Womanizer

  It’s the unapologetic conviction in his words that get me hard. Like a punch in the balls, making me want to take action.

  “When you’ve got your sights on something, don’t look at it independently. It’s not what the company is worth on its own, but what it’s worth to us at Carma. EXR as an online advertising company loses money, has no way to capitalize on its users, but if we took their user database and added it to our own paying customer base at Carma, and in turn offered our advertisers more reach as we expand their advertising using the EXR vendor sites, the company value grows exponentially for us.

  “EXR doesn’t want to be bought out, but when you’re struggling, you usually have no choice. EXR traded a percentage of its stock with a smaller company in their efforts to stay afloat. Take over and you are closer to having a controlling interest of them both. As they see us approach, they’ll try to find another buyer, one who will accept their terms rather than ours. Our job is to not let that happen. Corner them, so to speak.”

  “See, but you could also form an alliance, share Carma shares with them—”

  “No one gets a piece of Carma.”

  “Okay then, supposing you trade them just a bit of your business savvy in exchange for controlling interest.”

  “That’s what we do. They can stay in their own company, I’m just steering them off the rocky path.”

  “Not always, sometimes you make them disappear.”

  “Sometimes, yes.”

  My face crumples at that.

  “I’m not an asshole, Olivia. I’m just the only one who says what everyone else is thinking—who has the balls to do what everyone else is afraid of doing.”

  I nod, then stare out the window and process it all. “You’re like this with women too, aren’t you?” I suddenly ask.

  I meet his gaze.

  He clenches his jaw and stares out at the road as we approach downtown. “Maybe I am like that.”

  “Do you bring them home?”

  “No. Hotels, my Miami house, the apartment in Cabo, or my London flat.”

  “Just to avoid bringing them home?”

  “I compartmentalize. I’m a genius mastermind in that regard. Though sometimes it’s hard to follow my own rules.”

  “Because they’re silly,” I tease. “Also I think you don’t bring them there because you can be terribly selfish and extremely territorial over your space.”

  He smirks, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Yeah. It has to be that.”

  “Yet, I’m not going anywhere. At least for a little while. I mean, professionally,” I hastily amend.

  He eyes my lips for a second, then looks into my eyes. “Yeah.” Then he glances away, smiling secretively to himself.

  I inhale and wonder if I have the courage to tell him that I like him, so much that I couldn’t admit I was jealous just now, that I don’t know how frustrating it will be to see him kiss and take all these women, one after the other, everyone except untouchable me.

  He glances my way, and laughs as if I press his buttons a little too much for his liking. Then he shakes his head—as if denying the chemistry between us, because that’s how it needs to be for me—and he pulls out the thick volumes on VIKTOR from the backseat of his car.

  I start reading, my brain working like a sponge as I listen to the passionate way he explains the good aspects about the company, the bad, and what he’ll do with it when he gets his hands on it.

  I’d seen him as someone who broke things apart, but at the end of the evening, I can’t help but realize he’s a fixer. He likes fixing things that aren’t working as much as I like learning this new tidbit about him.

  I follow Mr. Lincoln into the conference room on Wednesday, where the twelve board members of Carma Inc. are seated at a long, modern mahogany table.

  Callan turns to look directly at me.

  He casts an approving glance at the red bra strap peeking from under my shirt.

  We exchange a subtle look of amusement.

  What can I say? I haven’t had time to do laundry this week.

  For a long moment I look back at him, studying his face without hurry, feature by feature. His eyes drink me up too.

  I sit behind Mr. Lincoln as they begin to discuss Alcore—and my heart skips when I’m asked about the company details, which I know by memory now.

  It’s a brief meeting, really. Mr. Lincoln remains speaking with a few of the board members when Callan walks outside and into a room next door, motioning me inside.

  I follow him, shutting the door behind me.

  As he watches me walk forward, his eyes snag on the red bra strap peeking out from under my silk button shirt.

