by Elise Faber
“That’s more like it,” he said and snagged her hand, bringing it against his cock.
“Ooh.”
“Not little,” Clay agreed. “And still very much here any time I’m within six feet of you.” He peeled her fingers off when she squeezed hard enough that he wanted to forget about the food and bend her over the couch to— “Now behave. You’re hungry.”
“Your fault,” she accused, but grabbed the plate he held out.
He waited until they both had slices and full wine glasses before reaching behind him for his laptop. “I wanted to show you something. I know that since the Pierce deal fell through, we’ve both been looking for a similar deal. So”—he clicked open a file—“I came up with a list of companies that we could potentially invest in together.”
She’d gone very still as he spoke, her expression unreadable.
“Or not,” he said, closing the screen and thinking he’d royally fucked up.
Slow, Steele, he thought disgustedly. You were supposed to be moving slow.
Heather turned and grabbed her laptop. “You want me to tell you what I’ve been working on?” she asked, softly, as she opened a file and showed it to Clay.
It was a list of companies, some of which were the same as Clay’s list.
Her expression was gentle. “I’m tired of traveling alone.”
“Oh, thank fuck,” he said, wrapping her in his arms. “Me, too, sweetheart. Me, too.” His lips found hers, kissing her until all the worried tension about screwing up and moving too quickly and pushing her too hard left in a wave of desire and need and heat. He broke away. “Pizza.”
Heather’s eyes were knowing, but instead of commenting, she picked up her slice and chowed down. “So,” she said after he’d joined her. “Should we compare lists and crunch some numbers?”
“That might have been the sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”
She blew on her nails, buffed them on her shoulder. “I’m just getting started, Steele.”
Just over a day later, Clay watched Heather ascend the steps to RoboTech’s private jet and tried not to feel as though she were taking his heart along with her.
He waved when she turned back then leaned against the hood of his car, waiting for the stairs to close and the plane’s engines to start up. Only then did he get into his car and drive to his office.
They’d compared company lists the afternoon before, crunched data well into the night and then had moved fast, having their lawyers put in a joint offer that morning. Something extra convenient they’d discovered, and that Clay took as a sign they were doing the right thing, was that their respective businesses were both represented by the same law firm, McAvoy and Associates.
The company they decided on was Helix, a young tech start-up with more orders than they could keep up with.
Helix needed capital to expand and direction with where to place the manufacturing and storage units—Clay’s strong suit. Plus, their R&D department wasn’t functioning as it should and getting underperforming research to pan out or switch directions was right in Heather’s wheelhouse. Helix was their top choice and just about as perfect of a joint investment as they could ever dream to come across.
But since it would be some time before they heard back, Clay focused his brainpower on other projects.
The quarter was ending and there were always reports to go over. Then his head of HR had an issue they needed to discuss, one that had resulted in an emergency meeting after it was discovered that an employee had stolen a very valuable prototype.
It was in that meeting that he finally caught up with his lawyer, Rebecca Darden.
Yes, he’d called in the big guns in order to scare the shit out of Timothy.
And no, he felt no shame.
Bec was a hotshot attorney and had just made partner. She was capable, smart, and a hard-ass.
“Steele,” she said, shaking his hand before slanting her eyes to the corner of the room.
Taking her hint, he got up and followed her. “Yeah?”
“I just wanted to confirm that your issue was handled?” she asked. “Sorry again I had to cancel that Sunday as well.”
Considering he’d spent the entire weekend in bed with Heather, Clay hadn’t minded.
“Not your fault,” he said. “Business comes first.”
He thought of the marriage license Heather had stolen from his bag. Instead of hiding it, she’d taped it to her bathroom mirror. The action had made him grin and then tug her close so that he could show her exactly how much it meant. “It was a small personal matter,” he told Bec, trying to keep the grin from his lips. “But it’s all taken care of now.”
“Good.” She paused before crossing her arms. “So, scuttlebutt says that you and Heather are having naked, sexy time.”
He huffed out a laugh. “You’re as bad as she is.” One female brow rose. “And it’s none of your business.”
“She’s my client and my friend.” Brown eyes went flinty cold. “So, yes, it is my business.”
“Scary,” he said. “I thought you were my friend.”
“I’ve known her longer, so she wins.”
“Cold.”
“Remember that,” she said, lips twitching before all teasing left her expression. She pinned him in place with that patented stare. “Your legal matter didn’t have to do with a baby mama, did it?”
Clay didn’t consider himself easily intimidated, but Bec was in a whole other league.
“No baby mama,” he said. “I love her, Bec.”
And that quickly her frosty exterior faded. “You mean it.” Her voice held a note of incredulity.
“It’s true.” He shrugged, mildly annoyed.
“So the infamous bachelor known as Clay Steele has fallen.” Despite the teasing she touched his shoulder gently. “I’ve never seen you look so happy . . .” A pause in her words that had him frowning. “I’m mentally hugging you right now.”
