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She blushes. “You’re too much, Calum! I can’t believe I’m in your house. If you’d asked me this morning, I’d have told you that you were crazy.”
Her words strike the wrong note for me. Either she’s smart and she’s been planning this for a long time… or she’s dumb and just an opportunist.
She’s either dishonest or sloppy. Neither of which I find particularly appealing in the women I sleep with.
Just like that, the decision is made. I’m not going to entertain this woman tonight.
I whip out my phone, sending a text to my brother, who is already on his way here anyway. Then I give Amy a cold little smile.
“You’re either a liar or a slob,” I say, enunciating every word. “Either way, you fucked things up. Bringing this report here without checking in with your supervisors was extremely risky, Amy.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to say?—“
I cut her off with a sharp shake of my head. “I don’t know what you were hoping to get out of coming to my house and invading my space. Maybe you just wanted to see the inside of your billionaire boss’s home. Maybe your motivations are more nefarious.” I shrug my shoulders. “Either way, I think it’s safe to say you made an error.”
Her chin wobbles. Her big brown eyes are wide and brimming with tears.
Seeing her reaction just makes me angrier. I pace around her in circles, shoving a hand through my dark undercut hair.
“Mr. Fordham, if you will just let me explain,” she says. Her voice sounds breathy; any moment now, she will burst into tears.
It makes me hate her. Her presumptive, weakness, her assumption that I couldn’t resist her because I’m a red blooded male… it turns my stomach. Tonight Amy finally lit the touch paper by bringing me reports that rightfully should’ve been given to me hours ago.
This is why I usually only sleep with high class escorts. I dictate the terms, they accept them. It’s all a transaction to them and I’m left with zero guilt or remorse.
“Do you think I got to be the CEO of Indica Tech from filing reports late?” I bite off.
She draws a breath, shaking her head. “No, sir.”
I crumple up the report in my hands, disgusted. “No. I didn’t get all this,” I wave my hands to indicate our surroundings. “This penthouse in downtown Manhattan, the offices in Midtown, my fleet of cars and private planes, Indica Tech, and Indica Charities. None of it was earned through the kind of sloppy work that you have been showing recently.”
Her throat works. Tears brim in her eyes, spilling over on one side. She gives her head a sharp shake. “I understand.”
I cock my head, staring at her. “Do you?” I look her up and down. “If you want to keep working here, you’ll do better. Turn things in on time. Dress appropriately for work. And under no circumstances should you ever just drop by your boss’s home with such a flimsy excuse.”
Her eyes widen. “Are you going to fire me?”
I roll my eyes, shaking my head. “No. I don’t fire people. I’m too important to have to deal with that.”
Right on cue, my brother Lucas appears in the doorway of the living room. Tall, broad, dark haired, and wearing a navy three piece suit, he could be my twin.
“Firing people is my job,” he says, smiling thinly. He beckons to her. “Come along, Miss Blankenship. We should talk.”
That’s when she starts crying. She turns to me as if I’m about to save her. I think that this is perhaps the first time she has ever been rejected so soundly; first sexually, and now she’s about to lose her job.
I make a shooing motion with my hand. “Get the fuck out.”
She leaves my living room in a hurry, running past Lucas. He heaves a sigh, pushes off the doorframe, and trails after her.
I pace to the window, staring out at the dazzling view of downtown New York City. The sun has just sunk below the horizon and now the lights on the surrounding buildings are starting to come on.
I take a deep breath, willing my body to stop shaking. When I get angry, which is about once an hour, the emotion washes through me like a blood red wave. When I get furious, like I am right now, it’s a struggle not to let the anger swallow me whole.
Anger has driven me far through life, all the way from our dingy childhood apartment to the most expensive penthouse in New York. It’s what pushed me to be the best when I was a dancer; it put a chip on my shoulder that was so big, it brought the dance world to kneel at my feet.
I glance at my platinum wristwatch, grinding my teeth. Seven o’clock. A little early to be drinking, yes. But today was exceptionally trying. Turning to my bar cart, I uncork the Scotch and pour myself a couple of fingers.
“Go ahead and make me one too.”
