Taming Her Boss
Page 6
Whatever this is, it's big. Maybe, just maybe, this night's not going to be a total waste.
I smile as I collect the papers, enjoying the strained look spreading across his features. Maybe little Lyndon isn't so happy with Daddy's company after all? Is he planning on separating himself from the company? Taking some key investors with him? Is this a scandal?
I lean back and start to scan the documents.
At first, I have to reread and reread and reread the sentences. My mouth begins to droop at the corners, and my eyes start to widen in shocked surprise.
The first thing I notice is the absurd amount of money that Lex wants to pay me. Hell, it's printed so large on the second page of the contract that it'd be hard to miss. The dollar figure in question is so astronomical that I could pay off my townhouse, my car, my credit cards, and have money left over to live on for decades. Comfortably.
The second thing I notice is the word sex. That, too, is hard to miss, plastered as it across every single surface I have in front of me. Sex, sex, sex. That's what this contract is about: sex. Namely, sex between Lex Lyndon and myself.
“Is this … is this a joke?” I manage to choke out, getting caught on my own words as I struggle and fail to come up with an articulate question to post to the psychotic man sitting across the table from me. I tap my fist against my chest to clear my airway and then shake my head. “I mean, did you do this to be funny? Or just to see how much, exactly, you could get away with before I'd snap completely?”
“This is a legitimate offer,” Lex says, leaning forward and placing his finger on the packet of papers. His gray eyes are shimmering with emotions I don't even want to begin to try to decipher. In fact, I'd daresay his voice sounds … desperate. It's a difficult attribute to apply to the asshole in the corner office. I'm not even sure I can do it, not even if it's true. “Olivia,” he begins and then pauses, eyes flicking this way and that, like he expects someone he knows to sweep down on us at any moment. “Oli. I've been looking for someone like you for a very long time.”
I feel my eyebrow spring up in surprise and incredulous frustration.
“Someone. Like. Me.” I repeat the words slowly, barely able to force them between my lips. “You mean, like an expensive whore?” I shake the papers at him and don't care that several sets of eyes have turned to stare at us. “Because that's what this contract indicates I should become. You want me. To have sex with you. For six months. Exclusively.” I drop the papers on the table, right on top of my last beignet and flip through them quickly. “And apparently, you want me to … what? Dominate you? This is like a BDSM arrangement?” I tilt my head to the side and narrow my eyes at him again. “Is this like a reverse Fifty Shades of Grey thing? Lex, am I supposed to be your Christian Grey? Because that is not happening.”
“Could you please keep your voice down,” Lex grinds out between his perfect teeth. He's right, though, people are starting to stare. Much as I'd like to throw this contract around and let everyone in this damn restaurant read it, I'm not going to. First off, because I signed an NDA (that sneaky little bastard). Second of all, because Lex has just insulted me to my very core. He wants to pay me to have sex with him. I don't care that he wants me to dominate him, that I'd be in charge, etcetera, etcetera. That's all irrelevant. Lex doesn't care what I do for his company, doesn't care that I work my ass off making him millions. He doesn't see me as an asset or a hard worker or an employee but as a woman. Some commodity to be exploited and abused.
“You can go fuck yourself,” I snarl, throwing the papers across the table and into his lap. I stand up from my chair with the screech of wood on wood, adjust my hair with my hands and storm out the door with an audience of romancing couples and slack-jawed waiters.
As soon as my heels hit the pavement and the cool evening air brushes against the bare skin of my arms, I remember that I'm three miles away from my house wearing high heels and a long evening gown – one that I stupidly thought I was going to go clubbing in. Hah. I guess it has been a while since I last went out. I just grabbed for the prettiest thing in my closet and threw it on. Now, I'm on the corner of 17th and Pond with no car, no wallet, no phone.
Well.
The last thing I'm going to do is walk back in that restaurant and ask Lex if I can use his.
Good thing I don't have to.
