Chapter 7
SEVEN
Bennett
I haven’t left my hotel room today. A wiser man would have checked out, gone to stay at the Mandarin Oriental. Gone to stay with Worth in his brownstone. Hired an RV and slept in that, for crying out loud.
But here I am, sitting at the desk in the living area of my suite.
Waiting.
For Efa.
I could have had my team call her yesterday and ask her to sign an NDA, but something about her tells me she’d be more likely to make a fuss if I’d had someone call her than if I left it alone. It was a gamble.
Only time will tell if it will pay off.
A knock at the door sets my pulse off to a gallop. I’ve pressed the light to say that I want my room serviced, but I don’t know who is going to walk through that door.
The lock clicks open and a trill call of “housekeeping” follows. I can’t tell if it’s her and I won’t turn to look. Not yet. I don’t want to appear eager. Or desperate. But that’s exactly how I feel.
“Sir, you had your light on. Would you like us to come back later?” a voice asks.
I turn to find an older woman, her hair up in a bun on the top of her head. I can’t remember if she was the woman with Efa yesterday. “Please go ahead,” I say, and then Efa appears behind her, head down, like she’s trying to avoid my gaze.
I turn back to my computer.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t know how to play this. Should I try to convince her I’m not Ben Fort? I’m not sure she’s convincible. I saw certainty in her eyes when she said the name yesterday.
I keep working, hoping a neat solution will come to me.
As I go through a presentation I’ve been sent, I’m aware there are people in the suite, but I don’t know who’s where and I try to bury myself in my work.
I don’t know how much time passes before someone passes by my desk and my gaze snags on the hem of her skirt, the curve of her leg. I don’t have to trail my gaze up any higher to know it’s Efa. I know those legs. I’ve had my hands—my mouth, my tongue—on those legs.
I continue to stare as she organizes the pillows on the sofa across the room, her back to me. As she moves, I can see the outline of her backside and remember how it felt to slide my hands across it, to press my palm into her skin as I pushed into her from behind.
Fuck. I turn back to my screen and try to concentrate.
But it’s not much use.
I can hear her behind the bar.
I’m aware of her everywhere.
I turn and our eyes meet immediately. I go to speak, but she puts a finger over her mouth and flicks her eyes toward the bathroom in warning. We’re not alone.
As I turn back to my laptop, the older woman emerges and scurries over to Efa. They have a short conversation that’s so quiet, I wouldn’t even know they were talking if I weren’t so tuned in to Efa’s every movement.
Efa nods and the woman tucks something into her pocket before heading out the front door. It closes with a click.
“She’s gone?” I ask.
Efa nods.
“Have you told anyone?” I ask. It’s a juvenile question. If she has, she’s not going to admit it.
“I want a job,” she replies.
“I’m not going to get you fired,” I say. Is that what she thinks of me? I’m not an asshole, despite what my friends might say.
“Not here,” she says like I’m an idiot. “I want a job at—” She stops and looks over her shoulder, even though we’re the only two people in this suite. “At Fort,” she whispers.
“What kind of job?” I ask.
“I don’t care as long as it’s with you.” She must see my expression of shock when she says the words. “Not you , you. You, because you’re CEO at Fort. Let me sharpen pencils. I don’t care what job. Any job. I want to learn. It’s part of the reason I wanted to come to New York. I wanted to work for you—Fort, I mean.”
“What if I say no?”
A crease appears between her brows. “I won’t give up. I think I’d be an asset.”
“What do you mean you won’t give up?” I ask. Do I believe she’s my stalker? No. Do I believe she’s not told anyone who I am? Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I trust her. Does it? I don’t trust anyone.
“I mean, I’ll do whatever it takes for you to give me a job.”
I was afraid of this. Even if she stumbled onto my identity accidentally, and our meeting wasn’t premeditated, she has all the power now.
“So you’d blackmail me?” I ask.
“What? That’s not what I’m saying. I’m asking you for a job.”
“And if I say no?”