“Is there something wrong with hugging in actuality?” he asked.
“Only that I called you over here so that we’d make Timothy more nervous and more likely to give up the goods.”
Clay flicked his eyes over his shoulder, saw that his—now former—employee was sweating and looked like he was going to shit himself. “It appears your tactic is working.”
“Yup.” Bec checked her watch. “But hugging you will ruin that.”
“Okay.” He closed his eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“Mentally hugging you back.”
She snorted and he opened his lids, saw the laughter in her own eyes.
“Heather does you good.”
“That she does,” he agreed.
“She’ll also give you a hell of a chase.”
He nodded. “Maybe. But I think I’m faster.”
“I hope so.” Bec tilted her head toward Timothy, and they began walking back to the table. “Oh, before I forget, I passed the Helix acquisition to my junior associate while I deal with this. I already sent Heather a text, letting her know. Anything major happens I’ll pick it up again, but I’ll leave the back and forth to him. Okay?”
“Works for me.”
Her eyes narrowed on his former employee as they took their seats, and there was unrestrained glee in her tone when she announced, “Timothy is priority one.”
Timothy paled.
It didn’t take long for him to give up the goods.
Clay arrived back at his apartment well into the evening and was reheating his takeout that had gotten cold on the drive.
City traffic wasn’t something he would miss if he moved into Heather’s place.
His phone buzzed the same time the microwave dinged, and he grinned when he saw it was Heather.
Tell me why I love my job again? she texted, punctuating the sentiment with a row of sleepy emojis.
Because you’re incredibly good at it? he sent back.
Oh. Well, there’s that. Dots on the bottom of his screen. I don’t like sl
eeping without you.
He knew what it cost her to send that, how hard it was for her to put herself out there, and the fact that she continued to do it with him? Well, fuck, she absolutely owned him.
I can fly out, he texted, only half-joking.
A rolled eyes emoji. We can survive five days.
Orgasms, was his only counter.
She sent him a gif with a curly headed girl giggling. You’re ridiculous.
He replied with a sad puppy gif. So that’s a no?
That’s an I-miss-you and I-hate-to-go-but-I’m-at-my-first-meeting-no.
Damn, he wrote. But I love you anyway.
A gif of hearts in return that had him grinning.
Good luck, sweetheart. Not that you need it.
Night, Clay. Talk to you soon.
Clay ate in front of his TV, catching the final minutes of a Gold Hockey game—they won because Brit Plantain was an absolute beast in the net—before taking his computer with him into his bedroom.
He was just about to fall asleep when his phone beeped with an incoming call.
Thinking it was Heather, he picked it up from the nightstand then frowned at the unfamiliar number. “Hello?”
“Uh. Mr. Steele?”
“Yes,” he snapped, wondering who in the fuck had the balls to call him at nearly one in the morning.
“It’s Steven, Rebecca Darden’s associate. I just . . . she said you were handling negotiations?”
“This couldn’t wait until morning?”
“I-uh-this seemed important.”
Clay was exhausted, missing Heather, and feeling impatient, but he forced himself to give the poor man a break. His next question was more even-keeled. “What’s happening, Steven?”
“Well, we didn’t get a counteroffer exactly. It’s weird because I thought this was a joint project between Steele and RoboTech, but this looks like—”
“The point, please, Steven.”
The other man coughed. “Helix didn’t send an explicit counteroffer. Instead, they sent RoboTech’s offer over with a note that this was your one opportunity to beat it.”
What in the fuck? “They want us to beat our own offer?”
How wrong had he and Heather been about Helix?
“No. This offer isn’t the joint one between Steele and RoboTech. It’s one that RoboTech submitted on its own.”
Clay was clearly delusional because he thought that Steven had said—
The kid had to be mistaken.
“Just email me all of the paperwork, and I’ll take a look in the morning, okay?”
“Okay, Mr. Steele. But I think—”
“Goodnight, Steven.” He clicked off.
Five minutes later the email came through, and confused and irritated and unable to turn off his brain, Clay opened up the files.
“What the—?”
He struggled to comprehend exactly what he was reading.
Because it looked like Heather had taken the opportunity to undercut their joint bid. To offer more capital for a smaller percentage of the company. To attempt to screw him over while securing a damned good deal for RoboTech.
There was absolutely no way that could be right.
They were in the deal together, and Heather may be a serious businesswoman, but she’d never been underhanded or unethical.
Two things the offer in front of him definitely was.
The first thing he did after reading through the files was call Heather. The phone rang once then went directly to voice mail.
Clay left a message, explaining what had been sent. Then he hung up and went over the files again as he waited for a callback.
And waited.
Another call. A single ring then voice mail again.
The same thing happened several hours later when he called after her last scheduled meeting of the day.
Seriously concerned and knowing that her assistant was holding down the home fort on this trip, Clay called Rachel.
