5. Carter
Carter
H ow he managed to keep a straight face, he didn’t know. The poor woman was sitting in front of him with her hands knotted on her knees, on top of the folder she’d brought with her, eyes down, looking contrite like a naughty kid sent into the principal’s office.
Painfully aware that a dozen people were looking at them through the translucent walls, not even bothering to hide it, he willed himself to remain professional at all cost.
Damn, he was so close to cracking up.
“So.”
He left the word hanging between them without adding anything for a minute. When she stole a peek at him, he just couldn’t help shooting her an amused smirk.
That surprised her; her wide eyes bulged on her pretty face.
“ Tame Me If You Can? ”
“I can explain.”
He lifted an eyebrow, increasingly amused.
“I found the content quite self-explanatory. I take it this is my contract,” he asked, pointing to the document sitting on her pretty legs, blocking his view.
She wore something surprising today; not quite office-appropriate.
The casual burgundy dress finished a good four inches above her knees, and was pretty form-fitting on her impressive rack.
He approved. Almost as much as her messy hairdo; rather than the prim and proper usual style, she’d just pulled it into a messy bun.
He didn’t even think she wore any make up.
Strangely, she looked her age, for once, and she was considerably more sensual.
This was probably how Cassie dressed outside of the office: effortlessly charming, casual.
The women he frequented never looked like that. Ever. Probably because he took them to galas, formal dinners, and art gallery openings. Cassie struck him as the kind who’d prefer a cinema date.
Fuck. Why the hell was he thinking about dating, now?
He didn’t do the whole dating thing. He had simple, straightforward arrangements that could be summarized in one simple sentence: he wined, dined, and fucked his conquests.
That was it. No room for cinema, or movie night on the couch with Buddy tucked between them on the sofa.
Great. He’d even brought his damn dog into his stupid fantasy.
“Yes,” she said, getting up to slide the folder on his side of his desk. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened…”
“Simple mistake. Thank you for bringing it back, Cassie. You can get back to work.”
He watched her with amusement as she hurried towards the door, before slowing down and turning back to him.
“Excuse me, sir?”
Oh, sweetheart. Don’t call me sir.
After reading her admittedly poor attempt at writing BDSM, he couldn’t help imagining all kind of naughty things when that word passed her lips.
Please, sir, may I be allowed to come on your tongue?
“Yes, Cassie?”
His voice was intense, thick with forbidden desires, and she must have heard it because she looked up. Good. He liked when she met his eyes – which wasn’t often.
The fleeting moment passed too soon.
“My… manuscript. You have my manuscript, sir.”
“Yes. Yes, Cassandra, I do have your manuscript,” he replied, smirking again.
On that note, he opened up the contract and started working, silently dismissing her.
God, she was fun to play with. But he was going to have to drop the scary facade if he ever wanted her to chill out enough to enjoy her time around him.
Operation Friends-With-Cassie would be underway shortly.
Cassie
F or once, Cassie was delighted that her job could have been done by a chimpanzee; she functioned on automatic pilot. She was solely running on caffeine, which didn’t help, but to be entirely honest, even at the top of her form, she wouldn’t have known what to make of the recent events.
On the abysmal side, all her nightmares had come true.
Her book – her very explicit book, she might add – had gone to the sexiest, most intimidating man she knew, a guy who’d been named pretty high up on the list of Hottest Man Alive seven years in a row.
On the plus side, apparently, and despite the fact that Mr. Hot Pants was her boss, she still had a job.
On the bizarre and incomprehensible side of the scale, the man still had the damn manuscript.
Things went from confusing and peculiar to super extra weird when, two days later – after the executives had finally relocated back to their own floors – she heard footsteps, and turned to find a smiling Carter Harris in front of her desk.
God, no man should be allowed to look quite so handsome; the dark hair, usually brushed away from his face and parted on the side, was a little bit messy, curlier than usual, and the two top buttons of his shirt were open, giving her a peek of his muscular chest.
She might have licked her lips before redirecting her gaze on her desktop, guessing that the CEO was most probably there to see someone high up.
Michelle was on him within seconds, she saw from the corner of her eyes; she had her scariest fake smile plastered on her recently Botoxed lips.
“Mr. Harris. How may I help you?”
“You may not. Ms. Franklin and I have some business to discuss.”
That got her to look up. Michelle stood there, mouth open in shock as she stared at her like she’d grown a second head.
“Personal business,” he added. “I believe we’re close to your lunchtime, Cassie?”
She nodded, ignoring the way her direct boss glared daggers at her.
Don’t ask me, I have no clue what’s happening.
“Ms. Franklin and I are part of the same book club,” he said to her boss as a way of explanation. “I thought we might discuss the last book we read .”
His eyes were twinkling with unconcealed mischief, making her wonder what the heck he had up his sleeve.
She grabbed her handbag and got to her feet, acting like she had a clue about what their CEO was up to. They made their way throughout the room in silence and somewhere between her desk and the elevator, he put his hand on the small of her back, guiding her gently.
Fuck . She felt that touch down to her clit, electrifying her insides like nothing else ever had, even the purple rabbit she had a long, committed relationship with.
The man was dangerous for her sanity.
T he elevator opened its door on the last floor, but it might as well have been another universe.
Gone were the stylish, colorful, and simple plastic chairs, the modern glass-and-metal theme she’d observed everywhere else in the building.
The décor was darker – grey walls, warm woods, plush leather chairs. She frowned in confusion.
“This is where we meet all our partners,” he said, correctly interpreting her surprise. “Trick seems to think that the dreary interior makes me seem more intimidating.”
Right, because he needed help in that department.
Or not.
He guided her past the empty reception desk, to one of the two doors, and opened it in front of an office that must have taken over half of the floor. Damn, it was huge.
Her eyes just couldn’t leave the floor to ceiling windows; suddenly, she understood why everyone made such a fuss about accommodations on top of Manhattan – the view was incredible.
“I see you approve.”
His hand still hadn’t left her back, but his hold was light, casual.
He advanced until they were right in front of the window, and she caught herself before putting both hands on the glass, to check it was really there; the material was so transparent it almost looked like they were standing in open air.
“How does it feel?” she asked, turning to him, and just meeting those intense grey eyes for an instant before returning to the view. The immensity in front of her was less intimidating than the man next to her, at least. “To stand at the top of the world.”
“Today? Pretty good.”