Chapter 14
Lark
Why is he so concerned about me? What does he care? When he’s spent all week going out on dates with different women. Jealousy stabs my chest. Anger squeezes my guts. I bat away the confusing emotions.
It makes no difference to me what he does outside the office. He could have slept with a different woman each night, for all I care. He probably did. I can’t see Mr. Virility taking a woman out and not fucking her.
I curl my fingers into fists. Nope. Not going there. Don’t care for the images of his naked body moving with single-minded focus as he thrusts up and into some other pussy.
I gulp a few deep breaths, trying to ground myself.
His grandfather wants him to get married before the end of the year. Of course, he had to go on dates.
Then, there’s me. I am getting married before the end of the year.
I should marry him.
Gah. No. What? That’s such a stupid thought.
I shake my hair back from my face and notice the mistletoe tacked above us.
Brody made it clear his office was out of bounds for the festive décor.
The mistletoe at the threshold to his domain was as far as I could push it. I asked for it to hang there as an ironical gesture.
It hadn’t crossed my mind that we’d both be standing under it at the same time.
“You’re standing under the mistletoe.” The words are out before I can stop them.
He raises his gaze and notices it. When he looks at me again, the flash of awareness in his eyes, followed by how he fixes them on my lips, tells me exactly the directions his thoughts have taken.
The hair rises on the nape of my neck.
He’s so close, the heat from his body rolls over me in waves, engulfing me like a furnace that knows my name. The air between us crackles, charged and volatile.
His sheer size, the strength coiled beneath his tailored shirt, radiates a raw, masculine power that pulls at something deep inside me. It’s primal. Magnetic.
My breath hitches. My skin tightens. Every inch of me is aware of him. Of how solid he feels. How safe. How dangerous.
I want to rise up on my toes and press my mouth to his like it’s instinct. Like it’s oxygen. The need hits me like a freight train. Sudden, intense, undeniable.
I’ve never felt this overwhelming desire to be close to another person like this before.
No, not with my fiancé either.
That thought gives me pause. I can’t kiss my boss. I can’t ‘cheat’ on my fiancé. Even if he has been absentee.
Brody must read my thoughts on my face, for his features close. He steps back. Instantly, I miss the heat of his body.
“You didn’t answer my earlier question.”
“What’s that?” I frown.
“Why do you look so tired?”
I look away, then back at him. “I’ve been staying up nights reviewing the information for the board meeting. I’ve been prepping the slides, working through the numbers, and putting the finishing touches on the pitch.”
“But it’s nothing you can’t handle.”
The certainty in his voice gives me pause. “You have that much confidence in me?”
“I wouldn’t have asked you to run it in my place if I didn’t.”
My heart blooms in my chest. A flush of happiness unfurls under my skin. Praise from him means so much to me. It feels so good to be acknowledged and appreciated by him. And that he believes in me means everything.
“But that’s not what’s bothering you.”
I gape at him. How did he guess? Has he gotten to know me so well in such little time?
“Is it the dress?” He slips his hand inside the pocket of his pants.
I strive hard not to notice how his gesture tightens the fabric of his pants around his powerful thighs. Not that I haven’t sneaked a look in the past. There’s only so much I can resist when I’m faced with his hotness on a daily basis.
I’m so distracted, I don’t reply right away.
“I mean, the wedding dress,” he prompts me.
I frown. How does he know I’ve been eyeing the gorgeous wedding dresses on the site of one of the foremost designers in the country.
“The screen of your device was open on the website of Karma West Sovrano’s atelier,” he replies in answer to my unspoken question.
He must have noticed it during one of our meetings when I placed my device on the desk between us.
“I’m not searching for my dress on company time, if that’s what you’re implying.” I cross my arms across my chest.
He sighs. “I wasn’t implying that.”
I flush at the sincerity in his words. “Of course, not. And I can’t afford a Karma West Sovrano dress anyway.”
“But you would have liked to have worn one of them to your wedding?”
“Who wouldn’t?” I wave a hand in the air. “But I’ve found a dress at an alternate High Street Label.” Not as good, but it’ll have to do.
“So, what is it then? What’s bothering you?”
He narrows his gaze, and it’s as if he can see right through to the knot of worries in my chest.
I instinctively realize that I can’t lie to him. He’ll spot it right away. I blow out a breath. “Do you really want to hear this?”
“I assure you, I do.” His body settles into a waiting stance to punctuate the patience behind his words.
He can be an annoying jerkface. But as our working relationship has developed, he’s beginning to trust me more. Otherwise, he wouldn't have delegated so much of his workload to me. Maybe, it's time for me to trust him.
I rub at my forehead. “It’s the wedding planning." I sigh. "It’s been stressful.”
“And isn’t your…fiancé”—he bites off the word like it’s a hunk of plastic clogging his mouth—“helping you?”
I start to laugh, then realize, he's serious. “He’s, ah… He’s busy traveling for work.”
His nostrils flare. A look of anger flashes across his features, followed by something like steely resolve.
He lowers his voice. “If you were mine, I would be with you, planning our wedding every step of the way.”
Oh my God. He said ‘mine’ in that growly voice of his, and I swear, my ovaries quivered. And my core clenched. And I'm pretty sure my panties are wet.
