“Maybe an extra night is all it will take for me,” I say, going along with him. “I’m not committing to more.”
He’s around the stool in a heartbeat, dragging me to him. “You think you can get rid of me that easily?”
“We’ll find out soon, now won’t we?”
He kisses me, a deep drugging kiss that makes my sex clench. “We already know it’s not that easy, for either of us. Pack for the weekend. That’s an order.”
“And outside of work, I should take your orders why?”
He kisses me again and this time his hand cups my backside and he pulls me hard against him, the thick length of his erection pressing to my belly. “Pack for the weekend, baby,” he says, his voice low, rough, affected.
The “baby” wins me over, that and knowing he doesn’t invite women to his apartment for a night, let alone a weekend. “I’ll pack for the weekend.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Carrie
I change into sweats and Reid and I drop my stuff off at his apartment with time to spare, which we don’t spend naked. We walk to the coffee shop and back again. “How many days a week do you run?” he asks.
“Every workday,” I say, “and I go to the gym in my building three days a week. What about you?”
“Same,” he says, “but I have a gym in my apartment.”
“Of course you do,” I say. “Right along with the perfect sunrise view.”
“Both of which you can share,” he says, sliding his arm around my shoulders.
“In between fucking me out of your system?”
“Exactly,” he says, laughing. “In between fucking like rabbits, we’ll watch sunrises and work out. What more could you want for a weekend?”
Not much, I think, especially if he’s going to laugh like that. I like that he laughs. It feels like a goal I need to achieve more often. Make Reid laugh. His cellphone buzzes with a text and he glances down at it and types a reply, grimacing. “My damn brother,” he murmurs as we step onto his elevator. “I need to run by my office and deal with him before work.”
“I don’t know how you run your company and mine, too, or, well, it’s not mine.”
He pulls me in front of him, his hands on my shoulders. “It will be again.”
“I know,” I say. “And not because I think you’re on my side. Because I’m going to go in there today and find a better version of Elijah.”
“I am on your side. You know that, right? This thing between us, it’s not some way for me to read you or control you.”
I push to my toes and kiss him. “I know.”
He molds me close and cups the back of my head. “Just don’t forget, and yes, that’s an order.” He kisses me and the elevator dings. “Come on,” he says, lacing my fingers with his as he leads me out of the elevator to his door.
Not long later, we’re in the shower, and I’m pressed against the wall with him inside me, that ends with us on the shower floor, me straddling him. I have a moment when we manage to stand with me still in his arms that I remember telling him that he’s taken over and consumed my whole life. And he has. Completely. He’s taken over my life completely.
That feeling only grows as we step out of the shower and I slip on my robe, and I end up at a sink next to him getting ready for work. At one point, he’s shaving and I just watch him, but I don’t feel nervous or uncomfortable. One thing I decided years ago is that I’m me. I can’t be anyone else. I can be a better me, yes, but still me.
I’m still flat ironing my hair when he steps out of his closet in a three-piece gray suit with a red pinstripe that matches his tie, looking like sex and sin and every woman’s fantasy, when his phone buzzes on the counter. He grabs it and glances at the number, smirking as he answers. “Mr. District Attorney. You’re early this morning.” He listens a minute and then says, “You’re closer. You’re not there.” He hangs up.
I blanch. “Did you just hang up on the district attorney?”
“I did.”
“My God, Reid. That takes balls.”
He steps behind me, his hands on my waist, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “Yes, Carrie, it does. Just like you making me your bitch in that hotel room.”
I laugh. “You are no one’s bitch.”
“You beat me that night, Carrie. That’s why I convinced the board we should rethink the future. No one beats me. That’s not arrogant. It’s a fact.”
His cellphone rings and he grabs it from his pocket, winks at me in the mirror, and then answers the call. “Yes, Mr. District Attorney?” He listens a minute. “That’s closer and yes, I’ll come meet you, but it won’t change the number. I’ll be there in half an hour.” He disconnects and turns me to face him. “I’ll meet you at the office.”
“You’re leaving me in your apartment?”
“Yes. I am. I trust you.”
“Just give me a minute and I’ll leave with you.”
“Stay. Take your time.”
“You don’t even bring women here, Reid. You can’t leave me here alone.”
He pulls me to him and kisses me. “I’ll see you at the office.”
He releases me and heads for the door. “Reid!” I call out.
He turns at the door.
“The settlement is for the families of the murder victims, right? In the serial killer case?”
“Yes.”
“Destroy him.”
His eyes sharpen. “I plan to. And you—have a look around, Carrie. That’s an invitation.” He turns and leaves me in his bathroom, in his home. I’m overwhelmed with the trust he’s given me when I believe this man trusts no one. When just last night he questioned my loyalty, or maybe that’s what’s behind the hate. He expected of me what he expects of himself with anyone but me, he’d said. Something is happening between me and this man, and I react.
I rush after him. “Reid!” I exit the bathroom and he stops at the bedroom door, turning to face me and my God, the man is hotness personified.
I cross to stand in front of him, push to my toes and kiss him. “What was that for?”
