Chapter 14
Grayson
The look on Jenna's face is priceless.
Heat and indignation radiate off her fierce frown, redness flooding her cheeks. Flames spark from her eyes, turning them into glittering emeralds.
I'm not sure why she's so shocked, though. Seriously, what did she expect? Did she think I would keep our relationship a secret from our employees? That would detract from the believability of the whole thing.
She has to get used to being seen and associated with me. If she doesn't like it, well, too damn bad, because we have a relationship to sell, and the more thoroughly we do this thing, the more likely it is that my family will buy it. Simple.
She glowers for at least ten seconds, but it only amuses me more.
I get a sick sort of enjoyment from watching her irritation.
It's fun to see the annoyance scrawl across her face as she debates whether or not to come across the table and strangle me.
If there weren't people around us, she'd probably try.
Maybe I'd pull her across my lap and spank her for the effort.
Of course, I'd have to strip her out of that ridiculous pink pantsuit first. Then I'd pull down her underwear…
I wonder what she's wearing under there?
Maybe she's wearing a slinky silk cami set, in jade green to match her flashing eyes, or dark ruby red to match her burning hair.
Or perhaps she's wearing a gossamer-thin black bra and matching Brazilian-cut panties, all lace and ribbon, and not much else, showing glimpses through the lace of those forbidden secrets that lie beneath…
Mentally, I shake my head to wake myself from this ridiculous reverie. What am I doing? Nope, don't go there. This is the wrong place and the wrong time to get a hard-on.
Although that might sell it even more. Nothing says love like getting a hard-on while your fiancée's glaring at you.
I'm not used to people, especially women, looking at me like that.
Maybe I have sadomasochistic tendencies after all, because the fact that she so clearly wants to murder me right now makes me want her so badly, and I don't know what the hell I'm going to do with this attraction I feel for her, because we both agreed not to touch each other again.
Fuck.
"Um…" She shakes her head and struggles to recover, swallowing her anger and ignoring the looks she's getting.
She inhales deeply, and lets out a long breath, visibly trembling with outrage.
"Anyway, I'm glad you could join us… Mister Wolfe.
" She emphasizes the word mister very clearly.
You could hear a pin drop in the silence, and all eyes are upon Jenna as she continues.
"I called this meeting so that we can all be on the same page when it comes to planning the rest of the showcase events.
I know the welcome gala has already been done, and the next event is the business symposium, which is coming up in a few weeks.
I'd like to show you our preliminary designs and get some general ideas on what you would like added or removed from the plans. "
"Sounds good, honeybun," I say, and another vein pops in her forehead. This time, she ignores me and gestures behind her with a clicker, triggering the projection screen back to life.
The first image that pops up shows the symposium being held at a warehouse that typically serves as a venue for fashion shows.
"This is the first option," she explains.
"Deep in the art district. An unconventional location, yes, but what makes this one special is the industrial feel of the building itself, yet it's right next to this serene park with its botanical garden out back.
Kind of like an urban oasis in the middle of nature.
Not to mention, there is a lodge a few minutes' drive away that offers a more rustic experience for those who want it. "
"Okay, but this is a business symposium," Kane, the team lead for the project on the Wolfe Foundation side, says. "Wouldn't this location be incongruent with our message?"
"Not necessarily. Your investors are spread widely across the board, but what they have in common is that they're all searching for something different.
So far, we've mostly catered to those in tech businesses and crypto.
Now, it's time to give other industries a chance to shine, and what better way to show our diversity as a holding company than a venue like this. "
It's a good answer. It's also a creative plan that I never would have thought of in the first place. Give her her due, Jenna Marlowe has a creative mind to go with that stunning body.
The only problem is that it has many of the same problems as the welcome gala had.
"So?" she asks, looking around the room. "Thoughts?"
Everyone looks at me, waiting for me to say something, but I don't. They should be able to tell the problem themselves. I mean, are they blind? Can't they see the glaring issue here?
"I think it looks good," Kane says. "Is that a Warhol on the wall?"
