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But a week on the ocean? That sounds like…heaven.
I run my hand up his thigh, letting my fingernails scrape along until I get dangerously close to his dick. His eyes flare with desire and internally, I grin in triumph. So maybe he’s made me suffer for the last three weeks, but he still wants me.
He asks, "Want to go out for a drink tonight? At Bungalow 8 again? I can show you some dance moves out on the floor."
God, I love guys who can dance. If he can really dance, I may melt into a pile of goo into my stilettos, like a non-witch version of the Wicked Witch of the West. So many guys think that going out onto the dance floor and waving back and forth, feet firmly planted in place, somehow counts.
Not even close.
A guy who can dance, and wants to take me out on a yacht and is an amazing fuck and loves libraries and is worth about a gazillion dollars? Oh, and is drop-fucking-dead gorgeous?!
What isn’t to love?
I open up my mouth to reply when—
"Sir, you aren’t supposed to be back here," a security guard says at my elbow. I jerk my hand back down into my lap and my face flames a brilliant red. Goddammit, now I look like an idiot to my co-workers. I had really thought he’d gotten the okay to be back here.
"You are supposed to be in the Creaking Maple conference room, not back here among proprietary trading technology," the security guard continues, pompously. I have to wonder how he’s able to say that with a straight face, especially the Creaking Maple bit. I don’t know who named the Carter Jeffries conference rooms, but they have fuck-awful names. I usually snort coffee up my nose every time someone says XX SEXUAL REFERENCE.
"Well, I’d just come back here to say hi to Brittney," Kaden says with a confident smile.
"You know this man?" the guard demands, staring at me.
I look back and forth between the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, and an overweight balding security guard with a pompous attitude that’d fit right in with the royal family of England.
And I feel that naughty grin come back.
"No, sorry sir," I say apologetically. "I was just sitting here, working, when he came up and started talking to me. I’ve never seen him before in my life." Well, all of that was true except the last bit, so I figure I’m only going to slightly roast in hell, instead of having flames lick up my legs. And anyway, he really deserves this, for coming back into the employee area without permission. I could get into deep shit over this.
The stunned look on Kaden’s face is worth it all. "But…but…" he stutters, as the security guard whistles to his backup, and together, they drag Kaden out of the office area, giving him a stern talking to as they go.
I turn back to my desk and let the grin out fully. Sometimes, I have a little too much fun...
I lean over, grab my phone, and text him. "Meet me at Opal in Turtle Bay in 45 minutes." I can go out to lunch with him, and teach him how the real world works. Starting with, don’t fuck with a girl’s career.
Kaden
I drum my fingertips on the table impatiently. After getting a dressing down from security guards like I was six years old, I was shoved out the front door and not allowed to go down to the Creaking Maple conference room – god, their conference rooms are just as bad as ours – where the buyout of Atlantic Trading Group was being discussed.
I was…not happy. I’d done everything I was supposed to. I’d brought business to Carter Jeffries, something she cares about. I’d offered to take her out on my yacht, something she cares about. I’d even learned how to do a couple of dance moves, despite being born with two left feet, and my leg muscles now ache from three weeks of dance lessons every night by a local hip-hop dancer. Guaranteed to impress her, I’d paid an ungodly amount of money to learn these moves straight from a master.
And yet, she’d lied, fucking lied, when the security guard showed up. This is twice that I’ve gotten into trouble over her, and she doesn’t seem to give a good goddamn. When she shows up, I’m going to give her holy hell for that stunt. I’m going to—
"Hi," she says, sliding into the chair across the table from me.
"Hey," I grump at her. Because that’s really the only way to describe that syllable that I just said. "Brittney, I cannot believe you just did that. Right now, I’m missing the buyout meeting because you lied to the security gu—"
"You can’t believe I did that?!" she interrupts me, hissing and leaning across the table to glare at me. "I can’t believe you did that! I am on my way up at Carter Jeffries, there Wonder Boy, so I have to watch my Ps and Qs. You may own your own company and can do whatever the hell you want to do there, but I can’t. I have a boss, and a boss’ boss. They watch my every move ‘cause I’m a woman, and I’m trying to play in a boy’s world.
"And then you waltz on back into an area clearly marked for employees only, where proprietary info is kept, and think that I’m going to cover your ass when you get caught! When you showed up at my desk, I thought you’d received permission to go back there, or at least had greased some palms. But noooooo, you thought I would cover for you. Well, you thought wrong!"
The waiter shows up at just that moment, menus in hand.
"Should…should I come back in a minute?" he asks, gaze darting back and forth between us.
"No, I’m not hungry after all," she says. "Billionaire here who thinks that rules don’t apply to him can stick around but I’m done." She shoves her chair back, slings her purse over her shoulder, and brushes past the waiter who is standing there awkwardly, leaving just him and I sitting there, staring at each other.
"I’ll just leave these right here and check back on you in a minute, sir," the waiter says apologetically, and, laying down the menus, disappears.