“Olivia, please,” Lex says, coming out the doors behind me as I hike up my dress and tie the fabric in a knot against my calves. If I'm going to be walking home, I'll need it up and out of the way. I lift my leg up and start to pull my heel off when I catch sight of the sidewalk. Ugh. San Francisco city streets. Bare foot. The two things refuse to reconcile in my head. “I wasn't implying you were a whore, far from it.”
“Oh, that's rich,” I say, spinning to face Lex, hating that he's a fucking vision in his well-pressed suit. I also hate that his ties are so colorful. What does that even mean? It would make a hell of a lot more sense if they were as boring and cold as the rest of him. I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment, holding out my right hand and wiggling my fingers at him. “Give me your phone.”
“Not until you hear me out,” Lex continues as I shake my head and open my eyes, backing up a step. If he can't figure out why I'm so bothered by his offer, then he's even further away from planet earth than I thought he was. The asshole better get his head out of the clouds before he suffocates from the lack of oxygen up there.
I turn away and start to cross Pond Street, certain that my feet are going to be bloody and blistered by the time I get back to my place. Three miles is a long way to walk in heels. If I had my fucking wallet, I could walk a block in the opposite direction and get to the Castro Street Station, take the Powell/Hyde Cable Car home. But I'll be damned if I ask Lex for a single cent. I'll keep my pride and my dignity, thank you very much.
I spin around halfway through the crosswalk and point a finger at Lex.
“And come Monday, this whole talk about firing me better be a thing of the past.”
I turn back away from him, lift my chin up, and walk the entire three miles without a single hitch in my step. I might have signed a Non Disclosure Agreement, but if Lex thinks he can fire me and walk away from this without consequence, he's got another thing coming.
Walk away without consequences.
I cringe and lean back in my chair, head resting against the leather as I let out a sigh and try to ignore the throbbing in my feet. I certainly didn't walk away from that meeting without consequence. My feet are swearing up and down that somebody took a baseball bat to them at some point during the weekend. Whether that was before or after they flayed the skin around from my ankles and my toes, that's up for debate.
“Knock, knock,” Maxi says as she slips into my office and pauses on the opposite side of my desk. “Thought I'd stop by and see what you wanted to do for lunch. After Friday, I'm not sure if I can ever eat Thai food again. I tried to stop by the Thai place that's across the street from my apartment complex and as soon as I smelled peanut sauce, I thought of Lex Lyndon and his angry, red face.” Maxi adjusts the binder in her right arm and tilts her head to the side as she studies me carefully. “Are you okay, Oli? I didn't see you after he dragged you into his office?”
“I went home early,” I say, sitting up with a groan and trying my best to smile at my friend. The last thing I want to talk about right now is Lex Lyndon. He ruined my Friday, decimated my Saturday, and managed to taint my Sunday, too. I spent the whole day soaking my feet in the tub and reading crime thrillers. Something about page after page of blood and gore and fastidious police work just rubs me the right way. What is it about reading that makes the rest of the world fall away? When compared with a multi-national drug trafficking ring, my issues with Lex seemed paltry.
Sitting here at my desk on Monday, I'm not so sure I believe that anymore.
I smile at my friend, ignoring the slight crinkle of skin around her pale green eyes that says she's not buying what I'm selling.
“Why are you wearing slippers?” she asks me, looking down at my feet and then back up at my face. I sigh and perch on the edge of the desk, crossing my arms over my chest. I may not be able to tell Maxi everything, but at least this is something I can be honest about.
“I walked three miles in a pair of four inch heels.”
Maxi wrinkles her nose up and clutches her binder tight against the pearlescent white blouse she has on today. Professional, boring, just like Lex Lyndon likes it. Well, maybe not as much as he pretends to. That contract was pretty clear: take control. He didn't just want me to sleep with him, he wanted me to orchestrate everything, down to the smallest details. I didn't exactly pick through the contract with a fine-tooth comb, but it sure as hell gave me an insight into the man's personality that I wasn't expecting. I could tell when I talked to him before that he was hiding something, but I had no idea that this was it.
