Black Gold

by Angelika Robinson

  “There’s always going to be two dimensions to any relationship we have,” he says. “And no, you can’t quit — that might seem like an easy way to avoid any awkwardness, so you can focus on us instead of Boyd Industries. I won’t allow it. You’re too damn good a secretary for me to let go.”

  “If that was the case, we’d work closely together more,” I point out.

  Magnus snorts. “I have three other secretaries waiting to get their turn, too.”

  “See, that’s what I don’t like,” I tell him. “Waiting their turn could mean lots of different things. It could mean helping you keep your schedule clear of calls… or it could mean kissing you outside a burrito truck.”

  “Shaleigh…”

  I simmer again. There are no good words I can offer right now.

  “Shaleigh, listen to me. I’m not interested in any of the others. Just you,” he promises.

  “How can I know that? You haven’t really spent any time with any of them. For all I know, you’re attracted to whoever happens to spend the most time around you. I don’t mean this to say that you can’t be trusted, I just mean that I need my assurances. And your trip to Georgia. How do I know that you weren’t partying with some Kim Kardashian?”

  Magnus laughs. “Kim Kardashian’s Armenian.”

  “I knew that! It’s a figure of speech!”

  He tries his hardest to stop himself from laughing again. “That’s not a figure of speech, Shaleigh.”

  “I know that too!”

  God, he is so infuriating. This is the side of him who enjoys taking his rivals down a perch — the side of him that enjoys power for power’s sake. The alpha male, allowed to express himself any way he desires. He has control over everything, although in his case, control does not always equate restraint. Control can be the fun of breaking people’s arguments down.

  “How often do you get into arguments with your partners? Not business partners. Romantic partners,” I ask him, taking on a deceptively sweet tone. I too can be ready to strike.

  Magnus gives me a cheeky wink, as if he knows what I’m up to. “Not often. Just with you.”

  “What’s so different about me?”

  All of a sudden, we seem like a happy couple talking about saccharine things on our anniversary. “You’re feisty. I don’t often deal with feisty.”

  “Because you think money can buy instant, total obedience,” I tell him.

  “True. But also because it can.”

  “Not with me. Do you want to fire me?” I ask.

  “You’re a frustrating woman, but a terrific secretary. What on earth could I possibly find as a reasonable excuse to fire you?”

  “Maybe I’m just baiting you to fire me so we wouldn’t have this boss-secretary dynamic you keep worrying your handsome little butt about,” I retort. “Then you can actually date me. Normally.”

  “You know as well as I do that I desperately want to date you. And that things work differently for me. Normal for you isn’t normal for me. At my level, things just… are accepted to be bizarre. Work with me here, Shaleigh. Accept that I’ll do my best to improve my behavior for you… but change is a big thing. And change doesn’t happen overnight.” Magnus takes his eyes off the road to look at me.

  It makes me giggle, the way he’s capable of looking intense and passionate and serious, but also giving me full-on puppy dog eyes, when he wants to plead. “Okay, I’ll work with you. Now keep your eyes on the road!”

  He grins. “Knew that would work.”

  “What does ‘work with me’ mean, then?” I question him.

  “I’m subtly asking you out for a second date. Would you like that? A second date. Normal. But not necessarily your normal. A mixed normal. Normal for the both of us. Or… a learning curve sort of normal.”

  I try my hardest not to keep giggling. “You’re using normal too much. It sounds weird, to keep hearing that.”

  “That’s entirely my intention. To make you realize how there’s no such thing as normal, and it sure as hell isn’t just surface things like paying for your own meals. By the way, I started reading the book you bought me. It’s really good. Even if the idea of reading novels is… not normal for me,” Magnus says. He shrugs. “But picking up new habits means I can normalize something. So, the thing is… I can normalize new things. Can you?”

  “What would I have to do?” I ask him. I can see that we’re already on my street.

  “Let me in, Shaleigh. I’m not trying to be a knight in shining armor. I’m just trying to find the best way to be good for you, to be the kind of man you want. The kind of man who’ll do right by you. That’s all there is.”

