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“What the hell was that?” I say angrily.
“Seriously? That piece of shit was laying it on so thick the table next to us was embarrassed. I wasn’t going to sit there for another second while he spoke to you like that and fuck those fools with him who didn’t try to rein him in.”
I take in a few breaths, letting him get it out of his system before responding.
“I agree, he was being a complete sleaze, but you can’t ruin the deal just because he was talking to me like that. I was handling it.”
“You were? Didn’t seem like it to me. Seemed like you were laughing and letting him get away with it.”
I narrow my eyes at him and step a little closer. “If I had it my way, I would have thrown a glass of water in his face within twenty seconds of meeting him because he couldn’t find my eyes to save his life, but I’m being professional and I expect the same from you. If you want me to work on a deal and say you’re giving me a chance, then you have to give me a chance to stand my ground too.”
He searches my face, listening to me and I can see that he gets it now.
“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I know how toxic the corporate world is and I guess I felt this need to protect you from that. I don’t want you not wanting to work on things because you feel like it’s a boys’ club or like I don’t have your back.”
“You can’t protect me from that. I know you do and will have my back, but the toxic masculinity bullshit isn’t going away in the corporate world; we both know that.”
He looks over his shoulder at me as he leans on the bar. “You really are—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. “I’ll apologize in there. We won’t lose the deal. I can promise you that.”
We step away from the bar and he places his hand ever so softly against my lower back, all the same exciting feelings rushing back.
“But I also want you to know that I’m not a pushover, Brontë. I’ll never let someone strong-arm me into something. I’m not a pleasant man if I feel like I’m being manipulated.”
A shiver runs down my back at how commanding he can be. It’s alpha and masculine without the toxic trappings of a man that’s all talk.
No, Beckham Archer is the type of man who delivers on his promises.
We finish dinner and Beckham pays for the bill after apologizing to the table. Chad excuses himself to use the restroom before they leave, and Beckham turns to the two older gentlemen.
“I meant what I said earlier about Brontë’s financial assessment of your firm. We’re all well aware that you need us; we don’t need you. Don’t forget that if this goes through, Archer is doing you a favor, but if you can’t rein him in,” he says, pointing toward Chad who’s walking back toward us, “the deal is off the table.”
“So much for an apology,” I mutter as Beckham ushers me into the back seat of his waiting Rolls-Royce.
“I did apologize, but I won’t let that bitch use you as a pawn in a business deal. That’s fucked up.” He shuts the door and Carson pulls the car into traffic.
“If he thinks for one second that he can flirt with you like that, say disgusting shit that makes you uncomfortable because he thinks I won’t say something, then he can shove that deal so far up his ass it?—”
You know that moment, the one where you know you’re about to do that thing you told yourself and everyone else you wouldn’t… that’s this moment.
There’s no partition in this car, but I don’t care. Before he finishes what he is saying, I’m crawling into his lap, my lips on his as I grip the lapels of his suit coat. I know everything I’ve told myself and my friends just went out the window but I don’t care.
I’ve never had a man stand up for me like that. The power and control this man possesses drives me absolutely feral and I can’t keep myself from indulging any longer.
I know he’s off-limits.
I know it’s a bad idea.
I know he’s going to rip my heart out and possibly destroy my life, but in this moment, I just don’t care.
I fully expect him to push me away, to reprimand me and remind me who my father is, but he doesn’t.
Instead, his hands are on my waist, then traveling up my body and into my hair where he tilts my head to take the kiss deeper. His lips are full and soft, caressing mine, kissing me like his life depends on it. His tongue laps at mine, long languid strokes as I feel his erection firming beneath me.
I want to grind down on him but the moment I start to move, his hands fall from my hair to my waist where he stills my movements before breaking the kiss.
We’re both panting, our foreheads pressed together.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he says.
