Noah blinked. “It’s a lot of money.”
“You have the authority as well as a budget. You’re responsible for real estate acquisitions in Asia.”
“I enjoy hearing Uncle Theodore’s perspective.”
Rafe also appreciated his father’s guidance. Theodore might not want any part of day-to-day anymore, but it was his view of the industry that had shaped Sterling for the last generation. He might not like the responsibility, but he’d been damn good at it. “As I said, it’s on you if it fails.”
“You need to stop covering for Uncle Theodore.” Uninvited, Noah took a seat and propped his ankle on top of his opposite knee. “I’ve been leaving him messages for a couple of weeks. And I stopped by the house on Friday. If he’s not going to run Sterling Worldwide, he needs to be removed as CEO. The attorney I spoke to—”
“Close the door on your way out.”
“Listen, Rafe, even you have to admit—”
“Close the door on your way out.”
For long, tense moments, Noah remained where he was. But Rafe raised an eyebrow, refusing to yield.
Eventually, Noah stood. “Consider yourself warned.”
When Rafe was alone in the reverberating silence, he sighed. Then he called his attorney.
With the few details that Rafe outlined, Mercedes confirmed what Rafe already knew. As long as Theodore was absent, uncertainty abounded. Noah could file a lawsuit. Mercedes would challenge it, and perhaps a judge would throw it out. If not, Sterling Worldwide had a protracted, expensive mess in front of it. The press would feed from the carcass for years.
If Rafe were married, the succession would be clearer, making it much more difficult for Noah to prevail in court.
Rafe was trapped. Hopelessly fucking trapped.
Mouth set in a grim line, he ended the call, then pulled out the folders containing his bridal candidates. With determination, he flipped each one open in turn.
He glanced at the pictures and read the brief biographies that the women had written. And he reached his decision. None of the above. He wanted sexy Hope Malloy.
An hour later, Jeanine interrupted, saying that the Prestige Group was on the phone for him.
Heat flared in his blood, unexpected and unwelcome. To focus on his pursuit of Hope, he shoved away the desire that was so strong it disturbed him.
He pressed a button on his phone to accept the call on speaker so her voice could wrap around him. “Ms. Malloy.” He kept his tone controlled.
“Mr. Sterling? This is Skyler Morrison at the Prestige Group. I’m Hope’s assistant.”
Disappointment crawled through him.
As if she hadn’t crushed his fantasies, Skyler continued, “Hope asked me to call to let you know that we have a mixer scheduled for Thursday afternoon at four. We’ll have a private room at the Ivy.”
“I prefer to have it at the International.” There was no reason for him to change the venue, except for the fact that he wanted this charade to happen at his club, where he was more in control.
Silence stretched for awkward moments before she said, “Everything is already arranged. The Ivy is an excellent choice. I think you’ll find it suitable.”
“I prefer the International Club.” He’d enjoyed many fine meals at the Ivy, and she was right. The few private rooms made the upscale restaurant an adequate place for a business rendezvous.
Rafe told himself he preferred to do things on his terms. If he were honest, he’d admit it was more than that. He wanted to shake up Hope’s plans and let her know he was in charge. And Thursday was too long to wait to see her. “Wednesday is better for my schedule. My contact is Barbara Thurston. I’ll have her call you.”
“Mr. Sterling—”
“Four o’clock?”
“We prefer to handle the arrangements ourselves.”
“I’m sure you prefer to be in control. So do I.” Hope might have avoided making this call, but that was the last battle she would win. “Let Ms. Malloy know I’m looking forward to it.”
Skyler gave a frustrated sigh before conceding. “Wednesday at four. The International Club.”
He grinned as he ended the call. His round.
CHAPTER THREE
“Is he a sadist?” Hannah demanded, distaste in her voice.
Oh, God. Is he?
Before they were able to call Rafe’s potential mates the previous morning, he’d sent over his limits list. Most things Hope had some knowledge of, but there were a few things that had perplexed Skyler. Tony, however, had walked into the office, taken a seat, and proceeded to enlighten them. One shocked Hope. Another mortified her.
In the privacy of her home, she spent hours rereading each page he’d sent over, and each question had caused a reaction. Instead of simple yeses or nos, she’d imagined herself in the scenarios, secured to the bedposts, having orgasm after orgasm forced from her, having ice water drizzled on her stomach.
She’d been unable to sleep. When she was still restless at midnight, she’d gone for a run on the treadmill, hoping to unwind. It hadn’t help much, and when she did drift off, she did so thinking of his damnable, demanding kiss.
“Hope?”
Hannah’s sharp tone penetrated the fog clouding Hope’s brain. “I’m here. Sorry.” Hope blinked to refocus on her phone call. “I’m not sure about that.” Did the fact that he wanted to spank his wife for any misbehavior make him a sadist? Or was it just part of the relationship? “Because these questions are subjective”—at least they seemed to be to her—“I think it’s best if you ask him your specific questions when you meet him. We are hosting a mixer tomorrow evening.”
“Look, Hope. I’m not that desperate for a man. There’s no way I would ever marry a sadist.”
