by Demi Damson
“There’s always a choice. He’s right about that. But sometimes the right choice is also the most difficult. It can be easier just to leave things as they are. No one likes change. But if I don’t do the right thing, then how can I expect anyone else to? As a leader, I have to focus on the bigger picture but as a part of that, I have to remember the corporation isn’t just the sum of its parts: it’s made up of individuals. Staff, clients, even competitors deserve to be treated with respect.” He gave a rueful laugh. “Needless to say, my father doesn’t much agree with me.”
“I guess he wouldn’t.” She smiled at him then, a genuine smile that made his heart melt.
She seemed genuinely interested as he told her about Lovett Industries and seemed to understand what he meant. She knew a lot, too. She must have worked in an office before. But he didn’t like to ask about that. The truth was, he didn’t like being reminded she was an escort. She sure didn’t seem like one. Or maybe he just lived a sheltered life. At any rate, he was glad she was there with him.
Just as long as she didn’t try to charge him extra for this.
Chapter Seventeen
So That’s Where He Got Those Muscles
As they walked through the woods, Charlotte was surprised and impressed at his knowledge: she could recognize a pine or a birch tree, but he knew all the different trees along the trail and a number of shrubs as well.
“Did you spend a lot of time here growing up?”
He nodded. “During winter break from school and the summer, I’d spend all my time out here. George didn’t complain too much, it kept me out of the way. There were no other kids here and not a lot to do.” He paused under a large tree. “See that low, straight branch? That was the floor of my tree house.”
She stared up but couldn’t see what he meant—there were just a lot of branches.
“It’s a chestnut: very leafy and green in the spring and summer, and you are completely hidden from the trail up there. That thick branch there was the floor and then there were some other branches that worked as walls—or more importantly, gave me something to hold onto.” His eyes shone as he pointed out the details to her. “And if you climb up a bit higher, you can see almost all of the way to the coast. That was the window.”
“You must have had an amazing imagination. I mean, couldn’t you just have had a tree house if you wanted one?” She regretted the words as soon as they’d escaped her mouth.
“I guess. Someone would have had to build it, though.” He gave her a frank look. “I know what you mean, though. I was pretty spoiled. I had an easy childhood. I never wanted for anything.”
“Except friends?”
“I made some friends at boarding school.” He laughed as if it were no big deal, but it sounded a bit hollow.
They continued walking, but Charlotte couldn’t help looking back at the “tree house”. It was definitely just a mess of branches, a perfectly normal tree. “We could go up there.”
“No way! No girls allowed in my tree house.” He grinned. “Well, ok, no girls ever asked to come into my tree house before.” He ducked his head down close to hers. “Until now.”
Her eyes widened as he looked down at her. Was he going to kiss her? Did she want him to? She felt her lips part. Her heart pounded.
When he looked up again, she couldn’t deny the disappointment coursing through her. She had wanted him to.
He was still talking about that damn tree house. “But no, it’s not strong enough for adults. We’d probably come crashing down.” He took her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world and kept walking. “But if it were a real tree house, I’d invite you in.”
“If it were a real tree house, I’d accept,” she said. She knew it didn’t mean anything. He’d told her she needed to hold hands with him when at the house. Maybe they were within view of the house. But she felt a tingle course through her as they walked back.
Charlotte liked hearing Jordan talk about his work and he seemed interested in her reactions. He certainly wasn’t what she expected. He truly cared about his staff, not like his father. Maybe it wasn’t really fair to blame him for what George Lovett did. Or did she just tell herself that because she was starting to like him? That would be naive of her. She was sick of her brain trying to make him out to be the good guy, circling the same ground over and over.
Still, she left her hand in his as Jordan led her to the back of the mansion they called home. “I promised Maria I would restock the woodpile.” He let go of her and picked up a heavy axe like it was nothing. Behind the shed was a stack of large logs. Charlotte was surprised: she presumed the wood just arrived, pristine and without effort. But no, there he was chopping up large pieces of pine and stacking them up high. He got into a rhythm after a minute and then, despite the chilly damp day, he pulled off his shirt and continued to work.
She took the chance to send the photographs to her father using roaming data. She didn’t have time to write a note or anything sensible but at least she knew they were safely stored somewhere.
Once that was done, Charlotte relaxed, watching Jordan work. His back muscles contracted and flexed as he brought the axe down on the wood. His movements were confident, almost graceful. Was there anything this man couldn’t do? For a moment, she let herself imagine being with him for real. She could massage out those tired muscles, bring him a whiskey on the rocks to soothe his tired mind after work. Would he stop talking to her about things after they got married, like George implied? Or would he continue to value her opinion?
She knew the answer to that from last night. She remembered sitting at the dinner table, biting her lip as his father talked about the lower classes (her people, the way he looked at her) and ranting about how staff needed to be treated with an iron fist because naturally they were too lazy to work. She sighed. She would never be able to be the sweet and quiet trophy wife. Good luck to Lauren for pulling it off, but she couldn’t.
