Chapter 10
Pepper: Tell me again why I shouldn’t quit my job.
Jack: Because you’re too prim and proper to make a living as a street walker.
Pepper: Good point.
Jack: And you’re too talented to waste it.
Pepper: Ok, keep talking ;)
Jack: And if you quit I’d be able to eat all my own snacks.
Jack: Wait, that’s a good thing.
Jack: You should quit.
Pepper: Okay, you can stop talking now.
PEPPER
I crack open the door to Chase Walker’s office after being ushered in by the older lady at the desk outside, and stop when I see a room in chaos.
A pretty, petite brunette is attempting to wrangle two kicking and screaming baby boys into a stroller, and the floor is littered with vibrant children’s toys.
This is not at all what I expected, and it’s almost funny to see the chic office that’s all smooth charcoal finishes and glazed walnut wood marred by such jarring color.
My eyes fall on the broad frame of Chase sitting in his office chair, his head tipped closely to the face of the little girl huddled in his lap.
Her hands rest all over his face, one half covering his nose and the other on his jaw, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
He nods thoughtfully as she whispers in his ear, and then murmurs something back to her which makes her giggle—that sweet, endearing noise little girls make when they’re happy.
His face splits into a smile so bright and genuine it takes me aback for a second.
It’s not the smile you see in the tabloids, or on the company website, but a wholly different smile altogether that makes him seem to glow from within.
Softer and more genuine. He murmurs something to her again and she peeks over her shoulder, icy blue eyes staring right at me.
I offer her a kind smile, feeling a little whiplashed from fortifying myself to walk in here and be nothing but pissed at him for being able to snap his fingers and give me the day off—whereas when I tried to book time off months in advance, it still didn't happen.
I glance past the little girl, but Chase has his focus trained on her face. She turns back to him and a few more words are exchanged, too quietly for me to hear, even if the two babies weren’t fussing.
“Right,” the brunette exclaims, blowing out a sharp breath as she stands, having wrestled what I presume are her sons into the stroller.
“P-Pepper.” A shy voice commands my attention and I look down to see that the little girl has snuck up to me. She didn’t stutter, more just sounded the word out like she’s not used it much.
“Hi.” I smile brightly, watching her play with the little pink sundress she has on.
She flaps her hand at me, which I take to mean to come down to her level.
Raising my brows, I crouch down. Her fingers curl into my navy sweater as she lifts herself up on sandaled tiptoes to whisper in my ear.
The skin on the back of my neck heats, and my eyes drag up as if drawn by a magnetic source.
The arrogant king of corporate empire is staring at me now, his face blank but for the sparkle in his eyes that speaks to something which feels…wicked.
“My uncle thinks you look very pretty today.” The little girl’s breath puffs against my ear and my brow raises further.
Chase inclines his head fractionally to confirm. I yank my gaze away from him, spotting the other woman in the room staring between us with an amused expression.
“Thank you for the message,” I whisper back, because telling her that her uncle is an arrogant pig probably isn’t socially acceptable. She beams, showing me the gap at the front of her teeth, and skips away.
“Thank you for this, Chase. I really needed it,” I hear the woman say as Chase stands.
He drags her into a one-armed hug and my eyes catch the expanse of tanned, corded forearm flexing beneath his rolled shirt sleeves.
Why do I notice this? Because unfortunately for me, I am attracted to the male sex.
I’m not denying that if someone could suck out his personality and dress him down into something that didn’t look so Gucci runway, he’d be hot.
Perhaps like those dementors in Harry Potter—suck that silver-spoon soul right out and leave him nice and amiable.
“Why don’t you use our crèche for a few hours and go do something for yourself today?” he says back quietly and after a hesitant glance at her children, she smiles.
“Tell me again why I chose the other brother?” She punches him affectionately in the shoulder.
Ah, so this is Mia Walker. His sister-in-law, married to equally entitled and wealthy prick, Mason Walker.
The alpha Walker asshole. I’ve done my digging there and surprisingly, he’s as clean as you could expect a banker can be, aside from his reputation after a hostile takeover of Jefferson Lee—only the world’s largest bank.
