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“Yes, ma'am.” I'm grinning as I end the call. At least there's one reasonable person working at the club. Sawyer has already explained that Theresa used to work for his father, and I can't help but wonder if the old man left her in place to keep an eye on his son. I wouldn't be a bit surprised. I've known enough wealthy men to understand how they think. He might have put his son in the driver's seat, but Theresa is there as a reminder not to drive too fast.
It's not another two minutes before my phone rings, and I'm not surprised to find who's calling. “What do you mean, you're running late?” Sawyer's voice fills the car, setting my teeth on edge even while the rest of my body responds in the worst possible way.
In spite of my tight nipples and the heat rising in my core, I manage somehow to keep my voice level. “Exactly what part of that statement is giving you a hard time?”
“You're the one who wanted to have this dinner in the first place.”
“Correct.”
“And you can't even bother to be on time?”
“There is plenty of time,” I grit out, my hands tightening around the wheel. “I won't be there early, is all.”
“Maybe we should postpone.”
“Are you out of your mind? What part of this is so hard for you to understand? I decided to pay you the courtesy of a phone call to let you know I'm running later than expected. This is not a situation where we postpone the meeting. Do not, I repeat, do not make any rash decisions.”
“I still think it would have been better to have one-on-one meetings.”
“Remind me who's being paid to do this job? Because all week long, it seems like you've been getting mixed up. I know what I'm doing.”
“Can you explain to me why it's so important to get everybody together so they can stare me down?”
This again. I have to remind myself he's not deliberately being ignorant, but rather voicing his stress and fear. No, he would never openly admit to being afraid, but it's pretty obvious from where I'm sitting.
“If anybody is on the fence about whether or not to accept your apology, they will be swayed by positive reactions from others. It's human psychology. If this person and that person think things are okay, maybe they are.”
“You do realize the same can work just as well in reverse, right? What if this person and that person told me to go fuck myself?”
“The way I did, more than once? Maybe you can wear them down the way you wore me down.”
“Cute.”
“I'm not trying to be cute. I'm trying to prove a point. You can be very persuasive when you put your mind to it—even charming.”
Wrong choice of words, you idiot. “You think I'm charming?”
“I think you have the potential to be charming under the correct circumstances.”
“You make me feel like I'm reading from a science textbook.”
“Are we finished? Because I would like to focus on the road. It is rush hour, you realize. If I wrap my car around a pole, you’ll have to get through the mess you created all on your own. We don’t want that, do we?”
He definitely grumbles something that sounds close to profanity. “Should I get things rolling without you if you're held up?”
“Good God, no. Anything but that.”
“Thanks. I'm glad you have all this faith in me.”
“It's not a matter of faith.” It's totally a matter of faith. “I want to be there to steer the conversation.”
“But you're not going to run things.”
It almost hurts to roll my eyes so hard. “No. I will not try to run things. You're still in charge, big shot.”
“You’re right. I am a big shot. So long as you don't forget that.” And then he ends the call because he is a dick who always has to have the last word. All I can do is growl helplessly and wish I had never accepted this job in the first place. There’s no amount of money worth the wringer he’s putting me through.
I don't know where he got the idea that I want to banter with him. Didn't I make it clear enough that I can't stand the sight of his face? His ridiculously symmetrical, chiseled face? Maybe I'm not being hard enough on him.
And I guess I could be faulted for taking the bait he dangles in front of me. I don't know what it is about him that makes me want to knock him down a peg or two, but it always ends with me wishing I hadn't engaged in the first place. Somehow, he winds up on top.
He’s a spoiled, entitled little slug with the inexplicable power to turn me on with the lift of a single eyebrow. Hell, I’m still ridiculously aroused and we were only on the phone. And I was annoyed with him. How does he do it?
That doesn’t matter. I need to get my head in the game, and fast, since I have no choice but to be professional in front of a bunch of old men who hold my client’s future in their hands. This has nothing to do with my personal feelings toward Sawyer or our past.
I have a job to do, and nobody does it better than me.
So long as I can convince my client to stop shooting himself in the foot, I’m golden.