  “Not in the dress code, I know.” My eyebrows lift daringly. “Are you going to take it off too?” I dare, referring to my bandana.

  “Sit over here.”

  He pats the desk to his right.

  Heart pounding, I swallow a lump of desire in my throat.

  Taunting a jaguar is probably not a good idea, is it?

  I sit on the desk.

  “Do you want me to take it off?” he asks, sliding a hand to my hip.

  “Yes.” I swallow.

  He brushes my hair back. Clutches my face. Leans toward my ear. “You taunt me.” He brushes his lips to mine—the merest brush, a punishment maybe, but a shock runs through me and I lean forward and part my lips.

  He tugs my shirt free from the waistband of my skirt. He eases his hand underneath, his fingers warm as he unhooks the front clasp of my bra.

  “Shrug it off,” he whispers, rough, in my ear.

  “Don’t,” I breathlessly begin, slipping my arms under my shirt to do as he asks, “taunt me.” I smile, stand up, and drop my bra in the middle of the floor and sashay out of the room to absolute, electric silence.

  I’m grinning when I’m back in my office chair, but when my braless breasts bounce beneath the fabric of my shirt, I groan.

  God, I’m such a slut for him. Why did I do that? And why did he not take me somewhere private so he could take off the rest? He’s the most fucking difficult-to-seduce womanizer I’ve ever met in my life. He doesn’t take advantage of my one crazy moment of weakness.

  Fuck

  My

  Luck!

  We’re in his home that night, beneath the warm yellow lights, where he can skim some of the reports he asked Mr. Lincoln for after the board meeting.

  “So the Alcore takeover is happening,” I say.

  Neither of us is talking about the bra incident.

  Thank goodness.

  I can’t believe I did that.

  A little crazy moment of flirting that won’t happen again (I’ve already stashed all my red things away to be sure of it).

  Wow. I’ve turned into a Carmichael groupie. My brother would be so proud.

  Callan keeps skimming the pages, his face etched in concentration as he absently says, “I’m interested.” He licks his thumb and flips to the next page.

  “What do you mean you’re interested? You’re going after it!”

  He lifts his head and meets my gaze, then shuts the folder and tosses it aside, shifting on the couch to face me. “I intend to, but not until certain factors come into play. Alcore needs to be absolutely helpless.”

  “Wow. You’re an asshole.”

  “A very rich asshole, Miss Roth.” His lips tilt even as I frown. “You can’t do business in here, Olivia,” he taps a fist to his chest, “you need to use this,” then taps a finger to his temple, “and this.” He taps his fist to his stomach, the movement pressing his shirt against what I know are perfectly cut abs. “Your gut.”

  He watches me like he usually does when he expects me to bombard him with questions, but when I don’t, he adds, “Alcore’s net income doesn’t reflect the true state of their company, the cash flow is terrible and the market they’re in is a competitive environment. But . . .”

  “But?”

  “We’ve got the infrastructure to turn that around. M
y brother is a gambler and in a way so am I, except I don’t leave anything to chance. Which is why I’m dotting all the i’s and crossing all the t’s first.”

  I stare thoughtfully at the closed folder on the coffee table. “There’s always the chance of failure.”

  “Failure is not an option.” He props his elbows on his knees and shifts forward an inch in my direction. “Only delays. Besides, regrets are for pussies. Shit happens. You deal with it and push forward. End of story.”

  He lifts his brows, and I nod.

  God, this man is cold-blooded.

  “You need to always be hungry for more. Win or lose,” he adds.

  I know that he thinks I’m too sentimental to be in this line of business. He always frowns when I get concerned about somebody getting hurt in the process of a takeover.

  Somebody always gets hurt, Olivia; the point is to make a clean cut and grow from there.

  I clutch my stomach as I think about Alcore soon being Carma’s next target. “I’m nervous now.” I frown. “I feel guilty for bringing Alcore to your attention.”