Lex Lyndon wants a woman in charge, and he's willing to pay for it – quite handsomely I might add. Chills travel up and down my spine as I lick my suddenly dry lips and try to figure out how to tell my story to Maxi without revealing exactly what was in Lex's proposal.
“Let's do Chinese,” I say, forcing myself to stand up. “I'll explain everything over a steaming bowl of wonton soup.”
“You went on a date with the boss,” Maxi spits out, her food lying untouched on the red tablecloth between us. I stir my spoon in the liquid and try to keep a smile plastered across my lips. Now that I've gotten the story out, I feel a little bit better, like some of the weight's been lifted off my shoulders. Considering the absurdity of Lex's request, I imagine that future interactions between that man and myself will be kept to an absolute minimum. In fact, other than his brief jaunt between the elevator and his office door, I haven't seen Lex today. He didn't even glance my way when he walked past my office.
“Not exactly,” I say, trying to get her to understand that I had no choice in the matter. Well, okay, that's not true. There's always a choice – I just had an easy one to make. Dinner with Lex, hopefully placating him enough that he'd leave me alone, and standing outside my apartment freezing my butt off for an hour while I waited for the locksmith. At the time, it seemed like a harmless concession to make. Hilarious, now that I think about it. One look at Lex Lyndon's dark eyes and sharp smile, and it becomes pretty obvious there's nothing harmless about that man. “Now. I've told you the story – ”
“But not the whole story,” Maxi interrupts, dropping her spoon against the side of her bowl and reaching for the silver pot of tea in the center of the table. “NDA or no, I want to hear what was in that contract.” I purse my lips and let my gaze slide out the window, at the gray foggy afternoon that's enveloping the buildings around us, kissing them with the taste of salty bay and ocean. Honestly, I don't care that I signed a stupid piece of paper promising to be silent about our meeting, I'd tell Maxi anyway. She's not going to relay that information; nobody would ever know. Thing is, I don't really want to tell her what the offer involved. It was … unsettling to say the least.
I decide I'll use the NDA as my shield anyway.
“I'm sorry, Maxi, but I don't want the sue stick to come down hard on me. You know how litigation happy the Lyndons are.” She sighs and sets the teapot down, tearing open several sugar packets and dumping them into the steaming liquid. I watch her for a moment and scoop another wonton into my mouth. I'm in the process of chewing the stupid thing when I look out the window and catch sight of the last person I want to see today. “Crap.”
I start choking on my food, pounding my chest with my fist in a desperate attempt to clear my airway.
“Oli? Are you okay?” Maxi rises to her feet and moves over to my side of the table at the same moment Lex disappears, and I hear the sharp tinkling of bells from the front door of the restaurant. Crap, crap, crap, and damn it. “I don't remember how to do the Heimlich maneuver,” Maxi stresses, rubbing my back in circles and gazing up at the ceiling in thought. “Is it thumb side of the fist against the stomach? Above the navel? Or is it the middle of the breastbone?”
“It's above the navel,” Lex Lyndon says, pausing next to our table with no sign of distress wrinkling his perfectly pressed suit or beautifully stoic facial features. “Unless the person you're attempting to use the maneuver on is pregnant or obese, then it's the center of the breastbone.” He stares down at me with those steel gray eyes, not much friendlier than the fog outside the window. I'd rather jump in the bay naked than climb into bed with this man – not even for a million bucks. Not even for a hundred million bucks, which is a lot closer to the offer he presented me last night. “However, if the person you're attempting to save is coughing or has the ability to talk, you shouldn't perform the Heimlich unless their condition worsens.”
“Nice to know you've got my back,” I choke, coughing up a piece of wonton into my hand. Ugh. How … unattractive. I grab the napkin off the table and deposit the half-masticated food into it. This fucking sucks. If I thought my week couldn't get any worse, I was dead wrong. Maxi glances over at my face and smiles tightly, sliding out of the seat next to me and retreating back to her side of the booth. “You're interrupting my lunch break again,” I iterate slowly and carefully, trying not to gasp for air after my near death choking attempt. “I thought we discussed the implications of that on Friday.”
