The wheezing voice of Nick Ryver filled my ear.
“Evans, eh?” he began. Who used “eh” these days? But evidently, Ryver thought of himself as an English gentleman.
“Get on with it,” I barked.
“Well, tweedle-dee to you too!” he breezed, not at all intimidated. I could just see the ancient guy, lounging back with a biscuit in hand, tea at his elbow. “So what’s going on with your project?” he wheedled. “You know, the one that’s been having all that trouble.”
What the fuck?
That was none of his business. What the hell was wrong with him, even asking? We’re competitors for crying out loud. You don’t discuss this kind of shit with someone who’d just as soon cut you off at the knees.
And we were done. I didn’t care if this guy was eighty with one foot in the grave. Because this was just fucking weird, not to mention annoying. So I hung up without a word and handed the phone back to the secretary.
“Next time that ankle-biter calls, don’t answer,” was my mild refrain. “I don’t care who he says he is, or how important the matter is. Do not disturb me.”
“Of course,” she bowed her head, practically in tears. And then the middle-aged woman scurried out, back hunched.
I felt bad. I hadn’t meant to intimidate her. But seriously. Why had I been interrupted during a meeting to speak to Nick Ryver of all people? Fuck my life.
The execs coughed, shifting in their seats. Clearly, they were uncomfortable witnessing that exchange, but what did I care? That was their problem.
So I took control, guiding the meeting with a sure hand.
“So where were we again? Is construction under way already? Or are we still waiting for permits?”
Thoroughly ruffled, the junior exec continued with his presentation, hands shaking.
“Our team has put together a proposal for negotiations with the Mackeys. We need your authorization,” he murmured as another man passed me a thick packet of paper.
I sighed and flipped through it; standard legal mumbo jumbo. I scribbled my signature and handed it back, already onto the next thing. Normally, you can’t go easy with shit like this. It has to be read and re-read to make sure that everything’s kosher.
But today wasn’t the day. I just wanted things done.
And the minute the presentation was over, I stood, towering above the others.
“Thank you gentlemen,” came my growl. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s get moving.”
And immediately, a hubbub of relief sounded. Because they’d thought the decision would take weeks, or even months.
But for me, this shit is easy. The pros and cons are obvious, nuances that escape others completely clear as day to an old hand.
So I could make a decision fast.
And just like that, it was done.
I headed towards the door then, no goodbye necessary.
These fools had met the king. And I had better things to do now which included meeting up with one very beautiful, sensuous female … who’d taken hold of my mind and heart unexpectedly.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Holly
“Where are you now?” gasped Katrina, trying to peer around my shoulder from her computer screen. “That place looks fabulous!”
I giggled because I was sitting in the middle of Thorn’s penthouse apartment, my laptop perched on the kitchen counter. Although kitchen counter didn’t seem the right description for the giant grey marble slab lined with veins of white and gold. That’s right, gold. This rock had been mined from somewhere special because there was obviously precious metal embedded in the stone.
“I know, it’s amazing right?” was my gentle laugh. “I’m at Thorn’s apartment in Chicago. Here, look at this,” I said, pointing my camera towards the kitchen counter. This thing has gold streaks in it,” I said, voice hushed.
Katrina’s mouth fell open.
“Are you serious?” she sputtered. “Wait, hold your laptop closer, I want to see.”
And obligingly, I propped my laptop up, pointing it just so to give Katrina a good vantage point. Pushing a couple of Thorn’s papers out of the way, there was a clear view of a giant gold vein, a snake worming its way through the hazy cloud of marble.
“Oh wow,” she breathed, clapping her hands. “I have to take a picture, hold on.”
And laughing, I waited as Katrina snapped a couple screen shots, the better with which to marvel over my good luck.
“I’m going to take these photos to a professional for an evaluation,” she announced. “It’s insane, you could probably sell this thing and make thousands of dollars.”
I had to laugh at that.
“How am I going to sell Mr. Evans’ kitchen counter, Kat?” was my droll reply. “This thing has to weigh two tons. Do I just detach it from the wall and carry it off on my back?”