Still, it didn’t hurt to keep watching him a while longer. He grabbed his shirt to wipe the perspiration away and then pulled over another hunk of wood. She wondered if he was pushing himself because of the conversation of the house, if he was wishing he was back at the office instead. Probably. He was probably just waiting for the weekend to be over. And so was she. She was ready to go back to her life and her normal apartment and normal worries.
She’d be forgotten before he sat down at his desk on Monday. And that would be fine. Better than fine. She had her own business to run, not that he would credit her with that. Maybe she didn’t have the kind of problems he did, but she had her own problems to worry about. With the money she made this weekend, she could pay off her debts and even afford to do some advertising. Sure, she’d never have a Fortune 1000 company or be on the cover of Newsweek or anything. Certainly, she’d never be voted most eligible bachelor by the Riverside Times. But she could make a living. She could take care of herself and her parents: the kind of problem Jordan didn’t have to worry about. He didn’t need to take care of anyone but himself.
He brought the axe down on the last log with a thump and a smile of satisfaction as it split. “Can you help me carry these in?”
“Sure.” They loaded a wheelbarrow with the wood and he pushed it to the side of the house, where there was a covered area and a small grate. He was still shirtless and it was impossible not to stare at his chest.
“Just pile it there, then Maria can pull it in as she needs it.”
“This house really has everything.” She smiled at him, a real smile this time.
He smiled back and then grabbed her hand. But he didn’t hold it this time, he turned it over. “Tell me about this,” he said. His fingers traced a circle around her tattoo. She shivered but didn’t pull away.
He stepped closer, so close she could smell his cologne. “What does the R stand for?”
His fingers trailed a path of excitement. She had no idea her wrist could be so sensitive. “Ruthless,” she whispered.
�
�What?”
Her brain kicked in a moment too late. “Rufus,” she said. “It’s my dog.”
“You have a dog?”
This was possibly not helping. “Had a dog. Childhood thing.” She’d never had a dog; her mother was allergic. The only pet they’d had was a hamster who got lost one day while its cage was being cleaned. They’d heard it scrabbling in the walls for weeks after. Charlotte used to steal salad from the kitchen and leave it along the skirting boards. But now here was Jordan, looking at her expectantly. “He died.”
“I’m sorry. What happened?” His fingers had restarted their trailing up and down her arm and the last thing she cared about was some stupid dog she’d never owned.
“Old age, I guess. I don’t know. I was pretty young.” She was getting better at lying, at least, although that was never a character trait she thought she’d be desperate to improve.
“Um.” She pulled her arm away, willing her brain to work again. “I’ll go into the library and get the fire going, if you want. I wouldn’t mind reading a bit more anyway.”
Chapter Eighteen
Sometimes Not Even Cold Showers Help
Jordan left her in the library and swiped the sweat off his brow. It wasn’t the chopping so much as Charlotte’s help that overheated him. Her t-shirt clung to her when she started to perspire. When she tied her hair up in a high knot, it revealed her soft neck and it was all he could do to keep himself from nibbling at it. He scowled as he felt himself go rigid just at the thought. He needed to have a cold shower or something.
Lauren appeared as if out of nowhere as he reached the top of the stairs. Just what he needed. There were people everywhere and yet she always managed to corner him alone in a corridor. She looked down at him and tugged at the waistline of his running pants which clearly gave away his erection. She purred. “Did you come to find me?”
“No, Lauren. I was just heading to my room.”
She smiled knowingly. “I could help you with that.”
“I don’t think so.” He pushed past her and back into the room. Well, no need for a cold shower now; Lauren had killed any idea of sex he might have had.
He stretched out on the bed, happy to take a moment of peace and quiet. His mind drifted back to Charlotte. The t-shirt stretched tight across her jiggling breasts, the taut muscles as she helped unload the wheelbarrow. She genuinely didn’t mind helping and he loved how she put her all into everything she did. Her beauty was based on real life, not beauty treatments and slimming workouts. Her jeans snug over her hips. Then he remembered for the millionth time how they ended up all tangled up with him when they’d fallen onto the bed. He should have held her there. He should have kissed her on the spot.
Jordan closed his eyes and reached a hand down into his pants. He was aching for her again just at the memory. She was so close and warm and soft, her hair falling across her face. He should have kissed her. Her eyes were wide and her lips parted: she had been waiting for him to kiss her. He stroked himself, picturing the soft curve of her breasts, imaging his hands pulling them out of her t-shirt, licking those beautiful nipples he could almost see through that cream lacy bra she wore. Then his brain went into fast forward, picturing her on her back, face tight with ecstasy as he plowed into her, her breasts bouncing with his every thrust. On her knees, her ass high in the air as he pushed into her from behind, holding onto her hips as he entered her. He moved his hand up and down, pulling. His cock throbbed. He couldn’t stop seeing visions of Charlotte naked in his bed. He picked up the pace, pumping himself roughly. Her name was on his lips as he finally found release, come spurting out of him. He grabbed his shirt to wipe up the mess: she had to sleep here tonight. He was worse than the worst teenage boy, jacking off to a girl in her own damn bed. At the thought, his cock twitched again. Something about her made him want to have her in every way he could possibly imagine. And he could imagine a hell of a lot.