I look over and up at Lex, hating the way he towers over the table, casting a shadow across my suddenly unappetizing bowl of soup. I scoot to the edge of the booth and rise to my feet, coming chest to belly with the boss and CEO of Lyndon Realty Trust. If I thought I had to look up at him last night, this is so much worse. I feel like I'm craning my neck trying to stare the guy down. I'm five foot five, short but not ridiculously so. It's just that Lex is tall. Super fucking tall. Like six foot five or something. Not having those extra few inches of high heel on my side sucks.
“Good afternoon, Miss Ashcraft. I take it you didn't run into any trouble with the locksmith?” If he's waiting for me to thank him for pre-paying for the service, he's got another thing coming. I cross my arms over my chest, aware that I'm wearing slippers under my trousers – not exactly the best accessory to help get me into that power bitch mode. But hey, I don't need fancy shoes for that. I keep that magical ability wrapped close around my heart.
“If you have something you wish to discuss with me, set up a meeting,” I tell Lex, smiling tightly and ignoring the warmth passing between our bodies. We're standing too close for comfort, but with the table at my back, I have nowhere else to go. Anyway, I wouldn't step back if I did. He's the one that's going to step away. I'll make sure of it.
I think of my loose lips the night he stopped by my house, how I ordered him to fuck me against the wall … and he did. Or at least, he tried to. Would that same tactic work now, here?
“Go back to the office, Lex. If there's an email waiting for me when I get back, I'll read it. If you summon me to your desk, I'll come, but only as a professional courtesy.” He stares at me and then turns away without another word. I hate that I see the hint of a smirk touch his lips as he goes … three feet away and sits at the bar. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I growl under my breath, sitting back down and fuming as Maxi looks between me and Lex with a skeptical expression on her face.
“You guys … like each other?” she asks, like she's never heard of anything so preposterous. I laugh – too loudly maybe – and snatch up my spoon with a grimacing smile.
“Like each other? Not hardly.” I stab at another wonton and igno
re the rumble of Lex's voice as he orders … wonton soup. Fucking asshole. I toss another glare at my boss' back. “I guess we both just like Chinese food.”
As Olivia requested, I head back to the office – approximately ten steps behind her. I'm not trying to stalk her or anything, we simply happened to finish our soup at the same moment.
She swipes her security badge at the door with tense, jerking motions, letting the glass slam in my face. I grit my teeth and yank mine out of my pocket, catching up to her in the lobby with long strides.
“You don't have to run from me, you know,” I say, ignoring the tense, nervous eyes of Olivia's friend. Miss Ashcraft might not be afraid of me, but her friend certainly is. It doesn't matter; I'm used to it. Most of the employees here – men and woman alike – are terrified of me.
“Oh, believe me, I'm not running, Lex,” Olivia says as the three of us pause in front of the elevator. The blonde – I can't remember her name, but I do know she's from accounting – swipes her badge and presses the button for the lobby. “I don't run from my problems.” I glance down at Olivia's feet, at the slippers she's got on. Interesting. I guess walking home in her high heels really did a number on her feet. I almost feel sorry for her. Or I would've¸ if she hadn't stood me up. But I haven't given up yet. I'm a Lyndon, and my family never got anywhere by giving up so easily.
The elevator dings into place and Olivia's blonde friend climbs on, leaving the two of us to glare at each other in the pale sterility of the office lobby. There's a private elevator I could take up to floor twelve, but I'd rather ride with Olivia. Maybe I should invite her on it?
“Go up without me, Maxi,” Olivia says, nodding her chin at her friend. The girl gives her a look that's hard for me to decipher and pushes the button for our floor, letting the silver doors slide closed between us.
I stare into Olivia's emerald eyes, tasting the fury and the anger burning there, the righteous indignation. She has every right to be irate with me – I did ask her to sleep with me for money. How I can possibly convince her what whore is the last word I had in my mind when I cooked up this arrangement is beyond me. Maybe I can't? But if I can't manage that, I have a feeling there's no way in hell she'll accept my proposal – not for all the money in the world.