2. Phoenix
Phoenix
I ’m startled when a whirlwind gusts into my office like a torpedo. Confused, my eyes bounce to my brother. He’s as surprised as I am.
I shove out of my chair and shuffle to my feet, ready for the worst. “May I help you?”
“My name is Michaela Knight,” the woman who barged in my office says. “We need to talk.”
I study her for a beat, certain my eyes are deceiving me. “You look nothing like Michaela Knight.”
“Interesting, you know who I am.” She lets out a sarcastic laugh. “Until a couple of hours ago, I didn’t know who you were,” she says. “As for the way I look, the hair is a bit of a dramatic transformation.”
No shit.
She moves her attention away from me, fumbling through her designer bag.
I lift my hands in surrender. “Whoa. No need to get violent.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “I’m not looking for a gun. I’m pulling out my driver’s license to prove my identity. It’s still my old photo, but at least you can verify my name.”
The woman standing in front of me is unquestionably gorgeous, but her hair is a vast departure from the photos I’ve seen of her.
She chopped off the curtain of dark brown, almost black hair.
Without the long mane, her remarkable features stand out.
She’s now sporting a short, edgy haircut that makes her look much younger.
If I didn’t know better, I might be tempted to think she’s barely legal.
“You’re demanding for an intruder.” I scoff.
“Hear me out before kicking me out,” she says.
I consider her. “Okay.” I nod.
She pulls out her wallet.
I doubt this tiny tornado is much of a threat. Given this morning’s freak media show, I can’t wait to hear what Miss Knight has to say in her defense.
This should be interesting.
I tear my gaze away from the feisty woman and shift my attention to my brother. I know that look. His lopsided grin is also a dead giveaway.
Yes, I have eyes. She’s smoking hot. “I’ll catch you later, Slate.”
“Why don’t I hang around? You might need a referee.”
“I got this.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“You never know––”
“Slate.”
“Okay, okay. I’m gone.”
He closes the door behind him in slow motion, his eyes taking in every inch of the woman dressed in a stunning hot pink dress.
I shake my head.
He grins.
“Here you go.” She flings her driver’s license on my desk.
I pick it up, study it, verifying both her age and her identity. “You are Michaela Knight.”
“Told you. Care to explain why you’re dead set on fucking up my life?”
Her surly tone is borderline rude.
I drop the driver’s license on my desk and inhale a calming breath.
I close my fists and anchor them against my desk.
From this vantage point, I get an eyeful of the swell of her tempting breasts.
The neckline of her dress is sexy and classy.
It commands attention without ever being trashy.
The hot pink shade isn’t as defining as red, but it still means business.
She looks up, fixing me with a pair of huge, green eyes in a breathtaking shade I’ve never seen before in my life. Her barely there makeup is flawless and those damn black lashes are a mile long. Her perfect pale skin suggests she hasn’t been in LA for long.
She clears her throat and takes a step back.
She squares her shoulders. “I asked you a question and I expect an answer.”
I glance down.
My desk is an annoyance, a barrier I could do without.
I circle it and come to stand right in front of her. My eyes trail down the length of the pint-sized spitfire glaring up at me.
I approve of how beautiful she looks in this form-fitted dress that hits her above the knee. I’m also quite partial to those sexy as fuck white high heels with a strap circling her delicate ankles. The immaculate white offers a flawless finish.
She crosses her arms over her chest, revealing more than a hint of cleavage. It’s an effort not to stare.
“Well?” She has the audacity to tap an impatient foot on the floor.
My eyebrows rise to my forehead. “You have some nerve,” I say. “You trespass––”
“Newsflash. It’s a hotel. I’m not trespassing.”
Her voice doesn’t match the rest of her. It’s all expensive, smoky whiskey, while her look is all diamonds and champagne. If she wasn’t snapping at me like she is right now, I’m sure I’d enjoy listening to her talk for hours.
Focus.
“You have no business on the executive floor,” I say. “You’re lucky I haven’t called security to haul your fine ass out of here.”
“Please leave my ass out of this conversation,” she says.
“I said your fine ass.”
“Too bad you’ll never know.”
Feisty.
The long list of things I’d do to her ass is one hundred percent X-rated, but this is neither the time nor the place.
“Ask nicely,” I say.
She blinks. “What?”
“You’re in my domain, Miss Knight. You want answers, ask nicely.”
She shoots a fuck you glare at me. “You’re spreading lies about me. About us.” Her finger moves between us. “Make it stop.”
The muscles in my jaw flex.
