by Cynthia Dane
“You will be mine. Every inch of you. Every part of you. I will unravel its mysteries and find out what you want. Starting this Thursday. You will come over to my place for dinner, so help me God.”
Sarah did not reply, but she left the office with a devious smirk on her lips.
Chapter 10
Avoiding Lucas was easy enough over the next two days. The more a woman wanted to be around a man, the easier it was to avoid him.
Because it wasn’t out of fear, discomfort, or boredom. Sarah avoided Lucas as a game. She ignored his texts. Only said the customary greetings and business-related words for two days. Spared him no extra glances… except for when she wanted to remind him that she did, indeed, find him attractive.
A small smile when she leaned over the conference table in front of him. A brush against his shoulder when they happened to be in the same crowded elevator. Her jacket and the top two buttons of her blouse left open when she sat across from him during a morning meeting. A hastily scribbled note shoved into his hand that said nothing outrageous, in case HR was watching.
“Roses are red, violets are blue. What the hell do I do with you?”
Of course, Lucas continued to text her.
“What do you want, Angel? I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Not just in the city. Around the world. I have a home in Copenhagen. Or would you like to visit family in London? Italy is lovely this time of year. Or we can go to a sandy beach as an excuse for a bikini.”
She looked up from her phone as he entered the room, pocketing his own phone. Lucas flashed her a haughty grin before heading to Mr. Monroe’s corner office.
“Send me one response confirming that you’re coming by my place. That’s all I ask.”
Sarah waited a few minutes, taking the time to finish up one of her tasks and firing off an inter-office message to another department before getting back to Lucas. “I’m not opposed.”
He burst from the corner office doors with triumph on his face.
“No taking care of yourself tonight, Angel. I will do it all for you. But let’s start with wine and dinner at seven. I’ll forward you my address and tell my on-site bodyguard to give us some privacy tonight. No promises after ten, though. I think he likes watching me sleep.”
Was she supposed to laugh at that? Because she did, thoroughly.
“Someone’s in a giddy mood,” Alisha said, sitting down across from Sarah. Alice Monroe shortly joined them, feet slipping out of her flats as she leaned over Alisha’s desk and pointed to what she wanted transcribed by the end of the day. “Anything to do with that secret admirer of yours?”
Alice looked up. “Secret admirer? Here I thought I knew everything.”
“Oh, yeah, Sarah’s got some guy sending her flowers every other day, but she won’t say anything about him.”
For the first time that Thursday, Sarah scowled in someone’s direction. “It’s not like that, I can assure you.”
“Than what is it like?”
“Let’s let Ms. Clayborn live her life and do her job, hm?” Alice tucked a large binder beneath her arm. “Besides, if there are any unsavory characters trying to bother her, she knows who to contact about it.”
“I sure do, ma’am.”
Alice left. Alisha shot her coworker a disapproving look.
“What?”
“What do you mean what? Geez.”
Sarah sent one last text to Lucas before safely pocketing her personal phone. “If I open my legs for you again, Mr. Blackbourne, you better deliver what I want.”
She could practically hear him groaning in anticipation from the other room.
Seven gave her enough time after work to jet home and change into something more date appropriate than her plain pantsuit. Tight jeans, a flirty white blouse, minimal – but dark – makeup, and strappy heels as opposed to the little boots she usually wore. Nigel wasn’t home from his own job yet, so she left him a note where he was sure to see it. “Going out with some people. Don’t wait up.”
A light winter coat covered her up before she went out and caught a cab from the sidewalk. She gave the driver the address Lucas had sent her. A waterfront property, of course.
She expected a nice, executive apartment procured the moment Lucas knew he was heading back to America for work. What she didn’t expect was a penthouse suite with the perfect view of the starlit-river meandering through the city’s core. Not that she got to see much of the view before heading upstairs. Sarah had worn sunglasses and wrapped a black scarf around her head as soon as she got in the cab. She was taking no chances.
“My God,” Lucas said the moment he opened his door. “You actually came.”
Sarah removed the glasses and scarf so he could confirm he wasn’t imagining things. “Like what you see?”
He stood out of the way, gesturing for her to enter.
The scent of dinner hit her right away. Again, she expected a certain level of quality. Lucas Blackbourne was a son of privilege and used to having things a certain way. Of course dinner would be to die for. What Sarah never once expected was the fact it didn’t come from takeout or food prepared by a chef while Lucas was out that day. Not if the burning stove and loads of ingredients across the marble countertops had anything to say about it.
“You… cook?” Sarah sat on one of the stools at the island counter in the middle of the open-concept kitchen.
“Surprised?” Lucas turned down one of the burners and removed the wok that was atop it. “I love cooking. My biggest wish is always having more people to cook for. You should have seen what I made your bosses for dinner last weekend.”
Sorry to have missed it. Not really. The Monroes had a professional chef who cooked their meals for them every day. The special diet Mrs. Monroe followed was enough to give Sarah a headache. “I have to admit, I’m not used to seeing these kitchens in these places actually used.”