“You know,” she pooh-poohed me, waving one hand in the air. “At the very least, you could melt this stuff and get some gold jewelry made.”
I laughed again. Kat always has these weird ideas. How in the world would I melt the gold that was already embedded in the marble countertop? And why would I do that anyways? But my buddy was already onto the next thing.
“Show me the rest of the apartment, Holly! Oooh, you’re so lucky!” she squealed. “Living in the lap of luxury.”
“Not really,” was my admonishment, even as I swiveled the laptop around. “I’m just staying here until we fly off to our next location.”
“But still,” gushed Kat. “You’re staying with the boss himself? Why didn’t they put you up at a hotel or something? It can’t be that expensive.”
I bit my lip. Because the reason I’ve been staying at Thorn’s pad is obvious. We’ve been having a good time together, on and off the plane. We talk, we dine, we tease, and most of all, we fall asleep together after the most amazing sessions of intimacy. My thighs tensed just thinking back to the sensations, pussy tingling a bit. It was amazing hands down.
But before I could get a word out, Katrina was back at it.
“Show me the living room,” she commanded. “I want to see what else there is.”
And sighing, I got up.
“Okay, okay, wait just a sec,” I said, slowly walking to the airy space. “Okay here we go,” I said. “Sorry it’s a little messy,” was my giggle. “The maid hasn’t come yet, so you’re looking at yesterday’s Chinese dinner.”
It was true. There were half-eaten containers still on the glass table, paper boxes of broccoli beef and General Tso’s chicken. Plus, Thorn had done a little work before eating, so some of his things were scattered about, including some work folders, a couple papers, and some gadgets.
“Sorry,” I apologized again, pushing the leftovers out of the way. Oh shoot, did I just get tangy sauce on some of Thorn’s stuff? Quickly, I picked up the latest iPad, trying to wipe off some of the brown goop. Oh shoot, it was just getting worse, a giant smear appearing across the screen.
But Katrina was her usual queenly self.
“Don’t worry about stuff like that,” she said airily, her finger tapping away. “You have help now, and Chinese food can’t kill the latest gadgets. They make these things indestructible now,” she said authoritatively. “I swear I’ve flushed my iPhone down the toilet twice by accident and it’s still okay. So just put down the napkin and relax.”
I sighed because my buddy was probably right. I was just making stuff worse by trying to clean up. And who knew, maybe Thorn wanted all his stuff in a particular order, and it was being ruined right now. So with a laugh, I stopped. But then my head cocked to one side.
“Kat, are you taking screenshots again?” was my curious voice. “Why are you doing that?”
Her blonde head nodded, the girl a little distracted.
“Because your place is so nice,” she burbled. “The interior deco is amazing and I love that eighteen foot ceiling. I’m going to show my boyfriend so that he has an idea of what top-of-the-line means.”
Oka
y, that made sense. Thorn’s place was like a palace, down to the giant crystal chandelier and the artwork on the walls. But still, Kat’s finger was going fast. She was getting screenshots of everything, including the mess on the table, which was embarrassing.
“Stop,” I said, holding my hands up. “At least let me clean up first.”
But Kat was relentless.
“No, it’s fine,” she said soothingly, finger still tapping away. “A little mess is totally okay, we can still see how the room’s set up. Now Holly, can you move a little to the left? You’re in the screen right now, and I can’t get that Rothko. That is a Rothko right?”
Obligingly, I stepped to the side to reveal a magnificent blue painting dotted with red. Of course, you could also see Thorn’s laptop on the table beneath it, with a tangle of wires and his mouse still flashing. Why wasn’t it on sleep mode? Well, maybe the machine did calculations even when its owner wasn’t home. Or maybe Thorn was able to use it remotely, plugging in from a far away site. I had no idea. Oh well.
“I think it is a Rothko,” was my slow confirmation. “Don’t mind the mess below, it’s nothing.”