Even if he’s a gazillionaire?
“Can you find out for me? I don’t want to waste my time.”
“I understand. Let me get back to you with an answer.” If she’d had any idea of the difficulties she would run into with Rafe as a client, Hope would have doubled her fee.
After ending the call, she left her office and strode into the main reception area. Since Skyler was on the phone, Hope went into the tiny kitchen. To her, as long as it held her favorite creamer, a couple of bottles of wine, and a stash of chocolate, it was the exact right size.
Since she’d eaten all the candy she bought for her personal use, she opened a bag of Tony’s M&M’s and helped herself.
She’d just finished savoring a yellow one when Skyler joined her. “That bad?”
“Hannah Morrison wants to know if our bachelor is a sadist.”
Skyler dipped her hand into the treats too.
“Any luck with your calls?” Hope needed some good news.
“I talked to Adele. She said if I ever ask her something like that again, she’ll end her association with us and blast us on social media.”
The nondisclosure should prevent that, but she could always post an anonymous review and deny she’d done it. Hope exhaled. “If we survive this, every other client will be easy.”
“Norah Minturn expressed interest in him…after asking about his net worth first.”
Hope scooped up another half dozen candies. There was a reason Norah was one of the city’s top financial managers.
“Ladies, ladies!” Tony edged his way between them and snatched away the bag. “A little respect, please. These are to be savored. One at a time. One at a time.”
“We’re going to need that back,” Skyler said.
“Nothing’s that bad,” he insisted. “Unless the world is ending, this is my private stash, and grabby hands are not welcome.”
“Hope has to ask McHottie if he’s a sadist.”
“A… What? Oh. Gotcha.” Tony shoved the bag back at Hope. “Eat all you want.” Without another word, he carried on toward his office and closed the door.
“Well, then.” Skyler brushed her palms together. “I’ll let you get it over with.”
“You’ve been his contac
t person.”
“About that…I’ve still got to firm up the next set of recommendations for you and confirm the arrangements with the International Club. Lots of work to do today. I’m very busy.”
The main office phone rang. “Duty calls!” After a quick glance toward Tony’s closed door, Skyler grabbed a handful of M&M’s, then dashed toward her desk.
Hope returned to her office, then straightened a few things up. She watered the cactus on the windowsill, answered all her emails, even cleared out the receipts from her handbag. Then, out of busywork, she sighed.
Instead of picking up the phone, she stared at it. Mentally, she tried a few different approaches. They were all awkward—or worse, left her vulnerable and uncertain. She didn’t want to know this much about him. But at the same time, she was hungry for the information.
What the hell was wrong with her? She needed to find Rafe Sterling a wife. Instead, he’d upended her equilibrium.
Shaking her head at her cowardice, Hope snatched up her phone, searched out his contact information, then pressed the call button. She agonized through each ring and exhaled a relieved whoosh when she reached his voicemail. Damn it, even though his voice was recorded, the smokiness in his words sent little shivers of arousal skittering through her.
Since she had no business reacting to a client in that way, she cleared her throat before leaving what she prayed was a coherent message.
After the short reprieve, her anxiety spiked. Now she had to wait for him to call back.
Torturing her, he took most of the remaining workday. Tony and Skyler had already left the office, and Hope had been organizing her desk before heading to the gym.
In a small bit of retaliation, when the phone rang, she didn’t answer until the last possible second, right before her ringtone trailed off. “Prestige Group.”
“It’s Rafe Sterling.”
His voice sent tremors through her.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
Her spine lost strength, and she sank deeper against the back of her seat. “As you know, we are setting up the mixer.”
He waited without response.
She had no choice but to move forward. “I have an…indelicate question for you.”
“About…?”
What was the word he had used? “Your proclivities.”
“That sounds interesting.” Humor laced his words, as if he enjoyed making her uncomfortable. “Please, proceed.”
Hope cleared her throat. Fuck. “Are you a sadist?”
He chuckled, low and sinister, titillating her. “From your tone earlier, I thought the topic would be much more delicate.”
What did that mean? “So…” Her heart thumped in triple time.
“Can you be more specific?”
She squirmed. “I thought it would be a yes-or-no question.”
“Maybe for some people it is. I find it a little more complex. Do I enjoy inflicting pain for the sheer joy of hurting someone?”
She wondered where he was. In his office? Looking out the window? Behind his desk?
“Is the woman in question a masochist? Does she enjoy it? Does receiving pain fulfill something deep inside her?”
“Fulfill something?”
“Masochists love to receive pain. It can be inextricably linked to their happiness. Or does she fear pain?” His tone took on a serrated edge. “Is it on her limits list? Does the idea scare her? Will she do anything to avoid it?”
“Your potential match says she won’t date a sadist.”
“The short answer is no. I’m not. Well, not in the strictest sense of the word.”
Was everything complicated with him?
“However, I am more than happy to deliver the right amount to drive a woman wild. If she’s a masochist, she will find that I’m willing to make her happy. Some people differ on their definition of sadism. What about delivering a spanking that the receiver thinks is too much but makes her come? Perhaps it’s sadistic to duct tape a submissive to a chair and force her to watch a movie she hates. How about using vampire gloves to part her labia as I prepare to lash her clit?”