“Because. Just because. Good luck. That’s all.”
He cups my head and kisses me, a real kiss, deep, sexy and fast. “You, woman,” he says and then, reluctantly it seems, he sets me away from him and heads down the stairs. I follow him and stand at the railing, watching him depart, his stride confident, predatory even, but underneath his killer persona, he’s human, he’s damaged. He’s a man surrounded by a stone wall meant to hide that damage and keep everyone away. And yet, I’m here. I know this man could ruin me. I know he could hurt me. I know he controls much of my future and that I need him. And yet, for reasons I can’t explain, I feel like he needs me, too.
***
Reid
I step onto the elevator, leaving Carrie behind in my apartment in my private space where I want her. At some point last night, I accepted that my obsession with Carrie isn’t going away. This isn’t about her perfect ass, or how much I want to fuck her. It’s more. This woman is under my skin in ways I didn’t think any woman could be under my skin. Beyond reason, I need her with me when I know all the ways this could end badly, but I can’t seem to care. I’ve never walked away from anything I wanted, no matter how hard the challenge, and I’m not starting with Carrie.
She was right. I want to own her, all of her. She’s mine. That very premise defies the way I’ve lived my life and all the reasons that being alone serves me well, but it’s too late to cut this off. Those reasons don’t matter now. It’s too late for me to walk away. But I’m done trying to save Carrie from me. Everyone else, yes, but not me.
Chapter Thirty
Reid
I play the district attorney’s game and listen to his offer, right before I tell him to fuck off, quite literally, and walk out. I’ve made it halfway to the Maxwell offices when my phone rings and he ups the offer. “Still too low,” I say and hang up. He doesn’t call back right away, but he will. Sometimes, being an assho
le to assholes really is the icing on top of the cake with this job. He needs to pay. People died and suffered because of him.
My minds goes to Elijah and I dial Royce Walker. “I need to control someone without ruining him but I’ll ruin him if I have to.”
“Why would you ruin him?”
“Because he tried to ruin me.”
“Why would you save him?”
“Because he took an emotional bullet I didn’t intend for him to take but I’m not taking a financial bullet to dry up his tears.”
“Name?”
“Elijah Woodson.”
“Give me a couple of hours. Anything else?”
“Yes. Do you know who Grayson Bennett is?”
“If you mean the billionaire businessman, yes. What about him?”
“This is out of your realm of services, but I need to win him over. I want to show him that I can find out what he likes, by way of a gift, and deliver that item to him today.”
“And this wins him over how?”
“It shows him I do my research. I find out what makes people tick and pleasure is part of what makes us all tick.”
“The John Walker, which will run you four thousand a bottle.”
“And you know this how?”
“We’ve done private security work for him for a charity event. I had the opportunity to talk with him over a bottle of that particular whiskey.”
“You are worth your money, Royce Walker.”
“Remember that when I raise your rates. I’ll be in touch.” He disconnects and my head starts to throb, as in literally, the way it used to when I was recovering from yet another too hard hit when I played football in school. I ignore the pressure at the back of my head and dial Connie and arrange to have the whiskey delivered with a note I custom dictate. By the time I’m done, the car pulls to the Maxwell offices. I enter the building, with one goal in mind: get my fucking brother off my ass. I enter the executive offices and ignore his secretary, Lulu, a thirty-something redhead with an attitude, and I do so based on principle. I don’t like any attitude that isn’t Carrie’s, and who the fuck is named Lulu anyway?
Gabe’s door is open and I walk into his office to find him on the phone. I shut the door as he glances up and eyes me. “Yes, father. I know, father. I know. You told me that three times.” He glances at the receiver and hangs up.
“What the hell is the crisis?” I demand, crossing to his desk and sitting down on one of the burgundy visitor’s chairs.
“Our father is the problem,” he says. “That’s call number three. He feels you’ve undone the effect of the debt payment between him and West. He threatened to walk away from the consulting job he’s doing in Europe and return home.”
My jaw clenches. “You mean because of Carrie.”
“Exactly.”
“I only got involved because of his fucking stroke and the state he and our dear uncle left our reputation in the first place. And I made a deal with West and our father. They get out of town. This wasn’t Carrie’s debt or ours and yet we’re the ones paying for it.”
“Her father tried to make it ours,” Gabe reminds me. “You know that.”
“They both did and they failed. I didn’t let them make this about the younger generation of our families. I won’t let them. This isn’t our war. I thought you agreed.”
“I do,” he says. “Just making sure I know where we stand. I thought maybe Carrie had become a weapon for you.”
“No.”
“That’s a short answer. What’s the story here on you and Carrie? The real story?”
I rub the back of my neck and look at him, my brother, who outside of what is blooming with Carrie, is the only person I actually trust in this world. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
He leans forward. “I don’t remember ever hearing you say those words.”
“Because I don’t say those words,” I bite out.
“Are you sure she’s not the enemy?”
“Yes,” I say. “I am.” I scrub my jaw. “If she was, it wouldn’t matter though. I’d turn her.”