“I was an anomaly growing up, to be sure.” Only then did Sarah realize that Lucas had changed his clothing as well. No more suit and tie. Jeans. Tight, perfectly-fitted jeans that showed off his hard ass. But Sarah was more aroused by the black turtleneck stretching across his flexing muscles whenever he moved this dish or turned this piece of food over. He must have known how hot he was. Even his five-o-clock shadow graced his face perfectly. Hell, the color was the same as the sweater! Everything matched! Damn him. “But I spent a lot of time in the kitchen as a kid since the family chef also doubled as my Swedish tutor. You pick things up.”
“Of course you know Swedish.”
“I’m Danish. You’re right. Of course I know Swedish. And some Icelandic, and some Norwegian.” Lucas presented her with a glass of red wine. “But no Finnish. Fuck that mess.”
Sarah didn’t mean to giggle. She never giggled, especially not in front of men. Giggling was a sign of comfort and lowered guards.
More food than she could possibly eat appeared before her. Stir-fry with the freshest vegetables and the crunchiest noodles. Salad as thick as the fog outside. Garlic bread that was more carbs and butter than crust. Sarah was going to be so bloated that Lucas would decide for sure if he found her hot. My round face is the first thing to go.
“To be fair,” Lucas said, “I didn’t buy the ingredients. That’s why we have assistants.”
Was that supposed to be a cute joke? “I occasionally buy groceries for my boss, yes.”
Lucas sat across from her, his nose already in his wineglass. “A toast?”
“To what?”
“Who cares?”
They toasted to absolutely nothing. The wine was the only thing to turn out exactly as Sarah expected: succulent and aromatic. It complemented the stir-fry and garlic bread almost perfectly. Lucas may not have been a professional sommelier, but he grew up in a family that surely appreciated the finer and more expensive luxuries. Wonderful wine and how to pair it with equally succulent food was up on that list.
“Hope you like it. It’s my own recipe. Might even say it’s my best one.�
�
“All this trouble for me, hm?”
“Trouble?” Lucas put his glass down before he choked on his sip of wine. “Trouble? I’ve spent the past two weeks trying to get you to have a date with me, and you’re calling this trouble?”
“I still don’t understand what you fancy so much about me, besides my body, I suppose.”
“Give yourself more credit.” Lucas looked away. “Although your body helps, of course.”
He said it so good-humoredly that Sarah couldn’t take offense. I rather hate how comfortable I am around him now. Why did Lucas Blackbourne have to be like this? Sarah knew how to handle men more like her boss – aloof and standoffish. No wonder Damon Monroe and Lucas were such close friends. Like the wine complemented the food, those two men’s personalities complemented each other as well.
“You know how this looks,” Sarah said. “If Mr. Monroe found out about this…”
Lucas held his hand up. “He won’t. I haven’t said a word about it. I told him I had a date tonight, but not with whom. I only told him that much so he would leave me the hell alone and not call me at nine with ideas. Goodness. You’d think getting married would have given him a bigger life than he had before.”
“You really don’t know what it was like before, honestly.” Mr. Monroe called his assistants a lot less often now.
“You probably do have a better idea than I do now, this is true. I mostly knew him in college. Even back then he was still a workaholic who would blow off his drinking buddies to do more research or take one of our professors out for dinner. Not as a date, mind you, but to pick their brains. Can you believe it?”
“I can, actually.” Mr. Monroe had his wild streak like any other billionaire heir, and God knew he kept his dick perpetually wet whenever a convenient opportunity presented itself, but he also valued people’s time. If someone intelligent crossed his path, he’d pick that brain above fucking it away. “What about you? Are you the kind of heir who picks pussy over power?”
“Always.” He said it so promptly and with such a mischievous twinkle in his eye that Sarah knew he was more facetious than some of the young interns who walked into work.
“Figures. That’s why you conduct business in sex clubs.”
“You must know better than most women that ‘sex clubs’ are some of the most relaxing, most private places to hold an after-business conference. Plus, my associates and I are European. We’re not fazed, unlike you uptight Americans.”
“I told you, I’m American only in birth city and accent. You should meet my mother sometime. She’ll British the shit out of you.”
“Ah, yes, the British. Europe’s America.”
“Not everyone can be a magnanimous Dane.”
“We’re the happiest people on the planet. Not even the Swedes can say that anymore.”
“I thought that used to be the Norwegians?”
“Either way, the Finnish are still not invited to our parties.”
Sarah only vaguely knew of Scandinavian politics, but she would take his word on it.
“How’s the food?”
She shrugged. “You’re not a bad cook, but I’ve had better.”
“Ouch.”
“Hey, I didn’t say it was bad.”
“You know how to gut a man, though.”
“Maybe if I’m mean enough to you, you’ll decide I’m not worth the trouble.”
Instead of asking her why she continued to berate him like this, Lucas took another, more unexpected approach. “What is it that you want to do with your life?”
She sat back in mild surprise. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, are you content to be an assistant for the rest of your life? Because it certainly is a good deal you seem to have. The retirement benefits alone would be worth you hanging on for a couple more decades. But do you want to do something else? Is this a stepping stone to some greater career that you want to have? Most of the assistants I’ve met over the years are either super passionate about it or learning skills to start their own businesses. I don’t get either vibe from you. What is it that you want?”
