by West, Lara
But instead, he seems to be going easy on me by leaving me alone.
Just like I’ve jinxed myself, the intercom on my desk buzzes.
“Anna, can I see you in my office, please?” Lucas’s silky, sex God voice says.
I’d be lying if I denied just creaming my panties a little. Damn it, Anna. You hate him remember? Get a grip!
I go and stand in the doorway, peering over at where he sits behind the majestic, mahogany wooden desk. “Yes?”
“Please come in and close the door,” he replies with a quick smile. Well, at least, he’s still in a good mood.
I do as he instructs and take a seat on one of the client chairs by the desk.
He picks up a piece of paper in front of him and scans it with his eyes. “I’ve just been going over the Las Vegas trip itinerary. There’s no PA scheduled to accompany me. Why is that?”
When we lock eyes, I try not to blush. But all this civility is fucking with my mind. I’m just waiting for the dickhead I know all too well to show himself again.
“It’s a straightforward meeting with the owner of the warehouse you’re buying for the planned Vegas division. And the employment agency you’ve hired in Vegas to recruit staff doesn’t need a sit-down. I already met with them last month and went through the employee requirements of the company. So… I didn’t think you needed a PA with you,” I reply, keeping my voice steady. Just imagine it’s old Mr. Hartz sitting over there. Just breathe.
Lucas appears to muse over my answer as if he’s tossing up other scenarios. What the hell could he be thinking?
After a few moments, he puts down the sheet of paper and sits back in the black leather swivel chair, his steely gaze back on me.
“I see… Well, I’d like to have one with me anyway. And preferably you, if you don’t mind?”
Me?
Go to Vegas?
With him?
He has to bloody kidding!
“Um…”
Quick, Anna. Think of an excuse. Any excuse. Vegas will be a nightmare and a half if you agree to this.
“I think I need to help my dad with some wedding planning stuff,” I lie, but make the mistake of looking up rather than down. Damn it. Lucas is the type of guy who picks up on stuff like that.
“I’m sure he can spare you for a few days,” he says with indifference, obviously seeing through my fib. “I’d really like someone capable and strong-minded with me. Someone to back me up. Rumor has it the owner of the warehouse doesn’t like me very much.”
Wait, someone doesn’t like Lucas Hartz?
All round smartass prick who was once featured in the tabloids for sleeping with four Victoria’s Secret Models in one night? Two of which were married.
Shock horror there.
“And my uncle tells me you’re good with the whole PR thing,” he adds with a half-smile.
“Okay… but-”
“Great!” he interrupts before I have a chance to try and persuade him not to take me to Vegas. “Inform the pilot of my private jet that he’ll have two passengers on Wednesday.”
After I give him a reluctant nod, I break eye contact. “Of course. I’ll get right on it... sir.”
Sir? I did not just call him that.
Oh, God. There goes his ego, skyrocketing into the stratosphere.
Back at my desk, I bury my face in my hands and scold myself for being so weak. Lucas plays the courteous, gentleman and I fold like a damn, clichéd damsel.
Yep, things still haven’t changed.
I’m completely fucked.
Chapter 8
Lucas
Oh, Vegas… how I’ve missed you, baby!
As soon as the jet lands on the tarmac and I step out into the warm, desert air, the memories come flooding back.
Holly, Kelsey, Monique… just to name a few of the fine ladies of the night that once shared the penthouse at Caesar’s Palace with me seven years ago. Wow, crazy times, huh?
Anna strides ahead of me, her charcoal gray skirt suit hugging her curves in all the right places. I’m surprised that she said yes to this business trip. I thought she was going to tell me to go to hell for sure.
But man I’m glad she didn’t. What better way to get back into her pants then by staying in a lavish penthouse, cracking open a bottle of champagne, and oiling up the undeniable chemistry between us.
When we get to the hotel and she finds out I switched the double roomed suite she booked to the penthouse, I see her nostrils flare up.
