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He leaned forward, causing one lock of thick blond hair to fall onto his forehead before he pushed it back. I finished my tea and kept the now empty cup in my hands if only to keep them from shaking. I didn’t know whether I should slap him, sue him, or jump him. I was so completely out of my league.
“Okay,” I replied slowly. “But—so what?”
“You’re direct,” he observed. “That’ll make this easier. My point is, I sympathize. I’m a founding partner of a top-ten national law firm and the controlling shareholder of Sterling Ventures. My jobs are very, very demanding of my time.” He paused. “When was the last time you went on a date, Skylar?”
I frowned at the sudden change of subject. Sterling returned to the couch. He offered that feline smile that was starting to become unnervingly familiar. One big arm slid around the back of the couch behind my back, the other crossing my lap to rest a hand on the couch arm, effectively caging me with his body. Again.
“I—I don’t understand,” I stammered. “Do you want to date me or sleep with me? Because they’re not the same thing.”
“No, they’re not. I’m glad you know the difference,” he said dryly. “Since neither of us has time for that nonsense.”
“Nonsense?”
“Drama. Attachment. Waste of time. But since it’s clear that this…whatever this is…isn’t going away, the best thing to do is probably to nip it in the bud, don’t you think?”
“You want to...” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word “fuck” in the middle of my boss’s office. “You know…it out of our systems?” I set my cup on the side table, unable to hold it steady anymore.
“I’d probably use a different word, but yeah. Pretty much.” Sterling smirked. “You get this cute crease on your chin when you frown, Red.”
He touched the tender spot just below my lower lip. His hand traced down my back, and I arched reflexively against his chest. Both of his hands found my waist, then moved up the sides until his thumbs grazed the fabric just beneath my breasts. His touch was still innocent, but felt utterly forbidden. What might he be able to do when there wasn’t anything impeding him?
“It would be amazing, you know,” he murmured, the rumble of his deep voice causing every hair on the back of my neck to stand up in want. “Fucking unbelievable. You know that too, don’t you?”
“When?” I replied, half hoping he would say “now.”
Instead, he sat back and crossed his arms over his broad chest, considering the question. I practically wilted.
“You’ll come over Friday nights. Every other Saturday as long as my schedule permits, and that may include attending the occasional dinner meeting or benefit as my date. You’ll have an allowance for whatever clothes and salon services you need. You’ll benefit too. The contacts alone from these things will make your career in whatever industry you want. No strings. No sleepovers. Nothing to get in the way of both of our very busy lives. You can stay in the guest room or my driver will take you home after.” He shrugged. “The choice is up to you. If things progress further, I’ll get you an apartment near campus, your office, a car, whatever you need. The idea is to make this as convenient as possible.”
The haze of his touch rapidly faded with every practical phrase. No strings. Apartment. Convenient. His proposal might sound better if there were even an iota of the kind, thoughtful man I’d met three days before, but that man wasn’t anywhere in this room. There was a word for what he was asking for.
“You want me to be your mistress.” It was not a question. In the harsh light of clarity, what I saw was not good.
“Well, no,” Sterling said uneasily. “You can’t be a mistress if I’m not with anyone else.”
“But you essentially want me to be your weekend call girl.” Two throw pillows fell off the couch as I stood up. Blood rushed from my head in a way that only provided increased clarity. “Should we establish a rate,Mr. Sterling? A Harvard brain like mine doesn’t come cheap, you know. What’s the going rate for summa cum laude?”
“Well, it’s not really your brain I’m after right now, Red.” His words were playful, but his tone was sharp, bordering on cruel.
“Fuck. You,” I said slowly and clearly, my cheeks suddenly blazing for very different reasons than before. “I’m not some goddamn object to be used at your beck and call. You’re lucky I’m already leaving; otherwise Iwouldfile a sexual harassment suit so big this firm would collapse from bad press alone, you utter. Fucking. Pig.”
I strode past him with as much indignation as I could manage, despite tripping briefly over the red shoes. Their color, a vibrant shock against the subdued brown and burgundy of the carpet, only reminded me further how insulting his offer was. It seemed garish. Whorish.
I reached to open the door, only to have it held firmly in place when a hand slapped on it above my shoulder.
“That’s quite a mouth you’ve got there, Red,” Sterling hummed into my ear. “But fair warning: a little spitfire only turns me on that much more.”
“Let mego,” I gritted through my teeth.
“No.”
With his other hand, he spun me around so I was effectively trapped against the door.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
I couldn’t help but follow his order. I hated that just his proximity could eat through my rage and disgust over what was fundamentally an offer to prostitute myself. His expression echoed the same—lust? Longing? I didn’t know what to call it—that I had also felt for the past three nights. Maybe it was just the strain of how badly we both wanted each other, but I thought I saw a note of pain in his fathomless eyes.
“Tell me you don’t feel what’s between us.”
