Chapter 13
“Well?” I asked, hands on my hips, as Oliver walked through the door after spending four hours with Finley going over his books. He placed his brown briefcase on the floor and shook his head.
“It’s not good,” he replied, his expression grave.
A sharp twinge shot through my stomach as I stared at him, searching his face for any sign of reassurance. His sapphire eyes remained impassive, revealing nothing. I groaned in frustration.
“He can’t lose the company. It’s so important to him. I’m giving him the money,” I declared, feeling the urgency of the situation.
“You’ll do no such thing,” Oliver countered, his tone firm.
I felt irritation rising within me. “Fuck you, Oliver. Don’t you dare tell me I can’t give my brother help. He has a baby on the way,” I snapped, my emotions running high.
“Calm down, sweetheart. I’m giving him the investment. I was kidding, but you jumped so quickly that I didn’t have a chance to explain,” Oliver said, his voice steady.
My mouth dropped open in disbelief. “You were playing a joke?”
“Yes. Even if his books were a mess, I would’ve given him the loan. He has several contracts he’s working on, and once finished, the funds will help bolster the business. Finley took on too much and exhausted his liquid cash. He had more going out than coming in because he needed to hire more programmers. That’s a dangerous mix,” Oliver explained, his words bringing a sense of relief.
“But his business is all right?” I asked, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease.
“Yes. Stewart Applications will be fine,” Oliver confirmed.
A sigh of relief escaped me, and I pulled him into a big bear hug. My anxiety melted away in his embrace.
“You were gone a long time,” I remarked, pulling back slightly to look at him.
“I took one of my accountants with me. We needed to examine Finley’s books. He has little waste, but Jerold found a few areas he can tighten up,” Oliver explained.
“How much interest are you charging him?” I inquired, curious about the terms of the agreement.
“None. The deal is that I obtain five percent of the company,” Oliver replied.
“And Finley was okay with that?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“He’s fine because we discussed how he can recover the five percent. I don’t mean to sound like an ass, but my attachment to his company can bring him more business,” Oliver admitted, a hint of self-awareness in his tone.
“You are an ass. I’ve told you many times,” I teased, unable to resist a playful jab.
“Yes, you have,” Oliver acknowledged with a chuckle.
“But this time I love you for being an ass. Thank you,” I said, sincerity in my voice.
“It’s business and family. I wouldn’t let your brother sink. I understand how important his company and Sadie are to him,” Oliver replied, his gaze softening.
“You made his security a reality,” I said, gratitude swelling within me.
“He made me promise not to say anything to Sadie about the investment. He doesn’t want her to know how close he came to selling their apartment. From what I see, even the funds from the proceeds wouldn’t cover his expenses,” Oliver revealed, a sense of protectiveness in his tone.
“When are you giving him the money?” I inquired.
“It’s already handled. I had my banker transfer the funds into his account,” Oliver replied casually.
“On a Saturday?” I raised an eyebrow, impressed by his efficiency.
“I’m Oliver Fox,” he said with a smirk.
“Dick,” I muttered under my breath.
“Damn, Ryleigh, you’re really hitting me hard today,” Oliver teased.
“Stop being an arrogant ass,” I retorted, though there was a hint of affection in my tone.
“It’s part of my charm and the reason why you love me so much. What did you do while I was gone?” Oliver changed the subject, his curiosity evident.
“Made phone calls to Lisa, Benny, and Diane. I also spoke with Rachel Vicaria. My dress is coming along,” I replied, excitement lacing my words.
“I’d still like to see it,” Oliver said, a playful gleam in his eye.
“Dream on, Fox. You’ll see it on July thirtieth. I also wrapped some gifts,” I informed him, recalling my afternoon activities.
“Not my favorite activity,” Oliver admitted with a grin.
“If I know you, you had Henri do it,” I accused, knowing his penchant for delegating tasks.
Oliver bit his sensual bottom lip and smiled knowingly.
“No way. You made him do it?” I exclaimed, both amused and incredulous.
“He has style,” Oliver defended his choice.
“You’re unbelievable,” I shook my head in mock disbelief.
