by Vivian Wood
“All right. Tell them we’ll come up now,” he said, closing his laptop.
Cam nodded, hurrying back out to give the secretary the heads-up. When she hung up, Smith was at the doorway, his expression hooded.
She cleared her throat.
“Do you, um… do you know what this is about?” she asked.
He glanced at her, his midnight blue eyes curious. “I have no idea.”
She swallowed back any other questions she had. After all, she was about to find out what the big boss said, wasn’t she?
Smith was strangely quiet as they rode the elevator to his father’s office. Cam couldn’t help but notice that he seemed on edge. Then again, in Cam’s limited experience, he always seemed on edge where his father was concerned.
She let him lead the way to the senior Calloway’s office. She stepped into the room after Smith, her eyes going wide at how big the space was. The office was easily double the size of Smith’s, with a huge oak desk and stylized chairs sitting before it.
Spencer Calloway stood up as they entered, waving them into the chairs. “Sit, sit.”
Cam glanced at Smith as she took a seat. He looked foreboding, to say the least.
“What are we here for?” Smith asked, matter-of-factly.
“You’ll excuse my son,” Spencer said to Cam. “Of course, being his executive assistant, you undoubtedly already know of his short temper.”
Smith gave his father a flat look. After a moment of indecision, Cam decided to stick up for Smith.
“He’s always perfectly even-tempered with me,” she lied smoothly, putting a smile on her face.
Spencer’s brows shot up a fraction. “Well, isn’t that nice. Smith, isn’t it nice that your employee speaks highly of you?”
Smith looked like there were about a thousand conversations he’d rather be having than this one. He shifted in his chair, his patience wearing thin.
“Very nice. Now do you mind telling us why you’ve called us in here?”
“I want you to take over running Europe,” his father said casually.
She saw Smith sit up a little straighter. “What? Why?”
“Relax. I’m going to focus on running things here in the US. For me to really concentrate, I’ll have to hand over Europe to you. Think of it as a promotion,” he said.
“I… thank you,” Smith said.
“Obviously it will involve some travel,” Spencer said. “In fact, I was hoping that you two would leave tomorrow for the office in Paris. Provide some oversight, let them know that we’re still paying attention. And see the sights, of course.”
Her jaw dropped. Paris wasn’t part of her plan, but how could she say no?
Spencer winked at her, even as Smith scowled.
“We won’t have time for sightseeing,” Smith said.
“Oh, I’m sure you will,” Spencer said, waving. “You’ll figure it out.”
Spencer turned to Cameron. “You’d be willing to go, wouldn’t you?”
“I… I mean, of course,” she said, her cheeks turning pink.
“Have you been before?”
“No, but I have a passport,” she replied.
“Good. You’ll be paid time and a half for your entire trip,” Spencer said.
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
She felt Smith’s eyes on her, demanding something from her, but she had no idea what that might be. Spencer leaned back in his seat and grinned.
“All right, that’s all. You’d both better head home and start packing.”
“Thank you,” she said again, getting up and following Smith out.
They made it to the elevators before he rounded on her, lecturing her in a whisper.
“Do us both a favor. Email my father right now, and tell him you’re sorry but you can’t take the assignment.”
“What? Why?” she whispered back.
His eyes flashed with anger.
“Because you can’t handle international travel,” he said, stepping into the elevator. “It’s going to be a lot of long hours and close quarters.”
She arched a brow, crossing her arms. “And?”
He reached out and pressed the STOP button on the elevator panel, and they lurched to a halt.
“And I, for one, want this trip to be entirely professional.”
“Are you saying that I am not professional?”
“It’s all well and good for you to run around here in your stockings,” he said, pinning her with his gaze. “Yes, I did fucking notice them, so well done on that account. But my father just put me in charge of Europe, which he’s never even talked about before. I’m not going to let him down by staring at you rather than working.”
“All I’m hearing is how you are going to be adversely affected by us working together,” Cameron said, narrowing her eyes. “It was one night! Just one night. Surely you can forget it.”
Smith stepped closer, caging her in a corner. “Of course I can. I’m worried that you can’t.”
She lifted her chin, determined not to lose her position now. She raised a finger, ready to chastise him.
“Don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself,” she said, poking him in the chest.
He grabbed her hand, and the contact ran through her like an electric shock. She wasn’t sure what it was about him that made her body react, but every time they touched it was like being connected with a live wire.
For a second, they stood like that. Smith holding her hand, Cam looking indignant. Both of them so close together, mere inches separated them.
Cam saw him break first, his gaze slipping down to her lips. She licked them nervously, and wondered if he’d lean in, maybe kiss her.
Then he stepped back, dropping her hand, and shook his head.
“Fine,” he said, pressing the STOP button again. “Don’t come crying to me when this doesn’t play out like you want it to, though.”
“How exactly do you think I want this to play out?” she hissed.
He frowned, and she didn’t say anything else. When the elevator doors opened, she got off, but he didn’t.
“See you tomorrow,” she said.
He merely cocked a brow and pressed the down button. The doors closed in her face.