“Oooh!” squealed Katrina, clapping her hands. “I knew it! Yeah, I want Nick to start a fine art collection too, this is going to make him so jealous,” she rushed. “Oh wow,” the blonde burbled, eyes bulging a little as she took in my surroundings. “You’re soooo lucky!”
And I had to agree. Because for the past week, we’ve been grounded in Chicago, and Thorn and I have gotten to know each other when he’s not working. The dinners are amazing, and our time together out of this world. I couldn’t ask for more, floating in a dreamlike state of happiness mixed with ecstasy. Speaking of which, suddenly the elevator dinged.
“Kat, I have to go,” were my rushed words, self-consciously pushing brown curls from my face. “We’ve been talking forever and I lost track of time. He’s back!”
My buddy let out a tinkling laugh.
“No worries,” she burbled. “But you have to show me the rest of the apartment later,” her voice sang, even as I pulled the laptop cover closed, cutting off contact. “You promised!”
But it was too late because Thorn was already in the apartment, his expression quizzical.
“Who was that?” came his low drawl. “A friend?”
I nodded, cheeks flaming. The sight of the billionaire always makes me tingle in a good way, and now was no exception. The vision of that dark hair, his blue eyes and deep, commanding voice made a frisson run down my spine. Plus, the alpha moves fast. I’d forgotten how high-end buildings work. Because Mr. Evans has a full-floor apartment, the elevator opens right into our foyer because there’s no one else on the floor.
Listen to me. Our foyer, like I belonged here. But I’ve been so comfortable and happy that the thought slipped unnoticed from my mind.
“Hi,” was my welcoming smile. “It’s just my friend Kat from back home. I was showing her this place.”
Those dark blue eyes gleamed.
“And?” he growled. “How’d she like it?”
“Well, you know we’re from a not-so-nice corner of Queens,” was my answering laugh. “So she loved it. This is way more fancy than any place we’ve ever seen, and when she saw the gold in your countertop, she wanted me to melt it down to make jewelry,” I added drolly.
Thorn threw his head back and laughed.
“Are you serious?” was his disbelieving guffaw. “Sweetheart, how are you going to tote that marble slab out?”
“I know,” was my answering giggle. “Right? But it’s just Katrina, she’s crazy.”
Thorn shook his head, amusement dancing on his face.
“Plus a little materialistic,” he said wryly. “Don’t you think?”
I made a face at him.
“She is,” I acknowledged, “But Kat’s been my friend for so long, and it doesn’t bother me. Plus, it’s funny, in a way. She dates old rich dudes in the hope that one of them is going to die and leave her a fortune. Can you believe it?”
Thorn’s brows swooped down.
“Oh I believe it,” he said wryly. “Trust me, older men with younger women is common in NYC. Even here in Chicago, you see that May December dynamic all the time.”
I laughed lightly again.
“Well in this case, I don’t think it’s May December. It’s more like January December because Kat’s like me. We’re both eighteen. And guess how old her current guy is?”
“How old?” grunted Thorn distractedly, loosening his tie while hanging up his coat. Even though they was nothing special about what he was doing, the actions warmed me to the bone because they were homey and normal. I felt like we were an old married couple hanging out together, teasing and making conversation after a long day.
“He’s old,” I said pointedly. “Her boyfriend’s really, really old.”
“Oh?” he asked, only semi-paying attention, wandering over to the kitchen now. “How old?”
And I took a deep breath, following him into the space.
“Seventy,” I said with finality. “There’s got to be a fifty year age gap between Katrina and her latest boyfriend. I met him myself, Thorn, and this guy looks like he’s someone’s grandpa. White hair, about this tall,” I said holding my hand up. “With tufts of gray hair sprouting from his nose and ears.” What had been that guy’s name again? I couldn’t remember, although his image was clear in my mind, small and wizened.
But it all seemed so long ago, even though it’d only been a couple weeks. That night with Kat at the bar, meeting her new man. The flashing lights and pulsing music, how out of place I’d felt.