“If you were mine, I’d never let you out of my sight.” His eyes flash. “I’d make sure you never felt unsupported during this entire process.
“If you were mine—”
“But I’m not.” I say it to remind him and me that our relationship is strictly professional.
He stiffens. His shoulders bunch. There’s a moment of desolation on his face. Only, it’s replaced quickly by a mask which feels impenetrable.
“I hope the wedding planning goes smoothly.” He pivots and walks back to his desk.
I want to apologize for what I said. But it’s the truth. I’m not his. He’s not mine. I work for him; that’s the only thing that binds us. So why do I feel so bereft? Like I did something wrong?
He snatches up his phone. When he looks at me again, his features are more composed. “The board meeting is in two days. Are you ready for it?”
The oak table gleams under the lights, so polished I can see my own reflection in its surface. The length stretches from one end of the room to the other. It’s designed to make you look small. Forgettable. If I give into it, that is. Which I’m not going to do.
I haven’t had the chance to exchange more than a few words with Brody since our last conversation. Our encounters have been professional. He hasn’t given any hint of being pissed off by our last conversation either.
Now that he’s handed over the lead on many of the meetings he chairs with the team, I spend most of my day in video conferences and meetings.
Brody, on the other hand, spends more time out of the office. The change in his daily schedule and mine, is astonishing.
I take in the tinsel strung across the conference-room ceiling, the bowls of candy canes I asked the team to set at intervals along the table, and the soft glow from the string of warm fairy lights draped across the windowsills.
Little things, but they put my mark on this meeting.
I asked the team to add them, a splash of warmth in a room that usually feels like an ice bath. Somehow, it steadies me. Pushes back the doubts gathering like storm clouds in my chest. Gives me the courage to sit up straighter.
On my first day, Brody made me reschedule this board meeting and then told me I’d be leading it.
Here I am, two weeks into the job, stepping into the role of CEO to chair the meeting. My heart is jittery, my palms damp, but I am ready to crush it.
My love life might be a spectacular mess, but at least here, in this room, I get a chance to shine. I look out at the ring of skeptical faces, inhale once, and welcome them to the table.
“We’ll begin with the earnings projections for Q4.” I keep my voice calm.
“Earnings?” Edgar Kingston, co-chair of the board, a man old enough to be my grandfather, with a full head of silver, sniffs from near the end of the table. “Brody’s the one most familiar with the figures. No need to trouble yourself with this.”
The laughter that follows scrapes across my skin. I breathe in and out slowly, reminding myself I am the queen of business dynamics. That this boardroom bullying doesn’t bother me. That Brody believes in me. Which further helps calm my nerves.
That’s when the door to the room opens, and the man himself walks in as if I conjured him. Brody takes a seat halfway down the table. He glances around the table, exchanging pleasantries with a few of the members. Even seated, he’s taller and broader than the others at the table.
There’s a magnetism to him which draws the eye. An energy around him that’s both dynamic and appealing. Also, God help me, he’s wearing his spectacles.
How am I supposed to focus on the darn numbers in front of me when he’s sitting there looking like a brooding, sexier, more lethal version of Clark Kent?
He nods in my direction, and I take it as a signal to continue.
“I’ll walk you through the briefing I circulated yesterday.” I school my expression into a cool I-don’t-care mask. “If you’ve read it, you’ll find the results familiar. If you haven’t… Then perhaps, take notes this time.”
Their smirks falter.
In the silence that follows, I can feel a hiss of approval ripple through the air. And his gaze, hot and heavy, lingers on me like a touch. I drink it in. God, how I crave it. Being the sole focus of Brody Davenport’s attention is a high I’d do anything to feel.
It coils heat low in my belly. It’s intoxicating. Erotic. Addictive. I didn’t realize how much I missed being seen like this. And now that I have it, I don’t ever want to stop being the center of his world
I keep going, flipping through slides, reciting numbers, countering their interruptions with crisp answers.
Each barb makes my pulse skitter, but I refuse to let it get to me.
I meet every question thrown my way with clear, cogent answers.
A strange thrill runs through me. A pulse of kinetic energy that keeps me focused and my thoughts fluid.
I feel calm, collected, eerily composed.
Like I’m where I’m supposed to be. In this chair.
Facing off against those around the table.
Showing them how good I am at this. I can do this. I am good at this.
“And that’s my plan to grow profits by ten percent for next year.” I glance around the table.
“Impressive.” The only other woman in the room smiles.
That would be Ursula Dalton, the treasurer to the board. She’s around fifty, not a hair out of place, flawless makeup, and a designer suit that makes me aware of my High Street purchased jacket and skirt. “I’m sure you’ll understand when I wonder if you had help preparing those projections."
Silence descends on the table. All eyes are turned toward me.
Brody leans forward in his seat but doesn’t jump to my defense.
Thank God. If he’d done that, it would've shown I can’t steer the meeting without his help.
It would've negated all the impact I’ve made so far. It also shows he has confidence in me.
I take my time gathering my thoughts.
I can’t be rude. But I also can’t take this insult without responding to it.
“I can assure you, the financials in this statement were put together by me.” I let the silence stretch, then tilt my head, cool and deliberate.
“If you have any questions related to the numbers, I’d be more than happy to clarify. ”