“The penthouse? Was that really necessary?” she asks, turning away from the reception desk with one hand on her dainty hip. Hmm, she’s so sassy. It turns me on.
“Nothing wrong with staying in style,” I quip, handing my bags over to the bellboy. I slip two one hundred dollar bills into the top pocket of his jacket. “The penthouse, kid.”
Anna shakes her head and heads toward the elevator with speed; I have to break out into a jog to keep up with her.
After we step inside and begin out journey up to the penthouse floor, the silence on the way up is deafening.
“So I was thinking we could settle in, maybe have a spa, some champagne, and then head to dinner?” I suggest, eyeing her for a reaction. The look on her face is priceless; her cheeks are redder than a clown’s nose.
“Ha. Funny,” she scoffs followed by an eye roll. “But you knock yourself out.”
“And what are you going to do while I’m relaxing in the infinity tub? Sulk some more?”
“I. Am. Not. Sulking,” she shoots at me and, as if to prove it, uncrosses her arms.
I smother a laugh and decide not to antagonize her any further. I know how hot that fire in her can get.
As soon as we walk through the penthouse’s double doors, Anna picks the bedroom with the King-sized bed and the best view. If all this wasn’t a ploy to seduce her, there’s no way I would’ve been cool with that.
Oh, man. If only she knew what obscenities I’ve done on that bed…
When Anna locks herself in her room and takes a nap, I decide to call the owner of the warehouse I want to buy for the Vegas division of Hartz Brothers Removal & Storage.
My dad and uncle’s dream was to have stores in all fifty-two states. Thus far, we’re half way at twenty-six. Vegas will make twenty-seven.
After I ask the private butler, Jango, to fill the infinity tub for me, I ease into the hot bubbles with a glass of fine whisky, a fifty-year-old Dalmore. Ah… now this is the life.
After soaking for a few minutes, it’s time to get on with business. I reach over and grab my cell sitting on the tub’s convenient recreation side shelf and flick through my contacts until the right name appears – Gerard Winston, Warehouse Prick.
When I called him personally to “talk numbers” last week, he didn’t even have the decency to speak to me; rather he got his PA to tell me the meeting time (tomorrow at 1 o’clock) and the five-figure total he had in mind for the sale. Five million for an old, rundown warehouse bordering downtown?!
It’s a good thing the company can spare no expense.
If it were up to me, I’ll tell him to shove his industrial property where the sun doesn’t shine. But that would be counter-productive for the company and so, once again, I have to fall into line.
No wonder my uncle was so damn nice all the time. Sometimes, if the business is at stake, you have to be.
Wow, hasn’t my perspective on things done a 180 since I took up this gig?!
Once I hit ‘call’ I put the cell on speakerphone, place it back on the shelf, and lie back in the bubbles. Just before Gerard answers, I manage to swallow another mouthful of whisky.
“Gerard Winston speaking,” his gruff voice barks.
“Gerard, Lucas Hartz here. I thought I’d call and finalize that figure your PA gave me.”
He pauses at the other end. Something tells me it’s not thrilled to hear from me. Big surprise there. It must be the whole Victoria’s Secret Angel thing. He’s not the first guy that’s hated me,
or rather envied me, over that incredibly enjoyable incident.
“Lucas Hartz, huh? Well, I’m honored for the personal call.” The sarcasm is practically seeping out of his mouth.
“Oh, my pleasure, Gerard… So your PA stated you wanted five mil for the warehouse. Let’s make it a little more than five. I know there was another bidder, so consider this a gesture of good will… and my appreciation.”
Gerard huffs, clearly not buying my nice-guy routine. “I said five million and it stays at five million.”
“Oh, come on, Gerard. I’m trying to be civil here.”
“Well, I never asked you to be,” he states, maintaining his hostility. “And the only reason why I agreed to sell it to you, is because of that pretty little gal who works for you.”
“Anna?” I query.
“Yeah, I met her when she was here a few months ago. She has the greatest set of natural tits I’ve ever seen.”