Sarah snorted into her wineglass. “It’s a job. A good one, yes, but I can’t say I’m passionate about it. It’s what I’m trained to do, and I’m good enough at it that I can work for someone at Mr. Monroe’s level. I do admit it was somewhat less stressful when my brother worked with me…” She stopped. Why did she bring up Nigel? He was one of the last people she wanted to talk about when it came to the men she was sleeping with.
“That’s right. I remember hearing that your brother also worked there until he resigned last year. What’s he doing now?”
“He’s…” Sarah struggled to remember her go-to explanation that was neither a lie but also not entirely the truth. “He’s a manager elsewhere.” She would leave it at that. Nigel’s impressive résumé had been enough to shoot him straight to manager of the boutique pizzeria he now worked at, but it was still leagues beneath where he had been before, in terms of both pay and prestige. The insurance was also so laughable that Nigel had to go from a private doctor to a one of those churn-em-out clinics five blocks away from their apartment. He had tried to keep paying his share of the rent, but took up all of the utilities instead. Now Sarah was sidled with paying $1500 a month for their two-bedroom. Didn’t sound like that much at first, when one considered she made three times as that working for Mr. Monroe, but there was also the renter’s insurance and her student loans. Oh, and Nigel’s loans, because he could barely afford those now too, and they had both ran out of deferments. At the end of a long month, Sarah could not save that much money. Certainly not enough to start her own business, let alone qualify for a loan.
Besides, what in the world would she ever do?
“Good for him. Sounds like he’s on to better and bigger things.” Lucas pushed aside his now empty dinner plate. “But what do you want to do?”
“I have no idea.”
“Really?” Was he scoffing at her? “I find that hard to believe. You seem like the kind of woman who has grand aspirations.”
“You have to understand that my life has been all about practicality. My mother was an heiress who gave up a lot to marry my father. My grandparents… did not really support her choice in a husband.” They had been nice enough to Sarah and Nigel, even invited them over for holidays, but it was with the understanding that they would never be a part of that world – unless they worked for it. Elizabeth Brown-Clayborn had sacrificed more than a bare-bones inheritance so she could cross the pond and raise two children in a middle-class setting. She described it to her children as “the peak of mediocrity.” They went to the best public schools, had the occasional tutor, were supported in their extracurricular… but they were not given much beyond that. They never worried about food and shelter, but they also weren’t given cars for their sixteenth birthday and had the understanding that not much could be done about the esteemed private school they wished to attend. Not because Elizabeth didn’t want to give her children a debt-free education or further opportunities, but because she realistically could not afford it without her parents’ help. She had been raised to be a high-society wife and had chosen to instead marry a business manager from New Jersey and take up a part-time job as the assistant to an interior decorator to help make ends meet. It was that job that inspired her twins to go into administration work. It was always needed, paid decently, and we didn’t have to worry about specialized education.
“That’s too bad to hear. Your mother sounds like an interesting lady.”
“Her biggest aspiration in life was to marry for love, so that’s what she did.”
“Are they still together?”
“My parents? Yes, but my father never counted on the type of woman he married. She went to finishing school, all right? She runs that house and my father goes along with everything.” What Elizabeth wanted, Elizabeth got, even if that simply meant HBO being added to the cable packaging. “This Game of Thrones tosh is blo
ody hilarious. Their accents are all over!”
“At least I know why you say ‘bloody’ when you think nobody’s listening.”
“It’s like fucking. Only more violent.”
“Well, then.”
Sarah wasn’t sure how she felt about being so relaxed in Lucas’s home. While the penthouse wasn’t that well-lived in – let alone matched to the man’s tastes – it had a hominess to it that invited a person to sit for wine and a movie before taking a luxurious bath for an hour. A lot of that had to do with Lucas’s general geniality. He could probably take an impersonal hotel room and elevate it with his natural charms.
“I have no career aspirations,” Sarah continued. “I take things one week, one month at a time. Things change so quickly in our lives. Even if I don’t like my job most days…”
“Why don’t you like your job most days?”
“Because I have to deal with pushy suitors like you, clearly.”
He held up his wineglass for a toast. “Indeed you do. I’m glad to see that my pushiness has pushed through for me, though.”
Sarah withheld her glass from the toast. “Say something in Danish.”
“Excuse me?”
She leaned against her hand. “Tell me something you think is true. In Danish.”
“Ah…” He looked up to the right, his profile illuminated in the light shining above him. “Ah! Du er smuk.”
“Dare I ask what that means?” It sounded like “Deers smoke.”
He smiled. “It means that you are beautiful. You told me to say something that I thought was true, so I did.”
Sarah still would not give in to a toast. “Why that?”
“Because you are.”
“Surely I’m not the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen.”
“Honestly?” Lucas withdrew his offer for a toast. “No. You’re not. You should come to Scandinavia sometime. Bevy of beauties there.”
Sarah sighed with the hopes that the sarcasm dripped from her breath. “Sorry. About my busted Brit genetics, that is. You should see my mother. Real munter.”