She comes out from behind the bar and heads toward me. On the way, she spots something on the coffee table in front of the sofa. She stops, rubs whatever it is with the blue cloth she’s holding. As she bends, I can see down the front of her uniform, her milky, soft skin that I know tastes delicious, the valley between her breasts that my tongue has traveled. I can’t look away. It’s like I’ve developed a fault and I’ve lost all self-control. I’m Narcissus addicted to his reflection, Icarus flying toward the sun. No matter that the woman in front of me could ruin me, I can’t stop staring.
She bends lower now. She’s discovered something else. Her dress rides up her thighs and I’m practically panting because I want the material to go higher. And even though I’ve seen it all before, I want more.
Abruptly, she stands and resumes her journey toward me.
“If you say no…” She stands before me and puts one hand on a hip. “You can’t say no. Or at least, you shouldn’t. I’m clever. I graduated almost top of my class. I’m discreet, as you know. I’ll be a real asset. Plus, I’m British. Every organization can benefit from someone with a different accent on staff.”
The last thing I need at work is this woman, distracting me just walking across the office. “Discreet?” I ask, intrigued.
“Christ on a bike, you don’t need to act dumb. I know exactly who you are and we banged. I’ve not told a soul about either thing. And believe me, there are plenty of people who would like to know. Focus on the positive: fresh blood, new eyes. I’ll be good for you.”
Her words vibrate in my chest and I take a deep breath, trying to push them aside.
“We have plenty of fresh blood. What will you do if I say no?”
“I’ll convince you.” She glances around the room. “Look how well I clean your room. I’ve only been at the job for two days and look how quickly I’ve picked everything up. I’m the same with coding. Precise. Committed. Detail-orientated. I don’t stop until everything is complete.
“And it’s not just coding I’m good at. Algos are my jam. I did a module on data security too. Best of all, I want to learn . From the best.”
“I don’t sleep with my employees,” I say.
“Okay, well… bummer, but we won’t sleep together.”
“That ship has sailed.” Much to my dick’s disappointment, judging by my current blood flow.
“Clean slate. We can pretend it never happened.”
My eyes widen. “Really?” I ask. It’s teasing. Borderline flirtatious, but I just can’t help it. There’s no way she’s going to forget coming so often in one night. It was more than obvious that it wasn’t a regular occurrence.
“I’m sure the memories will fade with time.” She narrows her eyes slightly. “But if you wanted to relax the rule about not fucking the staff, I’d be happy to… keep those memories sharp.”
A smile curls around her lips, and I shake my head with a small grin.
I stand so we’re facing each other. “Problem is, I can’t hire you, because I still want to fuck you.”
What is the matter with me? I should be doing damage control. This woman should have already had correspondence with my lawyers. I’m setting myself up for a fall—which I never do, both on principle and for practicality.
“I don’t see how wanting to fuck me is a problem,” she replies. “The feeling is entirely mutual. But however good it was, I’ll take a job over your dick.”
I can’t help but burst out laughing. They say the British are reserved. Not this Brit.
“I’m not hiring you.”
“I’m not giving up,” she says. “What if I go through the proper channels? You can put me through the recruitment process. That seems fair. If I get through, I get through. If I don’t, I don’t.”
She doesn’t know that there isn’t a recruitment process. I do all the hiring and firing, and I go by a candidate’s skill set and my gut. Most recruits are brought to me by a current member of staff.
“No,” I say simply, and turn back to my computer. She sighs, and I try to ignore the way the sound slips through my veins like morphine, making my limbs weak and my mind putty.
“I’m not giving up,” she says.
I don’t respond.
“But I’m pissed off,” she says. “You won’t recruit me. And I can’t sleep with you again because I know it would limit my chances even further.”
She’s right. It’s a lose-lose for her.
And for me. I can’t sleep with her, even if I’m very clear that she’s not going to work for Fort Inc. It would feel like taking advantage. And I can’t sleep with her even if for some reason I could employ her, because that would be taking advantage too.
There aren’t many people who would describe me as unlucky, but that’s how I feel right now.
The sound of the suite door clicking catches our attention at the same time and our gazes lock, as if we’re about to get caught doing something we shouldn’t.
We’re not doing anything to feel guilty about, though. Unfortunately.