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Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the red voicemail light on my office phone blinking. That was unusual. People knew to call my assistant to take any messages. I put the receiver to my ear, pressed the button, and listened.
“H-hi, Wesley. I mean, Mr. Taves. It’s Cara. Cara Smith. I was the woman looking at the building with you? Anyway, I’m sorry I’m calling so late, but if you get this, I just wanted to confirm that I’m available for a — um — a meeting on Monday.”
The sound of her voice brought back memories of Saturday. I could picture her full pink lips as she chastised that cretin realtor. My cock stirred as I remembered how her warm brown eyes held a bit of heat when she became riled up.Down boy.
“So give me a call back. I’m flexible. You know I lost my job, so I’m free as a bird, ha! Um, anyway. Looking forward to hearing from you.”
When the message ended, I noted the huge smile on my face. Relief pumped through my veins. This was going to work out. It had to.
I dialed Cara back. It rang once. Then her voice sounded on the other end. “Mr. Taves?”
“You have my number saved in your phone?”
She sputtered, “W-well, yeah. In case you called back I wanted to be…to be prepared.”
“That’s a good way to be. Listen, can you meet me at eleven? The Starbucks on the first floor of the MediaDeck building. You know where that is?”
“Yes, obviously. I can see it from Brooklyn.”
I chuckled. “Great. I’ll see you then.”
I hung up. There was much to do before my meeting with her. I couldn’t be troubled with idle chatter. I dialed the line to my secretary. “Janene, hi. Cancel my eleven o’clock if I have one. And contact my bank to cut me a check for a hundred grand. Actually, make it a quarter million.” I smiled to myself. “I’ve got a deal to make.”
Chapter5
Cara
The MediaDeck building was the latest addition to the New York City skyline. It was a sleek building that looked like a teardrop and glistened like one, too. My parents thought it was an eyesore, but I always thought it rather beautiful, especially compared to older, blockier buildings.
Inside, though, sitting at a table at the MediaDeck branded Starbucks, I didn’t give a goddamn about how beautiful or important the building was. All I could think about was what the hell Wesley Taves wanted from me.
I had barely taken a sip of my iced latte when the lid, which must not have been secure, slipped off. Coffee slid down the front of my white dress top. Shit! Just my luck. Now I was wearing a wet coffee-stained shirt for my meeting with billionaire Wesley Taves. And I didn’t have time to do anything about it. Oh well, I managed to catch it before too much spilled. I dabbed at the spot with a napkin.
I checked my phone. He was already twenty minutes late.How hard can it be for him to just come downstairs on time?I decided I’d give him a piece of my mind. No one, not even media mogul Wesley Taves, had the right to be rude and leave someone waiting indefinitely.
“Ms. Smith. Good to see you.”
I stopped dabbing at my shirt and looked up to find Wesley Taves standing in front of my table as if he’d just stepped off a magazine cover. Reflexively, I stood up to greet him with a handshake. “Mr. Taves. Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice.”
Wesley looked down at my hand. A tiny smirk appeared on his lips that made my insides melt, but also brought back the memory of my parents’ warning. This man was all business, all the time. There was no telling what kind of schemes were brewing behind those chocolate-brown eyes. “The pleasure is all mine.” He took my hand in his and gave it a firm shake.
His touch sent electricity through my arm and made me dizzy.What the hell was that?I had the urge to hold fast to his hand, but he broke the handshake and sat down in the seat across from mine. “I wish you would have waited.” He gestured to my coffee. “Your coffee would have been on me.”
I flushed and forced a laugh. “Well, actually, it ended up on me — literally.”
Wesley raised an eyebrow. His gaze slipped to my wet top and lingered where the coffee had spilled on my chest. Unbidden, my nipples hardened from the cool air. Or was it from his attention? Finally, he looked up, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat.
“Bad joke. Anyway.” This wasn’t a great start.
“Mmm. Well. Let me cut right to the chase, Ms. Smith. I’d —”
“Cara. I’ve never been called Ms. Smith in my life.”
I could tell he wasn’t used to being interrupted. “Cara.I’ll remember that.”
He said my name carefully, sounding like a caress. I wanted to hear him say it over and over, preferably in more…intimatecircumstances.Where the hell did that thought come from?
“I’ll keep it simple. You’re a nanny without a job and I’m a father without a nanny. I need someone for at least two months while I get my new project off the ground. Twelve-hour days, seven to seven, five days a week. Is that something you’d be willing to take on?”