Her pussy throbbed. Uncomfortable, she shifted. He was answering a question, not speaking to her. He didn’t want to do those wicked things to her, even if she was picturing him spreading her wide in front of him.
The door to the exterior hallway opened. Her attention jarred, she scowled and pushed back from her desk. Though it wasn’t out of the question, guests didn’t often stop in without an appointment. So, unless Tony or Skyler had forgotten something, there was no reason for anyone to be in the office.
Since Rafe was still talking, Hope covered the phone with her hand and called out, “Hello?” When there was no answer, her concern grew, and she left her office.
Hope froze when she entered the reception area. Larger than life, intoxicating as well as overpowering, he stood near Skyler’s desk.
Her momentary concern blossomed into relief, only to be replaced with a shocking surge of pleasure that mixed with a breathtaking sense of dread.
It might have been the end of the day, but his suit was impeccable. His silver tie was knotted high and tight, and his shirt was crisp and starched. He had the barest hint of an afternoon shadow, and he smelled of spice.
She had a feminine instinct to yield to him, but professionalism said she dared not. “Mr. Sterling.” She ended the call, then held the phone in front of her to ward him off.
“I prefer not to answer questions about sadism in general terms.” He didn’t smile to dull the impact of his words. In fact, he sounded as if he were in a tough business negotiation rather than talking about sex. “I’d much rather discuss specific situations and ask my own questions in return. There might be some common ground, or something a sub might be willing to try.”
She tightened her grip until she could no longer feel her fingers. “I’ll convey what you’ve said to see if the potential match might want to have further conversation with you.”
“And what about you, Hope?” He dropped his cell into an inner pocket of his suit coat. “You’re not curious at all?”
“This isn’t about me.”
“You received my questionnaire.” It was a statement, not a question. He’d sent the email with a read-receipt request, so he knew the exact moment she’d opened it.
“I did.”
“Did you learn anything about yourself?”
“Nothing that pertains to you,” she lied. She had a number of questions, but for her sanity, she needed to keep him at an emotional distance. Returning to business where she understood the landscape better, she said, “As I mentioned in your office, we can set up private meetings with the candidates for you if there is mutual interest.”
“Nothing at all?” His smile was lethal. “What sort of things were you curious about? What scared you?”
Hope kept her gaze riveted on his tie. “This is not an appropriate conversation.” Even so, she couldn’t find the words to ask him to leave. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit she didn’t want to him to go. In desperation, she said, “You’re a client.” Was she trying to convince herself or him?
“Are you familiar with a safe word?”
She forced herself to look up at his face. Then she wished she hadn’t. His eyes were probing, giving her no place to hide.
“A safe word, Ms. Malloy?”
She exhaled. “I have done some reading. It stops a…well, whatever is going on.”
As if he’d read her mind, he hooked a finger through the knot in his tie.
Her toes curled.
“What’s your safe word?”
“You’re my client,” she repeated, voice catching.
“I’m not,” he corrected. “My mother hired you.”
Hope wanted to argue the technicality, but unaccountably, she didn’t. She was a drowning woman ignoring a lifeline.
“Come here, Ms. Malloy.”
She wasn’t going to. Yet, just like the time
she’d asked for his kiss, her treacherous body betrayed her, and she took a step closer, then a second.
“What would you like me to do with this tie?”
“Keep it around your neck.”
“Is that the truth?” he pressed. His gaze enslaved hers. “Or should I punish you for not being truthful?”
She shivered, wanting that. “Mr. Sterling…”
“You’re as safe as you want to be.”
That was the problem. She wanted to be wild and abandoned. “We… I… Can’t.” She shook her head. It would be ridiculous to proceed. She tried again, with more force, “We can’t.” It would be worse than ridiculous. Rafe Sterling was starting to mean something to her. He filled her every waking moment, and not just because the Sterling account was the most challenging one she’d ever worked on. It was his damnable words about his proclivities.
“Give me a safe word. Something you wouldn’t use in ordinary conversation, something easy to remember. Or tell me to leave.”
A million emotions crashed through her. Fear and curiosity. Desire and doubt. Reality. It would be so much harder to find him the perfect match if she wanted him for herself. Not that she would, she rationalized.
He stood there, as patient as he always was because he knew her. Her capitulation was coming. They both knew it.
“A lot of submissives use the color red. Yellow to slow down.”
“Eggplant.” The word fell out, even as she was still telling herself she didn’t need or want a safe word.
“Eggplant?” He laughed, breaking the tension, allowing her to see another side of him, one that wasn’t as threatening or scary. As if he were an ordinary man. For some reason, that made him even more dangerous to her resolve. “Why eggplant?”
“I hate them.”
“Okay, then.” In an instant, his smile fled, and he was once again stern, leaving her reeling. “Tell me an instance when you might say that word.”
Her rational brain screamed that she shouldn’t engage in this conversation. But it had been years since she felt this alive. It was intoxicating. “When you ask me to do something that I don’t want to.”
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