Chapter Twenty
ChapterTwenty
Elissa
I’m a nervous wreck as I walk into the Black Wells tower. I’m sweating through my blouse and it’s below freezing outside. I haul ass past the security guard with a nod and make a quick jaunt up to my office before the meeting. My office is still on the twenty-first floor as I refuse to take up residence in my father’s office on the twenty-second floor. I toss my jacket onto my desk and drop my clutch on my chair while I rummage through my desk to find my spare deodorant. I swipe the bar under my arms and pick up a file folder to fan and cool myself down. My heart is racing, and I’m feeling a little lightheaded as I try to control my breathing. I should have taken the day off, like Riley said. For fuck’s sake.
I grab the folder, my oversized clutch with my laptop and phone inside, and walk toward the washroom. I fluff my hair in the mirror, reapply my lipstick, and shake out my blouse, trying to settle my nerves. Bracing myself against the counter, I stare at my reflection, trying to psyche myself up. You can do it, Elissa. It’s just Brandt. You can still work with him…I hope.
Before I even reach the boardroom on the top level of the building, before I even leave the elevator, I feel the air humming with energy. My skin tingles and prickles with goosebumps as my limbs grow heavy. My tongue feels gritty, like the air is sucking all the moisture from my mouth. I roll my eyes shut, trying to brace myself for this interaction, but instead, all I smell is Brandt. His wintry, woodsy scent; like a burst of fresh air. My heaving lungs gulp air, bottling the scent inside, storing it for later. And when the doors slide open, I see his towering six-foot-one build and broad shoulders facing away from me, as he nods his head and chats with one of the board members, Donovan. I clench my insides, staving off the leaking that threatens just from looking at him. His strong, chiselled jaw and cheekbones are flawless as his perfect lips move, chuckling at whatever Donovan said.
It’s like I’m walking in slow motion, wading through the thickest of currents as I approach them. Brandt’s golden locks are styled to perfection. The sides are sheared close to his scalp, a new look for him. Fuck, does he look good. I notice my lips are parted, and I smash them shut before the drooling starts. With every step I take, the humming in my body turns to thrumming, and my heart is beating like a bass drum. I swear, if you were standing close enough to me, you would hear the rhythm pounding inside.
My skin prickles and burns as I near him, and my pussy and heart ache for the man that walked away. I shouldn’t feel like this. I should be fine. I should have someone balls deep into me by now. But all I see is him. Brandt. Tingles erupt in my fingers, and I want to reach out and slide my hand into his, locking our fingers together. I want to push his broad, sturdy chest until his back smacks against the wall, my hands sliding down his chest, over the crest of his straining pants as I lower myself to my knees. I want to hear the metal grind of the zip as my nimble fingers pull it down. I want to hook my fingers in the waistband of his pants and pull them down, boxers too, allowing his cock to spring free, bobbing in front of my face.
Pressing my thighs together, I stop dead in my tracks. I shake off this incessant wanting and try to refocus my thoughts on work. As I get closer to Donovan and Brandt, the hairs on my nape stand, an icy shiver runs down my spine, and a pang ripples through my heart. Fuck, I want him. I fucking need this man. Too bad he doesn’t want me. I offer the gentlemen a weak smile as I round the corner and head into the glass-walled conference room. Walking to the far side of the room, I place my stuff down at the head of the table and saunter over to the long, skinny table that holds pastries and coffee. I help myself to a cherry Danish and a large paper cup, filling it to the brim with coffee and heaps of sugar. The pulse under my skin thrums harder as I feel Brandt’s presence enter the room. I take my pastry and coffee and hurry back to my spot to avoid unnecessary conversation.