  Goddamn, he knows how to charm a girl.

  It’s time for me to close my eyes and place my trust in this. That his charm is for me, not for every girl.

  “Okay.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Magnus’ place is huge. Just huge. I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s a penthouse apartment in the most expensive residential skyscraper in the city, yet I still am. The residence spans three stories of the skyscraper’s upper floors. Who even needs that much space, billionaire or not?

  “Welcome,” Magnus smiles. It’s just me and him. He took the time to pick me up and drive us straight back. This isn’t normal, I want to retort, but I understand that tonight is all about discovering what’s normal for him.

  Closing my mouth seems impossible. He’s probably already judging me for walking around his place, making throaty noises of awe with my mouth agape. “Is that… a see-through grand piano?” I say.

  Magnus smiles. “Crystal.”

  “Like, actual crystal?”

  He shakes his head. “No, as in it’s called crystal. It’s a type of plexiglass. It’s kind of like a tourbillon watch — you know, when you get to see the anti-gravity mechanism inside the haute horlogerie piece?”

  He’s saying some words, and maybe they make sense to someone, but it sure as hell doesn’t make any sense to me. “What on earth did you just say?”

  “Never mind,” he shakes his head.

  “There are watches that are anti-gravity? Like… floating around in space? What the hell?” I say, too confused.

  “No, no,” Magnus says, slipping his hands on my shoulders as he gives me a back-rub. “It’s a mechanism inside a watch. It helps counteract the effects of gravity on most watch internal movements, you know, so you don’t lose time. It’s… really not all that complicated. Although they call it a complication. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m making this way harder for you.”

  I burst out laughing. “Yes. Yes, you really are.”

  “I’ll show you sometime.”

  “To be honest, I’m not exactly dying to find out,” I smile at him. “But I know you like your hands-on hobbies. Watches too, right?”

  “Exactly,” he murmurs. “Anyway. Tonight we’re doing normal again. And normal here is a meal we’re cooking together. Very romantic. Probably not very complicated.”

  “Okay, what were you thinking?” I ask, letting him lead the way with his hands still firm on my shoulders, towards the kitchen. “Jesus. You stacked a grocery’s worth of ingredients here. You’re not going to need all of them. Is that… saffron? Magnus, what are we even going to cook with saffron?”

  The billionaire shrugs. “Normally I have a private chef. But like I said, I’m trying — trying to do normal.”

  “Okay, well, attempting is already a great sign. I think we should keep things simple, for sure. I spy pasta over there. We could make a spaghetti. Do you like spaghetti, Magnus?”

  He smiles at me. “I eat everything. In fact, I was worried that you wouldn’t. I don’t know if you have preferences. Or restrictions.”

  “Where I come from, you don’t really get a lot of chance to be all picky about food. Do you have any minced beef? We could do a spaghetti bolognese. I’ve got a great recipe. Plus I can delegate half the work to you. Equality in the kitchen.”

  Although my eyes flit to
wards the staircase leading up to what I assume is his bedroom floor. It’s not equality in the bedroom I want. In fact, it’s his hands around my shoulders, my neck, my waist, that I want.

  “Sounds like a great idea,” Magnus says. “Tell me if you think I’m clueless.”

  “You’re not clueless, Magnus,” I smile. “Eager. Which is nice. I never see your eager side — I wouldn’t have even thought you had an eager side. Not given how composed and boss-like you are in the office.”

  “Like a boss, huh?” Magnus notes with a smirk.

  At his request, I recite all the steps to this spaghetti recipe that I first learned from my grandma, back home. We used to bond over big batches of spaghetti, enough to feed a dozen people, regardless of whether we were hosting our whole family… or if it was just me and her.

  Magnus asks me a few questions that instantly tells me he’s been paying attention, and offers some suggestions to streamline them.

  “Well, we do it in this order because cooking isn’t exactly a science, it’s an art, Magnus,” I offer. “If anything, there’s a little bit of magic. You’ll smell it. When we’re cooking the sauce, when the pasta’s boiling — are you really telling me you’ve never cooked for yourself? Not even once?”