My stomach lurches; I can feel the fury building up inside of me. “I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, sorry. I guess you’re banging her, huh? Like every other hot set of pins your cock sets eyes on,” Gerard chuckles.
What the actual fuck? Has he no shame?
Anna or no Anna, who I put my cock in, is none of his business. He has gone way beyond crossing the professional line.
I can’t believe I’m about to say this: he has a worse potty mouth than I do.
“Gerard, let’s be clear-” my voice breaks off when I realize what might happen if I tear him a new asshole.
The warehouse. The Vegas division. Gone in a puff of verbal smoke. Shit.
“I look forward to seeing you tomorrow at the warehouse,” I say instead. “One o’clock sharp.”
Gerard laughs in apparent victory over the fact he’s made me hold my tongue. Fucking prick.
“And I look forward to seeing your PA again, Mr. Hartz. Good night.” He hangs up the phone with a loud click. The flat dial tone echoes around the room.
Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to bring Anna along for the trip? I don’t want some balding, half-witted, middle-aged asshole with a beer gut that could’ve given John Candy a run for his money, ogling her like she’s a piece of meat. He may have read about my… indiscretions, but the sword falls both ways.
I know for a fact that he’s as faithful a husband as he is a reputable capitalist. He’s ripped off that many small business owners with his high-priced dodgy depots and weak-foundational residential properties.
Further to that, Anna deserves better than to be talked about like that. She’s too precious for the likes of-
Whoa, Lucas, what are you saying? Where the hell did “she’s too precious” come from?
I swig the rest of my whisky and contemplate my thoughts. Did I react to what Gerard said because I don’t want anyone else to touch Anna? Or do my feelings run deeper than that? Has my lust evolved?
Oh, no… don’t tell me...
Don’t tell me that nineteen-year-old boy is still in love with her?! Hence, why he took over to Vegas and literally screwed her out of his mind by surrounding himself with top of the line hookers and enough blow to dim the image of her in the backseat of the Beamer.
Awesome. Just bloody awesome.
I have a thing for my PA.
A thing that I know is only going to get stronger the more time I spend with her.
I was right all along; I have no fucking idea how this situation is going to work.
Chapter 9
Anna
No matter how much I want to love Las Vegas, the heat, casino strip, and round the world monuments fail to push my ‘in awe’ button.
I guess it doesn’t help that I’m stuck here with Lucas - the drop dead gorgeous director of a billion-dollar company that he should’ve been the head of in ten years from now, not last week.
To his credit, though, he has been chivalrous since he started in the position. His manners have been exceptional and his compliments for my work ethic strangely unpretentious. He hasn’t said any snide remarks or flirty one-liners since our week at his mom’s beach house in The Hamptons.
I’m starting to think that perhaps he does have a soul in there after all.
The driver pulls up outside the warehouse and a cold shiver runs up my spine. Gerard Winston is as sleazy a commercial property owner as you can get. And boy have I met a few.
I haven’t forgotten the way he stared at my chest like it had won first prize in a ‘Best Tits’ competition. Or his suggestion to come over “for a drink” at his mansion in the Spanish Trail neighborhood.
Irk, the thought of being alone with him, while his wife was out of town, makes my skin crawl.
“Coming?” Lucas asks, offering me his hand through the open door. I hadn’t even noticed him get out of the car.
Taking his hand, I step down onto the rocky ground. The warehouse looms, reminding me of a bordered up horror house. Only bigger. And industrial.
Within seconds, Mr. Sleaze-ball also pulls up in his jet-black Hummer. When he gets out he squints at Lucas and I before turning to his left to spit. Gross.
“Well, howdy folks. I do hope you’re enjoying this beautiful Las Vegas weather we’re having,” he states, filling some of the space between us.
I give a phony smile and nod. “Yes, it’s lovely.”
He chuckles. “Not as lovely as you, though, Miss Fitzgerald. It sure is nice to see you again.”