"It is." She beams at him, and somehow that makes my annoyance even worse. "And along with that, we have several vendors coming in from—"
"Are you serious?" I cut her off, and Kane pales when he meets my stare.
I glance around at the rest of the planning committee, and they all avoid my eyes, too.
Hell. No wonder that welcome gala was almost a shit show. All of them are fucking blind.
I finally let my eyes rest on Jenna, and she's the only one who doesn't avert her gaze. Instead, she narrows them, arching her eyebrow, giving me a look that's equal parts challenge and equal parts I want to bite your head off.
"Mr. Wolfe?" she says. "Do you have a problem with the design?"
"That depends on whether or not you're planning a children's birthday party."
The heat flares, and God, it's so sexy, I want to throw her over this desk and ravish her in front of all these cowards.
Even though she has no taste whatsoever, she's the only one who has the balls to fight me on this. That makes her worth more than all of them combined.
"What exactly about it gives off a children's birthday party?" she says. "Be specific."
"The graffiti on the walls, for one."
"It's stylistic," she counters. "The symposium is about championing the underrepresented in business and art. There's a certain classism that separates graffiti from—"
"I don't care about any of that shit. The graffiti makes it look like a joke. Not to mention the exhibitor stands don't match the stage—none of it's uniform. Why pastel?"
"It's not all pastel. It's simply pastel accents because it's noted to give a sense of—"
"So now we're using pseudo-science?"
She's even more furious. "Color theory isn't pseudoscience."
"Yes, it is. Pastels wash out on camera; sponsor logos will look toy-store on a livestream. That's not even getting into the lighting of the venue. As a matter of fact, I'm not sold on the venue in the first place."
"The venue was chosen because—"
"It doesn't matter. Scrap it. Investors expect polish. Warehouse acoustics, load-in unions, and security perimeters at that site will bleed money and kill the livestream."
"No," she says.
I raise my eyebrows. "No?"
"Not until you let me finish my presentation, Mr. Wolfe."
I stare at her, hard, and she stares back at me with the same intensity. Her chest is going up and down like a locomotive, and that's doing things to me that I'm not sure I can contain for much longer.
My cock throbs, and precum leaks out the tip.
Shit, not only will I walk out of here with a boner, but I might also even have to do it with a wet zipper. Jesus… you're the CEO for crying out loud. Get a grip, Grayson. Imagine the headlines!
This has never happened to me before. Not even when I was a teenager.
Something about her brings out the worst in me.
I barely notice the rest of the people in the room, glancing between us like they're watching a tennis match. All I see, feel, and breathe is… her.
"The location is on theme," she says. "The color scheme is a detail that can be negotiated, as long as you're not planning to replace everything with the same shade of drab, dark gray as your…"
She cuts herself off. I know what she was going to say. Same drab gray as your condo. But she doesn't want to tell everyone that she knows the inside of my apartment.
"For example, we can keep the venue, drop overt graffiti to the VIP lounge, shift the palette to deep jewel tones, and unify the stage/stands branding. Lighting at 3200K flats the speakers; add LED walls and baffling for the stream.
"In fact, we have come up with plenty of color choices for you to choose from.
" She uses the clicker to fast-forward to other slides that each show the same design, but with alternate color schemes.
"And of course, the graffiti, while being a perfect representation of the gritty, urban reality that so many of the people that the Wolfe Foundation is aimed at helping face in their lives—people that perhaps not everyone here really appreciates or understands, due to their own privileged background…
" A clear jab at me, but I simply smirk scornfully at her.
She'll have to do a lot better than that to get to me.
"…can be more or less emphasized by the lighting, or even entirely hidden by fabric drapes, if that's what we want.
But this is only one idea. We also have other designs to show you that are more traditional, and perhaps easier even for older, less in touch people to appreciate.
" Ha… another jab, this time at my age, the little witch.
"I wanted to start with the most unconventional on the list and work my way backward. "
"And if I say I don't like any of your ideas, darling?" I ask, and once again, she jerks at the term of endearment, like she's been shot.