  “It’s your job.”

  “It’s harder than I thought.”

  He stretches out an arm behind the couch, eyeing me with a serene strength and peace—with no doubt about what he does, or who he is.

  “I’m scared of this business being too much for me,” I admit.

  He reaches out and pushes a stray lock of hair behind my forehead, the touch so unexpected, I tense all over—from my temple to my throat, my chest, my tummy, my thighs, my toes.

  “Hey, you’re doing good.” He nods, and suddenly his eyes grow warmer than usual, almost tender. “Sitting here, I see a girl with more gumption than I’ve seen in a long time. She’s sensitive. Smart. With a pretty good head on her shoulders, who won’t take my crap. She’s got a nice heart, not very common in Carma. She’s young and has a lot to learn. But she’s no coward.” He shakes his head sternly. “All she needs is a chance to see she’s more than one tiny, insignificant fear, and the world is hers.”

  “You need glasses. Should I tell your temp to schedule an appointment? A doctor, too? Check your head maybe? You’re not as smart as they say you are.”

  He laughs.

  I feel my cheeks warm and a strange shyness flit through me. “Thank you,” I finally say.

  “That’ll be six hundred an hour.” He opens his palm—his very big palm.

  “Wow, really? A shopping spree does just as much good for me and at least I get to keep the shoes!”

  He laughs, and when a silence falls, I know it’s time to go.

  I swallow and I stand quietly and start gathering my things, slipping my feet into my shoes, aware of Callan watching me. He picks up the files again—and it almost feels as if we’re both trying very hard to pretend we don’t enjoy our conversations so much. As if we’re both trying to pretend we don’t enjoy sex together too much.

  “Well . . . good night, Mr. Carmichael.”

  For a moment, Callan just stares at me. I almost think he’s going to ask me to stay—and not to review papers. But then he says, quietly, “Good night, Miss Roth.”

  The rest of the week flies by in a flurry of activity as Mr. Lincoln meets with Callan upstairs on Friday. He heads up the elevator at 9 a.m. with a stack of thick files and paperwork, comes back down an hour and a half later, absently asks me for coffee, copies, more research, corrections, and hours later, he’s heading back to meet the boss.

  I wonder what they talk about. I wonder what’s happening. I’m a cat like that, too curious for my own good, but I can’t help it.

  I stay late that day, even after Mr. Lincoln leaves, busy organizing the files he’s been updating. I’m engrossed in all the details as I type the corrections on the computer, when the phone rings and I absently lift the receiver and recite the usual greeting. “Carma Inc. Henry Lincoln’s office.”

  “Livvy.”

  I start when I recognize the male voice on the other end of the line.

  It’s puzzling, really, that a mere voice can affect me this much.

  What does he want? I ask myself as I nod stupidly with the telephone clutched tightly in my hand.

  “I bumped into Lincoln on his way down. I wanted to see if you were still in.”

  I swallow. “I am.”

  He makes a noncommittal sound like “hmm” or “huh,” then hangs up.

  I’m busy typing again when the back of my neck prickles pleasurably.

  I glance up from my computer to spot Callan heading over to me. I’m having trouble finding my voice. “Hi,” I say.

  He leans over my desk, an intent look in his eyes. “I’m going to have a cigarette upstairs. Do you want one?”

  “I’ve got so much to do—”

  He levels his gaze with mine and phrases it differently. “Come upstairs with me, Olivia.”

  There’s something a little hot in his eyes, and very bossy.

  I swallow and lock up my drawers, powering off my computer, my heart pounding as I follow him.

  We take the elevators upstairs.

  Is it wrong? That I’m waiting for him to make a move? This is scandalous. This little secret thing between us. A little bit dangerous. I know it’s a little bit dangerous. I don’t know what it is that we’ve started, but I’m waiting for it.

  My temperature is rising.

  I’m silent—expectant—as we head outside to the terrace and settle on one of the lounges.

