“No one who expects me to answer.” His eyes are on the papers in front of him, and I don’t want to stop looking at him.
I want to memorize everything about him. He’s so perfect in that leather chair, his dark hair pushed back behind his ears, skimming his collar, long fingers rolling that cigarette back and forth. Cigarettes? Seriously? I mean, it looks sexy as hell in a daring, bad-boy way, but still…
“You’re not really going to smoke that, are you?” My nose wrinkles, and again, those brown eyes snap up to mine. So hot.
“In case you missed it, I’m the boss. I do whatever I want. Now if you don’t mind…”
I don’t know why I’m taunting him. I really need this job, and I can’t afford to get fired—not only because it would look bad on my résumé. I literally can’t afford to get fired. I need the money for me and Renée.
My hand drops to the door handle, and I soften my tone. “I’m sorry. I’m ready for the meeting tomorrow. See you then.”
He doesn’t even look up.
4
Patton
The door closes, and I lean back, trying to escape the lingering scent of her. It’s a faintly persistent sweetness in the back of my throat. It’s like everything about her, bright and tempting and refusing to be ignored… or bossed around.
I don’t know what to make of it. One minute she acts shy, the next she’s taunting, like some fucked up mix of a kitten and a minx.
Was she seriously criticizing me? I’ll smoke if I want to.
I toss the unlit cigarette onto my desk and run my hands over my face. It’s irritating that I’m attracted to her. I don’t even know her. I need to stay focused on the big picture, our future plans, and launching this new commercial app.
Instead, my thoughts are dominated by flashing blue eyes, full lips parting to reveal straight white teeth, that sheer top…
The way she laughed and said my name…
It took all my willpower to keep my hands off her.
Fuck that, I will keep my hands off her.
Standing, I walk to the window and watch the nonstop stream of headlights flowing in and around the city. Our building is only a few blocks from Printer’s Alley, which means even on a Wednesday, the streets are crowded with tourists partying and being loud.
I need a drink…
Which reminds me, Where the fuck is Marley?
I step back to snatch up my phone when it rings in my hand. The name grinds my jaw, but if I ignore him, he’ll only call again until I answer. Then we’ll both be pissed.
I exhale my annoyance and touch the green circle. “Hi, Dad, what’s up?” Why aren’t you in a musty old club with your retiree pals smoking cigars and drinking scotch?
“I heard the deal with Hastings and Key fell through.”
Of course, he’s calling about that. “It’s on hold. Taron wants to follow up on some leads in the UAE, and Hastings wants to see if we land them.”
He makes a noise of disapproval. “When I ran things, we didn’t do business with the Arabs. Or the Chinese. Or the Russians.”
It takes all my strength not to point out the obvious—he’s no longer running things.
Instead, I am a diplomat. “Taron’s smart. He wouldn’t deal with questionable firms.”
“If he knew about it. I’d keep Fletcher all-American. You can always trust Americans.”
Another slow inhale, exhale. “It wouldn’t be Fletcher International if we did that.”
“You know, you don’t have to do this launch. We’re making plenty of money in the Nashville market.”