Chapter Fifteen Gemma
Chapter Fifteen
Gemma
My face scrunches in disgust as I open the chat with Tim on KinkApp.
He’s sent me a nude.
Again.
“Ugh,” I groan. “I didn’t like what you had to offer the last time, Tim. Sorry. But it’s time to pack your bags. You’ve been voted off the island,” I say, muttering to myself as the lift ascends.
“What are you on about now?” Henry asks, peeking over my shoulder. He catches sight of the photos before I have the chance to hit the block button.
“Well, that’s underwhelming,” he says. “I’ve seen more impressive pickles at Tesco.”
“Hey, you have a boyfriend. You don’t get to look,” I say, pulling my phone into my chest to hide the screen.
“I’m a human being, Gemma. I can look if I want to,” he says, shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly. “Besides, Nate and I have an understanding—I can window-shop as long as I don’t buy anything. And trust me, I wouldn’t even think about putting that in my cart.”
“It’s basically a clit,” I say.
“What does he expect you to do with it?” Henry asks.
“Hence why I sent him on his merry way on Friday.”
“Good choice.”
I perk up, hopeful. “Speaking of choices, have you heard anything about Max making a decision yet?”
He shakes his head. “No comms came in over the weekend. I’m assuming we’ll find out today.”
I blow out a breath, nodding in acceptance. The doors slide open, and Henry follows me to my office. My pulse spikes when we pass Louise in the kitchenette, laughing like a hyena with Chadwick.
“Why is the CEO in the kitchen? He never comes down to these floors.”
“Not sure,” Henry says.
“Do you think we should be worried?” I ask, glancing at Henry.
“About Louise’s hideous laugh or about her and Theo stealing the account?” he asks, closing my office door behind us.
“Both. She’s such a kiss arse,” I say, dropping my handbag and coat beside my desk.
“It’s not up to Chadwick, and Max doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who buys into schmoozing.” He perches on my desk as I take a seat and log in to my computer.
I have no idea how Max is going to react after running into him on Friday. He essentially propositioned me, and I rejected him.
And now my body is electric with nerves, wondering if I did the right thing. What does Max Browne do when he’s rejected? Is he emotionally mature enough to stay professional inside the office? Will he see my rejection as a challenge, or will he use it as a catalyst to get rid of me?
I hate not knowing.
“I’m nervous, Henry.” I glance at the door to make sure it’s closed and lower my voice. “After what happened on Friday at Ruby Lounge… I don’t know what Max will be thinking,” I say, allowing myself to be vulnerable with him.
That’s the thing about Henry and me—he knows all the dirty details of my dating life. I called him right after shopping with the girls on Saturday and spilled everything about my Ruby run-in with Max.
What makes our relationship work so well is the unspoken rule: What happens outside these office walls stays there.
Yes, he’s technically my boss, but he would never hold my personal choices against me.
The line between Max and me is already blurred as hell, and Henry knows that, but he knows I’d never let a man—no matter how irritatingly attractive—compromise my work.
I never have. I never will. My vagina and my career have an understanding—they operate on entirely different circuits.
Henry folds his arms over his chest. “My guess? He wouldn’t let that dictate the job.
This account is career-defining for him—more so than it is for us.
He’s not going to mess it up over running into you at some club.
” He pauses, considering. “Anna’s level-headed, right?
I can’t imagine her brother making business decisions based on something so… personal.”
I lean forward. “It wasn’t just some club, Henry. It was a sex club.”
He shrugs. “So what? You have similar interests.”
“I rejected him,” I deadpan.
He straightens his spine. “He’ll probably respect you more for it. I know I would.”
I shoot him a look. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
His eyes narrow. “When have I ever said anything just to make you feel better?”
He has a point. Henry is brutally honest.
“Fair,” I say, straightening a pile of papers that doesn’t need straightening. “So, what now? Just wait?”