“Because I’m way too funny and charming for your taste, kid. You prefer them dark and stormy.”
An incredulous snort escapes me as he ruffles her hair, and I make a great effort to disguise it as clearing my throat. Him, funny and charming? On what planet? Not this one. Not even in this universe.
She laughs and turns to collect her tribe, offering me a kind smile when I step out of her way. And then she’s gone and the room falls into static silence.
“Cough drop, Miss Quinn?” The self-important drawl pulls my reluctant attention.
“No, thank you.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m fine.” Oh yes, he caught my cover-up. Good. I fold my hands neatly in front of me, waiting.
His whiskey gaze takes a leisurely stroll down my body in a way that makes me bristle. “Oh yes, you are.”
My lips part in outrage, anger flaring in the pit of my stomach. My heart flutters at this dose of the playboy billionaire treatment like the traitor it is. What the hell is with him today? And me, for that matter?
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Whatever this new flattery scheme is.” I lodge a black varnished finger in his direction. “I don’t like it and it won’t work.”
He holds his hands up in surrender. “Just trying to have a joke with you.”
“Well, don’t.” I fold my arms, tilting my nose up.
“Shall we?” He ignores that and saunters toward me like a cheetah on the savannah, all sleek grace and power.
“Shall we, what?” I fight the urge to take a step back, steepling my spine.
“I have a car waiting to take us to one of my manufacturing plants,” he says casually, adjusting the rolled cuff on his shirt. “The name on the passport came back as bogus, but I scanned the image through our security system and the person on that document visited this plant six months ago.”
“What?” I blurt out, my hand leaping to my throat, and despite myself, a kernel of excitement flickers. I love this part of the chase, where the information I’m after dangles before me, just out of reach.
Propping his brows up, he gives me a small, twinkling smirk. He slides large hands into his pockets, broad shoulders straining at the fine material of his white shirt. “Care to mock my investigation skills now?”
Well, shit. He’s got me there. Pressing my shoulders back, I drop my hand and rearrange my features into what I hope is serene indifference. “I’ll give you that one. Lead the way.”
The elevator journey down is painfully slow.
Soft classical music serenades us in otherwise awkward silence.
To clarify, the awkwardness is all mine, because he looks perfectly at ease.
Employees carve a wide path in the busy lobby when they spot him like they’re a shoal of glittering fish and he’s the deadly great white shark.
A five-story high chamber that’s all sleek silver and dark marble, with a real tree in the center that grazes the domed ceiling.
Yes, a real live tree. A Japanese species, I believe, from the twisted trunk and burgundy leaves.
When we reach the shiny glass and brushed silver doors at the front of the building, he slows, placing a hand at the small of my back to guide me through first. My teeth grind at the barely-there touch through layers of fabric, inciting those pesky tingles again from yesterday.
The sound of the city wraps around us, peppered with the clip of his shoes on a sidewalk that should be coated in decades of grime, but instead looks oddly polished.
I swallow my snort when I spot the sleek black stretch town car waiting.
Of course the prince of privilege wouldn’t drive himself.
He holds the door open for me, and our eyes clash for the first time since we left his office.
He’s still got that infernal smirk on his face that seems to say, “I know something you don’t know.
” God, he’s an ass. But I’m not, so I offer him a clipped, “Thank you.”
The partition conceals the driver, but they must be aware of our destination because soon after Chase lowers himself into the wide back seat beside me, we begin to move.
Something intensely masculine invades my senses, his expensive woodsy smoke and a hint of something sweet.
I smooth my leopard-print jeans over my crossed legs and try to take shallow breaths so that it doesn’t do that voodoo thing to my brain.
You know, like when you’re in the grocery store and you smell cologne that makes you want to start panting like a dog, but then you turn around and it’s an old man with very little hair? This is kind of like that.
“I don’t bite,” he drawls, turning his rich coffee gaze on me. He’s likely referring to the way I’m nestled against the door—as far away from him as possible. “Not without permission, anyway.”
Do. Not. React. “Glad to hear it.”
A low noise rumbles in his chest, only fleetingly. Like a contemplative hum, but deeper.