He studies me a few beats. “I get it,” he finally says. “More than you know. The question is, does she know about the debt?”
“Hell no. You know we have a gag order. You know what’s on the line if this leaks and she’d confront her father if I told her.”
“Of course, she would. I sure the fuck would.”
“And honestly, man. As much as not telling her is killing me, I think of mom’s letter. I think of how much I didn’t want to know what I know. Carrie is a good person, too good for me. I don’t want her to go through the awakening I did.”
“But you’re glad you did. I know I sure the hell am.”
“I needed to get my shit together. She doesn’t.”
“Her father will always hold this secret over you.”
“And ultimately he’ll use it and she’ll hate me. I know, but what the fuck am I supposed to do, Gabe?” My cellphone rings and my jaw clenches. I grab it and look at the number, standing up and walking to Gabe’s window as I answer, “Yes, Mr. District Attorney. I’m going to break a rule and say please, do not make another insulting offer.”
“Three o’clock. My office. My final offer.”
“Tell me now.”
“No,” he says, and hangs up.
Gabe steps to my side. “No deal?”
“There’s a deal,” I say. “He’s just being a pain in my ass to get there,” I say the words, but my mind is already back on Carrie.
Gabe knows too, returning to her with me. “You just met Carrie,” Gabe says, joining me. “Right now, you can’t say anything.”
“Thank you, brother,” I say, looking at him, “for confirming, my fucked-up situation.”
“What’s a brother for,” he says, “if not to ground you in reality of just how fucked your life is right now?”
***
Carrie
I arrive to work feeling motivated and smelling like Reid. Literally. I forgot my perfume, and without really thinking about the potential fallout of spraying myself in “him” I doused myself in his cologne. After which, I’d inhaled with the brutally perfect spicy smell of me because, well, I love how he smells. I’d proceeded to head to work feeling motivated to score that big number goal Reid has inspired me to achieve. He saved my company. He gave me a chance to lead its future. He made me think big, and I need to think big to be CEO.
I walk by Sallie’s desk, offer her a cheery “good morning” and claim my seat behind my desk. She then dashes into my office, stands in front of my desk and says, “Who is he?”
I blink up at her, hating the rush of heat to my cheeks. “What are you talking about?”
“You smell like a man and you have a glow about you.”
“I smell like a man,” I say, and with a completely straight face, continue with, “as in sweaty and I need a shower?”
She smirks. “You know what I mean. Like cologne.”
“In other words, my new perfume is a no-go.”
“That’s perfume? It smells manly.”
Because Reid is manly, I think, before I reply with, “Like I said. Ditch the new perfume.”
“What kind is it?”
“Some sample in my makeup order.” I change the subject. “Anyone present any grand ideas for Elijah?” I ask, despite the fact that Elijah is a no-go, because no one knows that yet, and I can use the ideas elsewhere.
“None you want to see I promise you,” she says. “And on that bright note, I’m going to get coffee at the coffee shop. Want one?”
“Yes. Please.”
She departs, leaving me wallowing in my dissatisfaction with our team’s performance, despite the fact that Elijah is out of the picture. Had he been in the picture, we would have failed to provide him with an enticing investment. Elijah who Reid and I never finished talking about, a man on a mission for revenge, that could land right here with this company. I need to know what that’s about. Reid has t
o tell me.
For now, I set that aside, and I think about the comments about my father. Some people really wouldn’t do business with him, and I think hard about who else is on that list. I look down my prospect list, highlighting contacts that were far warmer to me than my father. Somewhere in this process, Sallie brings me coffee and the little egg white quiches I eat often.
Once I’ve downed my breakfast, I home in on one name: Marcus Phelps, one of the money men behind the New York Rockets baseball team comes to mind. He seemed like he wanted to do business, but something held him back. I dial him and leave a message. He calls me right back. “I was going to call you,” he says, his voice flirty as usual, because he flirts with everyone. He’s a real player. He can’t even stop himself. “I hear you’re up for CEO to replace your father.”
“I am,” I say. “Does that change things for you?”
“Maybe. Let’s have lunch. I’m headed out of town for a week. Let’s set a date for when I get back.”
We set our date and disconnect. I’m about to call through a few other prospects when Reid calls. “Hey, baby,” he says softly.
My stomach flutters with the endearment, and my reaction tells a real story. We’ve gone from me calling him an asshole, to here, and we’ve done it quickly. I wait for this to feel uncomfortable, but I let the man go down on me the night I met him right before I cuffed him. I’m pretty outside any supposed boundaries with Reid.
“Hey,” I reply. “How are things? Did you settle?”
“Not yet. I’m meeting him again at three but we’re close.”
Noting the strain in his voice, I ask, “What has you worried?”
“Who says I’m worried?”
“Worried or weary or something. I hear it in your voice.”
He’s silent several beats and then says, “I’m headed to one of the stockholders’ offices to head off a problem.”
“About Elijah?”
“Yes,” he confirms. “About Elijah.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s between you two?”
He’s silent another two beats and then he says, “We’ll talk,” and moves on. “I won’t be in until after my meeting at the DA. How are things there?”