This tiny woman has a fierce fighting spirit, the likes of which I’ve rarely seen in the women I date. She isn’t accommodating. Nor is she a pushover. She stands on her own two feet. She’s a real study in contrast. Miss Knight is nothing like what I expected.
“I’m not the one behind this grotesque PR grab,” I say. “You are.” I point an accusatory finger at her.
She points one back. “You’re the manipulative asshole who’s using me for God knows what reason. What did my stepmother promise you in exchange for being willing to destroy my life like this?”
Her nostrils flare, her eyes shoot daggers at me, and her chest heaves.
Stop staring at her breasts.
“Did she trick you into believing you were getting a virgin bride?”
“What the hell kind of statement is that?” This is so preposterous, I doubt I heard her correctly.
“Rich men seeking young, dumb virgins so they can shape them to their will—and manhood—and be the first to plant their seed into their womb,” she says.
“You think I bought your virginity via your stepmom?” It’s a struggle to keep my voice calm and professional.
Michaela nods. “She keeps reminding me I have a precious commodity worth preserving for a dirty old man with pockets lined with money.” She rolls her eyes. “That, and most likely a tiny, limp, shriveled dick.”
The crude word coming from her mouth is an insult to my ears.
“She insists it’s all part of a new woman’s empowering movement. And, apparently, it’s a lucrative market. I guess you must be her newest prospect.”
For the love of fuck. What does she take me for?
“Well, I’m not a virgin,” she says.
Good to know.
“I don’t bother correcting my stepmom because it’s none of her business.” She shrugs. “The joke’s on you, dirty old man.”
“Tread carefully, kitty cat,” I say.
“Kitty cat?”
“You barge in here, ready to claw my eyes out like a kitten perched on a tree I’m trying to rescue?—”
“I don’t need to be rescued.” She huffs. “I need answers.”
“First, I’ve never met your stepmother. Second, I don’t buy women for sex or for any other reason. Third, I steer away from virgins. And fourth, I’m not an old man.” Dirty, yes, but old, no. “I’m only thirty-one. Enough answers for you, kitty cat?”
Hesitant green eyes scan my face. But as quick as a whip, suspicion flashes back at me. “What’s in it for you? Why are you lying to protect my stepmother?”
“I’m not. I’ve never met the woman.”
“Well, this stunt has her signature all over it—” Michaela brushes a dismissive hand in front of her face. “It doesn’t matter. How are you going to get JustSpotted.com to retract the fake announcement?”
I release a breath, my temper ebbing. “We can’t.”
“Hence why I didn’t include myself in the statement,” she says. “I don’t have that kind of power, but you do.” She extends her arms out, as if encompassing my luxurious office.
Even her mocking smile is charming.
“You must have a pricey PR firm at your beck and call. Get them to work their magic. We’re not getting married.”
My brother Slate caught wind of the JustSpotted.com article before I did.
He called to warn me. I thought he was pulling my leg, but he wasn’t.
As I scrolled through the screaming headlines, I was certain Michaela Knight had played a part in this farce.
Her outburst suggests she was caught off guard by the sneaky PR stunt as much as I was.
The thing is, she doesn’t have the full story.
I do. And I’m about to burst her bubble.
“There’s more to this than meets the eye,” I say.
“No, there isn’t. There’s been a mistake. You need to fix it.”
“It’s not a mistake, Michaela.”
Her long eyelashes flutter at the mention of her name.
Then, it hits me. This is the first time her name has passed my lips since she busted into my office.
“You’re missing parts of the puzzle,” I say.
She stares for a long beat, flabbergasted. And then she bursts out laughing. Full on belly laughs.
“You’re cute and all, but either you’re missing a screw or you’re deaf. We. Are. Not. Getting. Married,” she says, enunciating every word.
“Even though I don’t approve of how things were done, I’m not one to renege on a deal, especially not this one,” I say.
“I swear on everything that’s holy, you’re being a stubborn prick just to irritate the hell out of me,” she says. “We don’t know each other. We’re not getting married. End of story.” She jabs a finger at me, a harsh edge breaking through each word.
My eyes rattle back and forth like a ping pong ball from her manicured finger, to her sultry mouth, to her gem-like eyes. She thinks she has leverage here. I’m on the bitter cusp of pulling her onto my lap to teach her who’s in control.
“You have a mouth on you,” I say.
“Congratulations on your power of observation. That still doesn’t change the fact, we’re not getting married.”
This conversation is exasperating. “Have you talked to your father?”
Her disdainful smirk falls.
She doesn’t answer.