“Yes. And when Max makes his decision, we’ll either celebrate or drink ourselves into oblivion. Either way, there will be alcohol.”
I press my palms together in a prayer position. “Amen.”
My pulse kicks into overdrive as Henry and I make our way to the CEO’s office. The call came just after lunch—Chadwick wants us to join a meeting with him and Max regarding the campaign.
This is it.
We either keep it, or we lose it.
I swear to God, if Louise steals this project from me because I have voluptuous breasts that two thin pieces of silk couldn’t hold together, I’ll go apeshit.
The silence between Henry and me is deafening. Neither of us has said a word. We’re both too busy clenching our cheeks to avoid shitting ourselves. It feels like we’re being marched into a room where we have to choose the red pill or the blue pill.
We step into the lift and Henry rubs a comforting circle over my back, soothing my anxiety.
I shoot Henry a thankful smile and I blow out a deep breath when the lift pings and the doors slide open.
Max is there. Perched on the edge of Molly’s desk while she leans forward, batting her lashes and pushing out her tits.
That’s my move.
Ugh. I hate the wave of annoyance that rushes through me, my skin heating as I watch the exchange.
Am I jealous?
Ew.
What is happening to me? I don’t get jealous. I like Molly. It’s not her fault that Max is flirting with her. And to be honest, I can hardly blame the woman. The man is sex on legs.
Molly’s only ever been friendly toward me and works her arse off for Henry and the rest of the executive team.
She’s a wonderful secretary. It infuriates me that Max has somehow unlocked emotions I thought I’d successfully buried years ago.
I’m Gemma Clarke, for crying out loud—I make other people jealous.
This is uncharted territory, and I don’t like it one bit.
I’ve spent years perfecting the art of not giving a shit, and now I’m suddenly possessive over a man I barely know.
It must be stress.
It’s the only feasible explanation. Or simply that I haven’t had a decent shag in weeks and I have all this pent-up stress that Tim couldn’t assist me with.
Yeah, that’s it.
I’m just horny.
“You’ve got this. We’ll be totally fine,” Henry says, cutting through my mini meltdown.
I tear my eyes away from Max, forcing myself to remember what matters here. My career.
Molly’s phone rings, and Max casts his gaze away from her while she answers it in hushed tones.
Max turns his head, immediately locking eyes with me.
“Gemma, good morning,” he says, nodding in acknowledgment.
It’s like staring into twin oceans, crystal blue whirlpools pulling me under and losing me to infinity. I almost forget to breathe. He’s so handsome it’s offensive.
The corner of his lips tugs upward as he stands to full height, straightening the lapels of his navy jacket.
His eyes heat as he watches me move toward him, as if he’s tracked down fresh prey. Instinct tells me to ignore him because he was just caught flirting with the executive team’s secretary, but my body hasn’t got the memo.
“Max,” I reply, lifting my chin in greeting. “Good morning.”
“How was your weekend?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.
My eyes turn to slits. “Great, thanks. How was yours?”
He shrugs, smirking. “Could have been better.”
The turd. He’s referring to Friday night.
“Good to see you,” Henry interrupts, stepping forward to shake his hand.
“You too, mate,” Max says, shaking his hand and clapping Henry on the shoulder.
Molly hangs up the phone. “Max, Henry, and Gemma, that was Chadwick. He’s ready for you now.”
“Thanks, Molly,” Max says, shooting her a panty-dropping smile. I clench my jaw.
We follow Max down the corridor, my eyes glued to how good his arse looks in those tailored suit trousers.
As we approach Chadwick’s office, his door swings open to reveal a very sullen, very disappointed-looking Louise and Theo.
We step aside to let them by, and as Louise passes, she mutters a quiet “Fuck you” under her breath.
I roll my lips to avoid smiling. I can taste the victory already, and it’s sweet.
My shoulders deflate, releasing all the tension I’ve been holding since stepping foot in the building this morning.
“Henry, Gemma.” Chadwick’s deep voice booms from where he sits in the center of the room. “Take a seat.”
