11. Straw into Gold #3
“Except I didn’t,” he says, “you caught my curveball and scored another goal.”
If I’m not mistaken, that almost sounded like a compliment. I prop my hand on my hip, still not convinced of his sincerity. “I think fast on my feet.”
He glances over his shoulder, his sharp profile bathed in flickering white light. “It’s fascinating.”
“What is?”
“What you’re capable of.”
I roll my eyes. Here we go again. “Okay. I’m an excellent liar. We’ve already established that. Let’s talk about why you’re trying to sabotage me.”
“Why would I want to sabotage you?”
“Because you know I’m a fraud and you can’t stand to see me succeed.” I square my shoulders, daring him to challenge my statement. “You want to unmask me in front of the board, strip away my ASSET expertise—”
“But you have no ASSET expertise!”
“Exactly! You won’t be satisfied until the entire data analytics department knows it. That’s why you agreed to help me, isn’t it? You waited a month, biding your time, making these slides out of spite…” I shake my head, disgusted by Rhys’ vile plans, “just so you could own me.”
Rhys lets my accusation settle in silence.
He inhales, then exhales. “Let’s get a few things straight.
First, get your finger out of my face. It’s making me nervous.
Second, you clearly have a lot of issues, a crippling case of imposter syndrome being one of them.
Third,” he moseys over to the far end of the conference table and plops himself in the CEO’s seat, “I need to sit down because the list is long. I suggest you do the same.”
“I’m fine standing.”
“Suit yourself. Third…” Steepling his fingers, he leans forward like the evil villain he is, “Why the hell would I want to sabotage you? I did all that work on the ASSET and made those slide decks because you paid me. I don’t want you to fail.
I want you to succeed. You’re my side hustle.
Thanks to your incompetence, I can now afford to move into a condo in Culver City. ”
My eyes widen. “You moved to Culver City? I didn’t realize I’m paying you that much...” I’m still renting. Why don’t I have a condo? How much is Rhys being paid at his job, anyway?
“1500 square feet,” he says. “It’s nice. 1.5 baths.”
“I have two actual bathrooms.” I’m mentally comparing his square footage to mine. I bet he doesn’t have a ‘slice’ of ocean view.
“I have two designated parking spaces.”
My eyes widen. “What?” My apartment only has one “sometimes” designated space and first-come, first-serve street parking. Depending on who comes home first, Angie and I have to hustle for a space, or one of us is shit-outta-luck and doomed to park blocks away. “Well, aren’t you lucky?”
“I am.” Rhys nods. “Do you want to come over?”
“You’re asking me over?”
“That’s what I said.”
I hesitate for a beat. “Why?” I try to ask casually.
“Don’t you think it’s time you learned how to use the ASSET so you’ll know what you’re talking about?”
He says this so casually I almost missed the implication. Wait. Is he actually inviting me over to his place? To his lair under the pretext of tutoring? Angie’s theory sounds more reasonable by the moment. So the time has come. He’s finally calling in his favors. Sexual favors.
“Uh-huh. And you’re going to give me a personal tutorial at ‘your place’?” I refrain from finger-quoting ‘your place’, but the implication is there.
Unfortunately, the subtext goes past Rhys’ head. “Or we can do it at your place if you prefer,” he counters.
Yup. Suspicions confirmed. Just wait till Angie gets a load of this.
I swallow the knot in my throat. “What’s wrong with meeting at a cafe?”
“We’ll need time to get you up to speed,” Rhys says. “I’d feel bad about taking up a table for too long. Plus, the ASSET requires confidential handling.”
“I bet it does.” Something tells me he’s not talking about the ASSET. But if using ASSET analogies gets him to lay out his cards, I’ll play along…
“I wouldn’t want to be flashing the ASSET around in public,” Rhys continues, oblivious to the shift in my tone. “I’d also wear something comfortable. It’s going to be a long training session and, no offense, you strike me as the type who’ll need multiple rounds of practice.”
Well, well... For a man who has never pleasured a woman, he certainly thinks highly of his skills. I shake my head, not sure if I should be alarmed, disgusted, or amused by his boldness.
If he thinks he can get me in the sack in exchange for doing my homework, he’s living on a prayer. I may be a liar, but I’m not easy.
I am, however, curious. Not about what he’s like in bed.
He’s probably horrible. That much I can already guess.
I’m curious about his condo. And how far he’s willing to take this charade.
It speaks volumes about how little I have going on in my social life that I’m willing to play along and hold my hand over an open flame.
To be simultaneously terrified yet bored at work has placed me upon an existential path no normal woman would ever be tempted to trek.
I just want to see his plans, what moves, if any, he intends to make.
It’s like a bad soap opera. I’m already in this deep. I can’t quit now.
“Okay,” I squeak out. “Tonight at seven. Your place.” I meet his gaze. “My roommate will know where I am.”
“Sure,” he says, unfazed by my warning. If he tries anything, or if I don’t return by morning, Angie’s got my back. By the way, I’ve graduated from self-defense training with honors, and I’m armed with pepper spray. If he tries to grope, I’ll beat his skinny ass.
Rhys takes a deep breath. “I finally know what I want from you,” he declares without bothering to explain himself.
“Is it something I can give?”
“I think you can,” he says, gnawing on his nails again. His leg begins to jimmy. Nervous? Why is he nervous?
“Will I like it?”
“That depends.” He hesitates for a beat without meeting my eyes. “Knowing you, probably not.”
This is not reassuring. This mysterious request can only mean he wants a blow job.
I can’t wait to turn him down and give him a piece of my mind. With a sigh, I rap my knuckles against the beautifully lacquered conference table. It’s real oak, not laminate. My desk is made of the same material. Rylan spares no expense.
Just so we’re clear. I’m not giving him a blow job. Not for all the money in the world. Not if my job depended on it. Not even if my life depended on it. Hell would have to freeze over before I put his —
“You have another weird look on your face,” Rhys comments.
“Well, this conversation’s put a bad taste in my mouth.” I get up, turning my back to him so he can’t see my steaming red cheeks. “I’m going to make a cappuccino.”
Rhys pokes his head up. “Can I have one too?”
“I suppose,” I say grudgingly, eyeing him as he follows me out of the conference room. “How do you take it?”
“Extra foam.”
“I bet you do.”