CHAPTER FIVE
GEMMA
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Drew Carrington runs a tight ship. As promised, he’s mostly left me to run my team from the OCP offices, and I do that for the first two weeks.
There are lots of questions by the Open Leaf management team that remain, but I don’t have answers for them.
So we simply do our jobs every day and then go home.
True to his word, a number of store visits have landed in my calendar, but Drew hasn’t attended them. I rarely see him.
It’s both a relief and creates a sense of tension after the first day. The chemistry between us was out of this world. I’ve never experienced anything like it.
It’s almost like I’ve imagined it.
I hope I have.
I ended up telling Belinda, my sister, about it. Of course, she googled him.
“Jeeeesus Christ, the man is hawt!” she cried. “Introduce me.”
“No. He’s my boss right now and bought Open Leaf.”
“Yes. He’s rich. Introduce me.”
“I just told you I was having fantasies about him, Belinda!”
“Ah, well, no. You said you had inappropriate chemistry.” She grabbed a cushion off my sofa and hugged it, crossing her legs. “Tell me about these fantasies, Mrs. Ford. In detail.”
“Gross.”
“Come on,” she laughed.
So she was no help.
Admitting it out loud just made it worse.
But here we are two weeks into my contract, and today I am visiting our Manhattan flagship store with Drew.
I meet him downstairs in the lobby, and he guides me outside into his town car.
“How is your day going, Ms. Ford?”
“Mrs.” I frown, trying to keep my tone as polite as possible, given he knows my marital status. “And fine.”
Ugh, why does he have to look so fine in his pinstripe blue suit and crisp white shirt? His aftershave is subtle, expensive and seems to have a hypnotic effect on me.
I want to throw myself at him.
No, I think that’s my ovaries.
“My apologies.” Drew nods, adjusting his cuffs. “I hear you have a degree from Columbia.”
“Yes, Marketing and Communications.” I glance outside the vehicle, trying not to meet him in the eye. All I’ll see is desire. I wonder if that’s why he’s kept his distance. “Have you been traveling?”
“No.”
You could cut the air between us with a knife; the chemistry is so apparent. I don’t know what else to say as he stretches out his leg, and I glance at his thick thigh, wondering what he looks like naked.
I hiss at my stupid thoughts.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. I ahh, forgot something back at the office.”
I make a fatal mistake and look up.
Goddamn his eyes; they are mesmerizing.
We hold one another’s gaze, and the world seems to stop moving or turning.
All I can hear is the beating of my pulse in my ears.
“Gemma. Breathe,” Drew rasps.
Shit.
I look away and fuss with my skirt.
“Sorry.” I shake my head after another long silence. “I haven’t worked for anyone but my husband and his family. This is all new to me.”
“You didn’t have a career other than that?” he asks, and his question irritates me.
I feel all his judgement deep in my soul.
“Nowhere, Mr. Carrington. I was raising our daughter. I realize it’s not a role a man like you would respect or see value in, but raising a strong daughter who knows her self-worth is incredibly important to me. To my husband and me.”
I glance over at him, and his brows are low and eyes dark. “There are a lot of assumptions in that comment, Ms. Ford.”
For the love of God!
“Mrs. I am married. How many times do I need to remind you?”
“Widowed,” Drew says, and I want to leap out of the car.
He’s right.
My husband is dead. I destroyed Anthony’s company, and now I’m here with the man who has purchased it and taken my daughter's legacy.
I want to hate him for it.
Yet it’s me I should be angry with.
I’m to blame.
And his questions are triggering me. I never had the experience required to step in and run Open Leaf.
One day I’ll have to explain this to Zoe, and it kills me inside.
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DREW
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I DON’T KNOW why I feel the need to poke this pretty little bear. I suppose I want to remind her she’s no longer married.
Why hasn’t she taken off her fucking wedding rings?
Why does it bother me?
Christ, when she’s triggered, she’s ferocious, and I’d pay good money to see her naked and riding my cock when in a rage.
My dick thickens in my Tom Ford pants, and I mentally slap myself. If she looks down, God knows what she’ll do.
Scream.
Yup, I’d like to hear that too.
She thinks I’ve been avoiding her, and in some ways, I have. Not as much as she thinks. I’ve kept an eye on her but observed from a distance.
Mostly because I was working on an important deal and had to concentrate.
Now, Open Leaf and Gemma Ford have my full attention. And my cock’s.
I can understand why her husband married her so young. There is something about this woman that brings out a possessive streak I didn’t know existed. If I had my way and was inclined to commit—which I’m not—I’d make sure she never looks at another man again.
