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So long, assholes.
CHAPTER TWO
GRAYSON
“I CAN’T BELIEVE he caved. What do you think was the deciding factor?” Bull questions from across my desk. My best friend of thirty-two years sits with his dress shoes propped up on the edge of the solid mahogany surface, a suspicious glare on his face. For a moment, my focus is drawn to the side of his shoe. A scuff discolors the leather, and I wonder how he got it. It wasn’t there this morning.
Shrugging, I draw my attention back down to the signed contract and away from his insignificant shoe. “I’m not sure. I’ve been wooing his ass for months. The prick liked dangling that carrot. I’d planned on taking him to a Knicks game, but before I could even tell him about the tickets, he called and said he wanted to sell.” I run my fingers through my dark hair and let out a sigh. “Feels too easy. I don’t like it.”
He’s tense as fuck, so I know I’m not out of line here.
“It’s airtight,” I mutter as I thumb through the contract. The wheels inside my head click and whir as all of the data flits through. Nothing stands out. But Collins gave in sooner than I anticipated for a reason.
I want to know that reason.
“Come in,” Bull hollers.
I didn’t even hear anyone knock. He’s my eyes when I’m focused on the sole thing in front of me, whatever that may be. We’ve been this way since we were scrawny little thirteen-year-olds. I was blinded to everything around me by what was right in front of me even then, and he always had my back.
My eyes narrow on the sales price. Fair. Not too high and not too low. Collins and Maxwell Subsidiaries both leave the sale feeling good. Nobody screwed the other. Just business. But that stubborn old fuck has been yanking my chain for months. Milking it for all he could. He knows I wanted that resort. Not because I wanted to plow it down and sell the land. Because I just wanted it. A beautiful New England high-end resort overlooking the glorious Atlantic. I’d stayed there on a business trip and fell in love. I’ve torn apart the owner’s financials, the land records, every single builder who contributed to the construction, the staff, the—
Slap.
I blink away my daze and dart my eyes over to my spotter. His eyes are widened and his feet are no longer on my desk. Something is happening, but I’m so wrapped up in my head I don’t even realize it. This is why I need him. I’m vulnerable without him. Always have been.
“Gray,” he bites out in a firm tone. “Miss Simmons is here to see you.”
I frown at him before dragging my attention to the heavily breathing female standing in front of my desk. Her palm is flat against a piece of paper that she has pinned to the surface of my desk.
My eyes travel up her nicely manicured nails, past her delicate wrist, along her slender arm that’s still visible despite the sheer white blouse she’s wearing. By the time my gaze is on her shoulder, I can’t help but skim across her pert breasts and then up her throat. A strand of old pearls hangs at the base of her neck. These aren’t the type of pearls you find at Tiffany’s or some other high-end shop. And they sure as hell aren’t cheap. These are an heirloom, probably passed down to her. Something my mother would have worn when she was herself. Something that would have belonged to her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. The pearls are unique and—
“I quit.”
Her throat is bright red and her chest still heaves. I skim the rest of the way up, bypassing her feminine features, to meet the fiery, brown-eyed gaze of a woman. Miss Simmons, as Bull says.
“What?” My brows furrow together in confusion. This woman, whom I don’t even know, is pissed at me. As if I’ve personally wronged her. I’m careful about the women I sleep with. I have certain requirements. Certain expectations. Not once has that ever come back to bite me in the ass.
“You have my notice,” she snaps, her brown eyes narrowing at me. “Two weeks.”
Her nostrils flare with anger, and the pieces begin to slot together. She works for me. I think. Why the hell didn’t she just take this nonsense to Clint in HR?
“Gray,” Bull says in a calm tone, forcing me to drag my attention to him. “This is your assistant. Miss Simmons. She’s been bringing you coffee and doing other administrative tasks for you for six years.”
“Unbelievable,” she huffs.
Jerking my gaze back over to her, I take in her face more thoroughly this time. She’s pretty. Really pretty. High cheekbones dusted in a rouge color that may or not be dark because of her apparent rage. Intense brown eyes that hold a story locked tight behind them. A small upturned nose that fits her face perfectly. And the most succulent lips I’ve ever seen on a woman. Full. Slightly parted. Painted a color that reminds me of blood. Her silky brown hair has shimmering strands of gold in it. And every time she moves, they catch the light. She fucking sparkles.
How did I not notice her until now?
Bull leans forward and motions for me to look at him. I do. I always do. He knows how I get. And right now, all obsession over the Collins deal is swept to the side as something pretty and shiny takes its place.
“Focus.” His one word helps clear my mind. I stare him down as he pops a piece of gum in his mouth.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
“Hello,” Miss Simmons says in an exasperated tone, waving her hands to catch my attention. “In case you missed it, I won’t be here any longer to bring you your scheduled coffee. I won’t be here for the next board meeting where those old pricks get to paw all over me and say crude things. I will no longer be here to save you. If it weren’t for me,” she motions to the contract still in my fingers, “you’d still be having to take that disgusting old man out to dinners and for rounds of golf!”
Click.
Bull’s smacking is helping my focus. The pieces all connect. My constant haze lifts as it always does when I locate my target.
Adjust.
Focus.
Her eyes and mine are locked again. She’s furious and I’m…curious. I want to know how her hair smells. I want to know how her voice sounds when I draw pleasure from her. I want to know how the curve of her ass feels with my cock pressed against it.
“Mr. Barker,” she huffs and waves toward me while speaking to Bull. “Is there something wrong with him?”
He chuckles. “Please, Letty. Call me Jeff. And yes, there’s a whole lot wrong with him.” I don’t tear my gaze from her but I can sense him smirking
at me. Unwillingly, I break my stare from her and pick up her résumé.
Letty?
I don’t like the name Letty.
The résumé reads Violet O. Simmons.
Violet?
I like the name Violet.
“Violet,” I mutter and bore my eyes back into hers.
Her withering stare falters a bit as her sexy mouth parts open. I want that mouth. I want to taste it and suck it. I want to fuck it, goddamn it.
“Why don’t you take the weekend to think on it?” Bull interrupts as he stands. His hand takes her elbow, and she stiffens. As if his touch frightens her. Bull would never hurt a woman, but I don’t like the fear rippling from her.
“Release her,” I growl. The words are low and threatening.
Bull sends a shocked look at me but lets her go. The tension in her shoulders relaxes. If I weren’t paying attention to every single detail on her face, I’d have missed the flicker of gratitude in her eyes. I’d have missed the relief.
“There’s nothing to think about,” she tells us both, her chin lifting in a brave way. “I’m leaving in two weeks. You’ll need to hire someone who can do everything I do for this company. In fact, you’ll probably need to hire three people to replace me.”
Bull lets out a grunt, but I find my mouth twisting up.
A smile.
Violet Simmons, my little quitter, made my lips do something they really hate fucking doing. And with it, I feel a strange tightness in my chest. I like the way it feels. The foreign ache that matches the one in my cock coupled with the goofy grin on my face has me feeling more alive than I’ve felt in a really long time.
Oh, dear Violet.
You’re not going anywhere.
I’m still staring at her when she storms off toward the door. Her skirt is tight and hugs her curves in a way that leaves little to the imagination. Irritation flits through me that every other male in this building has probably been drooling over what’s been mine for six years. And my stupid one-track mind is just now seeing her for the first time.
