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She doesn’t finish, and she doesn’t have to. I know exactly what she’s saying.
I keep the conversation on point. “I think just business means a starting salary that’s in thesix figures, with a performance package that’ll get you where you want to be in life faster than anyone else.”
Her eyes catch mine, and I know she’s mine. At least professionally-speaking.
“Just business?” she nearly whispers, sounding hopeful.
I nod, needing her to take the job. If she does, she’ll be able to create the portfolio that will transcend any rumors about the beginning of her career. She’ll be able to build her reputation to the point that her abilities will be undeniable. It might take four or five years, but eventually, the industry will see her for her talents.
But if she goes out there, still trying to find a place with these landmine interviews, Evan will be able to blow up her career permanently. He has the name and the power to do so, and that’s the last thing I want. I’d have won the night’s battle, and he’ll have won the fucking war.
And having Raven close by could have its advantages beyond the purely physical ones that have haunted my mind, my dreams, and my body.
The fact is, at the event, she made a number of great points during various conversations. She has insight on some of the social trends that are shaping the business world today and could provide a fresh perspective that a lot of the silver spoon set in the Financial District would never see. In a world and industry where trends run like schools of fish, being able to get a different point of view can be the difference between being average and being exceptional.
Raven studies the wine in her glass, running the tip of her perfectly manicured finger around the rim before stroking up and down the stem of the glass in a way that has me hard as a fucking rock. I readjust in my seat, ignoring the voice screaming in the back of my head that there is no fucking way I could see this woman day in and day out and not want to bend her over my desk. Her lips twitch. She knows what she’s doing.
She’s testing me, more than likely thinking the same thoughts.
“I’ll make you a counteroffer,” she finally says, forcing me to tear my eyes away from her stroking fingers and back to her face. “If we can get through dinner with everything being entirely professional, not a single mention of appearance, attraction, or sex… I’ll accept your offer.”
“Just dinner?” I clarify, and she nods. I lean back, smirking as I pick up my bourbon and take a sip, as though seriously contemplating her offer. “I’m almost insulted. Do you think I’m some dick-driven asshole who is unable to think of anything other than what’s under your dress?”
Raven chuckles weakly and picks up her wine glass. Before saying anything, she takes a sip that almost seems like she’s kissing the rim of her glass. Underneath the table, my cock twitches in my pants. But hard or not, my expression remains slightly impassive.
“And what is under my dress?” she virtually purrs.
“You’re breaking your counteroffer mighty early, darling.” I love how she smiles at the nickname and blushes, looking down as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.
She looks me dead in the eyes, a smoldering want reflecting in her gorgeous gaze as she whispers, “You haven’t accepted it yet.”
“Agreed,” I tell her, leaning forward. “I think that under your dress, you’re wearing lingerie that some part of you wants to be seen in. I think that since you’ve sat down, even as upset and conflicted as you’ve been, you’re feeling a warmth building between your legs. And I think that every time you glance down, you’re remembering what I have under the table, and that desire gets just a bit more maddening.”
Raven’s breath catches. “That’s why this is a bad idea.”
I force my voice to steady, my face to go neutral, leaving no trace of the words I spoke meremoments ago. By all appearances, I am the powerhouse at the head of my own conference table leading a hard-fought contract negotiation. “Miss Hill, I accept your counteroffer starting now. Just business, nothing more, nothing less. I’m certain you will be an asset at my firm and that you are smart enough to agree.”
I hold my hand out over the table, waiting for her to shake on it.
She hesitates, and there’s a moment where I think she might actually turn me down, but eventually, she smiles as she shakes my hand.
Over her wine and my bourbon, followed by a light, tasty Thai meal, we discuss business.
We discuss recent trends in various markets and deals I made because of those trends. Raven tells me how she would have acted in each situation, and more importantly, asks what and why I did what I did on these deals. Once again, I’m left impressed by what Raven’s been able to do in such a short amount of experience, and more importantly, without the advantage of being born to money and bred to understand how the market works.
After a wonderful dessert of khao mao tod, a fried coconut and banana fritter type thing that’s absolutely the perfect end to our meal, I hand the waitress my credit card. “I really should do Thai food more often,” I tell Raven.
“There’s a Thai noodle place near my apartment, nowhere near the atmosphere as this,” she says, glancing around the restaurant, “but they’ve got a dozen desserts that are worth the trip.”
When the waitress brings back my card, Raven thanks me for dinner.
I reach into my pocket, pulling out my phone and tapping for a moment. “Your car is out front.”
Her brow furrows. “What?”
“I called a car for you. I promised you that I would beprofessional tonight. And while my original plan was to drive you home, calling you a car is the better, more professional option.”
I can see that she appreciates the gesture. Even if she sees right through it.