“Can I show you how unbelievable I am?” Oliver suggested with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“How so?” I asked, playing along.
Without waiting for a response, Oliver scooped me up into his arms, planting kisses on my face as he carried me to the bedroom, our laughter filling the air.
On Monday, I woke up feeling grouchy. Oliver and I had a small argument about a Christmas tree, and his indecision was getting on my nerves. If he kept dragging his feet, there wouldn't be any trees left by the time he made up his mind. I stomped off to my office, plopping down in my chair and flicking open my laptop. With a jab of my black-painted nail, I powered it on.
As I logged into my email, I noticed one from Oliver. He had left me in the lobby that morning since he had a meeting in the financial district, which didn't involve me. I was on my own for the day, which suited me just fine. I clicked on his email, the subject line reading: "I'm sorry."
Sweetheart,
Don’t be angry at me. Holidays are not my thing. I’m used to spending them alone or working. This is all new to me. We can discuss it when I see you this evening.
I love you with all my heart,
Oliver (Possessive Ass)
No kidding he was. I understood his reluctance to get a tree, but Christmas was one of my favorite holidays, and he was ruining it by not giving in. I knew he was trying, so I could at least give him that.
Throughout the day, I found myself snapping at Henri a couple of times, my bad mood refusing to abate. I apologized the second time; there was no reason to take it out on him. Henri was used to handling Oliver's demands, not mine.
He shouldn't have to deal with my mood swings since he wasn't my assistant. I didn't have one, and he was only helping me out by shuffling files back and forth from the recording room.
By the time Oliver returned, my mood had only worsened. The only silver lining was the slightly warmer weather, at least by mid-December standards. When Oliver knocked on my door, I called him inside, admiring his sharp suit — light gray with a dark purple tie and white shirt, a combination that framed his sexy body perfectly.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked.
“No. I’m still a bitch. I yelled at Henri,” I confessed, my frustration still evident.
A smirk played on Oliver's lips. “He can take it. I pay him well enough.”
“I apologized. He probably hates me and thinks of me as your side dish,” I grumbled.
Oliver inhaled sharply, his words slicing through the air with a sharp edge. "Don’t say that," he implored, his voice tight with a mix of frustration and hurt. "You’re my fiancée, not my side dish. Soon you’ll be my wife."
I felt a knot tighten in my stomach, a familiar ache that seemed to grow heavier with each passing day. "And that’s why I command respect around here," I retorted, my voice tinged with bitterness. "Not because of my Columbia education or qualifications. Because I’m Oliver Fox’s fiancée."
His suggestion to leave came as a relief, a chance to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the office.
"It’s only 4:30," I protested weakly, but his gaze was imploring, urging me to relent.
"You can call it a day," he persisted, his tone softening. "Let’s go home and order truffle burgers for dinner."
"I’m not hungry," I murmured, my voice barely audible as I struggled to meet his gaze.
“Why is it that you always have to be difficult?” Oliver's frustration bubbled to the surface, his words cutting through the tension like a knife.
A heavy silence hung between us, thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension. "You know why," I replied softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
Oliver rose from the chair in front of my desk, his movements tense and controlled. He retrieved my black wool coat; his actions deliberate as he waited for me to shut down my laptop. As I finally rose from my chair, he moved to kiss my lips, but I turned my cheek, a silent refusal that drew a sharp narrowing of his eyes.
As Oliver helped me on with my coat, his words hung heavy in the air, a tense cloud between us. "I hope you won’t be like this all evening," he murmured, his voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and concern.
I couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh. "Afraid you won’t get sex tonight?" My retort was sharp, laced with the bitterness that had become all too familiar in our exchanges.
His response was a resigned sigh. "I won’t even attempt. I’m afraid you might bite my dick off."
A small smirk tugged at my lips despite my mood. "That would not serve me well. I rather like your dick."
"I think you more than like my dick," Oliver quipped, a hint of humor in his voice, "but I’ll keep it to myself until you’re in a better mood."
"Jerk," I muttered under my breath, turning away from him as he shook his head and helped me on with my coat.