Cam exhaled. That was who she would have to put up with for the duration of her trip to Paris, apparently.
Straightening her back, she went to go get her things. She had a trip to prepare for.
5
Smith sat in his seat to the rear of the Calloway private jet, looking out at the clouds and brooding. He refused to look at Cameron, who was sitting in a rear-facing seat closer to the front, reading a Parisian guidebook and pointedly ignoring him.
He’d arrived on the tarmac hoping that she might rethink her argument, that she might not show up at all. Yet as soon as he had climbed the stairs of the private jet, he’d seen her putting her personal things in the overhead bin.
She was wearing the same kind of outfit that would fit in at the office, a modest light blue dress with little triangles printed all over it. And of course she was wearing stockings with garters, which he saw when she checked the overhead bin for a blanket.
He’d trudged on the plane without a word. He could feel her eyes on him. He imagined she was probably disgruntled about the fact that she was all dressed up while he wore jeans and a dark blue t-shirt. Nobody said that she needed to dress up, though.
Now that they were airborne, he was staring out the window and wondering what to do with her. It wasn’t as if he was a creep who always fantasized about his secretaries. No, it was her specifically.
The problem, essentially, was that every time she opened her mouth, he kept thinking of how her skin tasted, of how she'd cried out as he'd fucked her. She might be asking him if he wanted some coffee, but his brain was flashing images of her underneath his body, of the way her fantastic ass jiggled a little as he’d fucked her from behind.
Or had he even done that? He leaned his face against the window a
nd closed his eyes. He was fairly certain that image was just a projection of what he wanted to do to her.
And of course she was right yesterday when she said that he wanted her gone because the close quarters would make him uncomfortable. Well, not exactly uncomfortable, but he’d spend every waking moment reliving the precise manner in which she’d made him cum.
She was right about the fact that he wasn’t being fair, at least.
The flight attendant came by, asking if he wanted something to drink. He smiled and asked for a bourbon, neat. She flushed when she took his order, biting her lip.
Apparently the pretty blonde flight attendant found him attractive. His attractiveness usually wasn’t something he cared about, but she was pretty obvious about swinging her hips as she walked away.
He looked her up and down as she headed to ask Cameron the same thing, thinking. He couldn’t in good conscience fire Cameron, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t drive her away.
And what better way than to chat up the stewardess? Even though he wasn’t genuinely interested in her, it might make Cameron angry. If it worked, he’d just act the same way with every woman he came into contact with until Cameron threw up her hands and quit.
It wasn’t the classiest thing he could do, but it wasn’t the sleaziest either.
The stewardess came back by with his bourbon, hips swiveling as she walked. Smith turned on the charm, grinning as she handed it to him.
“Thank you, love,” he said. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Andrea,” she said, turning red.
“Andrea,” he said. “You’re very fit. Has anyone ever told you that?”
She went even redder. “No, sir.”
“Please, call me Smith. Do you mind sitting with me for a minute?” he said, giving her puppy dog eyes. No woman could resist those.
“Well…” she said, looking up toward the closed cockpit door. “Just for a minute.”
Cameron noticed when she sat down. She put her book down and frowned. Good.
“Tell me, Andrea. Do you like being a flight attendant?”
“Oh, it’s great!” the blonde told him. “I get to go all over the place.”
“Is that right?” he said, moving closer. “So Paris is no big deal to you.”
Andrea smiled. “Well, I haven’t really seen all the sights. I try to see something new every time I visit.”
Smith noticed her watch. He reached out, caressing her wrist. “This is nice. Where is it from?”
“I got it when I was in New York,” she said, biting her lip. Her eyes traveled down to his lips, which made him smile. His attractiveness really did suit him, at times.
“It’s exquisite,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “Just like its owner.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but one of the pilots poked their head through the galley door.
“Andrea?” the pilot said, looking a little confused.
She jumped up, looking like someone had just caught them in bed together.
“I have to go get him what he needs,” she said apologetically, rushing off.
When the door closed behind her, Cameron raised her guidebook, but he didn’t miss her smile.
“Does something amuse you?” he asked, leaning back in his seat.
“Me? No, definitely not,” she said, trying to suppress her smile.
“You’re smirking,” he said.
She looked at the book in her hands, lifting a shoulder casually.
“It’s just… it’s nice to see that even gorgeous people get shut down now and then,” she said, flipping a few pages of her guidebook.
“I’m gorgeous, am I?” he goaded her.
She flushed, closing her book and standing up. “You know, I think the stewardess forgot my drink.”
He watched as she let herself into the galley. She came back a few minutes later with her drink and a pair of headphones. Before he could say anything, she plugged her headphones into an iPod and closed her eyes.
She reclined her seat, making it plain that she didn’t want to banter with Smith any further.
He sighed, sipping his whiskey, and watched her. Her blue dress rode up her thigh on one side, giving him a glimpse of creamy skin. He shouldn’t be looking, shouldn’t even be noticing, but he couldn’t help himself.
