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Phew.
When the meeting is over, I almost heave a sigh of relief. Finally. All that endless talking is making my head join the beat, and now I’m swimming back and forth as well. I’m tired. I should get to my office and…
“Hey, are we going now?”
It’s Charlee.
I’ve done a great job of pretending not to see her during the meeting, and the last thing I need right now is the sound of her voice priming my whole body up. She’s wearing a tight halter neck satin top with black cotton slacks. The full size of her boobs are in view–those plum, lush things spilling out of the curve of her bra and…
“Harrison, are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been a little off all morning,” Charlee says, staring at me like I might be sick.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine… What were you saying again?” I swipe a hand across my forehead and blink hard.
“Today is Friday. We have that meeting with your father and brother. The car’s ready for us downstairs.”
Damn!
I’d forgotten about that meeting in the past ten minutes. I’ve been fidgeting nervously all morning thinking about it and just when Wade was wrapping up, it flunks out of my mind.
“Are you sure everything’s good, Harrison? Are you ill?” Charlee asks, a frown creasing her forehead. I can hear the concern in her voice.
Damn. Does she even know how good she smells? Charlee is like a walking source of sensory therapy for me. She’s so fucking beautiful, has a voice like an angel, smells like a meadow in the spring, and makes my blood boil all the way down to my cock.
I just want to bury my head in her neck and sniff forever, I want to hold her close and absorb the warmth of her body. I want her to kiss me and tell me that it’s going to be okay. Her presence is always enough to make me feel better. So much better. My headaches vanish when she’s close.
Why is it always so hard for me to navigate my day with a little stability?
“I’m just so nervous.” I don’t realize I’m actually saying the words out aloud.
“Nervous?”
Staring at me with her arms crossed against her chest in that signature move, Charlee is doing a lot of thinking. I can tell from the way she’s staring at me. She’s probably wondering what kind of grown man is scared of meeting with his own family.
I’m saved from having to explain when Wade barges into the hallway.
“Guys, we’re running late. I don’t want trouble with Bryce. Let’s head out.”
Walking ahead of me and falling into pace with Wade, Charlee has no idea the effect she has on the average man. There’s no way Wade isn’t itching to pin her to a wall right now, like I am. I can’t be the only one drooling like a fool at the sight of this girl.
We ride to BB27 quietly.
In three minutes, my hand starts shaking all over again as the intimidating sight of the building slaps my face hard. I don’t often realize how traumatic everything associated with my father often feels for me. He may just be a board member and special advisor for Roscoe now, but the company will always be under his firm grasp and ruthless authority.
I shove my hands in my pocket as one of Roscoe’s executive assistants appears out of nowhere, like she’s been standing in wait for us.
“Welcome back to Bridges, Team.” Her smile is fake and plastic, revealing a silver-capped tooth that looks completely out of place for work. “They are ready for you now. Let me take you to the meeting venue.”
In the elevator, my breath is shaky but I stay calm.
In the hallway, I’m trying to gather my thoughts and answers to possible questions.
When I finally see Roscoe, I react normally to his boisterous greeting, clapping his back as he claps mine.
My father is standing at the wall-to-wall window of the executive conference room, one of the most stunning rooms in the entire HQ. It’s at the topmost floor of the building with an incredible view of the Financial District. The skyscrapers, the towers, the striding men in perfectly tailored suits, the walking women in seamless slacks, the grandeur and the façades.
The three mind-blowing chandeliers in this room are totally unnecessary for its brilliantly white paint color, but since he made his fortune, my father has always had a thing for ostentation.
“Harrison,” the old man says as he turns, looking me over from head to toe.
