CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DREW
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I stare out the small window of my private jet as we fly across the United States. Gemma is sitting across from me.
Patrick is with us, of course, and Robin and Theo. We spent half the day at the Chicago Open Leaf store and then had lunch at a nearby restaurant. Now we’re flying to Atlanta, where we’ll spend the night after visiting that branch.
Gemma taps away at her laptop and seems fully absorbed in what she’s doing. Predictably, she’s been professional and only made eye contact when necessary.
Good.
No one wants a clingy lover to contend with after you’ve just scratched an itch. We agreed to focus on business come Monday, and that’s what we have both done.
I scratch the side of my head, glancing at her burgundy blouse. So, okay, what happened was, Gemma climbed out of the vehicle I had to pick her up this morning. She stepped onto the tarmac and...
Listen, she had on a pair of tight black pants that hugged her fucking body like they were painted on. And the blouse. Jesus. Burgundy with a large floppy silk bow that screamed tug me.
Tug me and help yourself to my luscious tits.
I might not be a great clothing translator, but that was what I heard, and so did my hard dick.
So here we are, seven erections later, and I’m doing my very best to be fucking professional. Especially as she’s tipped off her shoes and is wiggling her painted toenails.
Fucking hell.
Apparently, the fire in my pants has not been doused, even though I came over almost a million dollars’ worth of diamonds lying on her breasts.
Very annoying.
Gemma, on the other hand, seems unaffected. Sated even...which obviously I can take credit for.
“Coffee, sir?” a flight attendant asks.
“No, sparkling water, please,” I reply. “Gemma?”
“Huh?” she glances up.
“Would you like something to drink, ma’am?” the attendant asks.
“Oh. Yes. Coffee. Black.”
As the server disappears, I ask, “You drink black coffee?”
Gemma glances at me and her screen. “Yes. Why?”
“I picked you for more of a vanilla oat milk mochaccino or charcoal latte kind of girl,” I tease.
I watch as she surveys the team sitting nearby, assumably to decide who can hear our conversation, and then looks back at me.
“You also thought my choice of pulled pork at lunch was humorous.” Gemma lifts a brow. “Not every woman eats chicken salad, Drew. And we are not that familiar.”
“I beg to differ.”
She hates my smirk, I can tell. And when I rub my thumb over my bottom lip, both her brows shoot up.
“Stop it,” she hisses.
My smile widens.
“Drew. What are you playing at?”
“Nothing, but we’re hardly strangers anymore.” I hold out my hands.
“You said we’d forget what happened,” Gemma frowns, annoyed.
“I didn’t say we would forget. I said...” God, she’s right. I didn’t use those words, but I did say we would focus on our professional work. Not her breasts or cute painted toes. “Fine. What are you working on?”
Gemma shrinks back in her seat, her cheeks turning pink, and I spot her wedding ring.
Why does she still wear it?
An irrational irritation slides through me, and I push it aside. After all, it has nothing to do with me.
“Nothing,” Gemma answers.
I lean forward. “Shall I ask whether you have panties on, then?”
If looks could kill, I’d be walking through the pearly gates.
“If you must know, I’m updating my resume,” Gemma snaps.
I straighten. “Why?”
What a stupid question. I know why. I just don’t like the idea for some reason. The idea of Gemma sitting in an interview begging for a job. Some dick questioning her while perving at her breasts.
Nope.
Do not like it.
“Because, Mr. Billionaire, I have a mortgage. Most of us do.”
She’s right.
I don’t have one of those, and if her husband hadn’t overextended them, neither would she. But I can’t say that to her as I don’t have all the information.
In fact, I am starting to hope she doesn’t ever need to know what is coming to light.
The ten percent she’s entitled to each quarter, which doesn’t include any of the asset sales we will start initiating soon, will be meager at best.
By design.
This is how I do business.
When she glances away, I see her pride is hurt.
I want to dig up her husband and throttle him because he shouldn’t have left his wife and daughter in such a vulnerable position.
You won’t let her fall.
The fuck?
Gemma Ford and her daughter are not my fucking responsibility. I slept with Gemma, not married her in Vegas, and now need to make amends. What the hell is wrong with me?
I need this woman out of my life.
She’s fucking with my brain.
What does she want to do? I thought she wanted to be a mother. Her marketing degree from Columbus, along with experience—
Not my business.
I glance at my own laptop and remind myself I have documents to read before we get to Atlanta. To work out what we do with the Chicago building now it’s clear that store is a dead duck. Obviously not an official business term, but my god, the moment we walked into the premises, it was clear as day.
The books were dusty, and the store itself was lacking any vibrancy. Even the employees looked as if they would prefer to be poking their own eyes out.
Robin and I walked down the road at one point, popping into BooksNow, the major competitor. It was thriving. The checkouts pumping. Bright colors throughout the store, and sales of e-readers and bookish things absolutely booming.
Things I am learning rapidly about.
Open Leaf hasn’t invested in or adapted to the changing book industry. I didn’t see any marketing around book boyfriends, thirst traps, or men kidnapping their heroines.
Creepy, yet I can see the appeal.