He wiped himself clean and then stretched out across the bed. Tonight, he’d take her out to dinner. A real date, not this messed up weekend thing. And afterwards, well, that remained to be seen. He was pretty sure she was interested in him, too. The way she’d leaned into him on the forest trail, opening her mouth for the kiss they both wanted. A smile still on his lips, he drifted into a doze.
Chapter Nineteen
It’s A Date
Charlotte spent the afternoon reading by the fire in the library, feeling cozy and comforted, while Jordan worked at the library desk with his laptop. She glanced over to watch him regularly. It was a tiny little desk, more decorative than functional, with a leather inset and curvy carved edges. Jordan loomed over it, as if he were trying to work in a playhouse.
“You sure work hard,” she said, before internally slapping herself for saying something so completely banal.
“It comes with the territory.”
“Does it? It seems like you are working every hour of the day.”
“Most days. Not every day. I’m new. It’s my business—if anyone has to put the extra time in, it has to be me. I think you get better work out of people when they see you are working as hard as you can, as well.”
He shrugged. “George thinks I’m wasting my time. Not by working, he’s a fan of hard work. But the changes I’ve made to the office piss him off. He thinks the mission statement is a waste of time. A lot of the staff do, too. It’s just words, why bother?” He swiped something on his laptop.
She scrunched her eyes shut to keep herself from staring at his broad back and shoulders. “Mission statement, really? Aren’t they a bit... well, always about how we should do our jobs well? As if anyone ever starts work going ‘You know what? I want to do a really bad job!’ Does anyone actually pay attention to things like corporate mission statements? I mean anyone doing real work. I always thought it was just something to keep management busy. You know, the people at the top with not a lot to do?”
“Yep, that’s me.” He was laughing though. “I get that. There’s a lot of bullshit out there. And there’s a lot of distrust for me having gotten a business degree instead of just starting at the bottom and working my way up. But I truly believe a mission statement can be good if it is based on solid information. Not motivational jargon about changing the world and seeking enlightenment, that’s a waste of everyone’s time. But, for example, it’s important that everyone who works for me knows the company doesn’t tolerate bad behavior. We don’t accept that it is ever necessary to treat people badly: not our competitors and not our customers and not our staff. A firm statement means everyone knows where they stand. That offers stability, which leads to loyalty.” He looked embarrassed. “Or I’ve fallen for a lot of new age business bullshit and am wasting everyone’s time.”
“Maybe,” she said. She almost told him about her father and George at that moment, about what had happened and how she just wanted to right that wrong.
As she opened her mouth, he looked at his watch and swore. “Hell, I forgot about the dress!”
This man was the most confusing person she’d ever met. “What dress?”
“Your dress! You need a dress for the party tomorrow night. I’ll call them to send someone round. What’s your size? There’s no time for a proper fitting.”
“Jordan, I have a dress. I brought one for the party.”
“A party dress is not an engagement dress. You need to be the belle of the ball!”
She sighed “No, I need to not be embarrassing. I have a perfectly nice dress—the saleswoman said it was a cocktail dress and just the right thing for an engagement party.”
He groaned. “Yes, for someone else’s engagement party, maybe. But not for your own.”
“No.” She knew it was his weekend and he was happy to buy her clothes—he seemed to know a lot more about women’s clothing than she ever would have guessed—but enough was enough. He was acting as if it were a real engagement, like he had forgotten he’d have to tell everyone was cancelled once she was out of the way. “Jordan, the
last thing I need is to try to outshine Lauren at her own party. I’ll wear my dress and it’ll be fine and in a few months, everyone will have forgotten me anyway.”
He opened his mouth to argue and she placed a finger against his lips. It was surprisingly effective at silencing him. The problem was that the feel of his warm lips and breath on her fingers meant she’d completely forgotten what she was going to say.
“I should go and get changed for dinner,” she said, annoyed at how husky her voice sounded.
He reached up and moved her finger from his mouth, almost reluctantly. “I have good news,” he told her. “I’m taking you out tonight. Just the two of us.”
“A date? You are asking me on a date?” As she said the words, she realized he hadn’t asked at all but had simply informed her. To her annoyance, she was still flattered. This was not what she expected of Jordan Lovett, powerhouse workaholic.
He looked a bit embarrassed, which endeared him even further to her. “Well, not really a date-date. I just thought you might appreciate a night away from the family. I booked us a table at Tchaikovsky’s. You’ll love it.”
“Are you sure you don’t have to work?”
“I’ve worked and worked, Charlotte! I’ve read ten damn reports—”
She cut him off. “Out of how many?”
“Woman, give me a break! You are a slave driver.” They both laughed and she conceded.
“Dinner would be lovely,” she said.