There are three chairs arranged in front of Chadwick’s desk, one isolated on the left and two positioned on the right. Max claims the lone seat while we occupy the others.
“Max, I appreciate you stepping out so I could talk to Louise and Theo.” His tone is neutral but obvious. He just delivered bad news.
“I’m sure you both know why you’re here,” Chadwick says, leaning back in his chair.
Henry and I nod in unison. I cross my legs, fidgeting with my fingers.
“Max, share the exciting news.” Chadwick gestures toward us.
Exciting news? Bleedin’ hell. I woke up this morning thinking there was a decent chance we were getting the ax, but now I’m practically vibrating in my seat.
Max turns his body to address us, and a wide smile spreads across his gorgeous face.
There’s something almost predatory in his eyes when they hold mine.
“After careful consideration, I couldn’t go past your incredible pitch. Your ideas for the campaign were exceptional—innovative but practical, bold without carrying too much risk.” He leans forward slightly. “The way you captured the essence of what we want Gray Hotel to be…”
He stares directly at me for the next part.
“You are exactly what I am looking for.”
Henry turns to me with a What was that? expression.
Were those words supposed to have a deeper meaning? My base desires want them to.
Max continues. “You both know London intimately, and more importantly, you understand our target demographic very well. That’s ultimately what won you the project.
Gray Hotel would be honored to work with you to bring this vision to life.
” Max’s eyes linger on mine for a beat longer than necessary when he says the next part.
“I, personally, am looking forward to our collaboration.”
The breath is sucked out of me. The way he says collaboration makes my insides tingle in a way that has nothing to do with professional pride and everything to do with my libido.
Henry and Chadwick begin to discuss timelines and other tidbits, but their voices fade into the background as I notice Max watching me. The way we stare at each other feels like the room has emptied, leaving the two of us locked in this moment.
He knows what this means for me. For Henry. For our careers. This isn’t just another project; it’s validation for everything we’ve worked hard to achieve.
It tells me that he trusts us.
It’s going to be okay. We haven’t lost anything.
I try to convey everything I’m feeling without words, without the physical intimacy which I’m used to—gratitude and relief pool in my eyes as tears subtly gather along my lash line.
I inhale deeply, keeping the tears at bay.
Momentarily, I allow my professional facade to slip just enough to reveal how thankful I am underneath.
I allow him to see my unfiltered appreciation.
Time slows as he holds my focus. His expression shifts slightly.
The hardness in his eyes softens and surprise flashes across his face, like he’s seeing me—really seeing me—for the first time.
He looks at me with what I can only describe as understanding.
It’s a look that feels intimate. Right now, he isn’t arrogant.
He isn’t whispering sweet temptations in my ear.
He isn’t Anna’s brother. He’s just Max, seeing Gemma.
The Gemma I allow a very select few to see.
Not the creative director. Not Anna’s friend, not the woman from Ruby Lounge—just me.
Eventually, Henry clears his throat, and I dart my gaze around the room, seeing he and Chadwick have finished their conversation.
Henry stands at the same time Chadwick does, reaching over to shake his hand. “Well done, you two,” Chadwick says.
“Thank you, sir,” Henry replies before turning to Max. “We look forward to working with you.”
Max frowns slightly, as if he’s confused about what just passed between us. “Yeah,” he says. “You too.”
I stand, smoothing the fabric of my skirt before extending my own hand to shake Chadwick’s. When I look back at Max, I can see his mask has slid back into place. But it’s too late—I’ve seen him without it now.
I extend my hand to shake his.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
“You earned it, Gemma,” he says.
As his hand clasps mine, his thumb brushes deliberately across my knuckles. The touch is subtle. It isn’t sleazy but comforting.
I swallow the lump in my throat, release his hold, and nod before following Henry out.
I know there’s another side to Max that exists beneath his cool exterior now. And I suspect neither of us will be able to unsee whatever it was we just shared.