Page 4 of Holden

Whiskey before noon?

The receptionist’s response is immediate. “Yes, Mr. Quinn. When shall I say you’ll be with him?”

“Shortly.”

I realize my time with Holden is coming to an abrupt end, and I’m flooded with irrational disappointment. This is not at all how I expected this morning to go.

Holden clears his throat. “As I was saying…”

Right. The proposal. “Ten questions,” I say, with a tight smile that I’m sure somehow betrays my anxiety. I’m terrified that if I open my mouth even a millimeter further, my nerves will come out in one embarrassing whoosh. And to be honest, the offer of ten whole hours is more generous than I anticipated.

So far.

“In exchange,” Holden says, effectively lopping off any lingering hope I have that I’m leaving this room emotionally unscathed. “I require something in return.” He leans forward, elbows on the desk, his mocha eyes dancing with mischief.

The low hum of his voices buzzes under my skin, and to my utter dismay, my thighs begin to tingle. Heat crawls up the side of my neck. My voice goes hoarse. “I don’t know what you could possibly need from me.”

Holden Quinn is a man that wants for nothing. It’s more than his man toys—all of which were catalogued in last year’s New York Times financial round-up—but rather the less obvious indicators of his stature and wealth. A gold Rolex on his wrist, the chrome-plated pen resting on a stack of thick stationary emblazoned with the company logo, his custom-tailored suit designed to highlight every. Single. Muscle. A different model each week, all clutching his arm with perfectly-manicured nails and Botox smiles.

I have nothing to offer this man, least of all, the truth.

He gives me another cocky grin that sucker punches me in the gut. “It’s not what I need, Miss Faber, but rather, what I want.”

My mouth goes dry. I shift in my seat, conscious of the soft tearing sound my skin makes when it lifts off the leather. It masks the steady beat of my rapid heartbeat and the soft echo of my shallow breaths. Good Lord, I’m practically panting.

“What is it that you want, Mr. Quinn?”

My overactive imagination flits through all kinds of responses, but the one he offers sends an electric current of shock through to my vibrating core.

“For every hour of my time I spend answering your questions, you will grant me one sexual act of my choosing.”

I blink and then swallow hard. “Excuse me?”

Clearly, I’ve heard him wrong, my uncharacteristically naughty thoughts transferring from the dark recesses of my mind to the here and now. My mind has played tricks on me before, but never with such sick joy. There’s no other explanation, because I refuse to believe that Holden Quinn would be so bold as to—

My throat constricts. Would he?

Of course, he would.

Stacks of research confirm what I’ve assessed in less than an hour with this man—he commands respect, even fear, but at his core, he is a player. A guy used to getting exactly what he wants.

Ridiculous fortune.

Celebrity fame.

And the undivided attention of any woman in the world.

I pick at a piece of skin on the edge of my fingernail, and lower my voice, praying it won’t give out. “I’m not sure I fully understand the parameters of this proposed arrangement.”

“Let me spell it out for you then,” he says, with a hint of sarcasm. I lift my gaze just as his tongue sweeps across his teeth. And damn if my traitorous pussy doesn’t clench in response. “Ten hours, ten questions. Ten…” He cocks his head to the right. “…acts of pleasure, of my choosing.”

My spine stiffens. “That’s extortion.” His eyebrow quirks in confusion and I quickly stammer out a correction. “Prostitution, I mean.”

Information in exchange for sex? For Christ’s sake, what kind of person does he think I am? I blow out a breath of disgust. My hands tremble in my lap. By suggesting such a ridiculous idea, it’s obvious Holden doesn’t think much of me at all.

“That’s certainly one perception, but I prefer to describe it as a business arrangement.”

My blood boils hot at his blatant nonchalance. “I suppose you already have the paperwork drawn up?” I snap, sarcasm my only defense.