Stepbrother for Christmas

by Amy Brent

  I stumbled as he pulled away, my lips still puckered in search of him. Where there was once warmth there was now the cool sting of rejection, and for a moment I wondered if I had misread the kiss. I could have sworn he’d leaned into it. I could’ve sworn—even in my alcoholic haze—the look he was giving me was nothing short of what I wanted from him. He must have thought I was an idiot if he believed I didn’t see the way he’d been staring at my tits all day, and there was a small part of me that became angry with him.

  Angry at the fact that maybe he was pulling away because he wasn’t the one that initiated the kiss.

  Misogynistic bastard.

  “Charlie, I’m first and foremost your boss,” he began, as I fluttered my eyes open. “You are a beautiful woman, there’s no doubt about that, and sharp as a tack to boot.”

  “Why do I feel a very unattractive ‘but’ coming on?” I asked.

  “I set the policy as strict as I did in my business to make it a purely professional environment. Things get messed up and very complicated so quickly with interoffice romances, and I can’t go on an international business trip and become a hypocrite.”

  “I suppose it makes sense,” I said. All of a sudden, I felt like an idiot. I was standing in the hallway with nipples poking through my bra that I knew my boss could see and the idea began to sober me up.

  “Let me help you to your bed,” he said.

  He plucked the keycard from my fingertips and opened the door for me again. His hand hit the small of my back, teasing a touch I would never feel again as he led me to the only open door in the suite. I kicked my shoes off and didn’t bother taking off my clothes before I tumbled into bed, and that warm touch on my back was gone just as quickly as it had appeared.

  “Get some rest,” he said.

  I was disappointed, but it was short lived. I passed out cold—not even remembering him shutting my bedroom door—and when I woke up I was nothing short of embarrassed. My actions toward my handsome boss had been nothing short of something Sheila would have probably tried to pull, and I owed him a sincere apology.

  Once I got over this crushing embarrassment.

  We had the final meeting today with all the investors officially signing their end of the paperwork, and I found I couldn’t look L in the eye. I sat at one end of the table while he sat at the head, and I didn’t look up from my black folder unless absolutely necessary. If someone asked me a question, I pretended I was searching for the answer, and all the while I could feel L’s gaze boring a hole into the top of my head.

  Then, it came time for me to give the presentation, and it meant I’d have to look over at L several times in order to ensure the investors saw we were on the same page.

  “Alright, boys. Now, I know you’re all probably wondering about our sales over the past decade, but something tells me you don’t give a shit about those.”

  The men in the room chuckled and I watched L settle back into his seat, his fingertips trying to cover the smirk that was rising on his cheeks.

  “What you’re all here for is this.”

  I pressed a button and the blueprints L had put in the file he sent to me had suddenly come to life. I saw his eyes widen slightly as those beautiful smoky blues bounced around the screen, and I pulled up the three design blueprints L was still choosing between.

  “These are the three designs for the luxury hotel in the Bahamas. Now, I know the two biggest questions are ‘what makes this one different?’ and ‘what kind of money will it make me?’ So, now is the time to pay attention.”

  I flipped to the first slide and showed them all the things that today’s luxury hotels provide.

  “Here are the columns of two of our main competitors. As you can see, they are all-inclusive resorts with all the accoutrements, if you will. Spas, salons, bars, pools, lazy rivers, internet, hotel suites in one-two-and-three bedroom styles, California-king sized bed, the works. They sell packages that they discount during the year, where you can come, pay one massive upfront fee that will run even the average vacationer into the thousands of dollars, and then they never have to leave the hotel. Sounds nice, right?”

  “I’d do it,” someone said.

  “Oh, honey. We’d all do it if we could,” I said, winking. “But, there are still many things that people complain about that are never fixed.”

  The next slide scrolled through complaint after complaint that had been filed over the years from our competitors. Everything from terrible towels to not having packages that included room service to individual room service being so damn expensive to not having packages where they could tailor-make their stay.

  “You see the dates on all these complaints?” I asked.

  “They span over years,” an investor said.

  “Exactly, and since they won’t fix it, we will.”

  I continued on through my presentation and showed them all we would fix. I walked them through the three main design plans of each blueprint, showed them the cost breakdown of everything and how ‘fixing’ the complaints would only cost us another $4,000 each year, which we would more than make back by offering the ability for the average vacationer to build a vacation at a luxury resort they could afford.

  And all the while, L had his stare locked onto me.

  “So, which blueprint are we going with?” someone asked.

  “Well, with permission from Mr. James, I have an idea for that,” I said.

  “And what would this surprise idea be, Miss Simpson?” he asked.

  “I’m glad you asked that, handsome,” I said, winking. “What I was thinking is this—since all three of these setups have been vetted by the fire department and the proper safety and security channels, I figured we could have the investors take a vote.”

  “A vote?” he asked.

  “A vote. It would show us where our investors lean in terms of design, and it would help you make your overall final decision.”

  “I like her,” someone murmured.

  “She is a spitfire,” L said.

  “So, what do you think?” I asked him.

  “I think… that everyone sitting at this table—including you, Miss Simpson—should write down which design layout they enjoy the most and hand it to me before you leave. The blueprints are in the folders sitting in front of you.”

  They had been so entranced with my presentation that none of them had even opened the folders in front of them. The last-minute questions and the ironing out of the details took almost three solid hours, but by the time everyone was satisfied and had cast their vote on which blueprint layout they enjoyed, all eighteen investors that agreed to meet signed their end of the paperwork. As far as financial weeks went, this was going to be the most lucrative of the entire year, and when I locked gazes with L, his bright smiled warmed my heart.

  He was fucking proud of himself, and he should have been.

  “Gentleman, it’s been a pleasure,” he said. “I promise your money will be put to good use, and I will have this paperwork faxed over, notarized, and immediately put into our system. Gentleman, welcome to the world of luxury.”

  “Mr. James, if you royally fuck up and this woman quits, you send her my way,” one investor said.

  “And if she royally fucks up and you fire her, send her my way anyway,” another one said.

  “Gentleman, gentleman. There’s plenty enough to go around if you’re willing to pay up,” I said, winking.

  “And she’s a shark!” someone else exclaimed. “Be still my beating heart.”

  I couldn’t help but giggle at their remarks as everyone slowly trickled out of the room. It took them another hour to exit, with everyone wanting to talk to L before they parted left, and it gave me time to sit down and catch my breath. My feet were killing me and my hands were still shaking from the adrenaline rush. I so hoped that I had impressed my boss enough to keep me, despite my less-than-professional attack last night.

  “You were fantastic,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I said,
smiling. “Listen, about last night—”

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he said.

  “You know, the incident at my—”

  “Charlie, I can assure you I remember no such thing,” he said. I realized then that he was giving me an out. My presentation had impressed him so much that he was willing to completely erase what had happened last night, and my heart leapt for joy at the fact that I hadn’t just lost my job.

  “Then forgive my faulty memory,” I said.

  “Forgiven, though you should get that checked out when we get home,” he said, grinning. “Now, what are your plans for dinner?”

  “Room service and pajamas. You?” I asked.

  “Asking the initiator of my success out for a celebratory dinner,” he said.

  “Ah, and what should the initiator of such a wonderful monetary success say to this invitation?” I asked.

  “I would hope she would say ‘hell yes’ and save the pajamas for another time,” he said.

  “I suppose room service could wait,” I said.

  “Perfect.”

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  Amy writes hot, spicy romances that feature gorgeous alpha men who love to protect their women. Amy's heroes are rough, hot, bad boys and billionaires who possess that soft heart a woman definitely yearns for.

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