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Beside me, Britta’s stony face said it all. She was sitting across from David Renshaw, but she may as well have been invisible as he retold the chauvinistic story in order to garner a few laughs. Or perhaps he was very well aware of her presence and got off on making her uncomfortable. Britta was less uncomfortable and more outraged. Her tense fingers wound tightly around the pencil that threatened to break. Her unimpressed stare enough to frighten the best of men. But Renshaw? He was unfazed.
He was President of the Marksman department stores, the leading supplier of Carnage Lingerie. It was an unfortunate business relationship which was barely tolerable, but our monthly meetings were required to ensure both parties were living up to their ends of the bargain.
Still laughing, his puffy face turned red as the men next to him shared his joviality.
They continued sharing crude jokes about their poor conquests, when Britta turned to me and whispered through ventriloquist’s lips, “I hope the next girl bites his cock off.”
My lips twitched in an attempt to hide my own laugh. Leaning back in the chair, legs stretched in front, I locked eyes with her. She smiled despite the frustration, knowing I was humored by her joke.
“You’re a dangerous woman, Britta Valentino.”
“Oh?” Her beautiful smile widened, revealing perfect teeth. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“I wish I did know,” I dared. “Not the cock biting bit, though.”
This time it was Britta’s turn to laugh. In fact, she snorted so loudly, the three Marksman men ceased their loud and obnoxious conversation, intrigued by our own.
“What’d we miss?” Renshaw asked, smiling, eyes narrowed as he studied us.
“Nothing of benefit,” I said, and Britta bit down hard on her bottom lip.
And goddamn did that make my cock twitch. Under the scrutinising stares of the three Marksmen, I imagined thrusting inside Britta as she bit that same luscious lip.
“Well...” David cleared his throat, “... let’s continue this negotiation. We can be assured that adding floor space to your expanding line can only benefit us both.”
“Not only the expansion but—”
I was cut off by the sudden violent vibration on the mahogany table. Britta’s face flushed red with embarrassment as all eyes fell on her. Sheepishly, she retrieved the cell and cast a glance at the screen. The redness of her cheeks paled until white. Her worried eyes looked to mine for a brief moment before she slid the cell into her handbag. Her knee bounced in agitation, and clearly whatever she’d just read had caused Britta quite the disruption.
David cleared his throat one last time, his own agitation clear. “Do you have somewhere to be, Ms. Valentino? Somewhere more pressing?”
Britta shook her head and put on her best professional smile, yet the color still hadn’t returned to her cheeks. “Nowhere important,” she responded, interlacing her fingers.
“Right,” David heaved. “I say you propose when...”
For the next five minutes, I didn’t hear a word David Renshaw was spewing. His mouth was moving, and his thick eyebrows were dancing around his forehead as he spoke, but I wasn’t focused on him. I already knew what he was going to say. My lingerie line was his top seller, and he’d only want to increase his selling capacity. He mentioned something about a possible joint venture or sale, but I wasn’t listening.
My focus, however, was firmly on Britta.
While she remained on the ball, listening attentively and answering the questions, she fidgeted with the ruby ring on her middle finger and wriggled continuously in her seat. Her behavior was off, and it was all thanks to that text message. Suddenly, she stood and threw a questioning glance at me.
The meeting was over.
After we all shook hands, Renshaw’s sweaty and limp, I guided Britta quickly out onto the street where my driver was waiting. Her pretty brows had knitted together, and this time she was biting her lip so hard, the soft pink hue turned white from the pressure. As the driver pulled away from the curb, I studied her silent profile.
“You gonna tell me?”
She turned quickly, feigning a smile. “Tell you what?”
“Don’t play coy with me. You know exactly what.”
Britta shrugged her shoulders. “He’s just a jackass, that’s all.”
“I’m not talking about Renshaw, and you know it.”
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
“Was it him?”
“Who?”
I rubbed my hand over my rough cheek, exasperated by her behavior. “Britta Valentino,” my gravelly voice warned. “I’ll put you over my knee and spank you until you tell me the truth.”
The driver glanced in the rear-view mirror, no doubt expecting a show. Britta, on the other hand, looked delightfully amused.
“As enticing as that sounds, I don’t think Rufus would survive it,” she smiled, and her eyes twinkled. I’m glad she found humor in the situation. And she’s right, Rufus the driver, would have a heart attack. “If you really must know, it was Roman.”
