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“You think you can fix this?” She raises one of her pencil-thin eyebrows and crosses an arm over her stomach, which pushes up her breasts ever slightly. Her whole demeanor has changed, as if the outrage with her daughter was all an act and she was just waiting for us to be alone together. “You can make it better?”
“My team and I will handle everything,” I assure her again, my voice like steel. “None of this will get out.”
“You really … know what you’re doing.” She takes another long drag, lets it out languidly in a twirl of smoke. “You’re saying you have the whole situation … under your control?”
Her voice bleeds with unapologetic innuendo. All I can smell is cigarette smoke and lavender. I almost feel sorry for her. She should know I’m gay by now, but denial is a powerful thing. “In a matter of hours, your daughter’s short-lived career in sex taping will never have happened.”
She bites her lip, her eyes drifting to my chest. “You never let me down, Benjamin. Thank you.” Like a finger along flesh, her gaze slides up my body and meets mine.
My cue to leave. Time’s ticking. “I’ll be in touch with you.” I make my way for the door.
She intercepts me with the swiftness of a panther, then leans against the doorframe suggestively. “What’s the rush?” Her lips purse as she hooks a finger into the waist of my pants. She is nothing if not totally to-the-point and utterly shameless.
“Every minute counts,” I tell her smoothly, as if I don’t even notice her finger caught in my waistband.
“You must be so stressed. Why don’t you let me do some of the work?” Her eyes flick down to my crotch.
There is a fine line I must walk of treating my clients with respect while also setting strict boundaries. I have never messed around with any of them—male or female—and certainly won’t be starting today. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not—”
“I have just the right idea,” she insists, then leans in and adds in a whisper, “I really like having a big, swollen cock in my mouth.”
I lean in just the same and reply, “So do I.”
Her body stiffens. Then she pulls away to get a look at me, as if I’d suddenly become a two-headed leprechaun. “I … I thought they were just rumors. You mean …?”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“N-No. Not a disappointment.” Flustered, Melena crosses her arms. After some thought, she tilts her head, reconsidering. “Now it sort of makes sense, actually.”
“Does it?”
“You’re too well put-together to be straight,” she decides. “I have never seen a man’s clothes fit as well as yours do. Plus, you are just too damned good-looking. And also you’ve never been married—I checked.”
I have no idea what to make of all that. “I just do what my company promises: I make people look good.”
“And you start with yourself,” she notes with a suggestive lift of an eyebrow, pursing her lips. She takes another long drag, then lets it all out. “If you decide you’re lacking a woman’s touch, you know where I live.”
“I think I have all I need. But I appreciate the sentiment.”
“Surely there’s something more you want,” she persists.
“Good day, Melena.” I give her a reassuring wink, then turn to leave.
Her voice catches me halfway down the stairs. “What could a man like you—a man who has everything—possibly want?”
I stop at the foot of the stairs and turn, seeing her standing over the banister, her robe half-open to reveal her nearly-nothing bikini underneath. She poses the question like a riddle.
A riddle for which I have not, in many, many years, had an answer.
“He’s got to want something,” she sings. Then, with a quirk of her eyebrow, she turns from the banister and disappears back into her room, leaving me with that last, lingering thought.
What do I want?
The fresh air outside slaps me in the face as I don my shades and rebutton my suit. I slip into the back of the black Jaguar out front. Ian, my driver, kicks the car into gear and burns rubber.
Just as my flight lands back home, I get another text, this one from Rebekah back at the office.
REBEKAH
Are you still returning Monday?
Or are you able to come in tonight?
Topher Sr. AND Jr. need to meet with you, plus Benson’s lawyers.
I check the date, then tap a quick response.
ME
Call them in for Monday.
Tonight is Lance & my anniversary.
REBEKAH
I’ll schedule them for Monday then.
Side note: I’m fairly certain you’ll like this batch of interns. They’re all very hard, dedicated workers.
I smirk. Interns. They’re the bane of my life. I should really be more appreciative of what Rebekah does for me, hiring the interns every year, but she seems to think she’s serving me by choosing good-looking young hotshots with muscles in their arms and nothing in their heads—or worse, their hearts.
