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I storm out of my office, still cursing my father under my breath. Normally, Cade would come along, but I decide to go alone today. As I jab the elevator call button, willing its arrival, Amanda from PR rounds the corner with Maddie in tow, all endless legs and cascading hair.
I remind myself to talk to HR about a dress code.
Skirts this tight and heels this high are not good for productivity.
“Oh, Mr. Whitmore!” Amanda exclaims, waving a manicured hand at me. “Maddie and I were just headed to the programmers. I'm giving her a tour of the various departments.”
Programmers?
I nod, teeth grinding.
We step inside the tight space. Amanda chatters on about our cutting-edge VR software for PTSD treatment in veterans while I try not to stare at Maddie in her silky blouse. How does this damn woman make a plain white shirt look so enticing? I bet I could rip it in half with one swipe of my hand.
On the twentieth floor, the elevator dings open, and I'm slapped by a wall of testosterone thick enough to cut with a knife. The expansive room is dotted with computer stations manned by engineers—male engineers—who all happen to be under thirty and are staring unabashedly at Maddie's tanned legs.
Even though I was heading uptown, I change my mind in the blink of an eye and step out of the elevator with them.
Like hell I’m leaving Maddie alone with these drooling dogs.
Amanda raises an eyebrow at me.
“Just thought I’d . . . join you,” I mutter unconvincingly.
I swear the software bros sniff the air, their nostrils flaring as they detect a young female entering their lair. Within nanoseconds, they swarm closer. They offer her seats, drinks, even a few suggestions to “see their hardware.”
My hackles rise, watching this uncouth display. She's like a juicy gazelle who has stumbled upon a den of lions. Don't these jackals know she is here for a business tour, rather than speed dating?
Damn it, don’t these idiots realize she’s mine?
Amanda shoots me a “control your people” glance while Maddie politely smiles under the attention, throwing confused glances at me and her boss.
Amanda’s chaperoning presence doesn't feel like a strong enough barrier. An electric fence would be more appropriate.
And obviously, Maddie has never dealt with a room full of geeks.
My instincts scream to protect what is mine.
She’s not yours, you moron.
But she was lying naked and sated in my arms less than a week ago.
Clenching my fists, I resist the urge to forcibly shove the nearest code-slinger away, whose eyes keep wandering below Maddie's face.
No, I haven’t forgotten the hundred ways to maim a man.
If these horny boys lay one finger on her silky skin, I’m going to put up a fence around her that will make the Great Wall of China look like a picket divider.
Fists clenched so tight my knuckles could shatter, I trail Amanda and Maddie around the cutting-edge VR department, where teams of graphic designers and programmers work on various 3D simulation projects. Chad, the VR project lead, with his stylish glasses and hipster chambray eagerly demonstrates a PTSD treatment program. Of course, Maddie bats her eyes and gushes over his nerdy explanations.
My stomach twists as Chad helps Maddie into a headset, gently brushing back a stray coil of hair to adjust it. I watch his fingers graze her cheek, adjusting the straps along her delicate jawline. Once the simulation begins, her face lights up like it’s Christmas morning as the demo transports her to a tranquil beach landscape.
“This is incredible!” she exclaims after surfacing from the simulated waves and sand. “The graphics are so realistic.”
Chad beams, thrilled at her impressed reaction. Meanwhile, I'm boiling inside watching this smooth-talking dude dazzle Maddie, and something primal in me snaps.
“I think that's enough for Ms. Emerson to get a sense of what the product line is about, don't you?” I clip out tersely.
Both Amanda and Maddie eye me like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have. But Chad backs away quickly as realization sinks in. “Of course,” he says with a curt nod, a hint of a smirk dancing in the corners of his lips. “We should all get back to work.”