There was not an e-reader in sight, not one mention of TikTok or Instagram. It appears the company has been focused predominantly on stocking traditionally published books.
Big mistake.
Independent books are thriving, and our market research shows this is where readers are putting their money. They love the fast releases instead of having to wait years for the next book, the creative covers, multiple versions, and engagement with the authors online.
That makes sense to me.
A thriving business moves fast with the changing landscape. Open Leaf hasn’t done that. It’s old and stuck in the traditional way of doing things.
Again...big mistake.
I’m not blaming Gemma. These changes should have happened a few years ago. My reports show that the grieving widow was spending her time trying to keep things afloat—there wasn’t the budget to pivot and experiment.
Anthony Ford knew all this but spent his money on outside investments—or something!—instead of Open Leaf. Instead of moving with the industry changes.
Why?
The Chicago store has been impacted the most due to the close proximity of BooksNow, which opened almost two years ago. Customers flock there instead, and I don’t blame them.
The hard part of this is that Gemma knows this. With her marketing degree, I know she’s aware of the issues. It’s why she got upset with me recently. She knows it’s salvageable and thinks that is what I’m going to do.
Hire a fancy marketer, add in a big fluffy budget, and compete.
No.
That’s not my plan.
Which is why I’m trying my hardest to keep a distance from this beautiful woman. She is emotionally attached to the company, and it’s going to upset her when she finds out our plans.
Sleeping with her was a stupid move; even I can acknowledge that.
Honestly, given what my friends have been through recently, you’d think I would’ve second guessed myself.
I didn’t.
My cock was in charge—my second brain.
As tough-skinned as my successful friends are, I know I’m even less emotional than them. Less... susceptible, let’s say.
Losing my mom after Jack died hit me with two blows of grief. I’d already agreed with the vow that I and the boys made, that true love was the only thing that would drive me to commit to a woman.
But I don’t know, losing Mom, seeing Dad fall apart (he did pull himself back together again, obviously remarrying a few years later) it reminded me how weak it makes a person to love.
And I don’t do weak.
Perhaps if Mom was still alive, she’d tell me to soften my heart and let love in. But she’s not here, and I’ve had much more success in business.
I have the boys.
And look, I’m happy they’ve found love, but that doesn’t mean it’s for all of us.
I can’t see Zander letting any woman get inside his deceivingly covered steel heart. He’s all smirks and banter, but that man is locked down like Alcatraz.
So, I slept with Gemma.
Stupid.
Not unfixable.
I just need to stop thinking about her the way I do. The amount that I do. Wondering what she was up to over the weekend was a waste of time and focus.
Who cares if she was on a date, out with her daughter, at a bar with friends?
It makes no difference to me if she is a homebody and enjoys movie nights in front of a crackling fire.
Zero.
None.
I should have been doing some emails to my broker.
Zander and Mason showed up at the gym on Sunday afternoon, interrogating me about Gemma after taking her to the charity event.
“Nothing happened,” I lied, something I never do to them.
“They fucked,” Zander said.
“They absolutely fucked.” Mason nodded while running on the treadmill next to me.
“So what?” I slammed the red button and jumped off. “I could’ve taken her to the Obsidian Club and got down and dirty with her there.”
“Let’s do that next weekend,” Zander called over his shoulder while a fury the likes of which I’d never experienced slammed into the front of my brain.
The motherfucker.
Then he added, “If you’re happy to share.”
Rubbing my towel over my sweat-lined face, I froze, then abruptly continued.
“Thought so,” he chuckled.
“Stop making it into something it’s not,” I snapped. “I’m not the only idiot who fucked a woman he’s working with. Do I need to point out the obvious?”
Zander and Mason climbed off their exercise machines, smirking at one another.
Mason chugged down some water. “He’s right,”
“He might be right, but he’s forgotten one thing,” Zander said. “All three of you ended up putting a ring on it.”
I spluttered. “Jesus fuck, Zander. Calm down. Gemma is a widow, and honestly, she doesn’t even like me.”
“She must like your cock.”
“Hard not to. Excuse the pun.” I lifted a shoulder as Mason and I shared a smirk. “My point is, there was sexual chemistry, and we both wanted to get it out of our system. End of story.”
“Pun intended?” Zander asked.
“What?”
“Pun. Books. Nevermind.” Zander walked away, and when I turned to Mason, he was still grinning.
“Just be careful, buddy.” He slapped my back. “Sleeping with the enemy is a hell of an aphrodisiac, but it comes back to bite you in the ass.”
That had me thinking for the rest of the day.
I was sure that wasn’t the case with Gemma and me. Until she stepped out of the damn town car in those black pants.
My dick wasn’t done.
But she was giving away nothing. Even when I knew, without a shadow of doubt, I was the first guy to stick his cock into her since her husband was killed. It seems to have meant nothing.
I have to give it to her; she is drawing me in.
No woman has ever done that.
And it’s a reminder that Zander’s comments on Friday stand. Gemma is not the kind of woman you fuck and leave. Nor am I the right man for her.
One day she will seek out a new husband. I won’t be on her dance card. Especially after I take the next steps in my business plan for Open Leaf.
There is no love story here.
Gemma Ford will soon despise me.