  “I don’t live to eat,” Magnus shrugs. “Plus, like I said, my sort of normal is different.”

  “Fair enough,” I say, adopting one of his catchphrases. “In that case, I’m glad you’re willing to do this with me.

  I let him start prepping the minced beef for our bolognese sauce, watching him as I wash my hands. The pasta’s on boil, and when my hands are clean, I sprinkle salt into the pot. “We could do a one-pot spaghetti. That’s way easier. Especially to clean.”

  “Why would we need to clean it?” Magnus raises an eyebrow at me. “Shit. Are you serious, Shaleigh? Will normal also constitute having to clean up after? I have maids for that.”

  “And do you see any right now?” I make an exaggerated gesture of scouting around the kitchen for a maid. “Normal. That’s the operating word.”

  “Hmph,” he says, and from the smile hiding behind his sigh, I can tell he’s play acting a lot of the disappointment.

  “Tell me exactly how it is you’ve never had to cook for yourself,” I prompt the billionaire.

  “Long story short? Money. Also, time. Time is money. I eat on the go. Cooking seems like… work. When I’m at home, the last thing I want is to do more work.”

  “But assembling a Swiss watch made of gold isn’t work?” I tease him. “Relax, I’m not judging. Okay, I am judging. Just a little bit.”

  “You’re something special,” Magnus says, his gaze intense upon me. I can’t help but blush, realizing the potency of the lust and desire from his stare. “I wouldn’t let anyone talk to me like that.”

  “So what is it that makes me special?” I ask, heading to the sink again. “By the way, we’ll get the sauce going, then it’s hands-off for now. No need to stir every ten seconds. Cooking is all about trust.”

  “Everything smells amazing,” Magnus notes, leaning over the saucepan as I tweak the flame just right. “If I were more clueless, I’d actually ask you if you’ve got a degree in culinary arts.”

  “I do — from the school of hard knocks. You know, us rural grower-uppers pick everything up personally. There’s a lot to be gained from manual experience,” I tell him. “Grandma always taught me how to take care of myself. And I’ve always been incredibly independent.”

  “That’s it,” Magnus notes, keeping his gaze on me still. “You’re independent. I don’t feel like other women have that trait. They can do things by themselves, sure, but that’s no guarantee they can be independent.”

  I nod, checking on both the pasta and the sauce. A glance over at the kitchen timer tells me there’s plenty of time. So I walk over to Magnus and help clean his hands. “You’ve got beautiful hands,” I note.

  “Could say the same about you, Shaleigh.”

  “Well, why don’t you, then?” I wink.

  “You’ve got beautiful hands,” Magnus says, accepting my challenge.

  It takes everything of me to hold back from the shivers of reflexive desire that come over me. I’m amazed that he’s still interested in me, given all the shit I give him. But I can tell this whole New Normal theme to our relationship — if we can call it a relationship — is a sign of improvement. My desire for him deepens by the second.

  “Damn,” I whisper.

  “Hmm?”

  “It’s awfully hot in here. As kitchens tend to be,” I whisper. Of course, I don’t tell him that the reason my temperature’s going this high up is because of the way my body’s reacting to being so close to him.

  Just look at him! He’s wearing a stiff baby blue shirt with the sleeves rolled midway up his forearms. His watch sits on the kitchen island, and he’s got a knife in his hands. The man looks like a poster boy for a cookbook. “Some days I wish I was a photographer,” I casually suggest.

  “Nonsense,” Magnus replies. “You’d have to be the model.”

  “Being a model would bore me. I’m not one for standing around and trying to hold a pose until some man is satisfied,” I counter, thinking about it. Although I’d like to see Magnus take photos of me… I’ve never really wanted to be in front of the camera. Behind it, though? That would be perfect. “I’d rather craft the art, than try some conceit of being the art.”

  “You. Are. Art.” Magnus has a firmness that shoots pure lust through me. If we weren’t cooking, I’d let him pounce me.

  Or I’d pounce him myself.

