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“We’ll see about that, sweetheart,” he breathes.
It takes all of my focus not to moan. Exhaling quietly, I place my hand on his broad chest and step back. “No, we won’t. I don’t think I should take you as a client. I’m sure one of the other Senior Investment Managers will be thrilled to handle your portfolio.”
He moves to a leather chair in front of my desk and sits, crossing his legs. His scent lingers, delighting my senses with a mix of spice and a masculine smell unique to Battle.
“I don’t want anyone else,” he says, stroking the light stubble on his chin. “I explained my situation to your boss, and he promised me an appointment with his best Investment Manager.”
“Battle…”
“At this point, someone else would be less than acceptable. Don’t you agree?”
I hold back a growl. He can be so damn infuriating with his easy twisting of things to get his way. I sit down and bring the chair forward, resting my forearms on the desk. My hands feel clammy as I lace my fingers together.
A deep breath calms my nerves enough to continue, “As I was saying, I would recommend someone senior to me. You’d be assigned to someone far more qualified than myself.”
His hands tent in front of his lips, hiding a faint grin as he silently studies me. For several heart pounding seconds, he remains quiet. He’s not about to give up easily, but I’m confident handing his account over to someone else is the smart thing to do.
He lowers his hands to his lap and says, “No. Either you handle my portfolio, or I will use another firm.”
Bastard. An ultimatum? Really? He may not have planned our meeting, but he’s definitely using the coincidence to his advantage. The hairs on the back of my neck rise as anger sets in. I’m not a toy to be played with. He’s not going to get his way simply because he throws a tantrum. He wants m
ore than a professional relationship. He wants sex. I want love. Therefore it will never work. I don’t appreciate his efforts to manipulate me.
“Fine, if that’s what you want,” I say with my chin high, feigning confidence, “I’d be happy to recommend another firm.”
With his narrowed eyes pinned on me, he stands and puts his hat on. “No, thank you, Ms. Callahan. That won’t be necessary. Thank you for your time.”
He reaches across the desk to shake my hand. I stand, and as our hands touch, heat spreads low in my belly. Images of our night together loop through my brain. He sends me a knowing smile and lets go of my hand before leaving the office without another word.
I exhale, collapsing into my chair. Had he asked one more time, I would have caved; to him as a client, to sex, to whatever he wanted. What an ass. He doesn’t care who handles his portfolio. He only wants to dangle the proverbial carrot, tempt me with the reward he knows I want, and punish me with the reality of what I can’t have. Or something like that. I’ve yet to have coffee and it’s too early for metaphorical thinking. I would have preferred the morning start with the pretentious, spoiled brat I’d been expecting.
I’m in the middle of a lengthy e-mail to one of my more demanding clients when Sophia’s voice sounds out, startling me. “Ms. Callahan, Mr. Fenton would like to see you in his office.”
“Thanks, Sophia. Let him know I’ll be about ten minutes.”
“Um, he said it’s urgent, and that you are to drop what you’re doing and see him, now.”
“Oh. Okay. Thank you.”
I quickly save my e-mail to the drafts folder. When I open my door, Sophia greets me with worried eyes. “He didn’t sound happy.”
“I’m sure it’s nothin’,” I say, doing my best to smile.
As I walk toward Mr. Fenton’s office, I suspect I know the source of him not being happy, and the reason for his adamancy to see me. At this point, all I can do is pray I’m wrong. Otherwise, I’ll have to explain why I turned away a new client.
Mr. Fenton’s secretary is not at her desk, and I knock softly on his door. His gruff voice gives me permission to enter. My earlier prayers go unanswered as I open the door to find Battle sitting comfortably in one of the chairs in front of my boss’s desk with a superior grin draped across his gorgeous face. Damn him!
I knew he was trouble the moment I laid eyes on him; yet, like a moth to flame, I couldn’t resist him.
Mr. Fenton glances up from behind his desk. His annoyance with me shows in his expression. “Please sit down, Ms. Callahan.”
On unsteady legs, I walk to the chair next to Battle, avoiding eye contact with him. Nerves dance in my stomach as I sit and cross my legs. My body responds to him. I don’t want to feel the pull between us, but it’s there, and more intense than ever.
My boss tosses his expensive mechanical pencil on his desk and leans back in his chair before rubbing his hand over his face in exasperation. He leans forward, staring directly at me and says, “Can you please explain why you asked Mr. McCoy to find a new firm?”
The scolding tone he uses makes me squirm. I clear my throat, faintly shaking my head, and sit up tall.
“Yes, sir. Mr. McCoy has needs that I simply don’t have the experience to fulfill.” I shoot Battle a sideways glance. He knows I’m not referring to financial needs. “I thought it best his portfolio be managed by a Senior Manager, and he declined. Seekin’ a new firm was Mr. McCoy’s suggestion.”