Once everyone is situated, coffees and pastries sitting in front of them, I clear my throat, stand, and smooth out my leather skirt. I press a couple of buttons on my laptop and it mirrors onto the projector screen behind me. My hand grasps the presentation clicker as I run through the sales of the last month from all our newspapers and magazine outlets. Everyone seems to nod and hum as I explain the sales targets for next month, and a scorching burn rolls over my body. Every inch of my flesh singes and burns. I know Brandt’s eyes are trained on me, and I don’t need to look to know that his stare is hard and fuelled with anger. Rolling my shoulders back and tossing my hair, I boost myself. Why the fuck is he furious? He’s the one who wanted things to end. When I finish with my portion of the meeting, I sit down and turn it over to Donovan to go over marketing strategies for boosting readership.
Still feeling the heated gaze on me, I refuse to acknowledge it. Like fuck if I’m going to willingly give him the satisfaction of knowing how badly this is fucking me up right now. But the thought of his eyes still focused on me does something to my stomach, as it flips and flops around inside me. My panties grow moist, knowing that I’m his sole focus right now, knowing that he isn’t paying attention to this meeting as much as I am. A fire ignites in my belly, and it takes all my willpower to continue this meeting and not adjourn early so I can take care of this burning fire that’s growing inside me. Thankfully, my phone distracts me from my thoughts.
Mother Dearest: Are you available for lunch today?
Weird, my mother never wants to get a meal together. I flip my phone over and ignore her message, trying to focus on the meeting, when my phone beeps again. I look around the room, but no one seems bothered by the interruption.
Mother Dearest: We can meet at that café by your work. Is noon okay?
I’m floored. I really don’t know how else to describe it. My mother wanting to get together for a meal. I can only imagine what horrors this meal will bring me. I tap out a quick reply.
Me: Fine. I’ll see you at noon. In a meeting.
···
The rest of the meeting was uneventful. I tried my hardest to keep my eyes focused on the screen, but caught myself glancing at Brandt a few times. His strong jaw seemed to clench every time my gaze landed on him. God, what I’d do to press my mouth against his jaw, feel his scruff against my lips. My lips tingle with the memory of him, and I absentmindedly brush my thumb against the bottom edge of my lip.
The bell rings above me as I walk into the café across the street, and I spot the familiar sleek copper hair twisted into a tight bun. My mother’s back is facing me, and I let my shoulders drop momentarily as I brace myself for this interaction. Taking a deep breath, I roll my posture and my heels click as I make my way over to her.
“Hi, Mother,” I mumble as I take the seat across from her, the chair scraping along the tiled floor. The scent of freshly baked pastries and bread mixed with the rich notes of coffee lingers in the air, causing a pang of hunger in my stomach. My mother’s lips purse in a tight smile.
“Hi, honey,” she says in a soft tone, her eyes focused on the menu in front of her. I stall for a minute, letting the term of endearment douse me in ice water. She only uses those words in front of other people, when she needs to hold up the appearance of being a loving and attentive mother. My fingers clack on the table as I wait for my mother to fully acknowledge me. She flags down the server to place her order. “Oh, great. I’ll have a Greek salad and an ice water with lemon.” Her eyes finally rest on me, and I blink and turn to the server.
“My regular, please. Thank you, Devin.” He nods as he scribbles down the order and then walks away. My mother is staring at me, eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights. “What?” I ask her.
“You come here often enough that you have a regular order?”
“Please don’t sound disgusted, Mother. It’s not like I’m at a greasy spoon asking for the sloppy joe. It’s a turkey sandwich.” I try to brush my mother’s comment off, but I feel the blood starting to simmer under my skin. She rolls her eyes and raises her hands in surrender. “So, why did you want to meet?”
Her eyes dart around the cafe, avoiding eye contact with me. Her body tenses and the vein in her neck throbs. Her perfectly French manicured hands rest on top of the table, twiddling her fingers in a rapid movement. She’s nervous.
“C’mon, Mother. What’s going on?” Her eyes meet mine and there’s moisture rimming the corners. She looks fragile, and I recognize the loneliness in her eyes. Collette lets out a careful breath.
“I just wanted to have lunch.”