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SAWYER
Idid it. I actually did it. I got her to agree. The satisfaction that spreads through me when she pulls out her phone, already creating a list of tasks, her lips pursed in concentration... It's almost too much to handle while still remaining silent, composed. What I want is to run down the hall hooting and whooping and swinging my suit jacket around my head like a victory flag.
I have to remind myself this is only the first of many steps. I might have gotten her to come around and agree to help me, but I'm still no closer to solving this problem. Amazing how my priorities shifted so suddenly. That's the power she has, and it's almost intimidating.
Though deep down inside, so deep I can hardly admit it to myself, there's the fact that her ability to swoop in and take control is a massive turn on. This is new. A facet of myself I didn't know existed until today. Sure, a capable, intelligent woman has always interested me—I've never gone for the bubbleheads who can't hold a conversation beyond the latest gossip about celebrities they'll never meet. Granted, they might make for a fun night in bed, but that's where it ends.
This woman, on the other hand? Not only is she smart as hell, but I can't shake the suspicion that she would be a wildcat in the sack. All her intensity, all her passion, it would just have to translate into a wild time. Nothing could convince me otherwise.
Together, we'd be explosive. And now, lucky me, I have an excuse to spend time with her.
“You look pleased with yourself.”
Her wry observation cuts its way through my inner thoughts, and I look her way to find her smirking. “Congratulating yourself?” she asks while her thumbs continue to move across her screen.
“How do you do that?”
“Do what? It's not difficult to read the expression you're wearing.”
“That's not what I meant.” Note to self: pay more attention to your face. “I meant you're typing. How do you do it without looking at the screen?”
The question must take her by surprise, since a soft laugh bubbles out of her before she looks down at her screen. “I don't know. Practice?”
“It's fascinating.”
“I'm glad you find me interesting.” She clears her throat, her gaze lowered to her phone again. “I need to send a message to my partner to let her know we are going ahead with this.”
“Did you tell her all about what a monster I am?”
“And what if I did?” She pierces me with an unforgiving glare. “Considering you're in the position you're in, maybe you shouldn't make jokes about things like that.”
“You're right. My apologies.” Even if it does raise my hackles, she’s quick to chastise me. I hope she doesn't get it in her head that I'm going to roll over and let her walk all over me in those stilettos.
There's a limit to my patience, and while she might have my balls in a vice, there are certain lines I can't let her cross.
I'm glad she's on her phone, really. It gives me a chance to study her without her staring back at me. Even knowing who she used to be, I can't make that memory align with what I see in front of me now. This polished, professional smokeshow is as far away from Wallowing Willow as anyone could be.
Just the memory of that nickname makes me shudder—I'm disappointed in myself, and not only because I would very much like to bend her over this desk and fuck her senseless. This goes deeper than ruining my chances of getting laid.
I have to wonder if some of what I see in front of me isn't because of the way I humiliated her. Did she have something to prove because of my bullying? Then again, look how far she's come. I could just as easily congratulate myself for being the reason for it.
If I were a complete asshole, that is.
“Alright. That's out of the way.” She looks up quickly, and I have to pretend I wasn't staring. “Now. Next steps.”
“Why don't we head downstairs for a late lunch?” I suggest fixing my tie. “We could discuss a schedule down there, and our kitchen is damn near legendary.”
Her face goes stony. “Absolutely not.”
“Is that how this is going to go? You can work with me, but you can't be seen with me?”
She rolls her eyes, sighing like she's dealing with a petulant child. “If we're going to work together, you're going to need to put your ego aside for a minute. I'm sure that's foreign, but give it a try.”
“Just because I'm at your mercy doesn't mean I'm going to put up with snark morning, noon, and night.”
Her lips twitch but she overlooks it. “The point is, the last thing you want to do right now is be seen enjoying yourself in public. I'm not saying you have to walk around whipping yourself for everyone to see, but you don't need more negative opinions being thrown your way. Does that make sense?”
“Yes. I see your point.” And now I wish I hadn't jumped to conclusions. There's an unspoken battle raging between us, both of us fighting for control. She's won this battle, rolling her eyes at me, knocking me down a peg.