  “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

  “I slept like a baby,” I lie.

  He laughs in disbelief.

  The space between us, it’s too large.

  He drags a hand over his face, then drops it as he looks at me. “I want more of you, Livvy.” His eyebrows are low over his eyes, telling me he’s just as frustrated. “I’m trying to do the right thing, but I’m not a good guy.”

  “Yes you are.”

  He seems both amused and surprised by my emphatic tone, warning me, “I’m the guy who leaves before you wake up and never says goodbye.”

  “Well, because goodbyes are terrible,” I admit, then when he says nothing, I add, “You’re a pretty decent guy. I’ve wanted to know you since I first saw you. I wondered and wondered. But after what’s happened between us, it seems less like a good idea and more like trouble.”

  “Fuck trouble. Jesus. Just fucking go out with me, Livvy.” He studies my features.

  I don’t even know what to reply, I’m simply digesting what he said while my stomach turns hot.

  He eyes me in silence. “The night you woke up in my place after falling asleep on my couch . . . you looked stunning,” he says.

  “Oh god, don’t even mention it. I woke up with my hair all crazy and just . . . No. I can’t even think it. And then you won’t even let me strut my good stuff, with this demure little uniform.”

  He shakes his head, his eyes shining. “Livvy, you’re fascinating to look at. Even in the same clothes everyone else is wearing.”

  “Is that why you asked me out, because you like how I look?” The girly part of me, the vain part, wants that to be the reason, but the girl who went to college and studied every weekend wants his attraction to be based on more than that.

  “No.” He smiles in amusement as if he can read my mind.

  I remember when I met him, the very first day, my Hot Smoker Guy.

  What would I do if he were still just that guy? Removed of any preconceived notions of whether he could be someone I am allowed to openly like.

  His features are completely unreadable as he looks at me, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and lighting one up. Soon, he’s taking a slow, very long hit from his cigarette, and then releasing a slow exhale, his lips pushing the smoke out in the sexiest way imaginable.

  Damn him. He looks so gorgeous. I don’t want to look at his hands, but I do, and they are big . . . big and manly.

  I remember our sex positions when we had those amazing nights.

  He hands
me the cigarette as he exhales, and I take a hit. “I want us to see each other out of the office. Monogamously.”

  I inhale so much smoke I start coughing, my eyes wide.

  “Have you been seeing anyone else?” He frowns darkly and lightly pats my back to help me recover.

  “No.”

  “Do you want to?” he asks, raising a brow.

  “No.”

  “Neither do I. That’s the problem.”

  “Why is that a problem?”

  “Well, Olivia. I’m staring at a woman who’s got me in the throes of lust twenty-four/seven almost—and I’ve got work to do. Physically, I’ve never felt this deprived. Keeping my hands off you is testing my willpower to an extent beyond my limits.” He slips his hand on my thigh, squeezing it. “I want you nightly.”

  “Haha. Really.”

  “Really.” He touches my face. “I want you. Again. And again and again.”

  “I want you too. Except let’s not forget I’m leaving.”

  “I know full well you’re leaving,” he takes a drag, frowns, exhales and passes the cigarette to me, “that you’re T’s sister, that you work for me. I’m also fully aware that we can’t keep our hands off each other. That you distract the shit out of me. That you’re irresistible on every level. And that I don’t want you to see anyone else, period.”

  “Even if I wanted to, I’m too busy working. You’re a slave-driver. No offense.”

  “None taken.” He grins.

  I look at his profile and want to kiss him but I’m also unsure if I’ve got the skills to really engage in an affair, go back to Texas, and come out unscathed. “I don’t want to miss out on learning things because we’re in the bedroom.”

  He laughs. “We can do both.” He lifts my chin. “I’ve got a mind to spend insane amounts of time with you, in bed and out of it. If you’re up for the challenge. And never fear; Carma time will be absolute business.”