She answered after a couple of rings. “Hey, Clay.” Her voice was harried. “Everything good? No—not that one,” she said to someone in the background before returning back to him. “Sorry, it’s all hands on deck here with the deals in play.”
“Heather good?” he asked, wondering what deals she was referring to. “I haven’t heard from her.”
“She’s fine,” Rachel replied. “I chatted with her a few minutes ago about the Helix thing. But I need to get her a new— Damn. No! Not that one. Sorry, Clay, I have to go—”
“Bye,” he said, but she’d already clicked off.
He tried Heather’s cell again, immediately received her voice mail in return.
What the hell was going on? Had he done something? Had—?
His phone pinged with a new email, and when he saw it was from Heather, he breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe cell service was crappy and his calls hadn’t been able to get through?
That relief lasted for the barest of moments.
Or only as long as it took for her message to load.
Clay,
It’s over.
He blinked, trying to understand. There had to be something he was missing.
But when he called her again, it went straight to voice mail.
It’s over?
How could it possibly be over?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Heather
This trip had not gone as Heather had planned.
First, she’d dropped her phone in the toilet while rushing between one meeting and the next—stupid staying hydrated nonsense—then her laptop had up and died in the middle of video conferencing with Rachel and asking her to overnight her a new phone. She’d barely gotten it started back up and had been in the middle of emailing Clay to explain that she didn’t have her phone and that her computer was on the fritz before it died again.
Ugh. Technology.
Heather had managed to power through the multiple shutdowns and get a second, and hopefully complete, email out to Clay.
Luckily, Rachel was really good at her job. Even with the middle of the night wakeup punctuated by failed technology, her assistant had been lucid enough to text the driver information to be passed along to Heather—a new phone would be waiting in Berlin.
Clay should be up in the next few hours and would hopefully get the emails she’d sent.
And maybe by the time she made it to Berlin, they could break in the FaceTime feature on her new phone.
Grinning at the thought, Heather shoved the ruined phone—encased in a zip-top bag—deep down in her tote bag. Conveniently, it lay right next to the ruined laptop.
She rolled her eyes. Technology, man.
“I have the rest of your trip’s schedule, Ms. O’Keith,” Bill, her driver said. “I’ll get it printed for you, so you can have it until your new phone arrives.”
“Paper,” she quipped. “So old-fashioned.”
Bill chuckled. “Pretty soon it won’t exist at all.”
“If only they made waterproof phones.”
“That’s probably not too far off.”
“No,” Heather said with a laugh. “Then the cell companies wouldn’t sell as many replacement phones.”
A tip of Bill’s hat. “And that’s why you’re the businesswoman and I’m just the driver.”
“Your job is very important.”
“In some ways”—he pulled to the curb, putting the car into park and coming around to open her door—“yes, it’s important. In others, not as much. But I like it and that’s really the key to a happy life.”
She raised a brow. “No happy wife, happy life?”
“That, too.” He closed the door behind her. “Try and make sure you’re down here at half past three so we can get you to that last meeting on time. Rachel has already emailed me”—he held up his working cell phone, the lucky bastard—“so, I’ll have your old-fashioned paper itinerary ready by then.”
“Thanks, Bill,” she said, slipping her tote onto one shoulder and making a ment
al note to call his boss and report that he’d really gone above and beyond for her. “See you at three-thirty.”
“Crazy American. It’s half past three.”
Since they’d had this conversation many times over in the two years since she’d taken over RoboTech, Heather just rolled her eyes, gave a wave goodbye, and headed into her next meeting.
Berlin was a complete and utter shit-show.
She’d had the IT department take a look at her laptop, and it was deader than a doornail. Luckily all her data was backed up to the secure cloud and they’d provided her with a new computer, but the operating system was in German, and while she may be able to speak a word here or there, she was nowhere near fluent enough to operate it.
In the end, she’d given it back and just pinned her hopes on getting her new cell phone when she checked into the hotel.
But when it rained, it poured, because her room hadn’t been ready at the hotel. She’d waited in the bar, reading—the only perk of no technology—for several precious hours until one had become available.
Further that, her package with her new phone hadn’t shown up, and it wasn’t until she called the front desk, the concierge, and then the mailroom itself before she discovered that no, it had been delivered, but no one knew quite where it was.
Blowing out a breath, she flopped back onto the bed and closed her eyes.
She’d need to figure out how to set the alarm clock in the room since she didn’t trust wake-up calls. The last time she’d scheduled one, it hadn’t come and she’d been late.
So alarm.
Then she would try and sort out how to make a long-distance call to the States, because she didn’t care how much it cost.
She just really missed hearing Clay’s voice.
Sighing and promising that she would only lie there for a couple of minutes, Heather let her body relax into the mattress.
The phone rang what felt like minutes later, but when Heather glanced at the clock, she saw that hours had, in fact, passed.
Another sharp trill set her in motion, and she snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”
A woman’s voice spoke in slightly accented English. “Ms. O’Keith?”