His problem wasn’t that he wondered what was beneath that skirt. His problem was that he already knew. He knew what she’d look like if she hiked up her dress, knew how it felt to sink himself between those honeyed thighs.
Fuck. He was hard just thinking about her pussy. Not to mention the fact that he knew she was a natural redhead, because he’d already stripped off her panties once before.
He adjusted himself, wondering if there wasn’t something to what his father had been saying. He could just let her whet his appetites…
His military background kicked in, making him ashamed of himself. He had joined the Special Air Service to get himself out of this exact mindset, that of the rich spoiled asshole.
He straightened up in his seat. He needed a distraction.
He got up and got his laptop. If he buried himself in spreadsheets and financial analyses, at least he wouldn’t be thinking about her.
Shaking his head at himself, he got to work.
Hours later, he was pulled from catching up on his emails by a particularly nasty bout of turbulence. He looked up when his laptop fell to the side.
He rubbed his temples, tired. He noticed that Cameron’s seat was empty; funny, he hadn’t noticed her getting up.
He stretched and set his laptop aside, ready to signal Andrea for a drink. A moment before he did, though, Cameron came through the door to the galley and the restrooms. She was headed back to her seat when turbulence hit again.
“Cameron!” he said as she stumbled toward him.
“Shit!” she cried.
She landed in a pile at his feet. The turbulence stopped and he helped her to her feet, but no sooner had she stood up than it started again.
They both tumbled into his bench seat, Cameron on Smith’s lap. The touch of her skin to his was like he’d put a fork in an electrical outlet, if that sensation could be said to be pleasurable.
Touching Cameron was alarming, but in a good way. The turbulence continued, and the pilot’s voice came over the speaker.
“Sorry, Mr. Calloway,” said the pilot. “We should be through this patch in a minute. Just hang tight for a bit.”
Smith looked at Cameron, who still had a startled expression on her face. He smirked.
“Guess you’ll have to hold onto me,” he said.
Cameron looked at him as the turbulence slowed. She didn’t say anything, but he noticed gooseflesh break out over her bare skin.
They were so close now, and the pleasant buzz of contact continued. She bit her lip, her eyes dropping to his mouth.
Before he could say or do anything, her mouth was on his.
She kissed him, the taste of her cinnamon-sweet. Her tongue played with his, teasing. He groaned and sank both his hands into her hair, his body hardening.
The intercom speaker crackled again, which brought them both to their senses. Cameron pushed herself off of him.
“We should be turbulence free for a while now,” the pilot said.
Smith looked at Cameron.
“That was what I was talking about, when I said we’d be sharing close quarters,” he said, straightening his shirt.
She frowned, making her way back to her seat. “What are you saying?”
He shrugged, picking up his laptop. She put her headphones back in and closed her eyes, but he could tell she was fuming. Her red hair was disheveled just a bit.
Damn, but she was sexy when she was angry.
He spent the rest of the flight trying not to think about the way she’d felt. The weight of her on top of his body, the way she’d sunk into him and kissed him.
She just sat there, not looking at him. Smith found it beyond frustrati
ng. It seemed like the whole cabin was filled with their tension, and there was no escaping it.
When the flight finally landed in Paris, he sighed with relief. He was down the plane’s stairs before he realized that he had to spend the limo ride with her.
“This is us?” she asked, pointing to the limo as she walked down the plane’s stairs.
“Yes,” he said, walking over to the limo and opening the door.
He climbed inside with his laptop case and briefcase, impatient. She slid in the other side while the chauffeur loaded their luggage. Smith looked away from Cameron, unsure how he was supposed to feel.
The chauffeur rolled down the partition.
“Où est-ce que je vous emmène?” the driver asked.
“Les Quatre Saisons, s'il vous plaît,” Smith answered.
He noticed that Cameron did a double take when she heard him speaking French fluently. He smirked as the limo pulled off. There were a lot of things that she didn’t know about him.
Soon they began to see The City of Lights, as it was often called. It was early evening here, so the restaurants and shops were just beginning to turn on their lights. They drove past a couple of the big sights in Paris, like the Sacre-Coeur, the Moulin Rouge, and the Arc de Triomphe.
It was pretty phenomenal, seeing the city light up like that.
Cameron looked out the window, her eyes wide. He knew it was her first time in Paris, but anyone could guess from her reaction that it was all new. It was almost endearing to watch, he had to admit.
When they got to the hotel, Smith swept out of the limo and into the gray brick building. The grand marble lobby awaited, with its lavish chandelier and many flower arrangements. Behind an elaborately decorated marble desk stood two beautiful Parisian women, ready to assist them with their rooms.
“How can I help you?” a beautiful brunette asked in heavily accented English.
“Two rooms, under the name Calloway,” he said.
“Just a moment, please.” She started typing in the computer in front of her. “Ah, we have the reservation. Mr. Calloway, you and your guest are in the Royale Suite.”
She looked up at him, expectant. He frowned.
“No, we have two guest rooms,” he said, pulling out his wallet. “They’ll be on my company card, here.”