But now, with Thorn it was different. I felt at home, safe and warm, with the future to look forwards to. True, I wasn’t exactly working, seeing that we hadn’t been on the plane in a week. But I was happy here, ensconced in luxury, looking forward to the billionaire’s return every day when things would heat up within nanoseconds.
How quickly things change, the voice in my mind wondered. Before, you were a poverty-stricken girl living with your disabled mom in a one-bedroom apartment. And now look at you!
That was true. Kathy has been on her own the last couple weeks, taking the bus by herself to her medical appointments. But she hadn’t wanted me to come home.
“Go!” my mom wheezed, her expression encouraging on the laptop screen. “Go and enjoy your new job,” she urged. “You’re lucky to have it.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can Ma,” was my soft promise. “You okay in New York? Is Mrs. Langley helping?”
“She is, she is,” assured my mom. “Rita Langley can be nosy but she’s a good cook and she’s been bringing me food every day. And with your new salary, honey, we can afford to pay her for her services. So go,” she urged again. “Enjoy yourself and live a little.”
And with that, I smiled gratefully. Kathy had no idea exactly what I was doing with Thorn Evans. My mom figured I was a standard issue flight attendant with an apron and jaunty cap. She had no idea that I hadn’t worn the apron for ages, instead wearing nothing at all if that’s what Mr. Evans wanted.
So with a sweet smile, I turned to my man.
“Hungry?” was my purr as he opened the refrigerator door, staring at his contents. And with a grunt, the big man shut it.
“Always,” he proclaimed, pulling me close for a kiss. “I’m always hungry for you, sweet thing. But right now, my stomach needs some sustenance.”
Luxuriating in his embrace, I tipped my chin towards the dark man. It felt so good in his arms, warm and safe, that massive bulk protecting me from any threats.
“What about the meal Chef prepared yesterday?” I murmured, nuzzling his lips with my own. “That steak was amazing, and the potatoes the creamiest and buttery. There’s still some left I think, in the back of the fridge.”
Thorn claimed my lips, seizing them in a thrilling kiss. Oh god, this man is my everything, every cell in my being coming alive at his touch. But he broke the contact abrup
tly, grunting again.
“It was good,” he acknowledged, “but I don’t feel like leftovers. Come on, let’s go out,” he commanded, grabbing my hips and swiveling them towards the door. “I’ll treat you to some fancy Japanese.”
My soul thrilled. I’ve never had Japanese food except for some takeout sushi from the local bodega, and I doubt that counts as real Japanese. Not when you’re eating imitation shrimp and mayonnaise on your sushi. It doesn’t sound right.
So my heart beat fast. Going out on the town with the billionaire? To see and be seen? It sounded amazing after a week together in the apartment. Of course, I wasn’t complaining, but still, it was a nice change.
“Oh sure,” I giggled. “Just give me five. Wait, but ….” My voice trailed off.
“Hmm?” Mr. Evans growled, already thinking of the meal ahead. “What is it, sweetheart?”
And my face flushed then.
“Well, the thing is,” my low murmur came, “Is the place you have in mind real fancy?” came my slow words. “Because I might not have the right clothes.”
Slowly, the billionaire turned to look at me, fixing me with that blue gaze. Hot embarrassment tinted my cheeks, curves quivering. Oh god, oh god. He was used to supermodels who had designer wardrobes, and not someone who got around in jeans and t-shirts most times. In fact, right now I just had one skirt in my luggage, in addition to my flight attendant uniforms. Nothing appropriate for an upscale eatery.
“You don’t have anything?” he growled, confusion in those blue eyes. “What do you mean?”
I took a deep breath.
“I didn’t pack right,” was my hurried excuse. “I just have some casual clothes in addition to my uniforms. We haven’t gone out, so it never came up,” was my lame excuse.
But somehow, Thorn could tell that I wasn’t speaking the truth. The alpha cocked his head at me, just waiting. Oh god, this man knew me so well already and heat bloomed in my cheeks.
“Okay, so that’s not exactly true,” I began slowly.
He nodded silently.
Claiming His Virgin In the Ring Page 19
