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For a moment, I'm too astonished to do anything but enjoy the pressure of her mouth on mine, infinitely confused by the way she is running hot and cold, one moment furious, the next loving and back again, but then I feel the moist tip of her tongue on my lips, and I open up for her, my tongue tracing hers.
Just as we’re getting into it, she pushes me off of her again, but this time she runs from the room.
I stare in her wake, probably with an idiotic expression on my face, but when I hear her dry heaves, I realize what's happening and run behind her.
CHAPTER3
Lynn
Twenty-four hours earlier…
"Well, Mr. Ashton, I hardly think the demands Miss Brent is making on your behalf are reasonable. This is an acquisition, not a merger. I thought my attorney had made the proposal more than clear. Maybe your lawyer should have another look through it."
He leans backward like he doesn’t have a care in the world—the asshole—hands laced together on the crisp white expanse of the two thousand dollar Ralph Lauren shirt taut across his broad chest that makes him look like he just jumped out of GQ.
Not that he would deign such a commonplace, trivial magazine with a voluntary appearance, no… the jerk probably thinks himself far above such trifles; only Forbes would do for him.
Devon Welton, Vice-President and CEO of Welton Inc., ladies and gentlemen, not a polite bone in his huge body.
Since I have known of him, I’ve seen his name at the top of that Fortune 500 list more times than I’d like to acknowledge.
Smug bastard. And why the hell does he have to be so fucking hot on top of everything?
Could he not have been at least ugly?
No! He has to be gorgeous, a heartthrob, but he is still a fucker, no matter what everybody says.
I take a look at my client, and I can see the poor idiot positively shivering in his expensive suit.
I stand up brusquely, both hands fisted at my hips, my back rigid, and my jaw clenched. My God, how I hate this guy!
He thinks he just has to flash his damnable slanted smile and wave his money around to have everyone genuflect in front of him, well, not me!
I don't give a fuck that he is powerful and loaded, Mr. Big Shot CEO, and I don't give a fuck that he is right. I just want to stomp on his foot and yell in his face. Damn, he turns me into a five-year-old. I can't be in the same room with him and keep my temper in check for more than sixty seconds at best.
"Mr. Welton, I assure you I have read the proposal very carefully. That's why I made those amendments. I frankly find the assumption that my client would just take it as it is quite preposterous."
He shakes his head and chuckles, perfectly composed. “What do you say, Tony?” he asks to my best friend since college —he is Welton’s personal lawyer besides being the head of the legal department of his company. Their families go back eons. That's how I had the pleasure of meeting the fucker in the first place.
Anthony and I have been close since we were freshmen. Then my best friend, Jane Turner, met his brother, Carl Owens—the CFO of Welton Inc.— at a party, and they fell in love, so we all got even closer, and now we are fast friends, the only problem was that Carl and Anthony came with one big, sour, annoying accoutrement: their boss and friend, His Imposing Highness, Devon Welton, aka the fucker.
And there’s not a single thing about him that’s good.
No, wait. There’s one thing, actually.
Susan –Sookie for her friends– his sister.
I like the sister just as much as I loathe the brother. It has always been like this and always will be. How can two people so different be related by blood just baffles me.
She is one of the most caring, loyal human beings I know, always open and funny, a little bit like a cross between Belle and Cinderella with a sprinkle of Pocahontas in her and definitely more sass and balls than those three chicks could ever dream of having and Devon is…
Devon is Devon: a fucker.
The only positive quality that comes to mind when thinking of him —if one doesn’t want to be materialistic and focus on his general hotness and or his money— is his honesty. The man is honest to a fault, and I'm the kind of girl that would choose bluntness over coy hypocrisy any day.
That’s it. Definitely not enough to make me like him.
And then there's an air about him, a barely concealed tension that runs in his features and makes him look almost dangerous, like he is always restraining himself from giving in to something. It puts me on edge every time we are together. I can't stand it. I can't stand him.