Vlad was waiting downstairs with the black sedan, a silent witness to the tension that crackled between us. I slipped into the car, ignoring Oliver's presence beside me as we headed home. My thoughts churned with bitterness, knowing that the penthouse would be devoid of any Christmas cheer.
“Sweetheart?” Oliver's voice broke through my reverie, his concern evident even as I stared blankly out the window.
"What?" I snapped, my gaze fixed on the passing lights of the city adorned with festive decorations.
“Are you going to be angry at me all night?”
"Maybe. Maybe not." My response was curt, devoid of any warmth as I continued to stare out the window, refusing to meet his gaze.
I heard him sigh beside me, the sound heavy with resignation, before he started tapping away on his phone. When we finally arrived at our building, I wished to escape his presence. I didn't want to touch him or speak to him, my mood darkened by the thought of returning to a Christmas-less penthouse.
Oliver waited for me, offering his hand which I waved away dismissively. Pulling my coat tighter around me, I made my way to the door, my steps heavy with the weight of my emotions. In the elevator, I stared down at my shoes, trying to block out the world around me.
We were nearly to the apartment when Oliver suddenly remembered the mail. He told me to go ahead as he headed back to the elevator. With a heavy heart, I unlocked the door with the key he had given me and pushed it open, only to freeze in astonishment.
The entire place was transformed, bathed in the warm glow of Christmas lights. A towering ten-foot tree dominated the living room, its branches adorned with an array of colorful ornaments. Red garland twirled around its length, and a festive tree skirt sat beneath, proclaiming "Merry Christmas" in cheerful green letters. Lights twinkled around the windows, casting a soft glow across the room, and festive decorations adorned every surface.
For a moment, I stood there, stunned into silence by the unexpected sight. Then, slowly, a small smile crept across my face, thawing the bitterness that had settled in my heart.
"I was busy today," Oliver's voice came from behind me, and I turned to face him, my eyes brimming with tears as I took in the sight of our transformed home. He had done this for me, despite his discomfort, and the realization flooded me with a mixture of gratitude and love. Without hesitation, I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him close as I planted a fervent kiss on his lips.
"You did this for me?" I sniffled, overcome with emotion.
"I’d do anything for you," he replied softly, his arms encircling me in a tight embrace. "All by yourself?" I asked, feeling a surge of wonder.
"I can’t take all the credit. Anna helped me decorate," he admitted, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
Anna, one of Oliver’s assistants, was known for her love of Christmas, and the thought of her lending a hand filled me with warmth.
"I don’t know what to say," I admitted, feeling a lump form in my throat.
"An apology would be nice," he teased, a playful grin tugging at his lips.
"You’re incredible, and I’m sorry," I replied earnestly, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders.
"Do you know what you’re apologizing for?" he quipped, raising an eyebrow.
"Being a grouch and calling you names," I admitted sheepishly, feeling a flush of embarrassment.
"That would sum it up. Check out the patio," he urged, gesturing towards the sliding glass door.
Stepping closer, I peered outside and gasped in delight. The patio was adorned with twinkling lights and a smaller Christmas tree stood near the door, mirroring the festive display inside.
"You really went all out," I murmured, feeling overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness.
"I wanted you to be happy. I have a big surprise for you on Christmas Eve," he confessed, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.
"You know I hate surprises," I protested weakly, but he only grinned in response.
"Too bad. Get used to it. Wasn’t this a surprise?" he teased, his tone laced with amusement.
"Yes, but what surprises me more is that you did this on your own. You could’ve hired someone," I pointed out, touched by his sincerity.
"I know, but then it wouldn’t have been personal. My time is valuable, but it was well worth seeing the smile on your face," he replied earnestly, his gaze softening.
"I love you," I whispered, feeling a rush of warmth flood my chest.
"I know," he replied confidently, a smirk playing at his lips.
"Arrogant jerk," I teased, unable to hide the affection in my voice.
“There’s the name calling that I love so much.”
I shucked out of my coat and Oliver hung it in the foyer closet. We went to the closet to change, and I so wanted to do something for him. His gesture made me wet. Then again, he always made me wet by just being in his presence. I unzipped my dress, pulling it over my head and standing there in a pair of mauve lace underwear.
