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She turns to face me. “Carrie West, the one whose phone calls you’ve refused to take over and over again. And just so you know, I still run West Industries, the company that was my father’s company until you stole it from him. That makes me your employee, with check-writing authority. I’m writing a company check for the donation as I leave here tonight. I expect to be fired. I don’t care.”
She starts for the door again and flips the lock. “Just remember this, sweetheart,” I say. “You will see me again. I know where to find you and I will, and when I do, both of us will still remember what you tasted like on my tongue. And among your many debts you owe me after tonight, one will be that orgasm you moaned your way through with my mouth on you.”
She rotates and laughs bitterly. “We both know that you won’t find me,” she says. “You’ll have security escort me out of the building Monday morning, out of the company my father built from the ground up and that’s good. The staff will see the real you, not the man handing out cash to keep everyone on board. And as for that orgasm, you owed me that and a whole lot more.” And with that bold statement, she exits the room, the door slamming shut with a heavy thud behind her.
I yank at the cuff and then stare at it in disbelief. “Fuck.” I scrub my jaw and laugh. What else can I do at this point? She got me. Not many people can outsmart me, but she did; really damn well, and holy fuck, I want that woman. I’m going to have her, too, and the next time, she’ll be the one cuffed. Only I won’t walk away like she just did. I’ll make her pay for every second I’m stuck in this room, which might make staying a while worth it.
I tug at the cuff. It’s not coming off, but I had to try. My hand goes to my pocket, searching for my phone, only to realize that it’s in my jacket pocket, which is, of course, has somehow landed several feet away. I reach for it, stretching long and wide with no luck. I take the damn couch with me, lugging the huge piece of furniture until my fingers snag the jacket. Sitting back down on the couch, I dig out my phone and dial the only person I can dial. Royce Walker, the owner of Walker Security, a firm my brother-in-law hooked me up with, who I pay, and pay well, to basically find out shit for me.
“Aren’t you being auctioned off tonight?” Royce asks when he picks up.
“Yes, which is how I got where I’m at now. How much is it going to cost me to have you get me out of a personal mess and keep it quiet?”
“Nothing we do ever goes beyond us and you.”
“Good to hear,” I say, glancing at the cuff. “Because this one requires discretion in a whole new way.”
“I can have Rick Savage come talk to you tomorrow.”
“I’m going to need help tonight.”
“Tonight,” he repeats. “What can’t wait until morning?”
“I’d rather not explain on the phone. I’m in a hotel room and I won’t be able to answer the door when your man gets here.”
“In other words, bring pliers,” he says.
“This isn’t your first rodeo,” I reply dryly, hating being a part of a pool of fools.
“I’ve seen it all,” he says. “Are you at the event hotel?”
“Yes.”
“What room number?”
“1182, but again, I can’t get to the door.”
“We can get in,” he says. “Expect one of my men in a half hour.” He disconnects.
I set the phone down and consider the family debt between my father and Carrie’s father, and the fucking burden it’s now become to bear. One I’m legally obligated to protect with my silence. Carrie can never know, and most certainly if she did, I wouldn’t be cuffed to this damn couch. But every action has a reaction, and my emerald princess now has mine. Carrie West just rewrote her story and did so my way. I lift my cuffed hand and my lips curve. I’ll keep these and return them to Ms. West personally.
Chapter four
Carrie
Iwake Monday morning to sunlight and the memory of Reid Maxwell between my legs that has me throwing aside the blanket and pressing my hands to my face. I hate that man. He took everything from me, even the damn orgasm I didn’t want him to have. I let out a very unladylike growl and climb out of bed, resolved to survive this day. Today will be my last day at West Enterprises, the company my father founded and took public. He’s already gone, in a Reid Maxwell driven hostile takeover. It’s all Reid. He did this, but in truth, this was coming anyway. I already knew from my father that I was going to be phased out and quickly. I already knew we were going to fumble the ball before we did. My father took risks that were out of character, and dangerous.
After my date with Reid Maxwell, I might be on a job hunt sooner than I might have been, but at least I leave on my terms, and after showing that man he was human. I will not go down a slave to Reid Maxwell and his investors.
I shower and dress in my lucky pale pink dress with a perfect pencil skirt, right along with the black Jimmy Choos my father bought me when I graduated Yale law school and then claimed my own office in his company. I was to be legal counsel for the company, overseeing the brokering of some of the biggest real estate investments our company booked. In the past ten years, I became so much more; he checked out on day-to-day operations. I ran this place, I brokered deals. I became, I am, the face of the company, when my father often was not.
I leave my apartment, which is mine, all mine, thanks to a huge real estate deal I brokered for a downtown Denver complex halfway across the country. It’s not big, only two thousand square feet, but it has a gorgeous city view, and the right payments for me on my own. Now, nothing is certain, and the payment feels large, so very large. I step onto the street, only a few blocks from the office, which was another reason I chose my apartment. There was never going to be a time that I wasn’t living my work at West Enterprises. Until today.
Overtaken by emotions I rarely allow myself to feel, I stop at a coffee shop just to slow down the day. I order two of my favorite hazelnut lattes and skip any food. I don’t know if I can even drink the coffee, let alone eat. The second latte is for my assistant, Sallie, who not only loves this drink as well, but who I adore. We aren’t really friends—work and friends don’t work—but maybe we will be now. I won’t be her boss.
I enter the offices and wave to the receptionist before walking down a long hallway to cut left and then right to the executive offices. Once I’m on the other side of the glass doors, Sallie, who is a beautiful blonde with an equally beautiful personality, gives me a beaming smile. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I say, setting her cup on her desk. “Thank you for everything you do.”