Her lips press together, her voice hard and brittle. "Can I talk to you for a second, in private, Mr. Wolfe?"
"Sure thing, Jenna, honey," I respond, and she gets up and stomps toward the door, barely waiting for an answer.
The moment we are in the corridor alone, she pulls me away from the door so no one can overhear and demands in an angry whisper, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean."
I grin widely, and I can practically see the fumes rising above her head as she narrows her eyes and scowls back at me.
"Why are you fighting me so hard on every little thing? You're making this harder than it has to be."
"I thought this was what you wanted. For us to communicate better. Well, this is us communicating."
"No. This isn't communicating. It's deliberate antagonism. You're not giving me a good reason for shooting down my ideas; you're doing it because you enjoy tearing them down. ‘Because I don't like it' isn't a good enough reason."
"Agreed, assuming that your ideas are any good."
"They are good."
"They're… decent." I don't actually dislike her ideas. They need fine-tuning, but in truth she's right. Most of my contrariness was simply to get a reaction out of her. In complete honesty, I'm not even sure why.
"Also, why do you keep calling me that?"
"Calling you what?"
"You know what. Darling. Honey."
I chuckle at the mulish set of her lips. "We're about to be married, honeybunny. Why wouldn't I call you pet names?"
"Because."
"Because what?"
She sighs, closing her eyes, breathing deeply to calm herself. I find it adorable, the way she always tries to self-soothe. "Do we really have to do this at work?"
"Of course. My father and mother have their spies everywhere. I know for a fact that Kane reports to my mother's chief of staff."
"Of course they do," she mutters. "But this is a business meeting in front of our professional colleagues. Don't you think it would be weird for us to start being lovey-dovey all of a sudden when we haven't done any such thing before?"
"Not really. You forget, they've almost never actually seen us interact before, so they'll assume we've always been like this, but we just kept it a secret."
"And now we decided to stop keeping it a secret?"
"Bingo." Because we're getting married. I take her hand, ignoring the softness of her skin, and lift it high enough that the sunlight glitters on the diamond of the engagement ring. "Has anyone asked you about this yet?"
She glances at it and shakes her head.
"That's because they probably didn't even notice, or they assumed you were wearing it to ward off suitors. Why? Because you don't act like an engaged woman. You don't have that happy glow, and you're only focused on work. You're not being affectionate and giggling and poring over bridal magazines."
She snorts. "You think that's how engaged women act?"
"No, but I think it's how you should act. We're already working at a disadvantage here. If we want them to buy it, we have to sell it."
She exhales. "So what? I'm supposed to start calling you pet names out of the blue."
"You can try."
She sighs. "I think I'd almost rather gouge my eyes out, unless ‘asshole' is what you have in mind?"
I smile, choosing to ignore her unfunny attempt at yet another insult. "I guess we're leaving the pet names to me, then, sweetie pie."
"Jesus. You carry on like that and you'll make me throw up." She rolls her eyes, and I chuckle.
"Alright," I say. "I'll tone it down a little, and I'll not object to every idea you come up with, okay?
But in return, you've got to play the game a little too.
Remember, my mother has spies everywhere—so can you please wipe that angry look off your face and stop acting like you want to bite my head off and use it as a football, agreed? "
She nods sullenly, and we go back in to rejoin the meeting and meet our employees' curious glances.
In truth, it suits me to be a little less flamboyant. It's not really my style and I've never been one for pet names, though with Jenna it's more fun just because I'm annoying her.
The meeting drags on for another forty-five minutes or so, and I hold up my side of the deal.
I stop arguing every single point, reserving my criticisms for specific things that really do need challenging.
By the end of the meeting, we have agreed on the venue and the general stylistic themes for the event, and Jenna looks both pleased and relieved.
I'm perhaps halfway to my office in the back of the limo when my father calls me.
"Yes?"
"I've called a board meeting tomorrow," he announces in a flat tone. "It's important, so don't be late."