  “Damn,” I whisper again.

  “A little bit of patience, my darling,” Magnus says, fully aware of my flustered state. “First we eat — a little, at least. And then we play.”

  Now I’m absolutely floored by the way I have to physically keep my hands pressed down on the kitchen counter, ready to let him do anything he wants to me.

  “You’re a pretty dominant man, aren’t you?” I ask, as if it isn’t already the world’s most obvious thing.

  “I love to be in control. But control isn’t something you actively pursue. Control is something you naturally absorb. One can take charge not by being greedy for power, but by being the most natural fit for leadership,” he whispers to me, leaning in.

  My breath sucks in fast as I feel the stubble of his chin touch the sides of my neck. “I could be okay with you being greedy for me.”

  “That’s an indulgence I’ve already allowed myself,” Magnus says. The formal, old-fashioned way he speaks, with his beautifully clipped syllables, makes his speech even more arousing.

  I find myself crossing my legs, ready to have him come as close as possible to me. “God,” I whisper. “I don’t know what it is you do to me.”

  “Shhhh. Not the Lord’s name in vain,” he winks at me, letting his hands fall to my waist. “Worship comes after.”

  Oh, his words. Worship. I have to.

  Our attention is immediately taken away by the sound of the pasta about to boil over.

  “Quickly, give me that wooden spoon!” I laugh, reaching past him and not catching the handle. Magnus has to twist himself to grab it, sliding it my way. I place the spoon over the pot, like a lid, and watch the pot return to its normal boil. “This is a lifehack I picked up some time back,” I wink.

  “Back to being greedy for you, right?” Magnus says, placing his hands back on my hips.

  “Ugh, goddamn it, Magnus, why do you have to be so sexy? I don’t want to resist. I can’t. I have to hold back, I have to be… myself. Be someone who doesn’t let anyone this close, be someone who’s always ready to move on,” I whisper to him.

  “You don’t have to be that person,” he replies, raising an eyebrow. “And I thought that was supposed to be me?”

  “Oh, is it? I can’t tell anymore,” I giggle. “Please. Let’s… let’s stay concentrated. Just for a little while. You and I can do that, right? Hard to have a relationship really get
going if all we do is indulge in everything we want, when we want.”

  Magnus’ eyes flash with amusement. “I thought that’s the point of having a relationship. What I want is you, every time. I want to indulge in my desire for you anytime I want. When I want.”

  He even grabs me from behind, squeezing possessively.

  “Okay. Okay, okay, okay,” I exhale. “I’m yours. Whenever you want. I’m ready. I want to see the real you.”

  I want to see him: the physical, passionate side. The side that doesn’t hold back. The side that commands all the attention, ever.

  The food’s done, but dinner can wait.

  His hunger for me tells me one thing: I’m to be his main course.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Magnus sneaks a bottle of champagne with him, tucking it under his arm as he leads me upstairs to his bedroom.

  “Oh my God, I have to warn you, if your bedroom’s absolutely gorgeous, I’m going to just… kill the mood by being the most, like, awed person alive. I’m actually going to just stand here and gawp. I’m warning you, Magnus,” I say, laughing and blushing.

  It’s true. The presence of my heightening lust does not actually have an effect when paired against the utter disbelief I have over experiencing the sort of luxury that surrounds Magnus Boyd.

  “I know what you can do,” Magnus says. He sets the champagne bottle down on a counter next to the stairs.

  “Yeah?”

  “Close your eyes. And I’ll carry you. I’m going to carry you to bed.”

  My mouth drops. That was not the suggestion I was expecting. Of course, with him, I can’t resist — imagining it sounds silly but Magnus literally sweeps me off my feet, holding me close against him, his arms strong and sturdy as I curl up against him, the alpha male in full control here.

  “I cannot believe this is happening,” I say. “How is it you can just carry me, just like that? You must lift so much.”

  Magnus laughs. “A little bit. But most of the time, I’m not exactly lifting beautiful young women.”

  “Try it sometime,” I reply. “Well. With me. Just me.”