As soon as the words leave his mouth, I want to vomit. Just as I suspected: he’s still a pig of a man.
Looking down momentarily, I note Lucas’s balled up fist, flexing and unflexing.
Is he actually offended by Gerard Winston’s comment? Or does he just not like the fact that someone else finds me attractive? Either way, his actions are interesting.
“Shall we get on with the proceedings?” he says, glaring at Gerard like he’s walking on thin ice. Ice that Lucas will be all too happy to crack.
“After you, Mr. Director,” Gerard states, a gleam of dishonesty in his eye.
Oh, boy. This can either go one of two ways - not good or really not good.
For the next ten minutes, Gerard shows us through the warehouse, noting the areas that are stable and those that need renovation.
Despite its macabre appearance on the outside, the inside it isn’t too bad. The transformation to a removal and storage facility is doable and could even be ready within the next six months. Just in time for the holidays, which is the prime time for people to move house.
“So,” Gerard says, leading us back outside. “Shall we sign the papers?”
Surprisingly, Lucas turns to me before he answers the industrialist. “What’s your opinion, Anna? You’ve seen enough of our warehouses by now. Is this a goer?”
I peer over at Gerard, who brandishes a wink, causing me to shift in my small-wedged heels.
“I think so,” I say, placing a hand on my hip.
“Thatta girl!” Gerard whoops, clicking his fingers at his PA still sitting in the Hummer. The PA brings over an expensive-looking fountain pen and what must be the deed for the warehouse.
“Except, I’m not one hundred percent on the price,” I add, carving out a fake smile. “Five mil with all those renovations the company has to fork out for…”
In truth, the number is a fair price for the warehouse. I just want this slime ball to lose out a little. A fee for his bigheaded, think-he-owns-all-of-Vegas attitude, and blatant chauvinism.
Gerard’s business smile instantly fades. “Now now, little lady. Your boss offered me more than five last night. But as a show of good faith, I turned that figure down. The deal is for five million.”
“Four-seventy,” Lucas states, his tone commanding.
Gerard goes wide-eyed. “Excuse me?”
“What Miss Fitzgerald said is right. The renovations on this place will cost the company a significant amount. Last night I hadn’t inspected the warehouse yet. Now that I have, I think four-seventy is a better number.” Lu
cas doesn’t break eye contact. He stares hard at Gerard, unwavering in both his tone and stance.
Gerard appears to muse over it for a few moments, his angry eyes going back and forth between Lucas and me. “Four-eighty five,” he finally offers.
“Four-eighty and I’ll do my very best to persuade Miss Fitzgerald not to file a sexual harassment suit on your ass,” Lucas replies with a confident smirk.
“Sexual harassment?! I did so such-”
“Mr. Winston,” I cut in. “I wonder how your wife would react if I told her about that little drink you wanted to have with me at your mansion… while she was out of town?”
Gerard’s nostrils flare up like a bull seeing red. “You little bit-”
“I’d be very careful about finishing that sentence, Gerard,” Lucas interrupts this time. “You know who I am. You know how much influence my family have in both the industrial and social scenes. I can make life difficult for you with just one phone call.”
Silence falls between the three of us. It feels a bit like a Mexican standoff. Only I’m pretty sure Lucas has this one in the bag.
Just seeing him exert his confidence and upper-class influence to stick it to this guy is not only amazing but a damn turn on. My pussy is practically calling out to its long lost friend sitting inches away, in his suit pants.
With a hefty snigger, Gerard writes the final selling figure in the blank box on the deed and signs it. He tosses it over to Lucas. Lucas tilts it to the side so I can see the numbers just before his signature completes the transaction.
Now, that’s what I call teamwork.
Maybe I judged Lucas too quickly?
Maybe this situation can work?
But then again, the fact that my panties are soaking wet right now is a severe conflict of interest. And one that I still need to tamper down.
Effective immediately.
Chapter 10
Lucas
Clad in only those white Dr. No-styled bikinis, Anna climbs into the jetted hot tub beside me.