I want her. Sexually.
I want her naked, whimpering, and dripping.
There is zero doubt in my mind that the sharks are circling. The bachelors of New York will be waiting for her to show up at a social event, and someone will either fuck her brains out or put a ring on it.
I’ve spent a few nights staring at my bedroom ceiling thinking about how I’d feel if I saw her pregnant with some other man’s child, or flashing a rock around.
Not good.
That’s how I’d feel.
Which doesn’t make sense. Gemma Ford is a business partner, and I’m not looking for a wife.
If things work out, I’ll fuck her and throw her to the sharks.
The end.
“Yes, I’m a widow. Thank you for pointing that out,” Gemma replies.
I turn, and because I own every room and space I’m in, she responds and turns to face me.
“Can we start again?” I ask.
“It is offensive referring to me as a single woman. I lost my husband. He was killed. Surely you can understand how tragic that is?”
I nod gently in acknowledgement. “Yes, I do. I lost my mother when I was younger.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Her face softens, and God, I want to touch her.
Instead, her hand lands on my thigh, and without thinking, I place my own over it.
“Thank you.”
Our eyes connect again, and I slowly remove my hand.
“Truce?”
She nods.
“You were left in a terrible situation, having to take the reins of the business when your husband passed,” I say, and we both know I’m referring to her lack of experience.
What I’m trying to understand is how much she uncovered when she did step into his deceased shoes. Because things don’t look quite right.
“It was very difficult. Grieving Anthony, trying to care for my daughter who lost her father, and learning to be a CEO.”
I shake my head.
She took on a lot.
I admire her for having the courage, but at the same time I feel a simmering rage for something we are yet to uncover. Her husband was hiding something, I’m sure of it.
We pull up outside the Open Leaf flagship store in Manhattan, and I climb out. Reaching in, I take her hand and then watch as she brushes down her dress, then walks proudly into the large, mildly busy store.
God, she’s stunning.
Stifling my smile, I give my security guy, Patrick, a nod to stick around outside with Jeeves and the car until we are done.
Following Gemma inside, I watch how she warmly interacts with the team and listen as they ask about Zoe. She introduces me, and they fall over themselves showing us the popular new books that have arrived and new displays.
It’s not enough to fix this mess, but I don’t say a word.
This is not my first rodeo.
I know they’re concerned.
They should be.
Things are going to get rougher before it gets better. I’m not sure it will get better. My team is still digging through the dirt to find the gems, so to speak.
Some decisions are already obvious.
It’s a cold, hard fact, but real estate is value, and people are replaceable. Even celebrities and social influencers, despite how important they think they are. There is always someone else waiting in the wings.
The only way to survive in this cold, hard world is to create something of value and be willing to pivot when that value changes.
I don’t make the rules.
I just play within and change when necessary.
“I hope you’re going to help Gemma get Open Leaf thriving again,” Maureen, the store manager, says.
I almost laugh.
She thinks I’m here to help Gemma.
“How long have you worked for the Ford family, Maureen?” I ask before Gemma has the chance to correct her.
“Fifteen years, sir. I started when I was in my twenties, working for Mrs. Ford’s father-in-law. I’ve been loyal all these years.”
I hear what she’s saying...please don’t fire me.
“Very admirable.” I reply instead of very stupid.
I don’t mean that entirely.
Loyal, long-serving employees are important to companies. They save them substantial money in recruitment and other hidden costs. Still, no one ever got rich working for the taxman all their life.
Then again, not everyone can be self-employed.
I’m just grumpy I can’t drag Gemma home and fuck her for the rest of the afternoon.
“I’m going to show Mr. Carrington around; don’t let us interrupt you.” Gemma rubs Maureen’s arm affectionately.
I lower my brows.
Am I wrong about Gemma? Does she know, deep down, how this is going to end? That I’m essentially pulling the company apart and it won’t be recognizable at the end?
I’m not sure.
We walk about the store, and I ask questions. Gemma answers. I feel her trepidation, but I also feel the warmth of her body as we bump shoulders and how the chemistry we’re both navigating doesn’t take a break for a minute.
The warmth in her eyes returns when we reach the children’s story area. I smile as her face lights up and feel my chest hitch.
Then she speaks, and I want to grab her and take the words away from her.
“Anthony proposed to me here. When the store was closed.”
My teeth grind together as her eyes dip to her rings. It should not matter to me either way, but I hate hearing at the fucking guy.
“You made the right decision,” I say. “To sell.”