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"So where did you get the initial investment?"
James shoves a glass of orange juice toward me. "Parker and Natalie were my first investors," he says nonchalantly and I choke in my glass. “They both own stocks in the company I have now too.”
"Damn. Just when I was about to start admiring you for making it on your own," I tease, taking another sip of juice and hoping that my sudden apprehension isn't visible.
He lowers his glass, revealing his trademark smile, more conceited than ever. Before I realize what's going on, his arms are around my waist, his lips whispering in my ear, "I've got other means of impressing you."
And it's here again. Or maybe it never left me. The ardent, almost painful craving. My body makes no secret of it—the skin on my entire body burns, and my hips press against his without me ever ordering them to do so.
I expect him to run his fingers up the inside of my thighs, like he always does when he wants me. Instead, he lets go of me and gestures for me to follow him.
"Come on, there's something I want to show you."
"For your sake, I hope it's another bedroom."
"You never get enough, do you?" He chuckles and takes my hand, dragging me through the penthouse. We pass door after door, and stop in front of the only entry I'm sure doesn't lead to a bedroom—a sliding door.
"Close your eyes."
"I'd rather not," I say nervously.
"Trust me," he says in a playful voice. "You'll like this more than the bedroom. In fact, you'll like it so much I'm afraid I'll have some convincing to do to get you out of there again."
"Okay, now I trust you even less," I stutter, but close my eyes.
The unmistakable sound of the door sliding open follows and then he half-guides, half-pushes me forward a few feet.
"Open your eyes."
"No way," I cry.
Five rows of comfortable, red armchairs complete with support for plastic cups unravel before me. On the wall in front of them is a huge screen.
"Is this a real screening room?" I ask in a strangled voice.
"Yes it is,” he brags. "Want to see the movie collection?"
"This really is the best evening ever," I say as he opens the computer resting on a small table behind the last row of chairs.
Three minutes later, I'm immersed in the movie database, hardly believing my eyes.
"You look like you've stumbled upon a gold mine," James says.
"I can't believe there's a bigger movie freak than me," I say. "Do you have every movie ever made in here?"
"That's the goal," he retorts.
"Damn, and I was so proud of my DVD collection," I say.
"How many do you have?"
"3,132. 3,131 actually, because I loaned Fight Club to the French exchange student that was living next door last year, and she never bothered to return it," I say angrily. "Oh my God, you've got The Lion King."
"Of all movies, you're impressed with The Lion King?"
"Mufasa dying gets to me every time," I say.
"Me too," he admits. "So what do you want to watch?"