Oliver was unaware of my state of nakedness as he removed his suit coat and began working on his tie. I just leaned against the cold granite counter waiting for him to notice me and when he did, his eyebrows raised. My nipples were beaded, and my breasts ached for Oliver’s touch. He just stood there and stared.
"Do you need something?" Oliver's voice cut through the tension that hung heavy in the air.
"Would it surprise you if I said I needed to be fucked?" My words were laced with a mixture of desire and defiance, a challenge thrown into the charged atmosphere.
"With your appetite, not in the least," he replied, his tone tinged with amusement and a hint of longing.
"My appetite? What about yours?" I countered, feeling the heat of frustration rising between us.
"Do you want me to make love to you or do you want to argue?" His words were a low growl, thick with desire.
"Arguing makes for good makeup sex," I teased, a small smile playing at my lips as I watched the desire darken his eyes.
Oliver rolled his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the familiar dance we found ourselves in. He reached down, his hand brushing against the fabric of his slacks as he stroked himself through the material. Without hesitation, I dropped down to my knees in front of him, my fingers deftly working at his zipper.
He gathered my loose hair in his hand, holding it gently as I released him from the confines of his clothing. I inhaled deeply, savoring his scent – a heady mix of clean musk and Oliver – as I tugged at his pants, bringing them down along with his black silk boxers.
He stood before me, his gaze locked on mine as I fisted his thick penis, licking the head with the tip of my tongue. A deep, guttural groan escaped his lips as I took him halfway into my mouth, relishing the taste of him.
Oliver's hips gently rocked back and forth, setting a rhythm as he fucked my mouth with a steady, controlled pace. I eagerly lapped up the precum that flowed from him, savoring every drop.
"Shit, Ry, that feels great. You know just what to do," he moaned, his voice thick with pleasure.
I hollowed my cheeks, applying more pressure as I sucked hard at his shaft, driving him closer to the edge. With a loud moan, he released himself into my mouth, the warmth of his cum filling me as I continued to work him until he finished.
When I finally released him and stood up, he kicked off his remaining clothing and scooped me into his arms, carrying me to our bed. In the soft glow of the blinking lights from the patio tree, Oliver made love to me, our bodies moving together in perfect harmony as the world outside faded away.
"Can these burgers get any better?" I said, taking a hulking bite and savoring the rich flavors.
"I doubt it," Oliver replied with a satisfied smile.
"Thank you for everything," I said, my gratitude spilling over.
"Sweetheart, you don’t need to keep thanking me," he insisted, reaching across the table to touch my hand.
"I took you out of your comfort zone. I feel I do," I replied, squeezing his hand gently.
"I need to get used to celebrating holidays with family," he admitted, a thoughtful look in his eyes.
"Yes, you do. My family loves you," I assured him, feeling a warm glow of happiness.
"I’m glad," he said, his smile softening.
"If they knew what you did for Finley," I added, feeling a surge of pride.
"I’m not asking for praise. He has a stable business and just needed a hand," Oliver replied, his modesty evident.
"You didn’t have to give it to him," I pointed out, knowing how much his support meant to my brother.
"I wanted to, and he was a sound investment," he said simply.
I leaned over and kissed him, tasting the red wine on his lips. The kiss deepened as I gently pushed my tongue into his mouth, feeling the heat between us flare. Oliver pulled me onto his lap, his hands roaming my body, cupping my breast and pushing my pink silk robe open. Desire curled through me like a hot wire, but I pulled away reluctantly.
"We’re like two magnets," he said, his voice husky with desire.
"I agree, but I’m hungry," I replied with a laugh.
Oliver chuckled, moving me back to my seat so I could finish dinner. We capped our meal by feeding each other spoonfuls of chocolate chunk ice cream, the sweetness a perfect end to the night. After we finished, we snuggled in bed together, watching the first flurries of snow blanket the patio as we turned out the lights.
"Are you happy?" he asked, his arms wrapped around me.
"Very," I replied, feeling a deep sense of contentment.
"I’m glad. That’s my goal," he murmured, his voice soft and tender.
"You’ve achieved that," I said, nestling closer to him.
As I dozed off in his arms, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, feeling safe and loved.