patience. “He’s now just my partner and my friend, one who happens to think screwing my boss is a terrible idea. And if we’re going to fight about this, maybe he’s right.”
“We’re not fighting,” I bite out—then catch myself.
Well, Nia isn’t fighting. I am. Damn it, how many other ways can I not act like myself? Why am I so tied up in knots?
“Good. I’m getting to work now. Can you step aside and let me go?”
I need to. If I don’t, Nia can legitimately claim I’m harassing her. And that’s the last thing I want, especially since I need her to talk to me.
“Can I see you on Sunday, then?”
She hesitates, then looks like she’s gearing up to tell me something I don’t want to hear. “Kyle and I have practice. But even if we didn’t, I’m not sure you and I should see each other away from the office until you decide what you want this to be. Are we having casual sex or starting some sort of a relationship? Until you can answer that question, I’m not sure there’s any reason for us to get together.” She gives me a nudge, and I move out of her way because I should. And because her question bowls me over.
What am I doing with her?
“All right. We’ll talk next week.”
I half expect her to shrug me off. Until now, she’s acted like my decision doesn’t matter one way or the other to her. Instead, her face softens. “I hope so.”
When she turns the knob and twists out of the conference room, I don’t try to stop her.
I have a week to make up my mind. I already hate the thought of letting her out of my sight, though not as much as I hate the thought of her with Kyle. But I know where my thoughts are heading…
CHAPTER FIVE
Monday, November 13
It’s been an excruciating week since Nia and I have had anything that resembles a personal interaction. Every second sucked, but I’ve made up my mind. I know exactly what I’m going to say the minute I can get her alone.
I just wish I knew what she was thinking. No, feeling. Nia is sensible, but ultimately she leads with her heart.
Before I left town, I tried to see her again. She was always in a meeting or training some of the newer administrative assistants or on the phone. I tried to call her when I arrived in LA. We never connected. On Saturday night, I debated the wisdom of returning to the BBB Revue. But I was in no mood to watch Kyle put his hands on her and dry hump her like he’s never had a better thrill. I doubted I could have been responsible for my behavior.
So I waited, buried myself in work, digging into Lund’s reply to my counter, which provides hardly any additional money. It does give me a lot of assurances for my employees…just not enough. So it didn’t take me long to realize my answer is still a no. And that left me too much time to fixate on Nia.
What will she say when I tell her what I’ve decided?
I glance at the clock in my office. Five minutes until eight. She’s usually here by now. I’m anxious to talk to her. Eager for any chance to touch her. She’s consuming my brain.
“Morning.” She waves as she breezes past my office door on her way to her desk. Today she’s chosen to torment me with a camel-colored dress and black heels that show off her rich skin and feminine curves.
I want her. Now. I envision her in my office, spread across my desk, her sexy shoes on the arms of my executive chair as I make a meal of her body. She’s both vocal and a screamer, but for the chance to have her on my tongue—and on my cock—I’d find a way to make it work in the office.
For now, I swallow back need and nerves, and hope she doesn’t notice I’m hard for her. After waiting days for this moment, I’m nervous. I wipe my hands on my slacks. “Morning. Come in. Let’s talk.”
“No time,” she says as she deposits her purse and coffee on her desk, giving me a prime view of her unforgettable ass. Then she whirls to me with an apologetic expression. “Your first appointment is in two minutes.”
“Appointment?” When I looked an hour ago, my calendar was blessedly empty today.
She sighs in frustration. “Did the calendar not sync again? Sorry. You should have eight new invites for today, one at the top of every hour, minus an hour for lunch.”
“Who am I seeing?”
“Your candidates.”
“For what?”
Confusion knits her brows. “The candidates you asked me to find for your wife. Hang on…” She dashes back to her desk and opens a drawer, then pulls out a file folder and puts it in my outstretched hand. “I printed off the profiles and corresponding documentation for the women I ultimately chose for you to interview. These are the best of the best. The others…” She winces. “Let’s just say I laughed a lot compiling this list late Friday afternoon. If you’ll open the folder, the profiles are arranged in the order in which you’ll meet the candidates, just like the last few jobs you filled. It should all be straightforward. But let me know if you have any questions.”
Before I can ask if she’s serious, the phone at her desk rings. She answers promptly. “Nia Wright speaking.” A pause. “Excellent. Yes, please send her up.” Another pause. “Her visitor badge only needs to be active for an hour. In fact, all of the visitors I receive today will need the same access.” Another head bob. “Thanks.”
“Nia, when we talked about this, I asked for a candidate slate. I wanted to look at the list and choose. I didn’t ask you to set up a face-to-face with anyone. I never intended to interview potential wives in the office. I don’t know what Joy at the reception desk thinks is going on—”
“I told all the candidates to indicate they’re party planners we’re considering for upcoming corporate events. Only you and I know the truth.”
“Thank you for the discretion, but I would have liked the chance to talk to you before interviewing these women. You asked me to think about what I want next between us, and I have. We need to discuss—”
“And we will.” She nods. “I’m sorry if you’re not happy. I tried to take the initiative and start the process rolling since you said you were in a hurry to be married.”
“Call everyone and cancel.”
“I can’t. I arranged to have five of the candidates flo
wn in just to meet you. I have their email addresses, of course. But I just realized I don’t have any of their phone numbers.” She tsks at herself as if she’s annoyed by her lapse. “I was so scattered on Friday. Sorry. I’ll be sure to ask for their full contact information when they arrive.”
“I don’t want to talk to any of them, Nia.”
She gives me an apologetic grimace. “I understand, but as long as they’re coming, it seems smart to get to know these cream-of-the-crop candidates and see if one could be the next Mrs. Evan James Cook. How can you know who’s out there if you don’t look, right?”
Before I can correct her, I hear a knock. Nia hustles across the room and opens the door.
“Hi,” I hear her say. “Welcome. Can I take your coat?”
“Here. So where’s the rich guy who needs a wife? This better not be a scam…”
“Not at all.” Nia rushes to hang the woman’s coat on the tree, then gestures to my office. “Right this way.”
I stand. I haven’t even seen this woman and I already don’t like her. I don’t care what she looks like, how interesting she might seem, or how good she is in bed. She was rude to Nia. That’s a deal breaker for me.
From around the corner, a stranger enters my office. A honey blonde with her tresses in a messy bun. She has black-rimmed blue eyes, an artificial orange tinge from chemical tanning, and an unlikely pout that’s probably the result of lip injections. She’s wearing a red two-piece suit…of sorts. The top is something off-the-shoulder with a ruffle that flirts with her too-large enhancements that I can’t help but wonder if they’re meant to compensate for what she lacks upstairs. The blouse ends at the top of her rib cage. After a strip of bare midriff, the high-waisted pants cling to her like a second skin, ending at the ankle. Her shoes are so sky-high I have no idea how she’s walking.
When she catches sight of me, she pauses and eyes me with approval. “I’m Brittanii with two Is. And two eyes.” She points at the pair on her face and laughs at her own joke.
