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“Won't you maybe reconsider dating her, as any other normal man interested in her would do?” He tried again, then picked his hands up in surrender before continuing. “But you're not normal. I get it. I'm off. I hope she agrees only because I want you to have what you want. I always want you to have what you want,” he said, smiling sadly.
“See you tomorrow, Smith.”
Alone, Hunter glanced out the window. At only three stories high, the CEO's office looked out over the well-kept gardens of High Cloud Advertising. There was something about her that seemed to scare him a little, at least. He could court her, date her, and seduce her. But he wanted to possess her. A delicate butterfly he wanted to peel apart like layered satin, then taint her perfect body with his touch.
Maybe he should leave her alone.
Chapter Five
Kensley stumbled out of Hunter McLeod's office with her mind in disarray and her steps unsteady following the astonishing proposition he had just delivered. Surely, she had imagined everything. Right?
Unable to find Marcy in the reception area, she reached into the pocket of her skirt and retrieved her phone, which she had previously put on silent.
Quickly she skimmed a message from Marcy, who had been pulled away by herears—her words—to do something for her boss across town. She urgently wanted Kensley to message her back as soon as she was done with the meeting.
With her legs still wobbly and her heart still thudding crazily, she managed to get back to her own office without any incident. She closed and locked her door for no discernible reason except that she might go mad and definitely needed some privacy for that. Leaning against the door, she heaved out a breath that felt as if she had been holding it since she stepped into his office.
Somehow, from her mouth emerged strange, nonsensical sounds that she had no idea she was capable of producing, adding to the fact that she was practically melting.
How had the last ten minutes or so of her life occurred? Had Hunter McLeod really just offered to buy her virginity for—she glanced at the single sheet in her shaking hand—ten million dollars? Was he for real?
Yet there it was, in proverbial black and white, an offer to purchase…
Her virginity…
For ten million dollars.
She fanned her face with the sheet of paper, panic filling her up as she continued to utter a whole slew of new noises. This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.
She forced herself to get rational. She shook out her arms and straightened her shoulders, but she desperately needed to sit her butt down, so she inched, rather ungracefully, toward her chair and sank into the leather seat, then tried to mind-map everything that had led up to this one startling event.
Except, her brain had turned to mush.
So she just sat there.
Marcy texted her again, and she managed to type a reply.
Not fired. It’s worse.
Marcy immediately texted her back.
Leave office now. Meet you at home. With food.
Okay. Kensley typed back.
What? You’re not going to argue about the vulgarity of leaving the office early? What the fuck happened?Marcy shot back.
I can’t even begin to explain it.
She had gone from having a blind date that morning to getting a monetary offer for her virginity from their new boss, who happened to be a multi-billionaire.
Not daring to stall for even a second, in case she reverted to her old self, who wouldn’t dream of leaving early, she stuffed her laptop into a bag, gathered her handbag, and fled her office.
Under the circumstances, she was definitely within her rights to leave early. She almost sprinted to her car in her heels. She drove faster than she would ever allow herself to drive. She lived by all the rules, but in one afternoon, Hunter McLeod had her breaking them fast and furiously.
Marcy arrived a few minutes after she had. Even though she hadn't eaten all day, what with her lunch ruined when she thought she was going to be fired, her stomach remained tightly knotted, and food was the last thing on her mind.
“Tell me everything,” Marcy said, kicking off her shoes in Kensley's frighteningly neat apartment and emptying the food bags onto Kensley’s highly polished, gleaming dining-room table. “And eat while you’re doing it.”
